#note to self to go back and change my did tag to that later on old posts

[kafus]

a discussion i'm really fascinated by is viewing DID formed in infancy or around there through a similar lens as neurodivergency, but i always hesitate to talk about it because i feel like even other people who are neurodivergent or have DID could easily take things the wrong way or aren't educated enough on their own conditions to properly discuss it with the nuance it deserves. but it really does interest me

[veltana]

Buy my heart - 1

✦ Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader

✦ Word count: ~1,2k

✦ Rating for this part: Mature

✦ Warnings/tags: Alpha!Bucky, Omega!Reader, slow burn, eventual smut, omega auction.

✦ Summary: Bucky buys you

✦ Note: Due note that this is a drabble series, the parts will be short but I still hope you enjoy it! Don't forget to come back and read Lloyd's series, set in the same verse! 😉 Bucky's scent is based of my favorite perfume of all time ÆTHER XTRÆM 🤤Reblogs, comments and asks are much appreciated!

Series masterlist

Masterlist | AO3

Everything is numb. As you stand on the podium in front of the faceless crowd with the lights in your eyes, you don't feel a thing, except the uncomfortable sensation of scent blocker on your skin. As soon as you pulled the thin dress on for the auction you decided that the only way you would survive this is if you just turn every emotion off.

Paddles go up. Paddles go down. The man beside you rambles fast but you don't listen. It's not irrelevant how much you sell for, since your family needs it to pay off their debt, but you can't take it in.

Instead, you focus on your breathing. The mask-covered mass in front of you is grass on a meadow on a windy day. Breathe in. They sway towards you. Breathe out. They sway away.

You don't want to look at who raises their paddle the most, and even if you did, you wouldn't be able to identify them since everyone's face is concealed by the same black mask. But you'd find yourself scrutinizing their hands and build, trying to guess if they're old or young. Honestly, you dread both: a young pup with an overly cocky attitude who knows nothing about caring for an omega, or an old lone wolf who is too frail to do anything himself and would require constant care.

The sharp crack of the club startles you from your self-induced meditation. That's when you finally hear the sum you've been sold for and some of the tension in your shoulders drains away. It's enough. Your family will be fine.

An attendant leads you away through dark corridors before leaving you in another changing room. They've brought your old clothes but you don't touch them. They smell like home. Like your family. And you can't go into this new life with it, you have to leave it behind.

If the attendant is confused about you still wearing the sheer dress they provided when they come and collect you, they don't let it show before walking you out.

The air is cold against your skin but there is a car idling just outside. Well, it's a limo. The driver opens the door and gestures for you to climb inside. Guess this is your ride. Time to meet your alpha.

Pressing down every feeling of panic and dread you walk on bare feet the short distance. The door shutting just behind you makes you jump. A moment later, the car starts moving.

The first thing you notice is that it's dim in the back of the limousine since the tinted windows don't let the streetlights in. The only illumination comes from small spots in the ceiling.

The second thing you notice is him. He's at the other end of the seat. Maskless with a glass of something in his hand that he swirls before taking a sip, staring at you over the rim. He's tall, broad-shouldered, short hair that looks soft with a neatly trimmed beard framing his face.

Then the smell hits you. It's easy to filter out the artificial notes of his cologne from what is his pure natural smell. It's a woody musky scent with a light tone of florals buried beneath that is not sharp or strong. It just fills your lungs with a warm, sensual feeling. For the first time in your life, you think you understand what other omegas rave about when they say that the smell of alpha is unlike anything else. The omega in you wants to slide up to him and rub yourself all over him, but you resist.

“Hello, little darling,” his rich voice fills the compartment. “Hello, sir,” you respond and is pleased when your voice doesn't waiver. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes. I prefer if you call me Bucky.” “Bucky,” you try, and nod, although it feels odd on your tongue. You've never addressed an alpha by a nickname before.

He doesn't ask for your name and you don't offer it, the less personal this is for you, the better. Bucky might have bought your body but your mind is still your own and he can never take it away from you. If he never calls you by your name, the better.

“Why do you still have that dress on?” he asks. You pluck at the fabric. “I couldn't take my old clothes with me.” “And no shoes?” “No, sir. I mean, Bucky.”

He picks up his phone. You hear the dial tone and then a woman's voice answers at the other end. “We need clothes, all types, but for tonight just get some underwear and something to sleep in. Then he directs his attention to you. “What size are you?” After hesitating a second, you tell him and he passes the information along before he hangs up.

The car slows and sounds as if it's driving on gravel. Bucky finishes his drink and studies you. There is a tick in his jaw as if he's irritated. Without a word, he starts taking off his suit jacket.

The blood in your veins turns cold and you press yourself back against the door. You don't want him to touch you. The dress might be sheer but the thought of being naked with him in the back of the limo is not appealing in the least.

But his actions surprise you. He holds out the jacket for you. “Wear this. My men are loyal but I don't need them to ogle you and get distracted.” There is no hiding the way your fingers tremble as you take it from him. After putting it on you realize that in a way, he's marked you with his scent now, but without touching you. It shouldn't make you pleased, but it does.

When the car comes to a stop you reach for the handle but with something very close to a growl he instructs, “Wait there,” before stepping out. You pull your hand back quickly and place it in your lap. Moments later the door opens. “Since you don't have any shoes, I'll carry you,” he explains, reaching for you, but you shuffle away. “I'll be fine, I promise, you don't need to do that.” His jaw ticks again. “No, you will hurt your feet, darling. Come here, now.” You hesitate still, but you're not prepared to find out what the next tell of irritation might be, or if the twitch in his jaw is the only warning you're going to get.

You move closer to him and hardly have time to process what happens before you're in his arms. He carries you near his body with your face pressed against his fine dress shirt. It's dark outside but the mansion he carries you towards is well lit. There is no doubt James Buchanan Barnes is a very rich man.

After stepping inside he still doesn't put you down. You want to object but decide against it as he carries you up a flight of stairs and into a room, where he puts you down on a soft carpet, then steps back.

���Clothes should be here in about twenty minutes. When was the last time you ate?” “Uhm, this morning?” “Allergies?” “No, but I really don’t like tomatoes.” “I'll inform the chef,” he nods, before continuing, “This is your room. Mine is across the hall. For tonight, stay here, I'll have food brought up. Tomorrow I’ll give you a tour and we'll talk about what is expected of you going forward.” You nod. “I suggest you take a nice long bath, before eating and going to bed.” “Yes, Bucky.” Your obedience seems to please him because the lines between his eyebrows disappear. “Have a good night, little darling.” And then he leaves.

next

[joelmillergirl]

Illicit Arrangement- Joel Miller

Part 2 of Forbidden From You

Word count: 2,762

Warnings: anal play, threats of anal, bondage, clothed cock riding, cockwarming, p in v, creampie, breeding kink, degradation, praise, hard sex, reader is able to be picked up!

Authors Note: So many people asked for a part 2, so I delivered. Thank you!! Tags: @emisprocrastinating @macaroni676 @sunsfrend

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"Whoops." Joel muttered, gesturing to the front door where his younger brother had finally come to the realisation.

A year had passed since Tommy had found out about your secret arrangement with his older brother. He had successfully avoided you for two weeks in what you assumed was anger but had later found out was actually mortification.

You had cornered Tommy in his own house, almost in tears, as you demanded an explanation and begged for approval. After a long, awkward conversation, Tommy agreed that he was in no place to be upset and that he did support you; it was just not in his cards to find out the way he did.

The secret had come out; practically everyone knew now about the relationship you had with Joel, or lack of thereof. You weren’t an official couple, yet you might’ve well have been. Joel refused to label what you had- a decision he made that drove you to insanity. One night, he had come home visibly annoyed, mumbling under his breath about his brother.

“You see, Joel.” Tommy slurred, slapping his hand on his brothers’ back. “I’ve known her for years, she’s like my little sister, like my little chick.”

Joel frowned, leaning away from Tommy to look at him, “Your… Chick?”

“It’s a baby bird,” Tommy clarified before continuing, “I told ya to keep away from her, your broody self compared to her sweet self… didn’t want you breaking her heart. But you’re together now-“

“Uh, we’re not-“ Joel tried to argue.

Tommy held up his hand, silencing an angry looking Joel, “You’re together now, and I have to accept it. Don’t break her heart, Joel.” His tone, previously lighthearted and slurred, now changed into a more serious tone, “I’ll never forgive you if you hurt her.”

Guilt had seemed to become an overwhelming part of your days, always questioning Joel's moves, wondering whether or not he wanted you for sex or something deeper. You confided in Maria about it but felt even guiltier when you questioned whether or not she'd tell Tommy about it as well.

You were sitting outside with Joel, a glass of rich wine in your hand, as the sun started setting, the final colours of the day painted across the darkening sky, a mixture of orange, pink, and light reds. Not many people came out this time of day; everyone in their houses were eating, or debriefing after a day of patrols. A picture-perfect environment for you.

Joel was silent next to you, his breath coming in slowly, his eyes closing for a few seconds longer every time he blinked, pure serenity. "What are we?" You break the silence, asking the question you had yearned to ask for months- a question you knew he'd try his best to avoid.

He sighed deeply, finishing his drink in one go, electing to stay staring at the sky. "Must we label it?" He finally answered, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

You lean back, closing your eyes for a moment. "I want there to be a label. I don't know how to... be around you, what to refer to you as."

Joel listened to you, watching as the painted colours slowly started to fade, a dark new colour instead enveloping the sky. "Honey, I just don't understand the label thing." He admitted, "Why can't we just be what we are and leave it at that?"

"I wanna be more." You say, clutching onto the glass a little tighter, "It'll be just like how we are right now, but I'd get to call you my boyfriend. Flaunt you a little, I don't know." You mumble, sighing.

Joel chuckled quietly, "That's what you wanna do? Flaunt me? How entertaining, a young woman flaunting about her old boyfriend. Bet Jackson would be delighted."

You furrow your eyebrows, turning to face him. "Is that why you haven't wanted to be official? Because you're embarrassed you're with someone younger than you?"

The air around you was stale, your question lingered in the silent air for a few seconds. Joel shook his head slowly. "More so embarrassed for you. You don't wanna be stuck with me. Plenty of fellas here younger, more agile."

You stand up suddenly, needing to move only a step until you were right by his side. Your nails brushed against his beard, the usual deep brown now tainted with little grey streaks. "Don't want them. You're only a few years older than me, Joel... I don't want anyone else."

Joel looked up at you, his fingers stretching out from where they lay on his lap, "Just me?"

"Just you." You nod, leaning down to kiss him. Your noses brushed against each other for a second, before you twisted your face, connecting with him as your lips met. One kiss, then two, then three. The soft touches slowly turning into something more desperate.

He stood up, his lips never leaving yours as he wrapped his hands around your ass, lifting you up. "Yep," He chuckled, walking you into the house, "Definitely gettin' old."

He took you up into the bedroom, a place you were familiar with now. You were imprinted in everything, your scent on the pillows, your books on the bedside tables, bits of décor from your house (that you still technically lived in). Joel placed you down onto his bed, standing up straight as you began stripping your clothes, pushing yourself up onto your knees as Joel stood at the foot of the mattress, watching you. Bare and vulnerable, you knelt in front of him, your hands cautiously reaching out to his belt.

He grabbed your hands when you were close enough, shaking his head. With his free hand, he loosened it himself, pulling it out of the loopholes all whilst holding steady eye contact with you. With his belt in one hand and your hands in his other, he stepped a little closer, wrapping the belt around your wrists, effectively tying your hands together.

"Tight?" He asked, looking at you softly.

You shake your head, "Perfect."

"I'm gonna have you, little girl. All for myself, you understand?" He asked, pushing you back so you lay looking up at him. You could only nod, his words sending a spark down to your already aching cunt, a wave of arousal accumulating near your entrance. His shirt was taken off first, haphazardly thrown onto the floor beside him, followed by his jeans and eventually his boxers. His cock was already hard, the tip red and glistening with pre-come.

Your legs automatically spread as he knelt between them, the wide length of him causing your legs to part in a way that had your muscles struggling. He carefully moved your bound hands above your head, pressing down on them to indicate not to move them before his hand moved to gently grasp your thigh, squeezing it before he dragged his cock down the slit of your pussy.

The stretch was something you had gotten used to, every time he filled you up there was still some slight discomfort that lingered for a moment before he started moving. He talked you through it every time, whispering in your ear and massaging your skin as he praised you. Tonight the air was different. Once he was settled deep inside of you, he began fucking you, his hips connecting to your skin roughly, the power behind it shoving you further up the bed.

His hands met your tied ones, using them to keep himself up, his grunts reaching your ears over your loud moans. "Don't know what I was thinkin'." Joel muttered, looking down at where you were connected, his balls now slapping against your ass. "I've ruined you, couldn't take another dick after mine, could ya?"

"No." You moan, your eyes shutting closed as his hand moved from your hip down to your clit, circling it gently. Joel watched you intently, his thrusts not ceasing as he grunted above you. Suddenly he grabbed your legs, pushing them up to your chest, sliding deeper inside you.

He looked down again, suddenly groaning out. "Look at ya takin' me," He whispered, "Think you could take me in here?" His fingers circled your asshole, gently pushing the tip of his thumb inside. "I won't do it, not yet."

His consistent thrusts and the slow drawl in your ear set you off, your orgasm hitting you without warning. Your clenched around his cock, your arms straining above your head as you came, words of approval spilling out of your mouth. Joel slowed his thrusts down, slowly fucking into you now as he grew closer to his own orgasm.

"So good." Joel whispered, pulling your legs to wrap around his waist as he came, pushing himself into you as far as he could, moving down so he could kiss you. After untying your hands and cleaning you up, you lay side by side. Similar thoughts running through your minds as the still environment around you calmed you down.

The new arrangement between you and Joel was noticeable, you were the main talk of the town. You now held his hand and kissed him in public, and apart from the overdramatic gagging that came from Tommy, no one had a problem with it.

One evening, you were sitting at Jackson's lively bar, waiting for Joel to meet you after his patrol. You were drinking your drink when you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

"Mikey." You say, praying that you got his name right.

Mikey nodded, gesturing to the seat next to you, "Good to see you again. Could I sit?"

You slowly nod, watching him as he sat down, "You can until Joel gets here, just waiting for him."

"Yes, I'm kinda here to talk about him... And you," Mikey said, "You guys are dating, right?"

His question didn't surprise you, whilst no one seemed to care you were dating Joel, people still went out of their way to ask, usually a neutral expression on their face. A judgemental expression was instead plastered across the mans' across you, "Yep." You nod.

Mikey hummed, looking away for a moment. "Isn't he a bit old?

You smile, "Only a few years older than you and I. Don't really see the issue."

In a room full of people you really felt alone, you looked around, trying to find a face that was familiar enough to go to. Mikey hummed beside you, tapping his fingers against the wood for a few seconds. "Guess I'm just wondering why you chose him and not me. As in, did I do anything?

Your lips pull into a thin line, "It has nothing to do with you. Tommy set up that date not knowing that... I wasn't interested."

Just as Mikey was about to reply, a warm hand was placed on your shoulder, "Mikey." Joel greeted, squeezing your flesh gently. "Gonna go home, honey?'

"Yes, "You quickly say, taking Joel's hand as you stand up, "Bye, Mikey." With Joel hanging onto you, you quickly walk out the bar, mumbling under your breath as you navigate your way back to his house.

"What did he want?" Joel asked from behind you, pulling on your hand slightly in an attempt to slow down your fast paced strives.

You shake your head, "I didn't want to go on that date in the first place with him. Just wanted to get Tommy off my back."

Within a few minutes you were at his front steps, and you made your way inside, finally letting go of Joel's hand as you shrugged off your coat and boots. Then, you were being steered into the living room, where the embers of last nights fire were still glowing. "Was he botherin' you?" Joel asked, sitting down beside you on the couch.

You look over at him, his jeans straining against his thighs as he leant back against the soft material behind him. "Asked if we were dating," You start, "Asked why I chose you instead of him."

Joel nodded slowly, holding his gaze with yours, "And?" He asked, elaborating when you stayed quiet, "Why did you choose me instead of him?"

You started thinking about him; really thinking about the things that made him, him. Innocent thoughts at first, as simple as the crease in his forehead as he laughed, or the way he fiddled with his fingers when he was anxious. But naturally, you started thinking about the dirtier thoughts. The way his fingers curled inside you, how just one of his fingers were the equivalent to two of yours. How he moaned when you were taking him in your mouth. The thoughts had you tightening your thighs together, something he picked up on quickly.

"C'mere." He muttered, spreading his legs a little wider and angling his pelvis up slightly, patting his lap.

Your cheeks flushed pink, hesitantly kneeling up before you brought one of your legs over his furthest thigh. Impatient at your slow pace, Joel's large hands grabbed your hips and suddenly pulled you so you were sat flush against him, effectively straddling him. The contact alone felt heavenly, the feeling of his growing cock below your cunt. Your hands reach out to grab his broad shoulders, shifting up gently before moving back down on him.

“Yeah? You wanna ride my cock like this?” Joel asked gruffly, leaning up and wrapping his arms around your back. With this new angle, he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck, pressing his lips against your soft skin gently. You moan, tilting your head to the side to allow him more access, all while starting to move your hips against him. 

“Want to feel you inside me.” You sighed, leaning your chest against his. Joel’s hands moved up and down your body, squeezing the flesh of your ass before coming to palm your clothed breasts, his lips leaving small kisses anywhere he could reach in his position. You lifted your hands, tugging your shirt off, soon followed by your bra.

You grinded against him, the rough material of his denim mixed with his hard cock hitting your clit with every thrust. Joel's hands moved to your hips, rocking you harder against him. He groaned into your ear, his hips moving upwards in their own accord. You sat up straight, leaning back onto his knees as he moved you.

Your orgasm was creeping up on you, your legs beginning to shake as you freely moaned, desperate to come. Then you were being pulled up away from him, your orgasm gone as quick as it had started, you groan in frustration, "Joel! What're you doing?"

He sat up and helped you stand up, undoeing your jeans, shoving them down your legs. You moved his hands away, taking off your own underwear as you watched you. "Please." You begged.

Joel looked at you calmly, pushing his jeans down to his ankles and pulling himself out of his boxers, gesturing for you to straddle him again. "Wanna see how long you can sit-" He gripped your hips and pulled you down, dragging his cock through your slick before pushing inside of you, "Still." He finished, allowing you to sit down on him as slow as you needed.

Once you were sitting down, completely filled with him, Joel squeezed your flesh, flexing his hips into you for a moment, "Don't move." He ordered, slapping the side of your thigh gently as he leant back, exhaling deeply. You looked at him unamused, resting your hands on your thighs. Joel smiled beneath you, opening his eyes slightly, "'S okay, baby. Doin' good." He praised you, moving his hands up your thighs, lingering on your hands for a second before moving up, and squeezing your breasts.

Joel slowly started moving, flexing his hips into you, the sensation almost becoming unbearable. Yet, you stayed still, instead choosing to clench around him, a wicked smile on your face. He groaned loudly, thrusting up into you roughly as he opened his eyes fully, shaking his head at you, "Little minx."

"Please." You beg again, despite everything, you continued to be still on top of him. Joel shifted, placing his feet square onto the ground and putting his hands under your ass before he started fucking up into you, setting an unforgiving pace instantly. The change from nothing to this, took you by surprise, and you reached out to grab his shoulders to balance yourself as Joel maneuvered you to meet his thrusts, bouncing you on his cock.

Given the fact that Joel had denied you an orgasm already, you were close to another in a record time, your thighs clenching around his. You were moaning in his ear as you came, your pussy clenching down on him. Joel followed soon after, pushing into you weakly, "Good girl." He groaned, rubbing your back gently. "That why you chose me?"

[zepskies]

This is very very niche one, but how would Beau, Dean and Ben react to seeing reader has breast reduction scars, and that’s how they find out about it since she never mentioned having one? I won’t be offended if you ignore because again, it’s very specific 🤣🫶

Hello my lovely friend! @chernayawidow

Ooh this is very niche, but I'm okay with that! I love a narrower prompt. It makes it easier to imagine, to be honest. And I can safely say this is the first time I've gotten a request like this. 😘

*cracks knuckles* Here we go!

Pairings: Dean Winchester x F. Reader, Beau Arlen x F. Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only on this one for some smuttish behavior. Description of surgical scars, body insecurity and body appreciation.

Headcanon: How Dean, Beau, and Ben would react to seeing your breast reduction scars.

Dean Winchester

Let's start with Dean...

The first time he spots it is after a hunt, in the room of this week's grungy "motel crap."

He notices the edge of some kind of scar under your breast when he accidentally walks in on you changing.

He only sees it peeking out from the edge of the bra you're trying to hook on. It's black and lacey, and it immediately attracts his attention (in more ways than one).

"Dean!" you gasp. Your face sports a wild blush. "Learn how to knock, damn it!"

Shit! He remembers himself with a shake of his head and a placating hand in the air as he spins away. "Sorry!"

Of course, he's not going to say anything then. He wonders if it was a hunting injury, from before he met you.

He buries that curiosity...until you two finally start dating.

The subject doesn't come up, however, until you have sex for the first time. Dean has you underneath him in his bed. Kisses are feverish, hands exploring each other's bodies like a pair of teenagers making out. He can't lie to himself, he kind of feels giddy like a teenager.

But he notices that you're self-conscious about him getting your shirt off. You almost stop him with your hands on his wrists.

Dean hesitates. His hand are already under the hem of your shirt, but they become more soothing along the curve of your waist.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

Biting your lip, you nod and encourage him to continue. He goes slow, but he eventually takes your bra off, and he sees them.

Faded, pink scars (small circles around the nipple, with an anchor line stemming down the middle of the breast, and a small curve line underneath).

A younger, less mature Dean might not know what to say at first.

He might ask, with a note of caring, "What're these?"

He also might feel the need to lighten the question with a joke (not at your expense), of which you might not appreciate in the moment. And he'd very earnestly apologize.

And he might ask if he can touch the scars, softly tracing the outlines.

You would explain to him that it wasn't a hunting injury, or anything like that.

The answer is simple: You had breast reduction surgery. If you feel comfortable enough with him, you'll share the reasons why. (To reduce your lower back pain, and make it easier on your body to live your life and do your job. And the truth is, you feel better.)

A Dean in his 40s would probably have seen this before, and know what they are. But he'll still be curious on why you did it, because he's curious by nature.

He'll want to make sure you feel comfortable with him, asking you if the scars are still tender, and where you'd prefer to be touched.

But the scars don't faze him.

"I like 'em," he later says, with cheeky green eyes, and his tongue moving lazily between your breasts.

You giggle at that, carding your fingers through his hair. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he smirks. "I got me a little tiger. She's got some pretty stripes."

You laugh fully at that, and your body trembles with it underneath him. It makes him smile against your skin.

You're a beautiful woman, and he feels lucky to have this chance to be with you. Not just in your bed, but trying to be together.

Because it's a chance he didn't think he'd ever get to have again.

Beau Arlen

Ah, my Cowboy Sheriff...

He first notices it on the summer you two start dating, when you two go swimming at the lake. It's Montana, so the water is still pretty cold, but you both are too high on the giddy feeling of a budding romance to care.

He sees the edge of a crescent shaped scar under your breast, under the sexy bikini you're rocking. It piques his curiosity, which is already near insatiable at the best of times.

So much so that when he next has you in his arms in the water, and his arms are wrapped around your waist, with your arms wrapped around his neck, he gains enough courage to ask you, thumbing gently at the edge of raised flesh on your skin.

"What's this, darlin'?"

You're matter-of-fact about your answer, telling him it's your breast reduction scar. It's also a subtle way you test men.

You can tell a lot about someone's character by the way they react to things like this. Especially when it's something you might've been insecure about at first. But these scars are just a part of your body now. Though they'll fade even more in time, there's a chance they might always be there. So you've accepted this, and don't find cause to hide.

Beau takes your response in with a nod.

"You're...okay with it?" you ask.

Beau smiles and presses a tender kiss to your cheek. "What's to be okay with?"

"Yeah?" you lightly press. You smile at his beard scratching your cheek. You turn your head, and he gives you a proper kiss.

"Of course, sweetheart," Beau says. And he means it.

He's a father. He watched many a change happen to his ex-wife's body over the course of pregnancy, birth, and over a decade later of natural developments with age. He's aged and changed too.

So superficial things like stretch marks and fading scars aren't going to deter him in the slightest from being with you.

His thumb edges around the hem of your bikini, sliding under the tie in the back. His smile grows a bit cheeky, while yours becomes knowingly suspicious.

"Maybe you'll let me get acquainted," he hedges. His voice deepens with southern drawl and flirtation.

Your heart beats faster, and your smile deepens.

"Okay, Sheriff...but only if I get the same privilege." And your knees begin to slide his swim trunks down his hips under the water, at the same time he unties your bikini.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Aw geez, this cheeky motherfucker...

Ben would easily be the most unfazed.

This man's gotten "around," so to speak. He's pretty much seen it all in his 102 years of pussy plowing. (Minus 40.)

You're different, however. You're more than that.

You were the first one to treat him like an actual person when he made it out of Russia, back to the States, back to New York, after dealing with Homelander and ending that piece of shit at Vought Tower.

While the whole world either looked at him like an oddity or a terrorist, you saw a man, displaced from everything he had known.

A man entirely alone.

Until you.

Still, it took all the patience he had within him to even get you to agree to date him. And you were cautious about physical intimacy. At first he thought you were shy (or worse, a fucking tease).

Or maybe...maybe you were afraid of him.

"It's not that," you tell him firmly. You feel comfortable and safe in his arms. You look up into his eyes, and he can't help but kiss you. You cling to him tightly, like you're starved for touch. His touch.

He sits down on the edge of his living room couch and brings you down with him, to straddle his thighs. You take his face into your gentle hands and briefly look down at him with a smile.

He sees things in your eyes that he's never seen from a woman before. Softness. Genuine caring. Maybe even something deeper.

But you tense up a little, the second his hands venture under the hem of your blouse.

"What's the matter?" he asks. His brows furrow. He can't fucking figure you out. You seem to be into him (and more), but you don't want him to touch you.

You hesitate. "It's just...um..."

With much effort, Ben controls every impatient, borderline callous remark he wants to make and squeezes your hips.

"Just tell me, baby doll. You're not gonna shock me."

You smile at the sight of his grin. You let out a breath and take off your blouse yourself. Ben eyes you hungrily as you bare yourself to him.

You unclip your bra and his eyes are drawn to your breasts...and then the scars. Just like you feared they would be.

But he doesn't look disgusted or put off. He just raises his brows at you.

"Is that what the fuck you're worried about?" he asks.

Your throat constricts for a moment as you rest your hands on his chest. You can feel the warmth of his skin through the fitted shirt.

Ben dips his chin and catches your downturned gaze. Then his head bows a little further, and he traces the scars lightly with his tongue.

Your breath hitches. Your eyes widen as you watch him, but pleasure tingles delicately down your spine and across your skin as his tongue swirls around a nipple. He lifts you up higher against him so he has easier access. All you can do is cling to his arms, sink your fingers into his hair, and moan wantonly as he ravishes your body.

By the end of the night, he knocks every single insecurity out of your head. (And you both sleep soundly, fully sated in his bed.)

AN: Whew! 😮‍💨 Feel like my fingers ran a marathon. I got into this one deeper than I thought I would! I hope it hit all the right notes. 💕💕

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[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

blue butterflies

pairing: jackson! joel miller x reader

cws/tags: 1st person pov joel, angst, discussions of sex trafficking/sexual assault, death, mild smut, au where nothing bad happens between ellie and joel, author has not played tlou 2 yet (donate to kofi lmao), guns, alcohol consumption, light enemies to lovers, cordyceps works different in this one (more predictable and slower-acting)

summary: joel's letter to reader

a/n: i watched the beginning of tlou (joel playing guitar) and it made me cry so hard. so, this is inspired by that, but also i listened to funeral by arcade fire and for emma, forever ago by bon iver while writing this. neighborhood #4 (7 kettles) by arcade fire makes me cry so hard.

wc: 5.7k

taglist: @gothcsz @harriedandharassed @withonly-sweetheart

thank you to @jennaispunk for beta reading/proofreading !

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divider is from @danowh0re

playlist for fic: required listening!!

I thought therapy was a bunch of bullshit - a scam at worst, a waste of my time at best. But, since you left us, Tommy’s been making me go. He keeps saying, ‘it’s what she would’ve wanted’, and I think it is. But, that doesn’t mean I like it. 

My therapist told me if I’m not gonna talk to her about my past, I should at least talk to someone. I told her I’d talk to you, if you were here. She told me it was a good idea, that I should write it out in a letter. She told me I could write to you, or to Sarah, but I figured I’d better write to you ‘cause there’s some things a daughter shouldn’t hear about her dad. Even - especially - the most fun times he’s had. I’ll get to those later.��

Did you know I hated you when we first met? I never told you, but I think you knew. I thought you were a self-important, entitled bitch who acted like she’d been through hell when I knew she hadn’t because of how well-adjusted she seemed. I thought you had some sort of unearned valor. I know that’s not the right way to put it. I think the word I’m looking for is ‘respect’. Tommy, Maria, even Ellie were so quick to respect you when I had to earn it. 

“The reason people don’t like you is because you’re an asshole,” you told me. “You’re fucking scary when you’re mad, too.”

“What’s that saying? It’s better to be feared than to be loved?”

“That’s what Machiavelli said, but that doesn’t mean he’s right.”

I think he was wrong. I was jealous of how much everyone loved you, and they didn’t love me because they feared me. You were so fucking right, and that was one of the things that I hated most about you. 

I used to think about how young you were in comparison to an old man like me, how you were only a little younger than Sarah would’ve been, and how stupid I would’ve felt if Sarah was always outsmarting me. Until I remembered all the times that Sarah did just that, and how much I loved her for it, rather than in spite of it. (Note to self: tell Sarah this in your letter to her). 

That’s not to say I loved you, not yet. I did love you, but I realized that a little later. I had to learn to like you first. 

Do you remember our first day out on patrol together? I begged Tommy to change my schedule. I would rather have spent my time with anyone else in the community -- Hell, I would’ve asked Tommy to give you a day off if it’d get me out of having to work alongside you. 

You overheard me talking to Tommy, and said to me, “You could at least wait until I’m out of earshot to bitch about me, you know?”

“I know,” I said. 

And we didn’t talk for almost the whole shift. Well, I didn’t talk, but you kept on talking, almost like you were talking to yourself. You didn’t even care that I was ignoring you. 

“It’s okay. I don’t like people either.”

“Who says I don’t like people?”

“Your face, your voice, basically your whole demeanor.”

You were so honest, and you had every right to be. It shut me right back up again. I don’t know if that’s what you wanted. Maybe you thought provoking me would make me talk, but I’m a stubborn, old asshole. I don’t think you need me to tell you that.  

“What did I do to piss you off?” You asked, after I gave you what you viewed as the silent treatment, and what I saw as peace and quiet. 

“Nothing. I just think you’re a little bit... egotistical.”

“So are you. You think you know everything.”

“No, but I know more than you. You haven’t got half the experience I have, and believe me, kid, you don’t want it.”

“You’re so melodramatic. And for what? Has the brooding bad boy behavior gotten you laid yet?”

For your information, yes, it had absolutely gotten me laid.  

But before I could tell you that, you stopped me, looked me dead in the eye, and said, “and by the way, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Tell me, then.”

“Tell you what?”

“About all the horrors you’ve experienced. If I’m so wrong, then prove it.” I challenged you because I thought you wouldn’t be able to come up with anything. I wouldn’t have said that if I’d known what I do now. 

You were so angry that you laughed at me. “Fuck you. You don’t deserve to know shit about me.”

A couple weeks later we knew each other’s whole life stories. I told you more than I’ve ever told anyone else, more than I think I ever will tell anyone else. It started when we got lost in the woods together. We were arguing as usual, and we only got ourselves even more lost. The sun was starting to go down, and I could see it in your eyes - you were getting scared. Maybe, for a second, I took some sort of satisfaction in knowing that you were the one who couldn’t handle it, but I’m still human - it feels a little cruel saying that now - so I wasn’t gonna let you suffer. 

“It’s not gonna do us any good to keep arguing, so can we agree to drop it?”

“Truce,” you said, holding out your hand, and when I shook it, you added, “but let it be known that you surrendered.”

“Don’t push it. You know if we stay out here long enough that we have to resort to eating each other’s flesh, you’re gonna be my dinner, not the other way around.”

“I hope I taste good.” 

You did, baby. You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. 

I think we had our first date that night. Sort of. It was late when we got back. Most people were asleep, and the bar was closed, but you had the key. 

“Tommy gave you a spare key?”

“Uh-huh. I assumed you had one too, but I guess I’m the favorite.”

“You’re prettier than me. Of course, you are.” 

I still can’t believe I said that -- I wasn’t even drinking yet. I can be a real idiot when I’m talking to a beautiful woman. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You looked very pretty when you bothered to wash your hair last week.”

“I wash my hair, okay? Sorry I’m old and don’t wake up looking like a supermodel.”

“Who does?”

“I know you want me to say ‘you’, but I’m not taking the bait.”

“That’s okay. I know you’re thinking it, and that’s what matters.”

I was thinking much more than that, darling. 

You walked behind the counter, and asked me, “what do you drink?”, and I think that was the moment I knew I liked you. You could’ve --should’ve -- told me to fuck off. You had other friends (not that we were quite ‘friends’), but you chose me that night. I was a real fixer-upper of a companion, but maybe you liked a challenge. 

“Whiskey. Neat.”

You gave me that look -- that fuckin’ look -- that raised eyebrow and a tiny smirk. And it made me feel like a teenager caught staring at his crush. 

“Please and thank you," I added. 

You got up on the stool behind the bar, grabbed the bottle on the top shelf, and said, “you deserve it.”

“No, I don’t,” I said. “But I’ll take it.”

You sat beside me, and sipped your whiskey. (And you looked pretty hot doing it.) After a good minute of silence you said, “thank you for not killing me and eating me in the woods.”

“I’d get pretty goddamn bored if I didn’t have you yapping in my ear constantly.”

“I thought you hated it.”

“Only sometimes.”

“Then, why don’t you ever talk to me?”

“I’m talking to you right now.”

“Barely.”

So, I turned to you, put my elbow on the counter, laid my head in my hand, and gave you the same face you were giving me. I tried to pretend I was mocking you, but I think you knew I was trying to practice being more likable, being more like you. 

“Tell me something,” you said.

“What do you want me to tell you?”

“Tell me about you.”

“My name is Joel Miller-”

“We’re not at AA.”

“You’re goddamn right we’re not. This would be the shittiest AA meeting ever.”

“Okay, okay. How about you tell me when your birthday is?”

“September 26th, 1981.”

“So, you’re a Libra.”

“Oh c’mon, tell me you’re not into that shit. I was finally starting to tolerate you.”

“I’m a Cancer.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Cancer like the crab, not like the disease!”

“Mm-hmm. I’m sure you’re familiar with crabs as well.”

I got a laugh and a smack on the arm in return, and the laugh was worth the smack. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know you can’t help being an asshole, so at least you’re making me laugh.”

I didn’t realize your hand was still on my arm until you asked me, “What’d you do before this? You’ve got nice arm muscles.”

“I worked in construction, I was a contractor.”

“Like a carpenter?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s what Jesus was. I bet he had good arm muscles.”

“I don’t think that’s his most notable feature, but sure, why not?”

Despite the fact that we were talking all things Jesus, you were feeling me up. And you weren’t subtle about it at all. 

“Do you wanna play darts?” you asked, breaking the tension.

“Okay.”

You walked up to the dartboard all confident, and I expected an instant bullseye. You’d only had one drink and you were focusing so hard, practicing the swing of your arm like a golfer would. The first shot missed the board entirely.

And that’s when I learned you were awful at darts. 

“You’re terrible at this.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then, why’d you ask me to play?”

“For fun. Plus, how else am I gonna get better?”

You weren’t even close to the bullseye. You weren’t even hitting the board at all half the time. Over the next couple of years, you got better, not a lot better -- I still won every game we ever played -- but you got closer. But, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, as they say. It probably counts in terms of people too -- I like to think our closeness counted for something, even if it couldn't last forever.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty," I said.

“You’re lucky you’re good at darts," you fired back.

“Is that an insult? Because I’m holding a sharp object and I’ve got good aim.” And with that, I threw the final dart, hit the bullseye, and won. “What do I get?”

“For what?”

“Winning.”

“You get to keep your pride.”

I was happy with that, but you turned back to me, stepped closer and whispered, “and this,” before you kissed me. 

I don’t know which one of us was more nervous. All I knew was that I liked you a lot more when you were quiet. All I heard from you was a little gasp when I lifted you onto the counter so I could keep kissing you without having to lean down and hurt my back ‘cause I’m an old man. I really thought my brooding bad boy look was gonna get me laid again that night, but you stopped me before I could get your top off. 

“Uh-uh,” you said. “You’re gonna have to do more than beat me at darts if you want more than a kiss.”

“Fair enough. What’s your price?”

“I’m not a hooker.”

I didn’t understand why you looked so upset until that day by the water when you told me. I’m sorry I said that, I really am.

“Sorry. What I should’ve said is, ‘Can I take you to dinner on Friday?’”

You gave me a nonchalant ‘sure’, and I assumed you’d keep it hush-hush, but you bragged about getting asked out. Why would you brag about me? That's something I still don't understand.

The next day, I went and asked Tommy for advice because I hadn’t dated in a long time, and he’s more of the romantic type. I thought our dinner date would be news to him, but you’d already told him. 

“Yeah, I know. She came in here asking for advice too actually.” 

He’s got a bigger mouth than you do. That’s why you two got along so well -- you were like those little old ladies gossiping at the hair salon. 

“What’d she say?”

“I’m sworn to secrecy.”

But Tommy always had a certain loyalty to you. He keeps your secrets to this day -- some of ‘em. 

“Give me some advice, please.”

“You were married once. You won a woman’s heart. Just do what you did back then.”

“I think you’re forgetting the fact that my marriage ended in divorce.”

“Just be yourself.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Yeah, it is. How about smiling for once?”

I tried, but I’d almost forgotten how to over the years. 

Tommy feigned disgust and said, “I take it back. Keep your usual pissed-off look.”

You taught me how to smile again. I don’t know that you meant to do it, but you did. Tommy says he knows when I’m thinking about you because of the way I smile. 

When I came over to pick you up for dinner, you opened the door wearing a bathrobe with your hair in curlers. I guess I was looking at you funny because you made sure to tell me, “Don’t worry, I’m not wearing this out. Go sit in the living room.”

“I’m not worried. You look beautiful already.”

“I do not. I look like my grandmother.”

“I imagine she must’ve been a hot commodity then.”

“She was actually -- or at least, that’s the story she used to tell us. She was Prom Queen and all that jazz.”

You could talk for hours, about anything. I could say one word and you could give me a tangentially related 20 minute long monologue. You were a good storyteller. I don’t think I ever told you this, but I used to think about how you’d be great at making up stories for our kids one day -- if we ever had them. I know I told you I didn’t want to have any, but that’s one of the few lies I told you. I was too scared to imagine that kind of a future with you. 

I had you in the present, and that’s what I cared about. I don’t remember what you wore that night because I spent most of our date looking at your face, trying to memorize every dimple, freckle or scar I could see. All the details.

I’m sure your dress fit perfectly, but what I cared about was how your hand felt when I took it in mine as we walked to the restaurant -- it felt right, more so with our fingers intertwined on the way home. 

It was one of the longest dinner dates in my not-so-long history of dating as it took you quite a while to finish your meal because you don’t talk with your mouth full (usually). I think our waitress was mad that we were there for so long. They were cleaning up by the time you were done eating. 

I don’t remember all the things you said. Even if I did, I don’t have enough paper to write it all down. But I do remember when you asked me, “Can I tell you a secret?” 

“Sure.” 

“This is my first date.”

I would’ve been less surprised if you’d told me you’d killed someone.

“Mine too,” I said. 

“Liar! Tommy said you were married... before all of this.”

“Does Tommy tell you everything about me?”

“No. He wouldn’t tell me when your birthday was. That’s why I asked you.”

“That’s ‘cause he forgot it.”

Really, I wanted to know if he told you about Sarah, or if I’d have to do it myself. Both. As it turned out, he told you before we ever really met. I told you by the river, but that came later. 

When I walked you home, we lingered by your door, and when I leaned in to kiss you goodnight, you turned your head, and I should’ve realized how special you were to me ‘cause I felt my heart sink. But, you asked me to come inside. You were always shy about kissing in public, but not on your living room couch. 

When we were inside, you let me take off your dress, but only after I agreed to take off my shirt. 

“Jesus,” you said when you watched me undress. 

“We talked enough about Jesus last time. It’s about you and me now, baby.”

I learned to be a gentleman growing up in Texas, that wining and dining a lady includes putting her first in the bedroom too. But you called the shots -- that night and all of the others we had together. You got down on your knees and gave me the most irresistible face. It was embarrassing how quickly I came. It’s still embarrassing, and you’re not even here to tease me about it anymore. I thought I’d get the chance to prove myself to you that night, but you stopped me. I remembered what you said, ‘this is my first date’, and I assumed you were a virgin. 

It was about a week later when I was trying to teach you how to skip rocks in the river that I asked you if you were one. 

“It’s not a big deal if you are -- not to me, I mean. I just figured maybe because you said that was your first date.”

“It’s kind of a long story, so take a seat if you want the answer.”

I don’t know what I expected you to say, but I already felt like I’d fucked up by asking. I didn’t want to make this mess I’d gotten myself into worse than it already was, so I sat next to you and waited for you to speak. 

“It’s not actually a long story, I guess. Just a sad one.”

It was the first sad story you told me, and you told me more stories than I’d ever been told by anyone else at this point. It was impressive how many happy ones you held onto, especially after everything that you told me that day. 

You didn’t look at me while you spoke. You mumbled and picked at the grass beneath you. Like a child. 

“I’m not a virgin, but I wasn’t lying when I said that was my first date. There’s just some stuff that you don’t know about me... ‘cause I didn’t want you to know these things about me. But it’s not like I was ever gonna get away with not telling you. It’s better that it happens now anyway.”

You started to cry, so I put my hand on your shoulder, but you shrugged it off. I was so used to the one doing the pushing away that being pushed away was jarring. 

“Before I came to Jackson, I used to do things for money. Those sorts of things. It’s not like I wanted to, ‘cause I’m not like that, you know.”

You explained how you’d lost both your parents by the time you were 16 and didn’t have any siblings, so you ended up with whatever friends you could find. Some of the few good people that were left. 

“There was a group of men who killed my friends just to loot their pockets, but they realized that it’d be more profitable to keep me alive.”

“So they forced you to...”

“Have sex for supplies, yeah. One of them was my first time, I guess. They did that stuff for a while, but once I’d been with a decent amount of men, they decided I was too ‘used up’ or something to be worth having sex with. I can’t decide if that made me feel better or worse. On the one hand, I didn’t have to have sex with them anymore, but I was also too gross to be wanted.”

“’Used up’ is bullshit. Back when the world was a little more civilized, those bastards could’ve gone to jail.”

“They’re dead.”

“Did you kill ‘em?”

“No, but I thought about it all the time. I remember thinking about strangling a man once. He was alone, so no one would’ve seen me do it, and the guys could’ve taken all of his shit too. They probably would’ve been happy if I had. I think that’s why I didn’t.”

“If you didn’t kill them, then how did they die?”

It probably wasn’t appropriate for me to pry, but the sadistic part of me needed to know that they got what was coming for them. I needed to know there was some justice left in this world. 

“They wanted food from some guy who’d gone hunting and they tried to sell me to him, but he said ‘no’. He looked so offended that I thought I was pissed off ‘cause they’d given him a bad deal... but he shot the one standing in front of him. Then, he yelled at me to turn around and I was sure I was gonna die, but I heard him walk into the other room, another shot, and when the third walked in from outside, another shot. He walked over to me, and I started crying and begging him not to kill me. He told me he wasn’t going to, but he made me close my eyes while he led me out of the house.”

“’Cause he didn’t want you to see the bodies.”

“Yeah... and I still thought he was going to kill me, even when he took me with him on his horse, and said he was taking me back to some place called ‘Jackson’.” 

I don’t know if I would say you got a happy ending, at least, not the one you deserved, but I saw a hint of a smile when you mentioned Jackson. And you didn’t have to tell me who the man was -- I know him well. 

“Tommy,” I said, confident in my guess.

“Yeah.”

After I dropped you off at home, I went by his place and thanked him. And then I went home and cried. For the first time in a decade.

“You know it doesn’t change how I feel about you, right?”

“How do you feel about me?”

“I like you… most of the time.” 

What I meant was, I love you. I just didn’t know it yet. 

“I guess I owe you a story too, then.”

“You don’t owe me anything... but you can tell me whatever you want.”

I think part of me wanted to tell you, or at least, part of me wanted you to know. “I had a daughter.”

“I know.”

I should’ve known, considering how close you and Tommy were.

“Tommy told you, didn’t he?”

“To be fair to him, he told me he had a niece.”

“Yeah, he did. She’d be a little older than you. It’s crazy to think that she’d be in her 30s when the last time I saw her she was 13.”

“I know saying ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t really do anything, but I’m still sorry”

“In a way, I’m glad she doesn’t have to see all these things. All the infected. She died before we ever had to go to a QZ.”

When you told me about the first QZ you lived in as a kid, it confirmed that for me. It pained me to hear about you watching your dad get bitten and leaving him behind, saying goodbye without knowing he was dying -- in one way or another. 

You told me later about how the only person you’d ever killed was your own mother, how she used to sell herself like you did, how you missed the first shot and you saw how scared she was to die. I think you had it worse than I did. 

“I think she was mostly scared because she knew I couldn’t do shit with a gun, and that I’d end up surviving the way that she did... and she was right.”

“Neither of you deserved it, and I bet she’d be proud of you now.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I’m proud of you.”

You cried, but you finally let me hold you. You cried so long that I thought you’d never stop. 

Do you remember your last day? I told you I wanted to be with you until the end, but you reminded me about your mother. You told me that even if a shot to the head had to be the way you went out, I wasn’t going to be there to give it to you. We had two choices: either wait until that day came or let you go before then. I said I wanted to go with you. I wanted to ask Tommy to give me the same cocktail he was gonna cook up for you. You said no. It was your last wish that I stayed. 

“I don’t wanna live without you.”

“I don’t wanna die, but I don’t get to choose. If I could live longer, I would. But just because I’m dying doesn’t mean you get to leave everyone else behind.”

Yeah, you brought Ellie into it. I wanted to tell you not to bring her up. I’m glad you did because as much as it hurt to think about her watching me die the way that I watched you die, it made me stay. I’m glad I stayed. Things are okay, but our last day is still my favorite day. 

We got up early and watched the sunrise, and I told you I loved you for the first time.

“I know,” you said with a smile on your face. 

“How?” 

You just lifted your coffee cup. When you moved in -- something I didn’t realize was happening ‘till it had already happened -- I started making coffee every morning before you woke up, and I started buying that French Vanilla bullshit creamer. I hated it. It was so sweet it made me nauseous. I could’ve gone and bought my own, but I’m still stubborn, I’m still a cheapskate, I’m still me -- even without you (which is something I thought I’d never be able to say). But that wasn’t why I started taking my coffee the same way you took yours.

It was one day when you’d already left for work but my shift didn’t start until later. I hadn’t slept at all the night before -- and not for any good reason, not for more time with you -- so I was tired when I woke up. I made myself some coffee, but I wasn’t even thinking straight, so I hadn’t noticed that I had put that creamer in my mug until I tasted it. But I wasn’t disgusted. I thought maybe you’d left yours behind and I’d absent-mindedly picked the wrong one up off the counter -- I very well could’ve gotten caught up in putting the toaster on the right settings (that’s something we could never agree on) -- but when I looked down, it was my mug. Yours was dirty in the sink. You were gone for the day. I was stupid to think otherwise. I was fantasizing. That was new. 

So, just as I am right now, I take my morning coffee like you took yours. It tastes like you, like you kissing me. 

I waited anxiously for you to say you loved me too. 

“Are you not gonna say it back? Do you not-- do you feel the same?”

“What do you think?”

“I hope so.”

You gestured for me to come closer so you could whisper in my ear and I thought maybe you’d give me a wet willy. But you said, “Joel Miller, I have loved you for a long time.”

I didn’t say anything. I don’t think I’ve ever been very good with words -- talking was your thing. I grabbed your hand and squeezed. We went out onto the porch and sat in silence. I wonder what you were thinking about. 

“Will you sing me something?”

You know I don’t take requests, and you know I don’t like an audience, no matter how small that audience is. 

No one would refuse the wish of a dying woman, but I couldn’t refuse you even if I knew you’d be there tomorrow and every day after. I only protest because you look cute when you beg. Not in that way -- you look hot when you beg like that. 

“What song do you want?”

“Surprise me.”

I sang Peaceful Easy Feeling because, as much as a part of me felt a sense of urgency, knowing our time was running out, most of me was just thinking about you, and I love you. Simple as that. 

You gave me a standing ovation just to see me blush. 

We all planned something special for your last dinner. I know you like simple things, so I tried to make it as simple as I could while still making it special for you. Maybe it was selfish to make it a night to remember when I’m the one who gets to remember it. 

Tommy and Maria were chef and sous-chef (you can guess who was who in that scenario), and Ellie was the waitress. 

“What are your specials tonight?” you asked. 

“We have either the steak and baked potato or the steak without the baked potato.”

“In that case, I’d like it with the baked potato.”

We probably lit a hundred candles to fill the room with enough light to see each other -- we had time while you were getting ready, since you’re a bit of a slowpoke. We picked flowers from the garden and put them in an empty wine bottle because we couldn’t find a vase, and conjured up a decent tablecloth. We had ice cream sundaes for dessert -- or at least, you did. You know what I had for dessert. 

“How about you, sir, would you like anything for dessert?” Ellie asked. 

“No, I think I’ll be having dessert when we get home.” I tried to subtly wink at you. 

“Ew! That’s disgusting. I don’t wanna hear about your sex life.”

“You’re the one assuming I was talking about sex. How do you know I don’t have a tub of ice cream waiting for me in the freezer at home?”

There was ice cream in the freezer, but the sweetest thing I’d ever tasted was between your legs. The moment we got home I picked you up bridal style and carried you up to our bedroom. 

“Baby, I know how long you spent getting ready, and I’m sorry to do this to you, but this needs to come off,” I said before I yanked down the zipper of your dress. You laughed as I ripped off your clothes. 

You gently undid my tie and when I watched you fumble with the buttons on my shirt, I said, “Just rip it, baby.”

“I don’t wanna ruin your clothes.”

“I don’t want you to worry about me or my clothes tonight. I want you to have me however you want me.”

“You’ll do whatever I want?”

“Within reason.”

“How do you feel about roleplay?”

“I suppose it depends -- what are the roles?”

“Husband and wife.”

“As long as I can be the husband.”

And then you kissed me -- with your typical tenderness but a new level of dedication. Slow and passionate, showing me what our lives could’ve been like. 

“I’m an impatient husband, and I want my beautiful wife to lie down because I think I’m gonna lose my mind if I don’t get to taste her.”

My mouth is useless when it comes to talking, but we both know I have other uses for it. I tried to go slowly, but I couldn't help myself. I swear your pussy was so perfect it made me reconsider my views on God. Though, I don’t think I am a man deserving of an angel. I think I just got lucky. 

That night I couldn’t care less about how loud you were. “Joel- fuck- you’re gonna have to slow down, or, or, put your hand over my mouth ‘cause - oh!”

“’Cause you don’t want anyone to hear? What’s the problem with them hearing, darlin’? Married couples make love all the time, it’s what we’re supposed to do.”

Without a condom, too. We weren’t worried about you getting pregnant, so we went out with the best bang of ‘em all. I think the last time I’d done it like that was when Sarah was conceived, and based on how easy that was, I was always cautious. 

Husband and wife roleplay wasn’t very different from the sex we typically had. I guess we were really only a piece of paper and wedding bands away from being those ‘characters’. 

Earlier that day, I was worried I wouldn’t sleep that night. I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to savor every moment with you but when you curled up in my arms I fell asleep before I could even consider staying awake. 

Waking up next to you was my last clear image, even our goodbye kiss was a little blurry ‘cause I was already a little teary-eyed. 

But before that, over breakfast, you mentioned something that I’ve thought about every day since. 

“You know how sometimes people see a bird or something and they’re like ‘oh, that’s my dead relative’?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll come back as a butterfly. One of the blue ones. You don’t see those too often. I don’t want to be something too common, like a bird, then you’ll probably mistake someone else for me.”

I don’t think I had seen a blue butterfly in Jackson until after you’d left us, but there’s one outside my window right now. 

In case it’s you, I’ll read this all aloud. 

Forever yours, 

Joel 

[saekkas]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆

summary: in a different universe, michael kaiser comes home to you, and every single hardship he's endured has meaning when you wrap your arms around him. in this one, he has only himself to blame for when his house becomes a shadow of the home he used to live in.

tags: f!reader, kissing, angst (minimal comfort), lovers to strangers, neglectance, second chances, fools gold.

wc: 1.8k

notes: inspired by an angsty ask @mirahua sent that's been plaguing my mind for the past week. also, my debut as an angst writer so pls go easy on me ಥ_ಥ and the tags kind of sort of don't make sense, forgive me for that </3

"i'm home," kaiser whispers, opening the door to his apartment only to click it shut a few seconds later, his eyes fighting to keep themselves open.

he leans against the door, taking in the wide space. everything's dark and still, there are no signs of life, as to be expected when one comes home at 4AM.

he sighs, passing by the books and empty mug you must've used earlier in the day. some of his stuff is cluttered around yours, like the small sanrio plushies he bought with you only months ago. they occupy the sofa along with your pillows, and he smiles sadly at the sight. where did the time go?

even with so many trinkets and things littered around, his house feels empty. lonely as if no one's lived in it for weeks and months. his steps falter as he enters the kitchen to find a portion of a home-cooked meal, sitting on his favorite plate. it's cold but it still glows with the warmth and love you prepared it with.

he sighs once more, rubbing his hand across his face. putting the meal into the fridge with shaky hands, kaiser's quick to drop onto one of the chairs.

he stops for a second, looking around his house, the place he's lived in for the past 3 years. something's changed within the space, like there's an object that doesn't belong between the four walls. deep in his heart, kaiser wonders if it's him.

fishing his phone from his pocket, he takes in the messages that start to trickle onto the screen. it's been on airplane mode the whole day, a habit he needs to break, you've once told him.

his thumb lingers above your contact.

scrolling through, his eyes take in every single text you've sent him dating from months back. he sees the way they started; love filled descriptions of your days mixed in with questions about his own. reading the text you've sent today, he feels a pang go through him at the lone message. good night. get home safe. nothing else.

his hand clenches around the table, sadness turning into guilt that spreads like a plague when he realizes he's barely replied back to any.

this has been his life for the last 9 months. he wakes up, leaves for practice, comes back sometime around dawn, only to repeat the next day. his muscles scream at him every second, his shoulders groaning under the weight of exhaustion. it's the price one has to pay for the fame and fortune, kaiser tells himself.

self-assured as he makes himself out to be, kaiser isn't stupid enough to leave things all to fate. he may be a star striker now, one that has everyone vying for his time and attention, but who knows what will come in the next few years.

there will always be new talent, people with incredible skills and the greed to propel them into stardom. into taking his place. he knows because he's seen it before. been it before.

as the clock sounds to signal a new hour, his vision starts to blur. everything is starting to feel foggy, his head pounding and body screaming at him for sleep. he can't quite grasp anything. not when there's a distance separating him and the world around him.

"mihya?" comes your voice, soft and slightly raspy. kaiser snaps back into focus, the ringing in his ears dulling into background noise. "you're home."

"hi, baby." you're swaying on your feet, one of his shirts around your body. he recognizes it to be one of his favorites and he almost chuckles at the sight if not for the lump that's appeared in his throat. "shouldn't you be asleep? did i wake you up? i'm sorry if i did.'"

the first thing that comes to mind is how delicate you look. as if one wrong move, one wrong word is going to push you into a shell. he takes in everything about you, starting from the messiness of your hair to the slump of your shoulders.

he hasn't seen you. hasn't had the opportunity to breathe you in like he used to. those night when he traced every single one of your features, giggling loudly with you in the dead of the night seem so far away now.

he misses it, those moments you shared from who-knows how many nights ago.

when you rub the sleep out of your eyes, looking at him with a small smile, his trance breaks. he takes in the distance between you both, like a chasm that's gaping and mocking him because he was the one who let it widen this far.

"you didn't. i just needed to pee," you say, tone just barely above a whisper. there's something floating between you two, the things unsaid. you're afraid they'll come pouring out if you break the silence. "how was practice?"

kaiser realizes, even when you're right in front of him, your presence feels like a ghost. hesitant, locked up into a small ball of a person that's only being held together by hope and love, no matter how small.

"i'm sorry i didn't reply to your text." the words pour out of him like a waterfall, blunt and bruising. i'm sorry i haven't been with you. his eyes trace your form, and he sighs, moving to engulf you into his arms. "practice was.. busy."

please don't leave. please tell me that this is enough. that i'm enough.

"it's okay. i'm used to it." your tongue slips and you sigh as he wraps around you. it feels foreign, his touch. like he's not exactly the same person he used to be, but neither are you. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean it like that."

kaiser can only clench his eyes. he leans his head down to press a kiss to your forehead. "i know, it's okay. and i'm sorry."

i'm sorry i haven't been there for you. i'm sorry i haven't taken you out on another date. i'm sorry that i'm selfish and all i know is to take and take. i'm sorry that it's leaving you hollow and bruised. i'm sorry my love isn't enough.

the thoughts swirl, pinging around like warning signals going off in his head. he opens his mouth, only to close it right after. "let's go to bed."

even when the softness of his duvet embraces him, kaiser can't relax. his body stays stiff, timid as he waits for you to settle beside him. when you do, he's slow to reach out, placing a hand on your hip to test the waters.

he relaxes when you mold into his form, curling around his body as if he's never done any wrong. he presses you hard against his chest, wrapping his arms around your body.

he doesn't get to hold you like this anymore. between practice and exhaustion, whenever his head hits the pillow, he's out like a light. he misses the intimacy, the feeling of having someone beside him.

"do you think about me?" he hums, asking you the question. his hands nestle around your waist and back. he breaths in your scent, his body finally letting the coils of his muscles loose. "because it feels like i think about you every minute."

you respond in kind, caressing the hand that's nestled on your waist. you don't say anything. you don't need to, not when you let him kiss you for the first time in months.

"you know i love you right?" he whispers. there's nothing but him, him, him. you're surrounded by his presence, his touch is everywhere, and there's barely an inch between where you lay. his hair tickles your cheek, the faded blue molding into blonde. "and you know that i would never want to hurt you?"

you should know better. you wish your heart wouldn't give in so easily. you're nothing but an ordinary girl from humble backgrounds while the man wrapped around you is a shooting star that landed on your palm on a rainy summer day.

you should know better because shooting stars fade away.

"do you really?" you whisper, drained and tired out of your mind. "because you've done nothing but hurt me, mihya."

he isn't surprised by your words, but the truth stings all the same. he sighs, pressing his forehead against yours. the weight is back on his shoulders, his head starting to spin as he takes your words in.

"i promise i'll be better," he whispers back, pleading as he looks down into your eyes with tears lined in his. "why don't i take you on a date tomorrow? to that place you've been wanting to go."

"mihya," you trail off, shaking your head. "i-"

"i'll buy you flowers. i'll come home from practice early. we'll drive to the restaurant together." michael kaiser is nothing but greedy. the words that are flowing out are rushed, and his voice cracks under his own emotions. he'll say anything. he'll take and take, if it means he'll get you to stay. "you mean everything to me. i can't lose you."

you don't reply, not for a long time after. looking into his eyes, you process every bit of guilt and hope he has strewn inside. you wonder if they're enough to fix whatever's left.

"okay," you say with a hesitant nod of your head. "one last chance."

kaiser's eyes light up, brightening his whole visage.

"thank you." he kisses you, deep and passionate. there's nothing but you and him in the moment and as you fall asleep, kaiser whispers against your ear, placing gentle kisses on your cheek, wishing they'll be enough to take back every ounce of hurt he's given you. "i love you."

the next morning, kaiser leaves with a light heart and a kiss on his cheek. his steps are confident, his eyes bright. there's nothing in his head except for you and your date. he hums to himself, letting his thoughts roam about your reaction for when he surprises you with flowers when he gets home.

and yet, the universe is a cruel thing and so is his greed. kaiser loses himself in his practice, scoring goal after goal even as his phone rings. he doesn't see your texts of "mihya, don't forget our date tonight! can't wait!" "mihya, what should i wear? should we match?" "mihya it's getting late, where are you?" nor does he see the multiple missed calls you leave.

and when he gets home, soaked in rain with wilted flowers in his hand, kaiser is greeted by the sight of a truly empty house. your warm presence is gone, taking every moment of happiness with you.

he has only himself to blame for every single self-destructive habit that's led to him losing the one he calls home.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 1

Masterlist |-| Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19

AO3

Summary: As Frankie reaches the end of her second week at Thorpe Abbotts Airfield, she begins to find her footing among the men of the 100th Bomb Group

Warnings: Excessive alcohol consumption, language

Word Count: 4k

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee

The setting sun cast a golden blanket over Thorpe Abbotts airfield, basking everything in an idyllic, orange glow that was almost beautiful enough to distract from the heady stench of motor oil that lay thick on the air, permeating hair and clothes so thoroughly that anyone who spent even five minutes in the place would carry it with them for the rest of the day.

Frankie Bevan clamped a flashlight tight between her teeth, the narrow beam of light illuminating the underside of the B-17's gun turret as she surveyed it for any cracks or gaps in the glass that could compromise its integrity. The rest of the ground crew had called it a day almost two hours ago, but the Yanks always did prefer to work in the daylight. She was nearing the end of her third year in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force, and after so many nights spent running the airstrips in the darkness for the RAF, Frankie was well accustomed to toiling away into the night.

Thorpe Abbotts was new, and yet much the same. It was only her second week here, compensating for the Americans' manpower shortages. The job was always the same, no matter where she went or what planes she worked on - checks, fixes, refuelling, over and over again - but thus was the nature of a mechanic's job. What she was not yet quite used to was the Americans themselves. Loud and brash and self-assured, Frankie was sometimes glad they worked different hours.

Taking note of a few cracks in the glass panelling, she reached up to swipe the torch from her mouth, offering a satisfied nod as she completed her checks for the night. All that was left was to pin her list of concerns up on the board inside the mechanics' Nissen hut, and then it was off to the pub for her.

Once she changed out of her oil-stained coveralls, that was.

"They're working you like a dog down there on the strip," Georgina, one of Frankie's bunkmates, pointed out, flipping nonchalantly through a magazine as she lounged on her bed.

"Someone's gotta do it," She shrugged, kicking off her coveralls as she rummaged in the shared wardrobe for the correct service uniform. "Some of the mechanics they've brought over are practically kids, not sure I'd trust 'em to fix my plane if I was going up there."

"You'd better show 'em what for, then," George smiled, glancing over as Frankie finished buttoning up her blouse, reaching for the navy blue jacket.

"You coming for drinks?"

"Uh, nah - I'll go tomorrow. Sandra thinks we'll be starting early tomorrow so I wanna get a decent night's sleep."

"Ooh, luxury," Frankie teased, shimmying her shoulders as she made her way to the door of the hut. "Alright, see you later."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The pub was crammed from door to door as she forced her way inside, the sound of chattering overpowering the music blaring from a radio in the corner. The American invasion of Thorpe Abbotts had well and truly been successful, scarcely a flash of RAF blue visible amongst the sea of khaki as Frankie burrowed her way through the crowds towards the bar.

"Pint of Guinness, please," She called over the din, the bartender offering a friendly nod of affirmation as she felt the crowd behind her push her body further into the edge of the bar.

"There y'are, love," The man nodded, placing the pint glass in front of her as she smiled her thanks, foam lining her top lip as she took her first sip. Frankie barely had time to wipe it away, turning to take a step back from the bar, before another body collided with hers. She gasped as the beer she had so looked forward to sloshed over the rim of the glass, pooling on the floor and staining the front of her uniform, as the other man's drink did the same.

"Woah, careful there!" The man cried, flicking a few stray droplets of spilt beer from his hand onto the floor. A deep frown creased her features as she peered up at him. The soldier was so tall that the tip of her head didn't quite pass his shoulder, and yet the irritation in her expression was so palpable that he took a full step back.

"Oh, that was my fault, was it?" Frankie tutted.

"Well, sweetheart, maybe if you'd been looking where you were going-"

"Maybe if you bloody Yanks gave us some room to breathe in here we wouldn't have a problem!"

There was an easy smile on the man's face that struck her as distinctly annoying. Discarding his now almost empty glass on the bar, the man put up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Look. We're not gonna agree on this, so what d'ya say we settle this with a little friendly competition?"

She raised a brow. "What sort of competition?"

"Uh... how 'bout a drinking contest?"

Frankie let out a guffaw so forceful that the man's confident smile disappeared, and a few nearby airmen turned to watch the scene unfold. "Y'know what? Yeah. You're on."

With a nod, he turned away, marching towards the closest table. "Alright boys, gimme some space, I got a contest to win against half-pint over here."

She approached the table, sitting down opposite the soldier, smirking at his arrogance. The airmen he had kicked out of their seats were lingering to watch the spectacle unfold, and it was clear their bets were on her opponent.

"Now," He sighed, taking a seat. "In the spirit of good sportsmanship, I oughta introduce myself. John Egan," He said, reaching a hand across the table.

"Frances Bevan. Frankie," She nodded, shaking his hand.

Egan nodded. "So, normal rules apply. No spilling, no vomiting, gotta drain the glass. Still wanna do this?"

Frankie nodded firmly. "I'd never pass up such a wonderful opportunity to humble you Yanks," She grinned.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Egan was turning red, his smug smile long since vanished, the motion of his arm slowing as he reached for the next shot glass, glancing across at her with a slightly nauseated expression. The crowd surrounding them had long since grown since they had begun, although how long ago that was she couldn't quite remember. The huge pile of empty shot glasses in the centre of the table did nothing to jog her memory.

"Oh, come on, Egan, you've gotta do better than that," Frankie teased, reaching forward and downing her next shot. In fairness, she too was beginning to feel light-headed, but it never showed on her face, her demeanour as cool and collected as it had been when she first sat down.

"I thought... I thought this would be easy," John complained, grimacing as he brought the next glass to his lips. "You're so small, where are you storing all this liquor?"

"I'm British - pretty sure it's in our bloodstream," She teased. Egan's eyes narrowed as he weakly upturned the contents of his glass into his mouth, screwing up his face as the liquid ran down his throat.

"I really like her," John admitted, letting out a long sigh as he drew a hand over his eyes. A few of the airmen laughed, clapping him over the shoulders.

"I think we're done here," Frankie chuckled.

"You forfeit?" He asked hopefully.

"No, I'm saying you're about to. That or you're gonna throw up - either way, I win."

"Nuh-uh," Egan shook his head. "Not gonna happen," He fought to suppress a burp, and the room seemed to brace itself for the inevitable vomit that would follow, letting out a collective sigh of relief when he swallowed his nausea back down. "...Yeah. Ok."

She clapped, throwing up her hands in victory as a couple of the men standing behind her cheered. "Well, it's been a real pleasure doing business with you Major," Frankie chuckled, fighting through the splitting headache that was growing in her temples as she rose from her seat, offering him a hand to help him stand.

John batted her away, but stumbled as he got up, one of his friends pressing a firm hand on his back to keep him upright. She smiled. "I'll help you get him back since it's my fault. Gotta get back to the huts anyway."

The airman accepted, each of them slinging one of Egan's arms around their shoulders as he tilted haphazardly over to one side, struggling to prop himself up against her due to her height. Trailing towards the door, a few of the men let out celebratory whoops at her as she passed, praising her victory.

"Thanks for the night, gents - I'm here all war," Frankie called over her shoulders, a cheer erupting from the crowd as they dragged Egan sideways out of the door.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was growing difficult to see as they marched John back to the huts, the street lights growing more and more sparse the closer they got to the airfield. "You gotta teach me how to do that," He slurred, tilting his head down towards her, the smell of liquor thick on his breath.

"You gotta get more practice in - you Americans with your 'no alcohol until you're 21' rule never stood a chance, we've just been in the game longer."

"Ah," He nodded, pausing for a moment. "Hey, why'd you call yourself Frankie?"

"Because Frances is a terrible name," She scoffed.

"Can I call you Fran?"

"Only if you want to die."

"Fair enough."

As they reached the end of the row of men's huts, she shrugged his arm off of her shoulders, relinquishing custody of John to the other airman, who thanked her for her help.

"See ya 'round, Shortcake!" Egan called as they trailed away, grinning proudly to himself at the nickname. Frankie scoffed, rolling her eyes and massaging her temples as her headache steadily worsened.

"You look like shit," George whispered as she wandered back into their hut. She had rolled her hair up into pin curls, protected beneath a headscarf, and was reading a copy of Wuthering Heights in the dim light of her bedside lamp.

"Got into a drinking contest with one of the Americans," She shrugged, tossing her beer-stained blouse and jacket into a crumpled heap at the foot of her bed, a reminder to wash them tomorrow.

"Did you win?"

"Of course."

"Shh!" One of the other women hissed from the opposite end of the room, shrouded in the darkness. Frankie pulled a face at her scolding, dragging a brush through the knots in her dark brown hair as George stifled a laugh, discarding her book and turning off the light once her friend had changed and gotten into bed.

It was silent for a while as she lay beneath the blankets, staring up at what would have been the ceiling if not for the complete absence of light. Her alcohol-induced headache thrummed behind her eyes, a constant, dull pain keeping her from sleep.

"George?" She whispered.

"What?"

"Do you have an aspirin?"

The sound of quiet rummaging was audible in the stillness of the hut, and she struggled to suppress a laugh as she felt the tube smack her in the face, a result of Georgina tossing it blindly in the darkness.

"Thank you," She giggled, trying not to gag as she took the pills dry, lying back and waiting for the pain to subside as she thought back on the night's events.

I'm not that short.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The blinding morning sun was unwelcome the next day as Frankie made her way to the airfield from her hut, bike resting against her hip as she made a momentary stop to fix her hair for the day ahead, hair tie held between her teeth as she scooped it into a ponytail. Most of the women she shared the Nissen hut with had left over an hour ago, hurrying to the flight tower in anticipation of the arrival of yet more American pilots, but her job didn't begin until after the planes landed, so fortunately for her, she had been afforded a little more sleep, her headache now more or less dissipated.

A loud honking startled her, the hair tie slipping from her teeth and falling to the floor. As she bent to pick it up, a jeep rolled to a stop in front of her, the horn parping once more.

"Fuck's sake, what?" Frankie muttered, glancing up to see the cheery grin of Major John Egan smiling down at her.

"Mornin'."

"Are you even fit to drive after last night?"

"Fifty-fifty. Hop in, throw your bike in the back."

She frowned as she noticed the pile of bikes already forming in the back of the car, but stacked her on top all the same, sliding into the passenger seat beside him. "Starting a collection?"

"Won them in a bet, night before last. Got one for me and my buddy Buck, he's arriving today."

"Is that Major Cleven?" She asked.

"Sure is," John nodded as the engine roared to life, taking them sailing along the road towards the airstrip, the wind ruining her hair before she even had a chance to finish it.

"So..." He began, swerving slightly to dodge a few maintenance workers on bikes. "Where ya from, Frankie?"

"Stratford."

"I... do not know where that is."

"I didn't expect you to," She chuckled. "Grew up with my dad working his garage, that's what got me into it. Always preferred planes to cars, though."

"You and me both," John nodded, slowing as they neared the landing strip. Up ahead, the flight crew were beginning to disembark, and Frankie's eyes narrowed as she noticed one of the airmen carrying a large dog.

"If they let that dog shit in the plane, I'm not cleaning it up," She stated. "You've heard me say it, that's on the record now."

"Yes ma'am," Egan affirmed, pulling to a stop, a grin spreading across his face as he got close enough to recognise his friends.

As he clambered out of the car, stepping forward to greet his comrades, she climbed out of her seat, wandering around the back of the jeep to disentangle her bike from the pile, tugging it free as the sounds of wind and aeroplane engines overpowered the men's voices.

"Oh, and, uh - This is Frankie Bevan," John called, guiding Cleven towards her, speaking louder so that she could hear. She raised her hand in a somewhat awkward wave, almost dropping her bike on her foot as she hauled it off the back of the jeep. "Best damn mechanic we've got, she's holdin' us together, that's for sure."

"Ma'am," Cleven greeted her with a tilt of his cap.

"He's never seen me work," Frankie shook her head, stepping forward to shake Cleven's hand. "We only met yesterday, he's just being nice in the hopes I won't tell you about how I drank him under the table last night."

John scoffed. "That is not what-" She raised a brow and he stuttered. "Yeah, that - that did happen."

Cleven laughed, squeezing Egan's shoulder. "Well, I'm sure glad he's had someone to keep him humble before I got here. Thank you for your work, ma'am, I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of each other soon."

She nodded, grinning at Egan's embarrassment. "How was your flight?"

"Smooth sailin', not sure there'll be anything to fix up this time."

A soldier she had heard John greet as Demarco spoke up from where he was stood, scratching his dog's stomach. "The dog dropped a deuce in the cockpit."

Clicking her fingers, she pointed to Egan. "She's not doing that!" He called, craning his head over his shoulder as Demarco put his hands up in surrender.

"Well, that works wonders," Frankie chuckled, lifting her leg to straddle the seat of her bike. "Now, if all you gents have planned is standing around, I've got work to do."

"Bye Shortcake," John grinned as she pedalled the bicycle into motion, ringing the bell and offering up a middle finger as she left. He chuckled, feeling Cleven clap him over the shoulder again.

"She's interesting... nice," His friend began. "Bucky, I know you're sick of Marge tryna set you up, but she is definitely-"

"She's definitely my friend, Buck. Besides, I could never date a woman with a higher alcohol tolerance than me. That's just embarrassing."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The wind whipped her hair this way and that as Frankie hammered at the pedals, gaining speed faster and faster with each second until the rolling fields beyond the airstrip were little more than a green blur. She'd always loved to cycle, preferably as fast as she possibly could. Her father used to say she should try racing, but his ambition curtailed rather when she got in trouble for almost taking out a couple of tourists outside Shakespeare's birthplace on her way home from school. Besides, she'd never quite had the discipline for sports.

Her breaks squeaked noisily as she rolled to a stop outside the mechanics' Nissen hut, stationed just beyond the main runway. They had been given a single hut for all of their operations, much to the chagrin of many. The back end was an orderly pile of spare parts - buckets of rivets, piles of sheet metal - but someone had supplied them with a table and chairs, and the recent addition of a gas stove and kettle had proved a huge hit.

Ken Lemmons was sat at the table as she wandered in, glancing at the corkboard by the door where she and the others posted notice of anything in need of urgent repair.

"A couple of the guys replaced the glass in the gun turrets earlier - thanks for the shout," Lemmons spoke up.

"Ah, good," Frankie nodded, taking a seat opposite him. As much as she bemoaned her younger, American co-workers, she had grown fond of Ken. He was sipping a cup of coffee, and by the look on his face, he was not enjoying it. She tossed the paper bag containing her lunch onto the table, retrieving a cucumber sandwich - meagre subsistence, and a sight that made the boy frown.

"I think I'd actually murder someone for some Hershey's right about now," He remarked, grimacing as he took another sip of coffee.

"Hey, we make do with what we've got," She shrugged, attempting to devour the sandwich before the cucumber could soak through the thin slices of bread. "I know one of the girls in the Land Army - I darn her jumpers in exchange for a bit of her extra cheese ration."

Lemmons chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "I miss good chocolate. I can't get used to... Cad-berry's?"

"Oh, that's sacrilege," She laughed, tossing a slice of cucumber at him, which stuck to the breast pocket of his coveralls. "If you'd come a couple years ago when they were still making Dairy Milk you'd've thought you'd died and gone to heaven."

"I'll believe it when I see it," He grinned, plucking the slice off of his clothes. There was a pause before he spoke again. "One of the fellas says they're actually taking off later."

Frankie nodded, lifting a hand to cover her mouth as she spoke around her food. "Oh yeah? This gonna be your first proper go at it?"

"Yeah..." Lemmons admitted, looking momentarily nervous. "You?"

She snorted back a laugh. "Nah. I've been in the WAAF nearly four years - moved around a bit, but whether it's Attlebridge or Docking or Thorpe Abbotts, it's all the same gig. You stick with me when the planes start coming back down and you'll be fine."

The corner of his mouth tilted upwards in a smile. "You're gonna babysit me?"

Frankie grinned, standing up to reach across the table and ruffle his curls. "With a cute little face like yours, who could help it?" She teased, laughing as he batted her away.

"Get off, I'm serious," Lemmons chuckled, but the smile never faded from his expression.

Ken's buddy hadn't been wrong, per se, but his fabled mission had come not hours, but days later, with a hammering knock on the door to her hut, the women stirring from their sleep in a wave of disgruntled moans.

"What time is it?" Frankie whined as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, resisting the urge to burrow her head beneath the pillow and block out the relentless knocking outside.

"Four thirty," George groaned, frowning vindictively at her watch as she put it on, as if time itself had caused her personal grievance.

"They're flying today, get ready!" A young male voice bellowed from the other side of the door, clearly too shy to bare his face to a room of half-dressed, irritated women.

"Fuck me, I'm coming," She muttered, brushing her hair with one hand as she buttoned up the front of her coveralls with the other.

"Spot me! How's my lipstick?" George called, and Frankie leant across the bed that separated them to wipe a stray smudge of red away with her thumb.

"All good."

"Right," Her bunkmate huffed. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

"See you later," Frankie affirmed.

"I'll join you for drinks this time if all goes well!" George called over her shoulder as she scurried towards the door.

"I'll hold you to that!" She replied, smiling as she laced up her boots.

The planes left and returned in mere hours, but the in-between had felt never-ending as the ground crew waited in tense anticipation to see how many would return and in what state. Frankie had sent Egan away to the flight tower after his nervous hovering had started to get on her nerves, and she had since spent the last half-hour sitting in the grass beside the runway making daisy chains with a few of the local children as a way to pass the time.

"Frankie! They're comin' in!" She heard Lemmons yell from across the airstrip. Hurriedly sending the children back to their parents as the sound of plane engines grew steadily louder overhead, she scrambled to her feet, grass stains streaking the knees of her coveralls as she jogged over, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as the planes began to descend towards them.

"...10, 11, 12..." Frankie muttered, coming to the slow realisation that many of the men they'd sent away that morning had not returned. But that loss did not negate the importance of the work they had to do now. "Ok, let's go," She patted Lemmons on the shoulder, and they reached for the bikes they had discarded on the ground nearby, pedalling hard towards the landing strip.

From the second they arrived, she was surveying the damage, scanning the planes for the areas that would need the most attention. It was impossible to pick just one.

"There's a reason we go at night," She muttered, so softly no one else could hear over the din of shouts and dying engines. The mechanics weren't emergency staff, but she'd seen a fair few planes come in either on fire, half-collapsed or both over the years, enough to learn it was best to get in as soon as possible.

"Shit," Lemmons huffed beside her, staring up at a huge, jagged hole in the metal of one of the plane's wings.

"Send a couple of the boys back to the hut - tell them to bring a car back with all the sheet metal they can put in it. Oh - and get me a welder!" She called to him, and the young man began barking orders at the other mechanics, the crew erupting to life around the plane as they began to fix the mess that had returned.

"Frankie!" Egan's voice rang from down below as she climbed up onto the top of the plane, marking out the areas of the body that needed replacing. She looked down at him as he yelled again. "You need anything?"

"Nope, we're good here!" Frankie replied, holding up a thumbs-up in case the wind drowned out her voice. Looking down at the work to do below her, it was as if she could map out every fix in her mind, envision every action in order, play it out in her head until the beast was as good as new. She smiled to herself. "This is what I do."

[russellsppttemplates]

Making do (George Russell)

George moving to Monaco has a bigger impact than you anticipated

Note: english is not my first language. This is my attempt at getting back into writing, I hope this is half decent at least.

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: long distance relationship

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"Did you have a big day today?", your friend, "Actually, let me rephrase that. How big was your day today?", she chuckled. "I finally handed in the last paperwork so HR can process my transfer from departments, so hopefully in a week or so everything will be sorted, like accesses and all that", you explained, "but it's been good, you know? I've worked a lot towards this and to finally get it, it means a lot", you said, hearing your phone beep with a notification from your boyfriend, "is it your man?", your friend asked, smiling knowingly.

"Yes, George wants to go and have dinner to celebrate", you blushed, "he just texted me the details of the reservation so I can get ready on time", you said, setting your phone down after quickly replying to him that you would be ready by the time he would pick you up back at home.

"Whenever you need to go, let me know, but for now, I have this gossip I want to tell you, you'll never believe it", she smiled, warming her hands in her cup of coffee as she told you a out the latest rumours she heard in her office.

When the time came, you both said goodbye as you made your way to your and George's shared apartment, leaving your shoes and coat on the hallway closet and heading straight to the shared bedroom, taking your clothes off so you could shower. While the dinner wasn't a fancy occasion, you still wanted to dress nice and look good since it was a celebration still. Picking the dress from your wardrobe, you fastened the delicate zipper and tied the belt, looking at your self in the mirror as you soothed out the wrinkles.

It didn't take long before you heard George arrive, the clicking of the lock on the door catching your attention as you walked to the hallway, "hey, darling", George greeted, grabbing your hand and making you do a little spin, whistling after kissing your lips, "you look gorgeous", he complimented, "are you ready to go?".

"I'll just freshen up in the bedroom and then we can get going then", George said, quickly styling his hair and spraying on some extra cologne, "even though I don't think we need this, I want to say thank you for doing this", you mumbled against his hand laced in yours, kissing his knuckles as you walked out, "you deserve to be celebrated everyday, Y/N".

.

The monegasque sun was shinning despite the cold breeze caressing your skin. You and George had gone out for a run before you both had work meetings, deciding to stop in a little café to have breakfast out of the house for a change.

"It's still a nice day today, maybe later tonight we can plan something, hm?", your boyfriend suggested while you sipped your juice, "That's a good idea, yes", you smiled, looking at the crescent buzz, the city becoming alive as more people got up and headed on with their days.

"You have something on your mind, I can tell", you held your hand out on the table, his fingers finding yours and playing with them, "I do, actually", George cleared his throat, "I've been thinking a lot about this recently, and with the meetings I had last week, it became a bit more obvious to me where I am standing on this. I've been waiting to tell you once I had a more set opinion and I knew how things would play out, and I obviously care about your thoughts, too. I've been thinking about moving here", he stated, his eyes looking for your immediate reaction, "and I'd like you to move here with me, too".

It had always been a conversation the minute things started getting more serious, so it wasn't a shock per se. Most of his colleagues either lived in Monaco or spent a good part of the year there. The question wether you'd be sble to join him, however, was not such a sure topic.

"Obviously, I don't want to rush your decision, even though I'd love to have you here with me, and there are a lot of hoops to go through, but it's something to think about", George added, squeezing your hand in his, "yes, something to think about definitely".

.

"I can't go". That's what George heard from you as you sat at the dinner table. On his way from the factory and after he had sorted a few errands down on the new apartment in the principality, your boyfriend picked up your favourite take-away, and now you had dropped your decision. "I just got a work promotion, my friends are here, my family is here, too. I can't just leave, at least for now", you explained. "And I love you, so much, George, but I can't go, I can't leave here", you gulped, finally looking up to meet his eyes.

"That's okay, darling. We'll make this work, right?", he nudged. He didn't want to lose you, not at this expense, not ever, but right now, this seemed to have triggered a new fear.

"We'll do our best", you tried, "it's either making this work or breaking up, right?". The sentence left your mouth in the most innocent and naive way possible, but the words resonated with you and George.

"Can you promise me something?", George asked and you nodded, "you'll always talk to me the minute anything feels off, and I'll do the same with you", he stated, getting up and making you get up too, pulling you flush against his chest, kissing the top of your head.

"Deal", you smiled, resting your chin on his chest, "but you'll have to let me help decorate".

.

"The apartment feels lonely, I have to admit", George said over FaceTime as you both had dinner, him in Monaco and you in London. It had become the only time in the schedule where you were able to speak to eachother that wasn't in text form.

"It's the same here", you admitted, "feels way too big without you here, but we're making do, right?", you smiled, rolling the spaghetti on your fork.

.

You were making do until you weren't, that's what you thought as you drove to the airport to pick your boyfriend up. He was flying in today for the first time in a month, and the butterflies in your stomach weren't all just anticipation to finally see him. You had promised eachother that you would tell the other when it wasn't working and when you felt like things needed a change, and tonight would be exactly that. To prove yourself that it was just the distance and not something else entirely.

George walked through the terminal with his small carry-on bag, the buzz of the families gathering their children in one place and people collecting their bags behind him as he walked as fast as he could without running into anyone. He missed you loads, and part of him wishes you missed him like that, too, despite not liking the idea that, like him, you had spent nights up thinking about your relationship or that your work meetings were also interrupted by nagging thoughts and doubts about how you were doing the long distance relationship.

It didn't take him long to see you amongst the crowd. The later flight meant a lot less people in the airport when you compared to other situations where you picked him up, making it easy for him to reach you, "hey, darling", he hugged you, "I've missed you so much", he whispered into your hair.

Inhaling his scent brought you to a calmer state of mind. George was home and his presence alone would always make you feel at home no matter what, and maybe that was hard to admit, but equally necessary, "I missed you too, handsome. How was your flight?", you asked, hugging his waist as you walked to the carpark, "it was good, not too bumpy".

The ride to the apartment was filled with comfortable conversatiom, George's hand on your thigh as you drove while you chatted about what you heard on the radio, parking the car in the garage and heading up.

"I didn't know if you had eaten enough on the plane, so in case you were hungry, I made some extra food for dinner", you announced, "it's in the fridge if you'd like", while you stored your coat away in the hallway closet.

"I'm good, thanks. I've been thinking about some cuddles though", he mumbled, kissing your forehead and circling your waist, "to the sofa?", he wondered, guiding you both to sit against the soft pillows.

The feeling of being in your boyfriend's embrace after such a long time must've triggered your emotions, soon enough bringing tears to your eyes, "darling, what's the matter? Is something hurting you?", George asked, his thumbs coming up to wipe your tears.

"I know we promised to tell eachother right away, but I also wanted to give it time", you hiccuped, "and it wasn't the best idea, because I feel like this", your lip trembled.

George rubbed your back now, hoping to get you to breathe a little slower and calmer, "what have you been wanting to tell me?", he asked.

"We said we would be honest, so this is me being honest. I don't know about you, but I'm not enjoying being away from you. I knew it wouldn't be good, but I didn't think it would be this bad. And it's not fair to ask you to move back here, nor it is fair for me to have to go to you, so this is a big big whole mess", you explained, looking at George's somewhat stunned expression.

"I have to admit that I don't like it either, but it's like you say, it's not fair to ask either of us to move, not like this anyway", he tiptoed around the subject. He wanted you to be with him so badly he has most likely considered all of the possibilities to solve this situation, and very few of them actually seemed doable.

"So what do we do?", you asked, afraid of the answer you'd get, remembering the small joke you made about breaking up a few weeks ago, "darling, I love you so much, but we need to sort this out", you yelped.

Shuffling in his seat, George looked at the situation clearly, "I want you to feel comfortable, Y/N, and if this situation isn't doing that for you, then it needs sorting out. If there is anything we can do to make it better, I'm in. Darling, I'm all in of it helps us", he pleaded.

"I need to think about all of these things, all of these situations", you said, getting up, "I'm sleeping in the spare bedroom, okay?", you checked with George, "I love you and I need to figure this out on my own", you tried, hoping he would understand.

Nodding, your boyfriend noted his understanding, "of course, whatever it is to help us, I meant it", he got up, his hand brushing your hair behind your ear, "I love you, Y/N".

Walking to the spare bedroom didn't feel as lonely as you thought it would, most likely because you had grown accustomed to sleeping on your own, but knowing George was on the other side of the wall helped. He had been understanding and supportive, and to know that he was giving you time to think this through without any judgement or pressure.

It was weird for some people, but making a list of pros and cons for situations like this helped you decide. The written words and the way you weighed them in according to the different criteria allowed you to think about it. You saw your future with George in it, that was a no brainer, so there had to be wiggle room. Because you had a good relationship with your boss, the later hours on the clock didn't keep you from sending her an e-mail, her answer being one of the confirmations you needed.

Grabbing your phone, you checked the last time your parents had been online, pressing dial when you saw they were still awake, "hey guys, I have something to ask you", you began, "how bad would it be if I spent a little less time here?".

.

George woke up alone like he had fallen asleep. After getting ready, he headed to the kitchen, hearing a small noise from the spare bedroom as he thought you were just getting up, almost recognising which step you were in your routine by the noises.

"Good morning", you said, catching your boyfriend's attention as he buttered some toast, "hey, darling, did you have a good sleep?", he asked. He wanted to know if you had made a decision or reached a conclusion, but asking upfront wasn't the smoothest idea, he thought.

"I did okay", you fumbled with your feet, not knowing how to approach the situation, "I got an email from Anna", you said, seeing George's puzzled expression, "I asked her if I could work remotely, pop to the office every now and again, but mostly remote, and she said yes", you explained further, seeing his smile.

"I'm not doing this out of obligation, I'm doing this for me and for you too in a way, but because I want us to be okay, I want us to be good", you grabbed his hands, "and I'll still spend some time here, but it will be sporadic".

"This is great, you have no idea how much this means to me", George hugged you, "you're incredible, Y/N Y/L/N, and I'll never stop saying that".

"Only one thing, though", you tapped his nose, "my parents demanded that, since we're moving, that they can visit and whenever we're back home, mum wants to have dinner", you shrugged your shoulders as your boyfriend laughed, "Oh, what a bother to have to eat your mum's delicious cooking and your father's cheesecake"

[hangmanssunnies]

Bones, Hearts, & Marriages

Summary: You and Javy "Coyote" Machado did not get married for the right reasons. Now, three years later, you are going to make sure that you two at least get divorced for the right reasons to make up for it. However, per usual, things don't always seem to go to plan when Coyote is involved. 

(Thank you @bradshawsbitch for this stunning gif ���)

Pairings: Javy "Coyote" Machado x AFAB! Reader

Word count: 11k

AO3 link

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Marriage of convenice, PinV, Realistic intimacy conversations, implied plus size reader, insecurity, self image issues, Valentine's Day.

Please let me know if I missed any.

Authors Note: Oh gosh, I have been working on this for a while now. It was supposed to be posted for Valentie's Day, but then life happened. I love Coyote soo much, and I actually NEED him to be my husband or I will perish. Coyote Hangman BFF supremacy implied. As always, apologies for any mistakes.

Thank you so much if you take a chance to read this work. I hope you enjoy it. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are gold to me. I love reading through them.

There was no question in your mind that your husband, Javy "Coyote" Machado, was your dream man, and most people would think that it is very lucky to be married to your dream man. Most people also wouldn't think falling in love with your husband was a terrible mistake. However, most people's husbands were in love with them back. You hadn't married Coyote because you loved him, and he certainly didn't marry you out of affection, either. The truth was, it was just a very convenient arrangement for the two of you. Javy hadn't wanted to live on base anymore, plus the benefits and pay for married men were better. Also, he was so tired of being bottom of the totem pole for vacations and holidays off to the aviators and sailors who were married or had families.   For you, being married would change your financial aid status to receive almost three times more money each term. Having a clean, financially stable roommate was the cherry on top of the deal. You and Javy had really only known each other a few weeks when you had jokingly mentioned your need to get married. After several conversations where Coyote was deadly serious, you found yourself at the courthouse with him signing licenses and throwing a small party with your friends. Even now, nearly three years later, you would still catch yourself thinking about the sweet kiss he had bestowed on you. 

To say you were unhappy with your marriage or your husband wouldn't be true. You were happy, and Javy was good, almost too good and kind to you. That itself could be an issue because it was so easy to slip into being his wife, being Mrs. Machado. Nowadays, it was second nature to snuggle up on the couch with him, celebrate your wins together, and seek him out for comfort with your losses. You would try anything new he would whip up in the kitchen and offer a detailed critique. It was natural to want to make Javy happy. You worry and care about him. Though you try not to make comparisons, you were pretty sure you missed him just as much as any other military spouses missed their partners anytime Coyote was gone. You never allowed yourself to consider the possibility of your marriage being more with Javy. It didn't take much for you to deter those thoughts; typically, just some extended longing looks at Javy paired with a glance in the mirror to remind you that Coyote was out of your league. No matter how often he would compliment or say that you were beautiful. Three years into this marriage, you two still had separate rooms and hadn't fallen in love or bed even once, despite your secret hopes, which was telling enough. 

You and Javy were friends first, no matter what the other circumstances were. So, picking Coyote up from the bar certainly wasn't something unusual. This evening his texts, where most things were misspelled and littered with random emojis,  made you thankful that he shared his location with you because they were borderline incomprehensible. He wasn't actually answering any of the questions you were asking either. It was there at the bar picking him up that you started to realize maybe the benefits of this marriage weren't enough anymore. 

"Howdy, Mrs. Machado," Jake says affectionately when you enter the bar and found the group of familiar aviators that made up your husband's friends. You kiss his cheek in greeting, taking stock of his well-being, pleased to find Jake mostly sober. 

"Hey, Hangman," You verbally answer, looking around for Coyote, wanting to get home and into bed as quickly as possible. His tall form isn't around the table with the other aviators, so you look back to Jake expectantly. "And where is Coyote?"

"Aw, little M&M, you don't even care about me anymore," Hangman says in a fake whine while pouting. 

"That just isn't true," you say, rolling your eyes at the blond while continuing to look around the honestly concerningly dark bar. 

"He's at the bartop," Jake finally supplies. You try hard to contain your frown, but you aren't fully successful. Javy had already been very drunk when he texted you earlier. Sighing, you turn to the bar, finally spotting the tall and broad shoulders you were looking for. He is on the back side, furthest away from you. It takes conscious effort not to let your eyes linger too long, lest you get caught up in just how tall, broad, and what a great ass your husband has. You wave a hand towards Hangman and the rest of the group in a half thanks and beeline to the bar.

Coyote is laughing with the bartender when you get there. You slide in close next to him, leaning in against the bar top. Javy's eyes flash a glance at you, away, and then back towards you as he turns to face you completely. 

"Oh my god Mark, my wife is here!" Coyote says enthusiastically and at least two times louder than he needs to, considering how close you are standing. 

"It's nice to meet you," Mark says, smiling at you. Javy wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him in a half hug so that he doesn't let you go after. His lips press to the side of your head that is lingering. You ignore how he nuzzles you and how warm and strong his arms feel, reminding yourself that Coyote is just a very affectionate drunk. 

"Hi Coyote," You greet him, trying not to let the wide smile he gives you go straight to your heart. However, when his eyes crinkle, it was a fool's errand. You see that smile nearly every day, and it still manages to make heat blossom in your chest. Finally managing to tear your eyes off him again, you focus back on the conversation. 

"It's nice to meet you, Mark. Has Lieutenant Machado paid his tab yet, or should I?" You ask, nudging Javy's side playfully. It has the opposite effect than you intended as Javy pulls you even closer and tighter into his side. 

"He hasn't. In fact, he was just ordering another Shirley temple," Mark informs you. Shooting a halfhearted glare at Javy for ordering another drink this late, his grin hasn't dimmed once. Sloppily he raises the drink to his mouth, taking three attempts to finally find the straw and slurp up a large gulp. When he sees your frown, Javy sets the drink back down on the bar. 

"It's a virgin," Coyote reassures you with a small laugh, no better than a schoolboy with what he finds funny sometimes. Once he manages to contain the giggle, he continues on, "I know better than to drink after 12:30."

That answer placates you as you start rummaging in your purse for a card to pay. However, when you go to hand over the card, it is smacked out of your hand. There wasn't any real force or aggression to the action, but it certainly was surprising, causing the metal rectangle to clank against the bar top. 

"Javy!" You gasp in surprise, turning to see him glaring at you. 

"You're not paying for anything when I'm around," he all but growls. His arm that is snug around your shoulder hasn't moved one bit, but his free hand is digging around his pocket, clearly looking for a wallet.

"Javy, sweetheart. It's okay. I know how you feel about this." You pick up the card from where it fell on the bar and show it to him. As you explain, the Navy Federal Credit Union logo is clearly visible for him now, "This is the card for our joint account."

Halting the digging in his pocket, he narrows his eyes to fully observe the card. Once he is convinced it's the card attached to his account, he weakly apologizes, "Oh. I'm sorry."  

"It's okay, " you say as you pass over his soda and then nudge his side again. "Why don't you say goodbye to the boys. I will close your tab." 

"You're not going to leave, right?" He asks you worriedly. His thumb brushes a broad stroke against your arm while he asks the question. 

"Not without you, handsome." You reassure him, ignoring the small butterflies he still inspires in you. 

"Promise?" Javy asks you in a small voice. 

"I promise," you say. You squeeze his hand gently and then peel his arm off you.

"Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise," you guarantee, hooking your pinky with his. A wide grin splits Javy's face again, and he kisses your forehead. Walking away, mostly steady on his feet, to say goodbye to his friends. Once you're sure he made it alright, you turn back to Mark. 

"I'll grab his tab, and we might as well grab Seresin's Tab also. The blonde one over there," you request, gesturing back their direction. 

"Sure thing," Mark says, offering you an easy smile and taking your card to run through the POS system. It's in that quiet moment in-between while paying when your whole night shifts. You hear a group of men a bit farther down the bar, but there weren't even any people between you and their gabbing. You were sure they were all drunk enough to think that the conversation wasn't one that could be overheard. 

"That's Coyote's wife?" One asks in disbelief catching your attention. 

"Yeah, I'm shocked every time," someone else confirms. You resist the urge to look over at the group and see which one of them had met you before or if they just knew because of Javy's previous yelling. It's not like you exactly played the part of trophy officer's wife very often like someone married to Javy should be. 

"I don't understand," the first man says like he is trying to solve a very complex math problem. It's not an uncommon reconciliation someone might have to make seeing you and Javy together. 

"There is no way Coyote settled for that," One of them says in disbelief. Their conversation is a dagger to your heart and self-esteem. While you knew that Coyote was out of your league, confirmation from someone outside yourself doesn't make it hurt less. 

"Maybe she looked different when they first got together. You know a lot of women let themselves go after marriage."

"Well, she is kinda pretty… If that's what you're into." Gritting your teeth to keep from crying, you wish you could just disappear or that Mark would hurry up with your card so you can collect Javy and leave. 

"Fair enough, but Coyote is a ten dude." Maybe it was more offensive that they thought you weren't aware of your husband's attractiveness than their opinions on your own looks. As if you weren't aware, like you didn't see Coyote shirtless daily or when he got home from his run and the gym. The 5-inch inseam shorts he wore on your last beach vacation and just how great his thighs looked haunted your dreams for months. As if you hadn't seen him in his dress whites, dress blues, and the Tuxedo he wore to his cousin's wedding last summer. You were very conscious, hyper-aware even, of how attractive Coyote is. 

"You know who else has an ugly wife?" Someone interjects, and their conversation moves on. You wish it was as easy for you to move on. Of course, it's not the first time you have heard similar comments, but they still nearly bring you to tears every time. It's not fair so much importance is put on physical looks, on something you can't even fully control, despite what most people think. 

You make eye contact with Mark, who is looking at you with something much too close to pity, while your card is processing. How he looks at you makes the pit in your stomach fall a bit lower like he agrees with them but would never say it. As if he is embarrassed that you were forced to endure hearing the truth on this matter. You manage to give him a smile, but it clearly is forced. Anyone thinking you weren't painfully aware of the discrepancies of attractiveness between you and your husband must also believe you are blind. When Mark gives you the receipt to sign, you quickly scribble a tip and your signature, wanting to escape as quickly as possible. As you shove your card into your purse, you finally look over to the group who made the comments trying to remember their faces in the din of the bar so that if you meet them again, you can avoid them at all costs. 

You go back to Coyote, who is laughing so hard his shoulders are shaking, and his eyes are crinkled. You know that he isn't laughing at what you just heard. Javy's sense of duty regarding you and your sham of a marriage is boundless, and he hasn't hesitated to play the part of a protective husband before. However, you feel so sensitive now that part of you thinks he must be laughing at you. Despite how irrational it is, you can't fully push the thought away. Coyote must find it funny that he has gotten you to come pick him up. It's funny that people always view the discrepancies in your marriage in his favor. 

As your feelings and thoughts start to spiral darker, your nails bite into your palms. The looming cloud over you is shoved to the side because Javy is making grabby hands at you. As a human embodiment of sunshine, something magnified by how carefree and open he is while drunk, it only takes that and a smile for the dread hanging over you to significantly lessen. Even though you don't feel quite as low as you did when leaving the bartop, you still aren't in high enough spirits to settle into Javy's welcoming embrace. His strong arms fall back to his side at your denial, which also dims his smile as he comes close to you. 

"Are you ready to go, Coyote?" You ask, trying and failing to achieve the upbeat tone you were shooting for. 

"No," he answers petulantly. 

"No?" 

"I want to dance before we go." He pouts, opening his arms wide again. You try to ignore all his friends' eyes on you and Hangman's amused sniggering. Javy is very affectionate when drunk, and it wouldn't shock you that Jake had been on the receiving end of that affection in the time it took you to get here to pick your husband up. 

"We aren't dancing. We are going home," you respond, maybe a bit too curtly because all the joy in Javy's face is sucked away. Watching his grin become a frown and the mirth in his eyes drop just serves to add to the heavyweight you feel coiled up in your chest. The one that is always there but was aggravated by the conversation you overheard and will be as sensitive as an open wound for several days to come. 

"Bye guys," Javy says halfheartedly, waving to his friends and now quickly striding to the door, not even waiting for you or checking if you are following. You look over to Hangman and shrug quickly, telling him that you got his tab too. 

"Little M&M, you do care!" Jake gasps, pressing a hand to his heart. 

"And don't you forget it," You say, while accepting his side hug. 

"Thank you, honest. And you get my wingman home safe, please." Jake says, letting you go and shooting you a stellar smile. The rest of the group calls their well wishes, and You give one last wave before hustling after your husband. Coyote is standing, waiting near the door outside. You immediately start to walk to the car but turn around when you realize Javy hasn't moved. 

"Can still hear the music out here," Javy mumbles. 

"True, they must have an outside speaker." You say while backtracking to him again. Javy lifts a hand, settling it on your shoulder, then running it down your arm until his fingers tangle together with yours. 

"Dance with me? Please." He requests again, and you can't say no with the way he is looking at you. 

Setting down your purse on top of one of the outside tables, you hesitantly step closer into Javy's waiting arms. He hums contently the moment you are there. Singing along with the music into your ear, he holds you close. The dancing is little more than swaying together almost in time with the music. That doesn't really matter to you, though, because Javy is warm, and being this close to him makes you feel safe. Two songs pass that way. However, when a more upbeat tune comes on Coyote tries to spin you, nearly falling in the process, and you think it's probably time to get home. 

He doesn't make any complaint getting into the car, except for insisting on carrying your purse and then holding it in his lap once his seatbelt is secured. While driving home, Javy is staring at you instead out of the window. He was so quiet at first you thought he had fallen asleep. However, when you cut your eyes over to him at a stop light, you are trapped in the deep brown of his gaze. You're lucky the roads are mostly abandoned because you nearly miss the green light you are so caught up in him. 

"Do you ever wonder?" Javy eventually asks you. 

"Wonder what?" 

"About us. About this," He says, spinning and twisting his wedding ring. Javy had surprised you when he had come home one day with the matching bands only a few short weeks after you got married. There had hardly been an occasion since that he could be found not wearing it. 

"I don't know. What is there to wonder about Javy?"  

He blows out a long sigh through his nose, and your stomach clenches with anxiety. Javy had always been so resolute, so committed to this deal you two had. His steadfastness is what you would desperately cling to on the days that you felt like you conned him. Javy questioning your union suddenly shakes everything in you. Maybe he had heard what those men in the bar were saying after all. Perhaps after all this time, it was going to click for him that he shouldn't waste away in a loveless marriage, that he could do so much better than you. 

"I suppose so. 'S Not like we could go back and change anything."

"Do you regret what we did?" You ask him, barely above a whisper. The quietness following your question is heavy, and the dark of the car makes it nearly suffocating. Javy's left hand peels your right hand away from the steering wheel, and he threads your fingers together tightly. 

"No. I never regret," he says firmly. Neither of you utters another word on the way home, but Javy doesn't let go of your hand either. 

The men's comments from the bar hang over you all night as you fitfully toss and turn, trying to sleep. You consider them beyond just the comments about your looks, but more about Javy and what he deserves. How he deserves something more than you. You want to keep him, but the more you think about it, the more wrong that seems. While meditating on your husband, you come to the decision there is nothing, not even your own comfort, that you care about more than seeing Javy "Coyote" Machado happy and in love. Something he will never be with you. You rationalize it's like a bone that had been allowed to heal the wrong way; the only way to remedy it and set it on the right path is to break it first. Bones, hearts, and marriages all practically the same thing. 

You are buzzing with this revelation, and when you wake up the next morning, you know you can't wait. The sooner you get it over with, the better it would be for both of you. Still wearing pajamas, you go straight to the kitchen after waking up. You can hear Javy there making noise. 

"Javy, I want a divorce," you declare more confidently than you feel. The words leave your mouth before you have even fully gone through the kitchen doorway. There is a clattering and your eyes are instantly drawn up from the floor near your feet where you had been focusing. Javy is standing by the counter wearing his Kiss the Cook apron and drops a knife he was holding. 

He opens and closes his mouth twice before he finally says something. It sounds directed more toward himself than you. "I can't believe you just asked me for a divorce on Valentine's day."

"Is it Valentine's Day?" You ask him, shocked. Quickly pulling out your phone to check the date, the device confirms that it is absolutely February 14th. You can't believe you woke up and let the holiday sneak up on you.

"It is," he reaffirms, a deep frown marring his handsome features. 

Guilt immediately floods through you because Javy loves Valentine's Day. He had openly admitted on your first anniversary that it was one of his favorite unexpected benefits of being married. He loved having someone to do all the typical Valentine's Day things with. Someone he was guaranteed to spend the day with. He wouldn't admit it, though you suspected he also liked that it was a day you were guaranteed to think of him. An added day to the calendar that he knew he wouldn't be forgotten. 

There are not one or two, but three large bouquets of flowers scattered in the room. The table is all set up with a cloth covered in pink and white hearts. With a glance at the pan, you see the potato pancakes Javy is cooking as well as the sweet crepes arranged with strawberries he had cut to be heart-shaped. All of this on top of the various decorations littered around the room. The room is littered with evidence of Javy's joy for the holiday, almost decorated to the point of tackiness. Every part is thoughtful as well as endearing, and you hadn't even realized the day. Tears prick at your eyes while taking the whole thing in. He leads you to rest at your small round dining table his palm warm on your arm as he guides you. 

"I'm so sorry. I didn't realize. I can ask again tomorrow, I guess." You say with a wobbly voice. 

"No sweetheart, I don't want you to ask again." He says tightly. Javy isn't even sitting in the other chair. Instead, he kneels in front of you while holding your hands, looking so earnest. "Why do you want a divorce?"

"Well, the reasons we got married don't really apply to us anymore. You will still live off base now no matter what, at your rank, and I'm finally graduating."  Javy's thumb is still swiping across the back of yours. You recognize it's wrong to take comfort from him right now, but you also can't help how you relax slightly which each stroke. 

"Okay," he says slowly. Staring at you intently, you can see how hard Javy's brain is working to process the information you just threw at him. He traces over your face, then falls down to look at your joined hands. Javy squeezes your hands and drops them, sitting back on his heels, and you feel the dread seep in again, not having his steadying warmth so close anymore. "Can we dissect this together, please? You want a divorce?" 

"Yes," you answer. He blows out a long heavy sigh, scrubbing his hands across his face as he sits in the chair on the other side of the table. Silence starts to stretch before Javy breaks it again. 

"Have I been making you unhappy?" 

"No. Not directly at least," You answer quickly, and it's not a lie. Javy himself is rarely the cause of your unhappiness. 

"Indirectly then. And you have been unhappy?" 

You think over his question and then start to think of a lie. You don't want to detail your feelings about this. Honesty would certainly lead to both your feelings being hurt more than necessary. You have been unhappy but in ways only of your own making. Wanting that which you could not have, fancying yourself a sort of Icarus. 

"As much truth as you can spare me, please. Don't want to hear whatever lie you were just cooking up." 

"It's more about the happiness we are cutting ourselves off from. The opportunities that we are missing." 

The hold on the very neutral look Javy has been wearing slips, and he clenches his jaw hard. You are momentarily distracted by the flexing muscle, nearly forgetting the conversation at hand. The deep frown that pulls Javy's lips reorients your priorities, and you really wish this was a conversation that didn't have to happen face to handsome-distracting-gorgeous face.

"Is there someone else? Has Mrs. Machado's eye finally been caught after all these years?" Javy asks the questions more casually, curious than you are expecting. It does make you feel foolish to look for jealousy in his words. However, the idea of there being someone else is so funny you can't contain your dry chuckle.  

"Our divorce is not a laughing matter!" Javy cries so indignantly it just makes you laugh harder. Then a few breaths later, his deep laugh intertwines with yours. It is not long until you are both breathless after the chuckles turned giggles turned howling. Javy is actively pushing away stray tears, and you are clutching your side, feeling a small stitch. Leaning back in his chair, he blows out a breath, sniffing in hard and breathing the air out in a measured way.  

"Okay, well. This isn't something that can really happen today, is it?" Javy asks you. 

"No. I guess not," you agree. 

The corner of his right mouth quirks up then, and some of the severity eases on his face. "It's still valentines day then, and you're still my wife, so —" He trails off and reaches across the table, picking up an envelope that was sitting in the center, handing it to you. With shaky fingers, you open it. The card inside is almost more beautiful than any card Javy has ever given you. The front is covered in tasteful pastel hearts, gold foil, and your name. It's just as high quality as you knew it would be. You aren't sure where he has been buying these over the years but every card you have ever gotten from him is stunning. Seeing the inside filled with Javy's cramped writing with an extra sheet included almost moves you to tears, and you shove the card back in its envelope. 

"I'll read that later," you mutter with a watery smile. Javy doesn't push you, which you are thankful for. Instead, he just holds out a hand, and you immediately grab it threading your fingers together. 

"Will you be my valentine?" Javy asks you hopefully. 

"Yes, of course, I will." 

He grins, but it's not as wide as you would hope. There is still a clear air of somberness to him. "If you don't want to spend the day with me now I understand." 

"Oh Javy, I'm so sorry. I should have thought through bringing this up to you much more than I did, including factoring in relevant holidays. Of course, I want to spend the day with you."

"No sweat, my Valentine. How about I finish cooking us breakfast then? I have the whole day planned, you know."

"Yes, I know," you say affectionately. 

"Today's menu and itinerary can be found to your left," Javy informs you. His free hand gesturing to a small decorated chalkboard propped on the table. Then he lifts your joined hands up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of your palms. When he tries to detangle your fingers and stand from the table, but you stop him. 

"Hold on. I have to go grab something."

"You already had papers drawn up?" He asks in a strained voice. 

"No, I haven't. Let's set the divorce aside for the day okay?" 

"That's a good idea," he agrees. 

"I didn't completely forget about Valentine's Day. I just didn't remember this morning. Do you really think I would miss all the heart decorations all over the place? Or the 14 hearts you drew on the calendar." You ask him teasingly. 

"Well, I don't want you to think you have to do anything." 

"Javy," you sigh affectionately. Then telling him to stay put, you rush to your room and grab the wrapped gift youpicked out only days after new years. Coming back down, you excitedly plop the box in front of him on the table. 

"This is so kind you didn't have to." 

"I never mind doing anything for you Javy. Now stop delaying and opening it." 

Obeying your command, he excitedly rips at the paper and into the box, searching for the gift. When he pulls it out, he smiles so wide his eyes crinkle, and everything is right again. "A candle of the month subscription?"

"I thought you might like it," you admit.  

"With a wood wick," he sighs, opening the candle to smell it. 

"And they let me put a list of all our no-no scents," you say. 

"I love this, really. Thank you so much, sweetheart." Javy says while he reads over the little brochure that had been sent with the first candle. 

"I'm so pleased you like it." 

After that you finally allow Javy to finish cooking breakfast, making surprisingly easy conversation. It almost seems as if he truly has taken the temporary tabling of your divorce to heart. The day preceding light hearted and upbeat the rest of the morning, following the same patterns as years past. 

You and Javy do have Valentine's traditions at this point, gifts, and the day spent together. The first Valentine’s you spent together he had made reservations at the fanciest restaurant in town weeks in advance. Only for the meal and service to be subpar, both of you agreeing Javy could have made something just as good if not better at home. In the years following, you two have still dressed up, but Javy makes the meal. Valentine's day is also one of the two days a year you are guaranteed kisses from Javy. He will drink too much wine, becoming affectionate and playful. Then he will pout about all the work he put into cooking, never in a  way that makes you feel guilty. Huffing until you ask what he wants in repayment. Then Javy will always request the same thing. Each of the last four Valentine's days and all three of your wedding anniversaries, a kiss. It never stays at one kiss, but it has never been more than a heated make out session. It's something that neither of you ever brings up the next day. 

You think it seems odd that you should make an exception to that tradition just because it's the last one. You hope that your foolishness of suggesting a divorcee on today of all days won't make an impact, but the more rational part of you knows it already has. Regardless, you still dress as nicely as you always do that evening for dinner. 

The hallway into the kitchen and the kitchen itself are decorated with way too many mini candles to be considered wholly safe. The soft lighting is accented by the heavy aromas of Javy's cooking, making your mouth water slightly. Javy has a dress shirt on with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and has a towel thrown over his shoulder as he puts the final touches on some of the dishes. Glancing up as you enter the kitchen he freezes into place before straightening to his full height. 

"You look beautiful," he utters, throwing the towel on a rack and striding across the kitchen to you. 

"Oh come on Javy, don't make fun." 

"I ain't making fun," Javy says, catching your hands and holding them tightly in his large warm palms. When he sees your disbelief, he repeats the words again, squeezing your hands urging you to believe him. With a breath, you accept his words the best you can. You had spent a lot of time deciding what to wear and were pleased with how the overall styling went. 

"Thank you. You look very handsome. Are you an aviator or a model? We may never know." 

"Why can't I be both?" 

"Don't worry Coyote. I'm sure the day the Navy decides to do a shirtless Naval Aviator calendar you will be number one on their speed dial." Which makes him laugh as he pushes in your chair for you at the table. Then pressing a kiss to your forehead, he goes back to the kitchen. 

"Callsigns at home, on Valentine's Day. Sweetheart, you are trying to break my heart." Javy teases, bringing over your plates. Paying him all his compliments due, You had only had the first few bites when Javy asks you a question that catches you off guard. 

"What about health insurance?"

"What?" You splutter. 

"What are you going to do for health insurance when we are divorced? You need that insurance, sweetheart." 

"Javy, I thought we were leaving it." 

"I can't leave it. I don't want a divorce. So, I'm sorry, but I can't leave it. Who's going to take you to your doctor's appointments? Where are you going to live? Am I moving, or you, or both of us? Are we selling the house?"  

"I don't have it all figured out yet. It's something that we are going to have to do as we go along." 

"I just don't understand what we would gain from this," Javy says, frustrated. 

"Freedom!" You cry out, wishing you could find it in you to explain the twisting feeling, the dark and sad thoughts you had to endure in this marriage. Knowing you not only would never be enough but that you were less than. Your words make Javy stiffen like a board. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize I had entrapped you into this relationship," The words are biting, and you wish a conversation could ever go the way you were hoping. 

"It's not like that," You tell him quickly. "Don't you want the freedom to choose to be with who you want? Don't you want to date and not have to awkwardly explain that you're married to your roommate?" 

"So there is someone else?"

"No, just you Javy." 

"Can you tell me what it is about me that you don't love?" He asks you in a quiet way. Javy's eyes drop down to his plate and you feel his knee bouncing quickly. Your mouth goes completely dry, and you scramble to sip some water from the glass set out. After a big gulp you still aren't sure how to answer. But then Javy's shoulders slump slightly, you see part of him crumble, and you crumble with it. He deserves honesty, maybe more than anyone else you know, because Javy is straightforward, ambitious, loyal, funny, kind, and you love him. 

"That's the problem. There isn't anything about you that I don't love Javy. And god, you would think after nearly four years married to you, I would have found something not to love. I honestly think you are more wonderful now than when we first met." 

Javy's eyebrows draw together, and he clearly is struggling to process your confession. Then he lets out a sigh of relief, "Thank god, this is wonderful news. I love you too." 

"Javy you could do so much better than me. You should be with someone who is on your level." 

He laughs. Javy laughs, and you wish you could manifest yourself out of existence. But then he is out of his chair and crowding in close to you, hooking a finger under your chin lifting it so that you can no longer avoid his gaze. "Sweetheart, there is no one better than you." 

Then slowly, so slowly, he leans in and catches your lips in a gentle kiss. A kiss before wine, and before a drawn out preamble. It was a kiss because Javy loved you with no other pretenses involved. He pulls away, and you suck in a heaving breath. His eyes study yours intently, and he leans in for another kiss. Meeting him halfway you wrap your arms around his neck, awkwardly pulling him closer while deepening the kiss. 

Javy looms over you, and the angle makes your chair squeak shifting backward, trying to take the shifted weight. You are saved from falling completely thanks to your arms and his that instinctually wrapped around your waist. Once you are both steady on your feet and the danger of falling has passed, you meet Javy's eyes while biting your lip to keep the giggles in. He looks in a similar state of mirth, not able to stop smiling even as he presses kisses to your face. 

"Do you know how hard it's been? Blissful torture every day of our marriage. Able to have you here, to see you, but not allowed to touch. And I have wanted to touch you for so long."

"Where do you want to touch Javy?"

"Oh everywhere sweetheart," he says roughly. His hands drifting from your waist over your ass and then starting to trace the shape of your thighs in slow appreciation. Just when you are finally getting to appreciate Javy's tongue against yours, his phone rings. He pulls away from you with a pained groan, glaring across the room. His phone is set on the furthest away counter that it can be practically tucked away. You know Javy would have had the phone turned off and tucked away if he was allowed. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he strides quickly across the room and picks up the phone. 

"This is Lieutenant Machado," The tone is stark and official. His eyes haven't moved from you, though. Then a tick forms in his jaw, and he grits out, "Hangman, are you serious? It's Valentine's Day. I care about you, but unless this is life or death, I'm spending the night in bed with my wife." Hearing who it was that called, you follow Javy into the kitchen. Sliding up to him, you slot yourself into his side, draping an arm around your shoulder, pulling you even closer.

"In bed with M&M?!" You hear Jake start to yell, but you are taking the phone from Javy. 

"Seresin, don't call back through do not disturb unless it's a real emergency," you mutter into the receiver before hanging up. Javy's lips are tracing your neck less than a breath later. 

"What was this you mentioned about bed?" You ask Javy. 

"Do you want to get in one with me, like right now?"

"Yes, please," you agree breathily. You hand Javy his phone, and he tucks it in his pocket, clearly displeased by the device's proximity.

"I hate being on call."

You are pulling him in the direction of his room just because it is closer before you can let any further idea of work enter his head. Entering the room, you both practically scramble to undress each other. Javy whines while reminding you that his shirt is Armani, and he wants to keep all the buttons when you fumble opening them. You roll your eyes but slow down and take care not to ruin one of your husband's favorite shirts.  

"I think about these pretty lips every single day," Javy tells you. He kisses you again, but it's more tender than you expect. When he pulls away, he smiles. 

"I think about how pretty they are when you smile and all the ways that they could touch me. What they feel like against my lips. How they would feel wrapped around my cock." Javy's thumb starts to trace your lower lip, and you suck it into your mouth, gliding the tip of your tongue against the pad. Inhaling sharply, he pulls his thumb out of your mouth, to your disappointment. 

"I think about touching your tits all the time." Javy pivots while grabbing a handful of your breast and squeezing, taking the opportunity to unhook your bra. You help him slide the straps off your shoulders, and he takes a moment to admire your breasts. Then dipping down to kiss them as well. Urging you to lay back on the bed, once you are lying down with Javy's eyes raking over your form, you start to feel self-conscious. Even as he pulls your panties off and starts kissing your legs. You cross your legs and do your best to cover yourself. His intense gaze nearly making want to reach for the throw blanket that is on the end of the bed. The sight of Javy's chiseled chest and cut edges reminds you of your soft edges and curves, the thought that you are ill matched flooding your brain. 

"Now Mrs. Machdo. That is not how things go in this bedroom. But don't you worry, I'm here to teach you." Javy tsks at you. Javy grabs an ankle in each large hand, pulling you toward the end of the bed. Then completely unabashed, he stares at your pussy. You try to close your legs again, but Javy's hands on your ankles prevent you from doing so. Kneeling down, he presses soft kisses to your legs and the inside of your thighs. 

"I'm going to take my time with you," he tells you, kissing up your legs. He bypasses your sex, instead kissing your stomach. As he is teasing one of your nipples, you dare to touch him back, letting your fingers dance over the shape of his arms and then across his strong shoulders. It's an exploration you have dreamed of many times, but the soft smoothness of his skin is better. When Javy has paid attention to both nipples and leaves a mark you know will blossom into a hickey near your collar bone he is kissing you again. With one of his strong thighs in between your legs, you push against it trying to seek some friction and relief from your burning arousal. Pulling your lips away from his. 

"Javy, I want you now," you gasp, pouting. Squirming against his thigh, you trace your hands down his back with the full intention of pushing down his briefs. Instead though, he is easing himself back down your body and kneeling on the side of the bed.  

"No Ma'am. I'm going to do everything I wanted to on our wedding night when we should have consummated this marriage." Javy starts tracing your skin again, peppering kisses where he sees fit. You jump slightly at the feeling but quickly relax. Even though you two have not ever been intimate, that doesn't mean that you aren't comfortable with him in almost every other way. It feels surprisingly easy to take this new step, to be pressed together. You had always thought it might not be there, a physical spark, that maybe you were compatible with Javy in every other way. However, the moment Javy's tongue meets your clit, and he is the one who moans first, the doubt largely vanishes from your mind; it's so evident he desires you too. 

While licking your clit Javy traces a finger along your lips, occasionally dipping into you, but the whole action is teasing. Just when he edges the length of his finger inside you, he kisses your thighs. When he licks your clit in firm strokes, he starts to edge his finger out of you. It's building you up but also making you feel like there is no end in sight. 

"Javy, I need you now," you beg again. 

"It's too soon." He tells you, lifting his head and pulling his mouth off you, and you nearly cry at the loss. "I have to warm you up baby, or it will hurt." 

It will hurt, Javy claims, and the thought of his dick being big enough that is something he worries about sends another wave of arousal rushing through you. Married three years, you had seen the delicious outline of it in boxers, briefs, grey sweatpants, and towels, and even now, you still haven't seen all of him. 

"Now, please," you whine. 

"Prove you can take my fingers, and then we will see," Javy tells you, attempting to compromise with a teasing lit. He only has one finger in you, and you buck against it, seeking more. When he teases another at your entrance, you shift taking that finger as far as your position will allow. Sighing contently when with the stretch, feeling more full. As you clench around his thick fingers, Javy grunts out a low moan, speeding his digits and occasionally scissoring you wider open. 

"What about a third?" He asks eventually. The idea sends another wave of arousal through you. As you clench around his fingers, Javy hums against your clit. Gasping desperately, you fist your hands in his forest green quilt. Javy doesn't actually indulge you in a third finger but continues to tease your entrance like he might. His tongue drags against your clit, and the wet sounds of the whole act making you clench harder around his fingers. 

"Please, just fuck me. Please, Javy."

"You think I'm going to fuck you before you cum on my tongue? You're so silly, sweetheart. I'm taking my sweet time with you. I have so much to make up for," Javy nips playfully at your inner thigh. You hum at the contact spreading your knees and legs a little wider to accommodate Javy's broad shoulders. Flattening his tongue to give you a broader stroke and occasionally licking around his fingers. You feel dripping at the combination of your own juices and his spit. It's teasing and playful, a pattern you're starting to notice with him. 

Nearing an orgasm, you try to grind harder on Javy's tongue, but when you do he teases a third finger again. The push for new fullness drags you back from the edge. Teetering there, you try to figure out if another one of his fingers will enter you. When he curls it away, you groan lowly. Javy stops sucking at your clit and turns his face back to pillow on your thigh. You can feel his smirk against your skin. You weren't prepared for this kind of edging, and the desperation feels nearly raw and beyond just needy. 

"Please, Javy. Do I need to beg more? Do you want me to cry? Or—" you trail off, hoping that he will fill the blank for you. You are willing to give him whatever he wants; you just don't know what that is yet. Navigating sex is always something a little awkward with a new partner. It feels an extra layer of odd because you know Javy, and have known him for years. You know that the smallest glance with a squeeze of your hand means he wants to leave a party. You know when he spends too long at the gym by the slightly slower pace he walks. You know the soup to make him when he has a cold and tries to hide it from you. You know Javy. Suddenly having a situation where you are unsure feels foreign and uncomfortable. 

Javy sits back more on his calves so he can better gauge your reactions. "I want to rock your world. I want to ruin every other man for you. I want my name to be the only one you know. I want you to be mine and only mine. Sweetheart, you are all I want." 

 "You already have all those things," you reassure him. Propping yourself on your elbows so you can meet his gaze. Even heavy with lust, his eyes still make you feel warm and safe. A small genuine smile lifts on his lips, then grows into a splitting grin that makes his eyes crinkle.  

"You've been so good and giving for me Mrs. Machado. About time I give back to you ain't it?" He asks, peppering more kisses all over your legs. His fingers resume pumping into you steadily, and he is purposeful in how he drags them along your inner walls. "I want one more thing, though." 

"Anything Javy. Anything."

"I want you to cum for me whenever you're ready. I'll give it to you. I'll give you anything you want, baby." Javy isn't teasing this time. He starts to work you over again with his lips sealed around your clit. He sucks while also tracing hard twisting strokes of his tongue. His digits maintain a steady speed, but they are fucking into you harder, and he continues to curl them, occasionally dragging over your walls. Arching further to the edge of the bed, Javy's arm lays across your hips, holding you down so he can grind his tongue against you harder.

"Don't stop," you beg, and this time he listens. It takes a few more pumps of his fingers, and you are tumbling over the edge. Your pussy spasming around his fingers. Javy moans, and the vibrations travel right through you, extending your orgasm and making your hips stutter before falling all the way down to the bed. Closing your eyes tightly with short breaths, it takes you several moments to come back to your body. When you finally feel yourself, you find Javy on the bed with you resting with his head on your tummy. As your brain starts working, you try to push Javy's head away, but he resists snuggling further into you.

"Javy," you start to say, not sure how to explain to him your insecurities. 

"Thank you, baby. That was so good. You are so beautiful," he says, mouthing little kisses near your belly button and up your chest. 

 "I love that you're so soft," he mutters, almost in awe. One of his hands squeezes your side, and the other graces over your lower belly. Javy presses his lips to your breasts and sucks a nipple. You keen under him. Using your knees to urge him that much further up your body so you can kiss Javy, tasting the hint of yourself on his tongue still. Once he knows that you don't mind your own taste he deepens the kiss and rolls you both to be less perilously positioned on the end of the bed. 

"Will you fuck me now?" Javy is nodding, but not as enthusiastically as you expect him to. So you ask him hesitantly, "Or we can do other stuff?" 

"I really want to make love to you, but." 

"But?" You ask. Groaning, Javy slides to lay next to you, hiding his face in your chest. You run your fingers across the shaved prickly skin at the base of his skull, patiently waiting. 

"I'm worried I'll cum too fast. I don't want you to get the wrong idea." 

You make no attempt to stop the burst of tenderness and love you feel at his small confession sharing vulnerability. Then in the kindest voice, you say, "that's okay. It doesn't really matter to me. As long as you enjoy yourself, that's what matters."

Lifting his face from your chest, the look Javy gives you is horrified and a little offended. Immediately he starts jumping into explanation, "To start, fuck no. That is not what matters. Like I said, I don't want you to think that I'm always quick to cum. I've just wanted this for so long, and I spent so much time putting everything together today that I didn't even jack off in the shower. My second round of the day is always so much longer, I promise." 

"Javy, thank you. I promise this isn't going to change my thoughts or feelings about you. Okay? And a second round sounds great to me. We have to get through the first, though."

"Okay," he says with a sigh. Javy stands off the bed again, and you take the opportunity to scooch  further back against the headboard. You watch, entranced, as he finally peels his briefs off; Coyote’s cock is mouthwatering. You aren't at all ashamed of the small gasping moan that falls from your throat. 

"How do you want me?" You ask him as he crawls back up the bed. You stare at his body, suddenly overcome with the urge to trace over every single inch of him with your tongue. 

"How do you want me, beautiful?" He fires back in an easy tone. 

"Missionary?" You suggest. Nodding his head enthusiastically to your suggestion. Settling in between your thighs and you have to widen your knees to accommodate his broad frame. 

"Fuck yes, I want to be in this pretty pussy and able to see your pretty face too." 

He wasn't lying when he told you that he was big, and as he starts to push in, you are appreciative that he took his time with foreplay. Being stuffed so full of him leaves you gasping, and your mind keeps repeating better. This is better than you ever thought it would be. He is better than you always knew he would be. 

"How are you doing, sweetheart?" 

"So good. I'm so full of you Javy. I want more." 

Taking your permission, he starts rocking into you at a steady pace. With one arm, he anchors himself against the headboard gripping it tightly, then his free hand traces your face. You can tell Javy is trying to hold himself back and take things slow for the sake of his ego. You start to meet his thrusts lifting your hips a bit more to get a better angle. Javy's hand falls from your face to your ass, helping support you. The steady pace starts to increase to a hot frantic tempo. He moans your name brokenly, and you grab his ass, trying to urge him even closer to chase his pleasure. His hips start to stutter, and panting he slips out of you. His hand lets you go to give his cock a few harsh jerks, and Javy cums on your chest. He is frozen like that for a moment before rolling to your side with a wide grin on his face. 

"You could have cum inside. We are married, you know." You tease Javy. He stops breathing momentarily, and you turn your head to see him better. Despite having just cum, his eyes are still heavy with lust, and when he does take a breath again, it's a little ragged. 

"We've never really discussed that and should have used protection anyways. I'm sorry." Javy hasn't even finished the apology when you drag your finger across some of the cum on your chest. Delicately you swipe your tongue across your finger, tasting him. Javy groans low in his chest, turning to lie flat on his back and his face in the crook of his elbow. You hum happily, the power you have over him intoxicating to a degree. 

"You're right. That's definitely something we need to talk about, but next time…" You wait for Javy' to remove his elbow and look at you again. He does peek at you a few seconds later. "I want you to come inside me. I want to feel you dripping down my thighs. I want you to fill me up." 

Javy's mouth falls open, and his eyes are so dark you feel like you could get lost in them. He is surging forward then and kissing you. It's a dirty and quick tangle of tongues. Then he pulls away and starts mouthing at your throat. "Do you want to be stuffed with my cum, baby?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Machado," you say cheekily. 

"Fuck. You drive me a little crazy," he warns you lowly as you move to straddle him. You can tell he is still sensitive, but his dick is already starting to thicken again. You settle on his thigh instead, deciding that you could be patient waiting for him. You rock against his thighs for the smallest bit of stimulation just to start you going again. Javy watches you, completely captivated. 

"You being a good girl and waiting for me? Just give me a few minutes."

"I've been waiting three years. I can wait a little while longer to be full of your cum," you tell him, but it comes out as a whine like you're trying to convince yourself that's true. Javy settles a hand on your hip, giving you a small bit of encouragement to grind against him harder. 

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting, sweetheart. No more though. I've got you now. I promise. I've got you." He repeats gently. His sweet and caring tone only makes the desperation in you burn higher. Shaking your head at him, unable to form the words explaining how you are feeling. Instead, you drop your eyes down to look at your chest again. You thought you would feel a little more peeved at the feeling of his cum drying against your skin. Rather, you just find more you can scoop into your mouth. The fact that his dick isn't in your mouth feels criminal. 

Taking a moment to not just admire him but also strategize. Javy has a long cock, and you know you wouldn't be able to take all of him down without practice and working your way up to it. Something that definitely wouldn't be happening tonight. However, then the taste of his cum isn't enough, and neither is just looking. You slide further down his thigh; your own pleasure is lost in the haze of this need. 

It's a more burning type of relief to have your mouth on him. You give the head a few soft licks, vaguely wondering how different he will taste when he hasn't already been in you. Javy lets out another shuddering moan. You want to lift your head in order to take in his features, but you are too absorbed in the feeling of his cock in your mouth. Javy clearly doesn't mind as you set about tracing his length. After a thorough exploration, one of your hands joins the mix, appreciating his shape and how heavy his dick is in your hand. 

Sucking Javy until he is fully hard again, you become braver, daring to take more of him in your mouth. Bobbing slightly and sucking, letting your hand make up for the rest. However, just as you start to feel pleased with your rhythm, Javy gently pulls you off him, cooing when you whine. 

"Baby. Baby stop. It's okay. Take a breath. That was so amazing. You are so fucking amazing." 

"I hope it was okay. I might be a little out of practice," you admit to him shyly. Your lusty haze ebbing, you trace the lines of his chest but don't want to meet his eyes. Surely he hadn't been expecting you to be this much during your first time together. 

"You're doing so good, sweetheart. I love you, and I love this," he reassures you. You shimmy up to straddle him again, lightly dragging your dripping cunt over him. Javy's cock is pressed hotly between your thighs, spreading your lips while nudging against your clit. You rock along him, wanting that friction while bracing against his chest, leaning down to kiss him. 

"I love you too," you mutter against his lips. When Javy shifts his hips in tandem with yours, catching your entrance and then sliding past it, you're spurred into action. "I need you in me, Javy."

"I ain't stopping nothing, but are you sure you are okay?"

You don't answer him directly; instead, you reach between you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. Leaning back for a better angle, you slide down his whole length. You are taken aback, letting out a sharp almost pained gasp. Having already accommodated him inside once tonight, you didn't expect to still feel the slight burning stretch of his girth now. Once you adjust riding Javy is a dream. Praise spills out of his mouth along with the most delicious sounds. It's a great angle that makes you feel incredibly full. Your thighs start to burn when you stop the slow grinding and transition to you bouncing quickly on his dick. You hope the increased pace, paired with the snapping of Javy's hips, would get you there. However, it's still not enough. Not even when Javy brings his thumb up to circle your clit in strong consistent strokes. Although you are nearly in tears, Javy looks perfectly content like this is exactly what he wants. 

"Javy," you cry high pitched, completely ceasing your movements. Even though you froze, he doesn't. Javy's hips continue lifting up fucking into you, and his thumb doesn't falter either. You take a moment to just feel it, and savor the moment. Then tiredly you slump down against his chest. A few thrusts later, you bite Javy's peck hard. He doesn't complain as he runs one of his hands down your back and squeezes your ass, chucking. 

"What do you need, sweet girl?" He asks you. You bite him again, licking one at his nipple before nibbling it too. That rewards you with an extra hard thrust from Javy.

"I don't know," you admit, frustrated. The constant stimulation makes you burn hotter and is tantalizing, but it doesn't give you any push to the final release. Javy completely stops moving but stays hilted in you. His hands urge you to sit up, and he holds your gaze steadily. 

"It's okay. We always figure things out together, don't we? This isn't any different." 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, of course. Now tell me how you are feeling. Tell me what you like." 

"I really like you. I love you Javy. And I've been thinking about this for so long."

"I've been dreaming about it too. I can't believe neither of us said anything sooner."

"I couldn't ever tell you."

"I wish you had. Why didn't you?" 

"We both know you're out of my league, Javy. I never thought that you would want me back." He makes a pained sound hearing your admission. 

"I'm not out of your league, and I've always wanted you back from the beginning. Okay?" You feel a little frustrated that he doesn't see or understand what you're saying, and if he wasn't literally still inside you, it might have been possible to press the issue. Right now, though, you know your insecurities could be tabled to another day. 

"Okay."  

"Good," Javy mutters, slipping out of you with a wet sound. "Let's try a different position. Does that sound okay, sweetheart?" 

"Okay, we can try that," you say with a shrug. 

Then with little effort, he gently manhandles you off him into a new position. Your front is pressed to the bed ass up for him, and Javy helps slide a pillow under you for better support. Kissing down the length of your spine. He asks twice if you're comfortable, taking his time pushing into you. It's a good position, allowing Javy to fuck into you harder than before. Your biggest complaint is the loss of being able to appreciate his handsome features. 

In between telling you how good you are and just how wet and perfect your pussy is, Javy asks if he can spank you. It's a suggestion that has you biting your lip and agreeing hesitantly. It's not even a hard spank against your ass, just enough for a slight sting. The sharpness in contrast with how deliciously you're being filled, has your back arching. With a few more spanks, all of which you can tell Javy is holding back for, you feel close to an orgasm again. 

"I'm getting close," you warn him. 

"Going to give you every last drop, sweetheart. I'm going to make sure you're so full of me. I really want to feel you cum, though. Can you do that? Will you cum for me, Mrs. Machado?" Javy finally gives attention to your neglected clit again, and you know it's only a matter of time. Every time he bottoms out and gives your pulsating bundle of nerves a tweak, you feel yourself teetering. 

"Call me that again," you request, relishing the way it falls off his lips more than nearly any of the other times he's said it in the past. 

"Mrs. Machado," he repeats. "My wife, my girl, my love. Mrs. Machado, I want you to cum now." 

With an extra hard press of his thumb, you're cumming. The heat that had been building in your abdomen bursts flooding bliss through your limbs. Crying out his name and fluttering around his cock, your legs start to spasm too. Coyote keeps fucking you, though, a little harder, a bit more selfishly chasing his own release. 

"Javy, fill me up now," you demand, turning your head as much as you can to watch him. His pace falters at your request but immediately picks up again. 

"Yes ma'am," Javy gasps. Speeding up so fast and hard, you feel a twinge against your cervix at the abuse. Just as you think you are going to have to tell him to be more gentle with you, Javys hips stutter. Holding himself entirely in you, his hands gripping your hips so hard you won't be shocked to find bruises later, he finally fills you up. You clench purposely around his length, wanting to help him milk his orgasm as long as possible. The warm spreading feel of his seed in you makes you sigh happily, and the boneless tired feeling after a good orgasm hits you like a truck. 

Javy lays down on the bed, his breath still coming out in short pants. Immediately you cuddle closer to him, turning to lay your head on his shoulder. Wrapping his arms around you, he pulls you even closer to him. As his breaths even out, he starts kissing you slowly, hands cluching you tighter to his chest. 

"Come closer, sweetheart," he requests quietly. Part of you wouldn't be surprised if Javy will ever think you are close enough to him again now that he's been inside you, but most of you relishes that concept. You scoot even closer, more than half laying on his chest, pressing as much of your skin together as feasible. 

Later after one of the most tender intimate showers of your life, you are snuggled into Javy's bed with fresh sheets, trying to pick out a sappy Valentine's Day movie to watch. Javy had brought the extra pillows in your room, so you could make an extra area for movie cuddles. You are still scrolling when he comes back into the room with a plate of reheated dinner. Ravenous from skipping dinner and the following activities, you grin widely seeing the food.

"You are the most amazing man to ever walk this earth, Javy Machado." You tell him, patting the spot you left for him next to you. 

"Sweetheart, you'll give me an ego if you keep talking to me like that." Javy expertly balances the plate and nestles in close. "Please tell me more," He says cheekily, pressing a kiss casually to your lips. You have to take a full minute to process that's a thing that can just happen now. So you lean a little more of your weight into him, and seek out Javy's lips again, simply because you want to and can. 

'Well, no one cooks like you do."

"Yeah?"

"And no one gives as good cuddles as you do." 

"I think that one's actually about you because you are the most comfortable and soothing person I have ever met. Of course it turns me into a snuggle monster." You laugh at him, and he casually throws an arm over your shoulder. He feeds you a small bite in off the plate before taking one himself. However, he doesn't seem overly invested in it like you expect. 

"You ate a plate in the kitchen, didn't you?" You guess and feel Javy stop breathing. 

"That maybe could have happened. I'm sorry sweetheart, I was so hungry." Javy adopts an exaggeratedly apologetic face sticking out his lower lip pleadingly. 

"I guess, I could be convinced to forgive you."

"Oh, I'll do anything to earn your forgiveness."

"How about breakfast in bed tomorrow," you suggest casually. 

"Absolutely, whatever you want. Quiche? Waffles? Omelettes? Croissants?"

"That all sounds good, but I was thinking of something else."

"Really? And what do you want to have, sweetheart?" He asks curiously. 

"The only thing I had on the menu was you," You tell him cheekily. His eyes widen a little, and his teeth dig into his lower lip. He kisses your neck sweetly, nosing under your jaw. He closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath. 

"Marry me?"  

Finding his joke funny, you laugh lightly, playfully tapping your elbow into his side. Javy remains quiet and serious, though. When he doesn't respond, you set the plate aside, so it has no danger of spilling and turn to face him more fully. You are sure that he is waiting for that to reveal his mirth, but his eyes are just as serious as his tone. 

"Javy, we are already married." You say, chuckling again. 

"Marry me, again." He requests earnestly. Taking your hand in his, he gently pulls off your wedding band, holding it out like an offering. You pluck the ring back from him, sliding it into place on your finger. A smile breaks out on his face following your movement. Then you place that same hand on his face, holding him so he wouldn't be able to avoid your eyes. 

"No. We are not going to get remarried." Javy pouts, and before he can reach true sadness, you lean forward to kiss him again. "But we can throw a really nice party if you want."

And when you two do finally get around to throwing a big old party, most of the room is confused about why exactly you and Javy are exchanging vows. However, absolutely no one is surprised when Javy produces seven cramped front-to-back sheets of paper of written vows when it's his turn. 

[sparklingsin]

— lost time | ron weasley

+ ron weasley x witch!reader

boy, the lack of ron fics on here is saddening. my goofy king is so under-rated so i just had to write someting. this is purely self-indulgent because i'm obsessed with auror!ron and miss hogwarts. can you imagine dancing with ron in auror robes? swoon.

tags: fluff, getting-together, aged up/adults, after hogwarts

You're not sure how long you've been staring. It might have been an embarrassing amount of time — if you cared to check.

Time has been good to him. He is taller than you remember, lankier than ever, cheeks hollowing out and accentuating his strong, angled jaw. He's dressed in Auror robes no doubt, the thick black material cutting into the pale, freckled flesh and contrasting tastefully with his fiery red hair.

You spot Harry Potter beside him, who, to no one's surprise, is surrounded by a swarm of people as Ron snickers at him from the edges of the group. Harry throws him a disgruntled look. Their boyish tendencies make you smile, as your mind's eye turns back in time, to your years at Hogwarts.

While most people in your year had been obsessing over the Boy who Lived, you had had your eyes set out for his best friend. He had been, after all, your then closest friend's brother. But nothing had ever happened except for him once borrowing a quill from you and then he was someone else's.

And now, years later, there's just a small flutter in your heart at the sight of him. The dysrhythmia induced by a school girl crush has long disappeared but he's plenty handsome and that is hard to ignore.

"If you'd like me to introduce you, you need only say the word," Ginny's voice stirs you out of your daze.

You blush, tearing your gaze away from the red-head and look at the witch beside you. There's an all too familiar glint in her eyes that makes you frown. You had already caught up with each other several minutes ago, delighted at finally being able to meet each other at this Hogwarts Reunion, which was otherwise impossible because of your busy schedules.

"It's Harry you should be worried about," you retort, gesturing at the sea of innumerable witches he has now disappeared amidst.

"Ron's not seeing anyone at the moment," Ginny notes nonchalantly and you almost choke on your drink.

"It was a school crush, Ginevra," you mutter, but your words sound hollow to yourself as you watch Ron Weasley tilt his head back and laugh at something Luna Lovegood had just said.

"If only you had told me before year seven...," she mumbles, trailing off into her own thought. Only when Harry, Ron and Hermione had famously left their last year at Hogwarts to go on a quest to save the world (a story that was now a bed time tale for the new generation of wizards and witches) did you confess to Ginny that you had had an unrequited crush on her brother. But then the world almost ended, lives were lost and you lost touch with your only link to the Weasleys.

"If only. Too bad a dark, evil wizard was trying to kill us all," you mutter and Ginny throws you a look.

"You're actually perfect for Ron, you know," she remarks and you sigh, sipping the last of the enchanted beer.

"Why are you trying to play cupid, anyway? Do you not have people to meet? Hear Slughorn's looking for you," you say, in a vain effort to change the subject.

"He was?" Ginny asks, suddenly perking up and looking around with a troubled expression.

"If he asks for me again, I was never here," she whispers, slinking off into the crowd and out of sight.

Finally managing to shake off the flaming presence of one, adamant Weasley, you weave your way towards the bar. You order another round of the butter beer and look off to your left and back, only to find yourself standing beside... Ron Weasley himself.

"Hi," you say, a little out of breath, having been caught like a deer in headlights. He looks shocked too, not expecting someone to ambush him at the bar counter.

"I'm Y/N L/N," you add, trying to compose yourself and smile awkwardly.

"Oh...Y/N...?" his expression remains blank.

"Ginny and I used to be close...," you say, trying hard not to let the disappointment shine through in your voice.

"Ahh," Ron mumbles looking away and you're not convinced that means anything to him.

You wish the ground would open and swallow you whole. You're about to make a run for it and apparate, to save yourself from the embarrassment, when Ron speaks up.

"You wouldn't happen to be the girl who set Dean and Ginny up back then, did you?" he asks, as he gestures for the bar tender - Mrs. Rosmerta's son you've learnt.

You frown. "No, I don't think that was me. Why?" you ask, curious.

"Oh they were trouble, don't know why anybody thought they were a good idea," he mutters and you chuckle.

"'Suppose it's better having your best friend date your sister," you note, grateful for an excuse to keep the conversation going.

Ron turns towards you. "You'd think. But every time he's home, she takes up all his bloody time," he murmurs, so very sincerely, that you can't help but laugh.

"Don't tell him I said that though," he says, turning his head to look at Harry in the crowd who has finally managed to find his way to his old friends. "Don't need his head getting any bigger."

You grin. "I doubt it'll ever come up but I'll keep it in mind," you chirp, pausing to take a sip of the drink hat the bar-tender's handed to you.

You fall into easy conversation then, the awkwardness disappearing as Ron's smile gets wider and you start feeling more relaxed. He's sitting much closer to you now, drink in hand, smelling slightly like an old comforter and toothpaste and you're so happy, you've forgotten your drink beside you.

"We had a good run here," Ron is saying. He looks up and around him, at the adorned walls of the Great Hall and you nod.

"She's still so beautiful," you murmur, looking at the ceiling that has been bewitched to twinkle like with sky with stars today.

Ron sighs, wistfully. "Merlin, I miss Hogwarts."

"What do you miss the most?"

"Everything, you know, the food, the teachers, these halls, the dormitories. Blimey, even the classes, the girls—"

"What was so bad about the girls?" you ask, pretending to be offended and Ron's ears turn red.

"No, hell, I mean, it was so difficult to talk to girls back then.... but I'd take that over what I have going on right now."

He looks at you sheepishly, running a hand through his hair.

You frown at him.

"What do you mean?"

"What with work and everything, you know, there's no time," he admits, sighing.

"I'm sure any witch would make time for a wizard like you," you muse, eyes twinkling.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron echoes, quirking an eyebrow at you but there's a playfulness to his tone.

"I mean— you're an Auror— a great, distinctly famous wizard— and a good man from what I've heard," you say, as the red-head's eyebrows shoot up higher.

"And you're gorgeous," you add after a beat, not quite looking at him but Ron turns crimson. It's bold, for your standards and you decide to blame the beer.

"It's not that easy you know," he says after a moment, clearing his throat.

You look back at him through your eyelashes. There's a new shine in his eyes, a little pucker at the corner of his lips that makes your heart beat a little faster.

You're in the mood to play, so you lean over. "Oh, it's not? Do tell..."

"Well, I've been sat here twenty minutes," he says, leaning closer, voice dropping low, "...trying to rack up the nerve to ask a witch out for a dance and been failing spectacularly so far."

A shiver travels down your back and you tongue the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning. "Maybe try now?"

Ron suppresses a grin.

"Do you...," he's turned a slight shade of pink and you can't help but smile.

"Do you reckon you'd like to dance with me?" he asks, running a hand through his hair, tousling it and you have a mad urge to smooth it out but resist. There's a blush tinting his cheeks but the bashful grin on his face makes your cheeks heat up.

"I'd like that," you whisper as Ron stands up and bows before you, extending his hand.

You weave through a large part of the crowd hand in hand, to a somewhat empty space is the middle and Ron pulls you close to himself, taking one of your hands in his and placing a gentle one on your waist, taking the lead.

You blush a little, surprised by the charge he takes. You definitely like this cooler, confident Ron with bits of awkwardness and goofiness sprinkled in.

"You're a lot different than I remember," you blurt out, regretting it the minute the words roll off your tongue.

To your surprise, Ron looks amused.

"You have memories from school about me?"

You start swaying to the music, falling quite easily into the step of waltz.

Trapped. "Well...I was one of your sister's closest friends and you were only one of the most famous wizard's best friend," you say quickly, before you can embarrass yourself more by letting out your secret.

The song slows down, as you gently sway to the music, painfully aware of how warm Ron's breath is on your face. The hall is quieter now, the couples swaying silently on the floor as others watch and the gravity of the situation sinks in.

You're dancing with Ron Weasley.

You try to contain the flurry of butterflies erupting in your stomach at the realisation, but it's hard to focus when he's so gently holding you against him. You dance in quiet embrace for the rest of the song, fighting a losing hormonal battle, and just as it segues into something slightly faster, Ron spins you out on one arm.

"I'm sorry I don't remember you from school much," he says softly.

It's nothing— it's a pinch, a paper cut if anything. You already know he doesn't remember you but you can't help the flutter of disappointment in your chest his words.

You roll back into his arm gracefully and look up into his piercing blue eyes.

"Quite a shame really, you'd think I'd not be stupid and remember one of the most beautiful witches I've ever seen," he says, a genuineness in his eyes that makes you falter.

You freeze briefly in your little step, a wave of heat erupting over your chest at his swift words. School-girl-you would've melted into a puddle on the floor at these words, but adult-you knows better and wills your rapidly beating heart to slow down.

"You'd think so," you reply breathily, feigning disappointment and Ron chuckles.

"I'm sorry. You've got to excuse teenage Ron, he was a right git," he says and you can't help but laugh.

"I forgive him," you say. "We were all gits when we were sixteen."

"You know," he pipes again, pulling you away from the center of the floor. The music has turned faster now and by the time he's pulled you to the very edges, the floor is a chaotic flurry of limbs.

"We could make up for lost time."

You quirk up an eyebrow at him, surprised by his forwardness.

"For someone who was struggling to ask me for a dance only minutes ago, you're being awfully direct."

Ron blushes but the grin on his face grows wider.

"Something an old friend told me about letting people know you fancy them when you fancy them," he mumbles and you quirk an amused eyebrow at him.

"You fancy me?"

He smiles sheepishly. "I thought it was obvious," he quips, pulling you closer by your fingers.

"I'd like to get to know you better then," you whisper. Ron smiles down warmly at you, turning your stomach to mush.

"I'd like to get to know you better too," he says, and his smile quickly turns into a smirk.

"Your place or mine?"

i write for harry & ron (and possibly others if inspiration strikes) please send in requests and your thoughts!

[lamportb]

The stitch up

Finally have a minute to re watch episode 4. Rambling below

Love Fagin and Jack covered in viscera in Gaines’ carriage with his wife. “My colleague and I were burying a cadaver” A+ excuse Jack, totally explains why you aren’t wearing pants.

I didn’t notice just how clear it is that Lady Jane is the real governor of the colony. Don’t love her as an obstacle to true love, but I Stan a powerful smart lady.

Hetty is a queen. “All right! Time to check your rose bushes” while she makes the rounds in the brothel, then single handedly loads Rotty in a cart to haul her to the hospital. Also ignores Sneed and gets Jack when it’s clear the first surgery didn’t work.

When Belle goes to observe the surgery Sneed suggests that the surgical theatre is too gory for her and that she should read to the patients instead “some of them can barely read”. Cue pointed look at Jack. I didn’t pick up on this the first time.

Belle also tells Jack that her father paid for Sneed’s medical training! Talk about having connections.

Jack is soooo baby soft when Belle offers to help him. His eyes change. It’s perfection.

despite hating Jack, Sneed still defends him when Gaines is looking for reasons to arrest him. More reason I love that pompous git.

Seriously, there’s not a filler scene anywhere in this series.

Gaines trashes Jack’s room and threatens him with handing and/or flogging to death. Jack has JUST had this very hopeful conversation with Belle and here he is on his bed holding the trampled remains of his signature top hat - the Dodge dilemma. How can he hang it up permanently, and does he want to?

“sniffly Sneed” 😂

dodger hat back on when sneaking around the governor’s yard to find Belle. “We don’t pay for cadavers. We just… borrow them”

11 o’clock cadaver date is the hottest thing Belle has ever heard.

I love Tim and I love how he loves Red.

Fanny is so excited by the idea that Sneed’s medical knowledge will make him a good lover. Yeah…

Jack the savant surgeon - eyes closed in concentration. Lovely.

Jack is illiterate clue 2: he is so unsettled at the idea of being found out he just nopes himself right out of the situation and leaves Belle in the operating theatre at presumably midnight or later. Lol.

“the white ghost who’s close to his grave” should be my new tag for Fagin

Red is so fucking cool

Feels like a very deliberate choice for Belle to let her hair down when she joins Jack in the surgery. Maybe because of the conversation with Fanny about going for it? (Finding love with Sneed?). Also how did Belle know to be there? Tim says they can do the second surgery because Sneed left the hospital. Did Jack just have her hiding on standby? Was it a coincidence? I don’t care - she looks gorgeous.

lots has already been mentioned about the Hetty/Jack/Belle situation but I appreciate the framing of this scene with the three of them - both women assisting in their own way, and both necessary to Jack’s success.

Belle seems genuinely taken aback when Jack is so abrupt with her when the surgery starts, but her relief when she helps him in the end and he smiles at her is so sweet. She is basking in that smile - I don’t think I realized how fast she fell for him. (Of course they start arguing about publication and the moment passes)

“I shall be turned around as a curiosity” - some more insight into Jack’s insecurities.

Lady Jane: “Have you been alone with the surgeon?” Belle: “There’s always another body in the room” 😂

What time is this dinner starting? 2pm? It’s so bright!

love Sneed and the prof arriving in a carriage while Jack walks up in his Navy uniform.

Note to self: research the siege of Sevastopol.

Ah! Jack describes his time as a naval surgeon as “nothing more than butchery” to Lady Jane. Those words sting all the more when she uses them against him later.

Fanny and Belle are both terrible at flirting. Belle can’t stop interrupting to talk up Jack and Fanny can’t stop staring. “I love soup”

I also love how Jack is SO UNCOMFORTABLE with Belle praising him at the table. She’s not lying, but her embellishments are so unnerving to him. “Really, it’s nothing” - but she just. Can’t. Stop.

Jack really is trying. He takes responsibility for Fagin not knowing what the plan is. He tries to fit in. Seems a bit harsh to snap at Belle but she was terrible at reading his cues - like this is her surgical theatre and he has to defer to her expertise. It’s too vulnerable for him.

“I AM rare!” Have i mentioned how much I love the ladies in this show??

Jack’s little voice crack when he blurts out “I CAN read!” And then a little softer “I can read, just not very well”

All her talk of teams and partnerships - she really did bet on him. All in.

”You can take the boy out of East London but you really shouldn’t”

”Belle will never speak to me again” right before taking Fagin’s share of the money and heading to the card table

whew! Gold star if you got this far.

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 26: She Knew Something I Didn't

Screenshot by: @boardchairman-blog

Bearblr Promptober Day 26: Coffee Shop

Summary: Carmy reflects on meeting his girlfriend (who he calls Darling) at a coffee shop.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of trauma, self-loathing, mentioned fight with Syd, mentions of patient loss for Darling, comfort, fem reader/lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns (759 words)

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Thank you for reading. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list. Sideblog for commentary and yapping: @m-z-shoroi

Also, if random letters or words are black/white instead of the colors they should be, that's Tumblr being dumb, I've been fighting it for days.

26 Oct 2024

I met her at a coffee shop.

Sounds dumb. Also, unbelievable because my dumbass self went to a fucking coffee shop, but I promise you, it was for a good reason. Syd and I had a bad fight roundabouts the first month we were open. The kind that plays over and over in your head on a loop because you can’t figure out why you’re so riled up about it? Half the time, it’s because you acted a fucking asshole and you’re trying to spin the story in your head to make yourself feel less like shit about it. The other half, it's because you weren’t enough of an asshole and wish you could get a redo and really let the other person have it, just unleash fuck-all knows how many years of frustration pent up in the pressure cooker you shove everything else into because no one taught our parents how to deal with their emotions—so they never taught us.

It was the former for me. I was an asshole.

I’m rambling again.

We had a bad fight. You’re not even fucking listening to me anymore. Can you even hear me? Do you even know I’m here? Do you know you’re not in the walk-in anymore? Where the fuck is your head, Carmy? We can’t do daily fucking menu changes, what the fuck is wrong with you? That kind of bad.

The worst part of the ordeal—of her blowing up at me, of that role-reversal—was that it worked. Or maybe the worst part was that it was justified. Thinking about it now, I was really fucking losing it. Like properly off the deep end, screaming bubbles under water, a wild animal choking itself against its collar. It was that last bit, the “what the fuck is wrong with you” that broke through whatever the fuck was going on with me. What the fuck was wrong with me? No, in all seriousness, what was it? Why did my next instinct default to replaying her coffee order over and over again in my head to add to the cacophony of screaming? That’s not fucking normal, is it?

Is it? What the shit is normal even?

So, yeah, I went to the local coffee place she likes with the plan to grab her coffee, but there was this girl sitting at the corner table, right? The one by the windows. Hair neat but out of the way, sunglasses on the crown of her head, cardigan made of these squares that had daisies in them (I’ve since learned they’re crocheted granny squares—the fuck kind of a name is granny squares). It’s right as winter turns to spring (or Stop Fucking Raining season). Maybe it was the color of her cardigan that caught my attention—the green in those squares. Maybe I was just a lonely fuck still smarting over a relationship that I fucked up.

Fine. I’ll give you credit. Maybe it was God.

She waved at me. Smiled. Normally, I’m a bit of a dick and forget to smile back, favoring a weird old-man nod (it’s a habit I picked up from Cicero, I’m pretty sure), but she drew a smile from me. Something about how unexpectant she was. She didn’t want anything from me, just wanted to acknowledge my existence as one-tick-closer-to-happy-than-background-noise. I grabbed coffee for myself, planned on grabbing Syd’s later (I did remember to, it managed a truce, but that’s not exactly a great behavior pattern, is it? Reminds me too much of ma). Wandered over to her table. She moved her books before I asked if I could join her.

What possessed me to?

Heartache? Regret? Misery? Loneliness? Her cardigan? First person I noticed in as many weeks? I don’t know. I don’t think it matters. I’ve asked her since then why she smiled at me. As if she somehow knew something I didn’t.

She was at the coffee shop on a short leave from work. She had a brutal case the day before—17-year-old kid caught in a car accident who was in the OR for 18 hours hovering between life and death, only to then go into anaphylactic shock at the antibiotics started on him post-op and then not make it. The only other person who survived was the mother, but upon learning that she was the only one left, she rapidly deteriorated. Didn’t make it, either.

Her answer? “I smile at everyone. There isn’t enough positivity in the world.”

I swear to whatever is holy and unholy, I will protect this woman with my life.

[jamdoughnutmagician]

Long Distance Love (18+)

Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Word Count:1,000

Summary:Steve misses you whilst out on a mission. As a result some flirty text messages and phone calls are exchanged between you two.

Warnings: Smut, sexting, phone sex, breeding kink mention, if I've missed anything that you want tagged please let me know.

Authour's Note: I posted this on my Ao3 page back in 2021 when I had just started writing x reader fanfics, so the writing quality is not the best.

Masterlist

Steve heaved out a heavy sigh as he dropped his body on the slightly uncomfortable bed in the room of the motel he was staying in, his muscles sore and tired. He'd already showered and changed out of his stealth suit and into some much more comfortable grey sweatpants, choosing to forgo a t-shirt since it was just him alone in his room.

Sitting up against the pillows and headboard of the bed, he turned to look at the digital clock on his night stand, his thoughts turned to you, with a bit of luck you would still be awake at this time. Reaching for his phone sitting next to the clock on his night stand he unlocked it and immediately started scrolling through his contact list until he came across your name.

He hated leaving you to go on missions, and just wished that he didn't have to be hauled up in some cramped motel room, and that he would much rather be back home snuggled up with his girl in his arms, naked bodies pressed up against each other and limbs tangled together.

His thoughts of you turned from sweet to dirty rather quickly as his was cock pressing underneath his sweatpants as he started to type out his text message to you. An anticipation for what was about to happen.

Swiping his fingers over the keyboard of his phone, he typed out his message.

'Miss you so much, babygirl. Wish you were here with me.'

Steve waited a few moments for your reply, but nothing. That wouldn't do. He had to change tactics. Steve was nothing if not a man of strategy. Closing the text app, he swiped his finger over the screen, tapping on the camera icon. This would get your attention, that he was sure of.

Wriggling to tug his grey sweatpants and black boxers down his thighs, he wrapped one of his strong hands around the base of his impressively hard length, and snapped a picture with his phone in the other hand.

He sent another text, with the picture he'd taken as an attachment, he awaited your reply.

Not a minute later, he received your reply, only not in the form of a text, but a phone call. His phone vibrated in his hand and your name flashed across his screen. He accepted the call right away, not passing up on the opportunity to her his girl's sweet voice.

"Steve." You started. "What are you doing sending me things like that? aren't you supposed to be on a mission?" you chuckled.

"The mission's going slow, 'sides it's only really just retrieving intel" he drawled out.

"you didn't answer my question, why'd you send me that picture, baby?" you retorted, a teasing tone lacing your words.

"I missed you, missed your soft skin and beautiful smile. Missed the little noises you make when when you cum" he said lowly. "I'm going to fuck my fist for you, babygirl. I want to know that you'll be touching yourself too."

His whispered words of encouragement was all that you needed before you were slipping your hand into the waistband of your panties and rubbing slow circles around your clit. Continuing with pleasuring yourself, you let slip a moan from your lips, which did not go un-noticed by your super-soldier boyfriend.

"There's my babygirl, I love the sounds you make, God I wish I was there with you, baby.." he rasped out his voice thick with arousal.

"Tell me what you would do if you were here." you came back.

"I'd have you laid back on the bed, all naked and spread out for me. I'd get between your legs and eat you out just how I know you like..wouldn't stop until you've cum all over my face." the sounds of his own self pleasure clearly audible through the phone. The sounds of his slick fist sliding up and down, moving over his cock ringing in your ears.

deciding to change the pace of things, you slip two fingers inside yourself, gasping at the feeling of the pads of your fingertips rubbing against your sensitive walls.

"I wish you were here too, Stevie..I miss your fingers inside me..mine just aren't the same" you mewled.

"I'll be back before you know it baby, I promise. Keep going, you've got me so hard, baby." his breath was ragged at this point, you knew he was close.

"I know your close, Stevie...I want you to cum for me" the evidence of your approaching orgasm present in your voice also.

"You're close too, babygirl, I can tell. You know I'd fill you up so good babygirl. You'd take my load, let me fill you up, let me make you a mommy..." That was the final straw for both of you.

Steve came with a chain of curses leaving his lips. You came with a breathy moan eacaping your own lips.

Both of you laying there in silence as your both your orgasms subsided, You were the first one to break the silence.

"Were you serious about that last thing you said, Stevie?"

"What, baby?" The question hangs in the air.

"About wanting to make me a mommy?"

"Serious as anything, Baby..I want us to be a family. I want to watch you grow big and round with my kids. 'Wanna watch your tits fill with milk..god you'd look so hot all swollen and pregnant."

"I want that too Stevie...I'll hold you to that Captain Rogers, as soon as your back we can work on putting that little plan of yours into action"

"Thank you for this, love you so much, Babygirl. I'll see you soon I promise"

"I love you too, Stevie. Be safe." with that you hung up the phone and let your head rest amongst the pillows and drifted off to sleep, dreams of you, your Stevie and the family you would have together making a shy smile appear on your lips.

---------------------------------------

@itsfreakingbats @sidepartskinnyjeans

[lady-bess]

Fallout - Chapter 9

"Collision"

Jack Daniels x F!Reader Explicit/18+ (Minors DNI please) Chapter Word Count: 9.7k Chapter Tags: Fighting, Self Defence training, planned fighting (they don't hate each other - yet), physical combat, physical intimacy, unexpected romance, first kiss, Jack in sweatpants (that needs its own warning).

Series Masterlist | A03 Link | Tumblr Masterlist

<- Previous Chapter (Ch. 8 - "Back to Basics")

After hitting a bump in the road, you work with Jack and adapt his training programme with more of a focus on physical defence training. But when you push his buttons a little too much during your session, your worlds collide in ways you never expected.

A/N: Thank you so much for bearing with me for this chapter. Life has been a hell of a lot recently, but I think we're turning a corner now! Not going to promise when the next upload will be, but it'll not take a month!

Jack’s session could have set him back a bit with progress, but fortunately he was at your office two days later with a smile on his face that you honestly weren’t expecting. He closed the door behind him and headed over to your desk. 

“Sorry to disturb you, Mimosa. Is now a good time?” he asked. You looked him up and down and saw him clutching a small brown envelope, tucked just slightly under his suit jacket. Smiling softly, you replaced the lid on your pen and set it down on your desk, leaning back in your leather chair slightly.  

“Of course, take a seat,” you gestured to the seat in front of your desk and smiled as Jack sat down, “What can I do for you?”. 

Jack nodded, pulling the chair out from under the desk so that he could sit down. He leant forward over the desk first though, his arm outstretched, his hand still firmly holding the brown envelope. 

“This is for you,” he said, handing you the envelope and clearing his throat. You took it from him, furrowing your brow as you did. You opened the drawer of your desk to your right and reached inside to grab something to open it with. 

“What’s this?” you asked, sliding a small pen-knife under the seal of the envelope and tearing the delicate paper seal. Jack smiled taut as he sat down at last, breathing a slight sigh of relief as he settled into the seat - like parting with those papers had taken a physical weight off his shoulders, and now he could relax. 

“It’s an evaluation of my latest session with Loretta, which I had after the…incident the other day. She’s given some professional recommendations going forward, given what happened to me,” he explained. You nodded, sliding the note out of the envelope, and scanning over it quickly. 

It wasn’t really of any surprise that you would have to change things up to accommodate for Jack’s reaction. Perhaps he would be fine the next time he handled a gun, or he may never be able to fire a weapon again. Only time would tell which outcome was going to be your reality, so since his session the other day you’d been planning for a worse case scenario. 

You did your best to interpret Loretta’s handwriting, chuckling to yourself at the note she’d attached to the paper last minute which apologised for what she described as her “chicken scratch”, and promised that she would get these notes formally typed up as soon as possible. She was more bothered by you having them immediately, rather than worrying about how professional they might appear. 

Not much surprised you with Loretta’s summary of Jack’s condition, and a few phrases jumped out which you had expected to see; “patient exhibited negative response to the feel of firing a gun”, “patient and practitioner concerned about the potential of mental relapse if training is to continue”, “recommend a withdrawal from arms until a more thorough psychological evaluation can be performed”. 

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” you said, setting down the note and turning your attention back to Jack. He looked shy, a slight red creeping up his neck, and he couldn’t keep his focus on you as well as he had just a few days ago. You cocked your head to the side, surveying him for a moment. 

“How does it make you feel, Jack?” you asked. At the use of his name, and not his moniker, his eyes shone out at you as he locked onto your gaze anew. A coy smile made itself known, bashful and nervous; not the Jack you had come to know these last two months. 

“I-,” he laughed lightly, but it came out more like a scoff, “I feel ashamed,” he admitted. 

“Why’s that?” you asked. Jack shrugged, then let out a deep sigh and sank back into the chair opposite to you, breaking eye contact again as he screwed his eyes up in frustration, one hand rubbing that familiar scar on his forehead as he spoke. 

“Because I- I’ve been doing this for so long, London. And I know I’ve had a bump in the road, but still. I figured that by now I wouldn’t face any setbacks like this. I feel like I’m just wasting your time,” he said. You furrowed your brow and leant forward in your seat, bridging the gap between the two of you. 

“Jack,” you said softly, making his attention turn towards you. His deep brown eyes flicked back up to yours, and you could see the beginning of tears forming in the corners. You didn’t know if they were from anger, upset, or fear; but you had to guess that it was probably a healthy mixture of all three. 

“What you went through was not your average ‘bump in the road’,” you said, using air quotes and then chuckling softly in an attempt to lighten the mood. Jack laughed through his nostrils and one side of his mouth quipped up in the smallest of smiles, but still his demeanour remained downtrodden. 

“I know, I know, I just-,” he began, and as he spoke you could hear words getting caught in the back of his throat. He sighed, removing his stetson and placing it on your desk, before running both hands over his face. 

Concerned, you left your seat and walked around to the other side of the desk. Kneeling down slightly, you reached out and tenderly laced your fingers around the width of Jack’s hands, gently pulling them away from his face. He let you, a few tears tumbling down his cheeks as he let you grasp at his hands. Your thumbs softly caressed the back of his hands and that familiar quake you felt in the weapons room was evident again. 

“Shh,” you cooed, speaking softly. “You’re alright, Jack. Look, you don’t need to explain yourself to me if you don’t want to. I’m sorry if I pushed you?” you said, worried that you had in fact pushed him a little too hard. He shook his head, and you felt his hands slowly shift beneath yours; twisting slowly to begin enveloping yours in his. 

You let him. 

“No, no, it’s not your fault. I don’t feel pushed, it's just hard to talk about. Took me months to even get to this stage with Loretta,” he half smiled. 

It was then it dawned on him that he was being just as vulnerable with you now after only knowing you for two months than he was after Loretta worked for almost a year to properly break his walls down. He had always been open to therapy, and the benefits it would have for his rehabilitation programme, but that didn’t mean it was automatically easy for him to do so. But she had worked relentlessly for months to build up a rapport, to get Jack to begin speaking, and once he did the real healing had begun. 

And then here you were; fresh faced to the agency, virtually still a stranger to him, but yet someone he was willing to drop all defences for. The fact he was almost scared him enough to throw them back up. But as he sat here looking into your eyes, which reflected back nothing other than kindness and a willingness to help, with your fingers delicately laced around his - he knew he couldn’t ever do that. You’d somehow worked your way in, and deep down he didn’t think he actually wanted to get you out. 

“I guess I just feel useless, and like I’m wasting your time. And that’s a fuckin’ tough pill to swallow,” he chuckled, another tear cascading down his cheek. You squeezed Jack’s hands tighter and shook your head at him. 

“Don’t be so silly, Jack,” you whispered, releasing one hand to brush away the tears that fell from his eyes. He closed his eyes softly as he relished in the feeling of your soft hands on his skin again, the feeling just as intimate and caring as it was the other day when you gently caressed his scar. 

“You went through Hell and back just to wake up again. This was never going to be easy, so please give yourself more credit just for making it this far, okay?” you said. Jack opened his eyes again and looked down at you, smiling softly at the feeling of your hand now flattening out across his cheek and cupping it gently. As best he could without meaning your hand would move from situ, he nodded. 

“‘Kay,” he sniffled, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come in here and cry,” he chuckled. 

The Jack sitting before you was a far cry from the file you had read about all that time ago. No longer would you, or anyone else, be able to describe him as stoic, unavailable, or emotionally closed off. He had come in here and laid all his cards on the table, and paid no heed to the fact it had made him lose his composure slightly. He let the tears fall onto the pads of your fingers, and cared not that you were wiping each one away that danced down his cheek. 

Your heart shattered slightly that he clearly still, deep down, did not see himself as worthy of this second chance. He’d been a pain for you from the start, but even though he had his moments still it was evident he was trying so hard to make the best of his situation. Since you’d started as his T.O., there was nothing you cared for more than making sure he got back onto his feet and to go back to being the incredible agent he clearly once was. Just with…minor adjustments. 

Still caressing his hand and cupping his cheek, you leant forward slightly and pressed your lips against his forehead. Jack’s breathing hitched as he felt you plant a tender kiss to his skin, and for the brief moment you made contact with him it was like time itself stopped. He held his breath and felt the muscles in his torso constrict slightly as his heart thudded loudly, blood rushing past his ears. 

Because, for that couple of seconds, you were within reach. For the first time, he could have reached out and grabbed you, planting his own kisses on you and making you his. He had to fight every muscle in his body to not do just that, and instead gripped your hand a touch tighter. Your kiss ignited something that had long since laid dormant in Jack, and that was the want and need to love and be loved. He hadn’t even realised that was a desire he had the ability to have anymore. It was like it had been buried, and you kissing him so softly was like a fire melting an ice cube. Thawed out the need he had swirling within his veins. 

Fortunately for Jack, you pulled away just as swiftly as you’d gone in for the kiss. 

“Cut yourself some slack, Daniels. Okay?” you said, smiling wide, totally unaware of the mental anguish that was now going on in Jack’s mind. He blinked a couple of times to try and snap himself out of the small spiral he felt himself careering towards, then nodded. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. 

“Good,” you grinned, now pulling away from him entirely. Once your back was facing him Jack left out a short exhale and composed himself as much as he could before looking in your direction as you sat back down. 

“So,” he cleared his throat, “what’s next for me?”. 

“Well, we have two choices. Ball is in your court for either,” you said, fiddling with a pencil on your desk. 

“What are those then?” he asked. You lifted one hand and pointed to the tips of your fingers as a way of counting when you reeled off his options. 

“We could either A, put you on a type of administrative leave so you can have a bit of time to yourself to process this. Or, B,” you tapped the tip of a second finger, “we can carry on with some adjustments. I had already assumed that you wouldn’t be back in weapons for a while, so I’ve made contingency plans until you feel ready,” you lowered your hands, “but it is entirely up to you.”

Jack bit his lip as he weighed up the options. On the one hand he really was quite shaken with how he had mentally reacted to just the sound and feel of a firearm going off the other day, and he knew that he definitely had a lot to work on before that could be attempted again. But on the other hand, he wasn’t convinced that hiding away from the world would do him all that much good - even if it was not the original plan, perhaps it would be better for him to remain with one foot in the door with his training, so he could at least make some progress somewhere. 

“Option B…what will that entail?” he asked. 

“More of the same, except I will swap out weapons training for hands on self defence and fighting. You haven’t done any of those classes yet as we’ve still had you working on your normal physical therapy, and didn’t want to push it too far,” you explained. Jack chuckled. 

“That and I didn’t fancy Tequila giving my ass a whooping,” he grinned. You couldn’t help but giggle either, and suddenly your mind created a scene of the two men fighting with one another. Except it didn’t look like a proper physical fight, but more like a bitchy, slapping catfight.  

You’d pay good money to see that. 

“He’s a bit occupied with Astrid at the minute to be worrying about beating your ass, Jack,” you grinned, “I’d just do that training, like I have for every other aspect of your rehab. You know Eve and how well she’s trained me, so I think you’ll still get a fair fight outta me,” you smiled. 

You’re fucked, Daniels, Jack thought. 

“Alright, well you beating me seems preferable over Tex. If nothing else you might be kinder about it when I fall on my ass,” he grinned. 

“I dunno about that,” you teased, “So, what do we say? Are we going for option B?”. 

Jack smiled at you, nodding, his spirits feeling considerably lifted over how he was when he set foot in this office a short while ago. He had half expected you to just shut down any further training until he was ready to try using firearms again, but the sheer delight that filled him at the knowledge he wouldn’t have to stop his training was music to his ears. He could have hopped over the desk and kissed you for being given this chance. 

Or perhaps there was another reason. 

“Yes, if that’s alright with you?” he asked. 

“Sure is. Meet me in the gymnasium tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.”

~~~

You’d gone into Jack’s physical fighting training feeling confident, and like you could really put a lid on the small crush you could feel bubbling beneath the surface. Ever since he’d left your office yesterday you’d replayed what the fuck made you lean forward and kiss him, but the thought you really couldn’t get out your mind was why did you so badly want to do it again?

Your hopes and dreams of this session going smoothly and without any more inappropriate thoughts were swiftly squandered though when Jack turned up to the gymnasium looking like he’d just stepped right out of your deepest, unspoken fantasies. Tousled curly brown hair which he’d clearly paid no heed to neatening out this morning, a slightly too tight white t-shirt, and grey sweatpants that hung just perfectly on his narrow hips. 

He’d stepped in with a wide smile, and if you didn’t already have a minor desire to flirt with him relentlessly and see where things went, you were convinced you would have gained such a need the second you laid eyes on him. 

Damn this man. 

You did your utmost best, though. Two hours later and you’d done a thorough evaluation of his strength and cardiovascular health, pushing his body almost to its limit before even beginning the self-defence class. 

You'd started him out on the treadmill, having him slowly increase his speed until he was borderline sprinting on the belt. He took periodic breaks, his body still not totally back to normal when it came to getting oxygen around him. All of his other physical rehab on the treadmill has been performed with a myriad of monitors and an oxygen mask, but you wanted away from that. There had to be a point in which these safety nets got taken away and Jack agreed he was ready to try. After the mental setback the other day, he wanted to feel like he was at least able to take a physical step forward. 

He did well, all things considered. Since his injury, his performance this morning was the best he'd done since starting his rehab programme. You let him rest for ten minutes after his run, allowing ample time for him to catch his breath and clean himself of the sweat which had begun to pour from him. 

“You alright?” you asked, hopping on the treadmill for a brisk jog while he rested. Jack nodded from the bench near you, his chest heaving. 

“I'll be fine. Fi-,” he inhaled sharply, “first run without oxygen,” he said. Through the pain and breathlessness though, you noticed, was a small smile creeping onto his face. One of pride, that said even though he was paying for it now, he achieved something today. 

You smiled over at him, happy for him that he had achieved what he had this morning. He turned to face you and returned the joyful expression, even brighter, and your heart fluttered at the genuine delight you could see written on his face. It spread beyond his smile, reflected in his softened brow and the way his eyes sparkled back at you. 

The innocence of joy was swiftly ripped away from you though, as Jack lifted his t-shirt to wipe the remaining sweat from his face and neck. You had to avert your gaze to prevent the prickling heat you felt beginning to creep up your neck from reaching your cheeks and giving away your ever increasing desire for him. The mere flash of his torso was enough to hurl your mind back to the more unsavoury thoughts you'd had recently, the ones you desperately tried to bury. 

Clearing your throat, you switched off the treadmill and came to a steady stop. Jack dropped the material of his shirt, thank heavens, and headed over to you for the next part of your session. 

You'd planned everything down to a T. You needed him using each muscle, warming it up and pushing himself to the limit, so that you could A, properly gauge his overall strength, and B, figure out his weaknesses. 

Starting Jack on the weighted gymnasium machines, you had him rifle through shoulder, chest, hamstring, and core workouts. Starting each one on a low setting, with each set you worked up the weights until finding his limit on each. 

Surprisingly, his current “max weight” wasn't far off what it used to be. You smiled to yourself as you marked down his progress on a chart Clara had given you, flicking back briefly to look at previous sessions, satisfied to see such a major improvement. 

Then you moved onto the free weights. Again, using similar exercises, you ran Jack through a routine of using dumbbells, kettlebells, and medicine balls to complete the circuit. Even though he’d just done very similar movements on the machines, you needed to gauge how well he could hold his own when he wasn’t supported by a seat. 

Again, you were impressed at how well he did. He wasn’t hitting the same weights as he could on the machines, but this was to be expected. He didn’t have to think much about keeping a secure core when sat down on half the machines like he did when standing up with free weights in his hands. Still, you marked down any progress he’d made, noting that he was still doing the best he ever had since before his accident. 

“Alright, what’s next?” Jack asked after the session, setting the weights down and running a hand through his thick hair. You swallowed the small lump forming in your throat, cursing yourself inwardly that your mind dared to be so unprofessional right now. 

“Self-defence. I want you to show me what you’ve got,” you said. Jack grinned at you, a little cocky, and you felt a small flame of heat beginning to simmer deep in your stomach at that look alone. You weren’t proud of the feeling that rushed over you, but it was becoming hard to ignore. 

“Sugar, do you mean to say you’re gonna try and attack me?” he asked, a faint chuckle in the back of his throat. You raised your eyebrows, hands on hips, and stared him down. 

“You’ll do well to remember who trained me, Jack,” you smirked, “Don’t think I could take you?”. 

“You can take me any day,” he muttered under his breath, praying to those on high that you didn’t hear him. 

You did. 

“I’ll have less of that, Daniels,” you chuckled, laughing through what you hoped was a joke so as not to let your own mind wander too far down the route of what that might actually be like. How it would feel to have him envelop you entirely, to take you as his. To mark you, claim you, and have any kind of way with you. 

“You’re right,” he cleared his throat, “I’m sure Eve would kick my ass for even insinuating that you couldn’t hold your own.” 

“A fate you do not want,” you grinned. Jack raised his hands in a mocking surrender, grinning as he stepped towards you. 

“Not at all,” he said, his voice lower now as he dropped his arms to his side. 

“So, why now? Why not see what I’m capable of at the start of this session?” he asked. 

“I needed you tired,” you said. Jack furrowed his brow in confusion. 

“Tired? Why?”. 

“To replicate how well you could hold your ground during a mission. You’ll never be on top form when you’re out in the field if you’ve already been working for hours, and I shouldn’t have to remind you about that. I needed to see how you’d fare once you’d been on the job for a couple of hours, and exhausted.”

Jack nodded as he listened to you explaining your reasons, and he admittedly felt like a bit of an idiot for not seeing sense in your reasoning sooner. You’d tried throughout all of his training so far to make things as real to life as possible, rather than overly clinical and ‘by the book’. It was a stark contrast to his first round of training in the 90’s, which was far more akin to being back at school, with rigid examinations in place and a proper code to follow for everything. You threw him into situations head first, but given what he’d been through these last two years he was grateful for it. He had about enough of other people mollycoddling him. 

“Okay, makes sense. So, when do we st- ah!” 

Before he could even finish asking when this test would begin, you were on him. A quick shove to his chest combined with your leg subtly wrapped around the back of his, and Jack tumbled backwards to the ground. You chuckled as he grimaced, rolling onto his side to get himself up, swearing under his breath. 

“Rule one; always be prepared,” you said, pacing around the agent as he stammered to his feet. 

“Fuck you, London,” he hissed. A sharp pain shot through his spine as he stood straight, his hand resting on his lower back. Since his accident he’d definitely not been as nimble on his feet, his back having taken a significant brunt from both the nature of the fight before the accident and the subsequent months he spent comatose. Clara had told him in the weeks since he woke up that he was starting with a degenerative spinal disc disease, a consequence of his years of service, likely tipped over the edge by the months of not being able to stay active. 

His symptoms were manageable, and fortunately it was in the very early stages, so on the whole he didn’t get too much trouble with it. But he knew that once he started this aspect of his job again, he’d have to keep a better eye on things. You practically throwing him to the ground sent a stark reminder that he was not the agent he once was. 

“Come on, get up,” you commanded, reverting back into your role as his training officer, your voice raising louder to alert Jack that this was no longer a friendly encounter. You liked to keep things fairly informal with Jack, given how much time the two of you spent together - it would drain your social battery rather too quickly if you had to maintain the professional persona almost 24/7. But when the time called for it, you’d revert back into the role you were trained for, and reminded Jack in your tone alone that you were technically the more senior of the two of you, even in spite of his senior age to you. 

Jack got to his feet and turned around to face you. He lunged forwards, trying to grab you, but you dodged his advances. Stepping to the side, you landed a sharp strike to the centre of his shoulder blades as he leaned forward, making him yelp again in discomfort and lean over, winded. He coughed a couple of times, and you contemplated striking again while he was resting on his laurels, pushing him back down to the ground. But you decided against it for now, and returned to pacing around him. 

“Pick it up, Jack. If I were the enemy I’d have you on the ground gasping for air right now. I’m being easy on you,” you said. 

Jack straightened himself back up and rolled his shoulders back, clicking a couple of joints into place. He took a few deep breaths and then turned to face you. 

“Don’t be easy on me,” he said, his eyes slightly narrowed and his brows furrowing to be all the more serious. You grinned as you saw the determination begin to brew in Jack, his distaste at you having already bested him twice in mere minutes starting to tug at him. For as much as he was a changed man, there was always a deep seated need within him to make sure he was the best he could be. It was something Loretta had picked up on, and had been the thing to drive him to remain emotionally closed off for so long, but in times like this he could still call on that urge. 

“You sure?” you asked. Jack nodded. 

“Positive, ma’am.”

“Good,” you smirked, “Now treat me the same way. I can hold my own. I want you to give me everything you’ve got.”

Jack looked down at you and began calculating what he was going to do. The determination that lived in him which made him always need to be the best at everything was running rampant, but something stopped him. 

The way you looked at him, so fierce but caring at the same time. He knew that you only wanted what was best for him, and that this was your way of pushing him to achieve what you knew he was capable of. But he also couldn’t hurt you, which is exactly what he’d have to do to prove he was still an agent able to do his job. 

You watched as Jack’s eyes flitted across your face, and if you kept quiet enough you thought you might be able to hear cogs whirring in his head. He was working out what to do, but something was holding him back. Eventually he leant forward with the intent to grab your wrists and prevent you from being able to lash out at him, but you were quicker on your feet than he was. 

You said you weren’t holding back. And you meant it. 

You evaded his first swipe at you, grabbing his wrist and tugging on his arm to make him almost lose balance. He cursed as he almost lost his footing, but managed to stabilise himself swiftly. He pivoted back on his heels and turned to face you, a smirk on his face. You winked at him, before delivering your next sequence of attacks. 

One hit, two hits, both blocked expertly. Even your attempt at a roundhouse kick, he blocked. Grabbing your ankle, he yanked hard and pulled your weight from underneath you, sending you crashing to the ground. It hurt like a bitch, but you grinned as you sprung back up again - he’d gained his fight back, you’d pushed his buttons just right, and for the first time you were seeing the agent that you knew he was capable of shining through. 

“Good blocks, Daniels. You’ve impressed me,” you said, returning back to circling around him. Now it was your turn to roll your shoulders back and realign joints. You might not have the same physical limitations as Jack, but a sharp land on your back still had its effects, even for the most physically fit. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jack said. 

The two of you were now playing a game of cat and mouse, constantly suspicious of and awaiting the other to make the next move. You wanted to take him by surprise, but you figured he was likely doing the same. At this rate you’d never get anywhere, so you thought fast on your feet and suggested something new. 

“Alright, let’s try something else,” you said, reaching into a cupboard at the side of the gymnasium with sports equipment in it. You reached in and grabbed an old table tennis racket which got left behind from a playful tournament the team all got involved in last summer. 

“What are you thinkin’, London?” Jack asked, using the brief respite he’d gained wisely. He could feel just how hot and bothered he was, and the sweat pouring from his body was severely giving away just how unfit he felt now. 

You stood up and headed back over to Jack, the racket in hand. It was the perfect size for what you wanted. 

“Let’s pretend that this racket is a weapon I’m holding. A gun, a knife, whatever you want to envision. I want you to disarm me,” you explained, twirling the racket in your fingers. “Is that clear?”. 

“Perfectly, ma’am,” Jack said. 

“Good,” you smirked, “You may begin.”

What proceeded next was something akin to a well choreographed dance. Every step Jack made in your direction, every arm's length he extended, and each swipe of his hand, you evaded. You were light on your feet, something Eve had made sure to absolutely nail during your training. Her motto had always been that it didn’t matter how hard you could fight, what mattered more was how well you could get out of a mess. You could have the best weapons, or be the best hands on fighter there is, but when push comes to shove if you can’t evade attacks in the first place, you’re as good as dead. 

Frustration rose in Jack for each move you dodged. So far he’d only managed to graze his fingertips against your forearm, before losing you as you spun out of reach. He grunted at each lost swipe, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at him. He knew he had to be smarter than this to out-manoeuvre you. 

He knew he had to play you at your own game, and to mimic how you were trained, pushing aside his previous training. Unlike you, one of his original T.O's back in the nineties had opted for brutish power over nimble-footed attacks; which, the more Jack thought about it, was probably how he died in action just three years after the men met. Since then he’d retrained himself based on sheer experience alone, never thinking to ask for help. 

But now a moment had arrived where he needed to think outside the box, and do something he’d rarely done before. Putting aside how hard he could punch, how fast he could run, how strong he was, Jack now needed to be clever in his moves. 

He paid attention to your footwork, the movements you used each time he leant forward to try and disarm you. He made a mental note of how you twisted your body at each swipe of his hand, how you turned and spun on your heels effortlessly to put distance between the two of you. Step by step he memorised how you moved in sync with him, and he smirked as he plotted his next moves. 

It was like the two of you were dancing a waltz together; stepping in time, circling each other, your eyes never leaving the other’s gaze. You desperately tried to think what Jack’s next move might be; it had been a while since he’d last tried to make a grab for your ‘weapon’, and it made you wonder if he was now calculating things. Was he finally learning the patterns, learning to be smarter with each move? 

He reached forward again, as he had done dozens of times since you started this exercise, but this time he made sure to move in a way that prevented you from turning away from him how you had. Jack caught you off guard, making you stumble just enough so that he could reach for your wrist and disarm you. He squeezed your wrist just right so that the tendons and ligaments were constricted slightly, causing the tension you had in your fingers around the racket to weaken. The wooden racket crashed to the floor, narrowly avoiding both your feet. 

“Gotcha,” he declared, his voice low and almost velvety smooth with how deep it was. You gasped as the wood ricocheted off the floor beneath you, the sound of it crashing being all that now filled the void between the two of you. Jack’s fingers remained around your wrist, and as you looked up at him there was a devilish twinkle in his eye that read ‘I win’. 

Not today, Daniels. 

“Oh, really?”. 

With Jack’s hand still grasping your wrist, you rotated your arm as much as you could in his grip, turning yourself so that your hand now held his forearm. Once your fingers could clamour at his skin, you yanked him hard and had his body lurch forward. Ducking down, you manoeuvred yourself underneath Jack so that his chest hit your shoulders. He let go of you in the haze you pulled him in, freeing your arm so that you could tug on his waist, rotate yourself beneath him, and pull him over your back and off his feet.

In one move you’d used Jack’s weight against him, and had him laid flat on his back in the gymnasium. He grunted as you used his weight to keep his arms pinned back beneath himself, unable to reach forward and try to fight back. He fidgeted beneath you as you swung a leg over his narrow hips to act as another way to distribute weight onto his body, keeping him pinned to the ground and unable to move. 

Exhausted, Jack’s breathing became more like panting as he almost accepted his fate. His chest heaved as he tried to collect himself and muster up an ounce of strength so that he might be able to salvage this. 

“Fuck, London,” he half-whined, half-grimaced, still fidgeting underneath you. The familiar twinge in his back he had earlier came back to rear its ugly head, and he was reminded yet again that he was no longer the fighter he once used to be. 

“Do you concede?” you asked. He shook his head, not wanting to appear like he was giving up the fight so easily. He might be older, still not recovered from his injuries, and significantly out of practice - but mentally, he was fitter than ever. That drive had returned in him, the fight he so needed, fuelling him each day to keep getting up and ploughing on. He had to keep going, he couldn’t stop to look back anymore, not after these last few years. He didn’t want to look back, either. 

Not when looking forward showed him you. 

“Where’s your fight then? You got cocky, delayed, and now look at you,” you smirked, taunting him. 

That lit something deep within him. You watched as the metaphorical switch flicked in his head that ignited a part of his brain which had not kicked into action in the whole time you’d known him. Smirking, you watched him process your words and wondered what this taunting could result in. Intrigue took over. 

Grinning down at Jack, you were just about to make him concede, to accept that there was not as much strength in him as you once thought, so that you might finally be able to begin a new training regime while he was being kept away from firearms. To make him see that things were not as they once were, and that he needed to get used to that. You plotted in your head what else you might be able to say to awaken whatever drive you’d seen light up his eyes just then, wondering if there was a button you could press which would make him snap. You needed, wanted, to see if those responses were still within the former senior agent, buried away after decades of use. 

What you had not realised, was that you had already pressed that button. Jack then did what Jack did best - he took you by surprise. 

Using momentum from what was left of his unrestrained legs, he hooked himself around your hips and flipped the two of you over. Your back hit the mat, and now with his own hands for himself again, he used them to grab your wrists and pin you down above your head. The weight of his legs on yours kept your hips firmly planted into the ground, Jack’s legs stretching down your thighs to stop you from moving them. 

You were impressed he had that much core strength left in him, and made a mental note to tell Clara about his improvements. To say he had needed rails at the side of his bed for six months after waking up just to get himself up in a morning, he’d come along far. 

But then, everything stopped. 

Jack didn’t move. He didn’t try and go for another attack, nor did he move so that you could retry another form of self defence. Instead he remained hovering above you, your breath mixing together in the small space between you. He was so close to you - sinfully, even. And what’s worse is that you didn’t even hate how it felt to have his weight above you, keeping you pinned firmly to the gymnasium floor. Something about this felt oddly right, even if in reality it was never something you could ever dare dream to imagine taking further. 

He felt that rush of adrenaline begin to die down within him ever since your taunting comment about him being implied that he’d lost the fight. Now he was acutely aware of what his movements in the last few moments had resulted in, and consequently where he now found the two of you. 

Jack’s eyes dared to look down at your lips almost on instinct. He’d had his own suspicions that a crush was being harboured by him for you ever since you kissed him on the forehead in your office, but he’d done his best to quell any such feelings he had. Besides, it wasn’t like he could ever go through with doing anything…But that wasn’t to say he hadn’t thought about your lips, their softness, and you with your kindness, ever since yesterday. 

He whispered your name as he breathed, his words softer now as the two of you began collecting your breath after your fight. He gazed down at you, and for a moment you succumbed to him - the hairs on the back of your neck stood on their ends, and a shiver ran down your spine. So much about this was wrong, but your mind was blank to any reason why you should tell him to get off you. 

You watched as Jack’s eyes never left your face, flitting across every feature of yours, but paying particular attention to your lips. His tongue darted out a small amount, wetting his lips briefly, as if what he was looking at was becoming difficult for him to resist. Like he wanted, no, needed, to taste you. 

Lord knows he was becoming hard for you to say no to…

His brain stopped working for a moment, and his heart took over. Still pinning you down, the two of you still collecting your breath after the fight, Jack threw away all professionalism you had both tried to maintain thus far. You might kick him off, you might slap him for this, and for all of it he’d take in a heartbeat plus any other punishment you deemed necessary if you didn’t reciprocate this. But something about this felt right, and like it wouldn’t be something you would be so against - the months of spending virtually every day together, the late nights working, the closeness, and the feeling he couldn’t shake that you actually cared for him. He was totally enamoured with you on a professional standpoint, but over these last few weeks that had slowly bled into an adoration for you on a more personal level. 

“Sorry,” he whispered quietly, feeling like he would definitely owe you an apology for this, before he completely caved, dipping his head down and pressing his lips to yours. 

You felt the air escape your lungs like a vacuum in space as he pushed his lips to yours in a soft but tender kiss. You knew that this crossed so many lines, but nothing inside of you cared to stop and question that right now. The softness of his moustache brushed against your top lip, a feeling that you were very unfamiliar with, but not one you minded. His lips were soft, almost delicate, which was a stark contrast to the rest of him. From your brief encounters physically you knew that Jack had calloused hands, and was plagued by the ailments of his injury. You didn’t expect that any part of him would be soft and delicate, especially given the hardened exterior he so often portrayed since his injuries. 

Your brain took a few moments to catch up with what your body was doing, but you found yourself quite willing to submit to Jack. Without much hesitation whatsoever, you kissed him back, allowing him to take your bottom lip between his when he went back in for more. You wished that you had your hands free to be able to run your hands through his hair, to tug on the thick curls at the nape of his neck lightly and keep him secured to you; to show him with your body and touch that you didn’t want this to stop. 

Closing your eyes, you got lost in the moment. Sighing gently, you parted your lips, and allowed him to have full control. You were telling him without any words that you were on the same level as him, that something had been growing between the two of you, and that he wasn’t totally insane for thinking it. You knew the look on his face just then when he looked down at you - pleading, desperate, and yearning for answers. Wondering if he was in the wrong for wanting to do this, to have you as his own. And while this could all come crashing down around you both any second now, for the moment you fused yourselves together neither of you dared consider what would happen once you parted. 

Jack's heart pounded in his chest. Through the smallest of gestures, you'd shown him your guard was lowered, and he was allowed in. He released you from his grip swiftly, moving one hand to cup your jaw as he deepened the kiss, his tongue lapping at yours. He was confident that he wasn’t about to get violently pushed onto his back, smacked away, or kicked where the sun doesn’t shine. He could relax and let go of the fear he had that you would not reciprocate such affection. 

He had you. Even if just for now, just in this moment laid out on the hardwood gymnasium floor, you were his. And he was yours. 

All restraint was gone now. With your hands free, you laced your fingers in his thick hair, tugging gently at the short curls that flicked up at the base of his skull. Ever so lightly you applied pressure through the tips of your fingers, and with each tug you were rewarded with a soft groan in the back of Jack’s throat. A shiver ran down his spine with every grab your nimble fingers gave to the curls at the back of his head, and he felt his hair stand on end as you did. 

For the first time in years, pleasure surged through Jack’s body. His fingertips pressed on your jaw harder, the desperation and need he had for you fuelling him to hold you tighter. His chest heaved with panting breaths as he devoured you, adrenaline coursing through him as he felt you react similarly to each touch of his lips on yours. His tongue nudged against yours, and the taste of you was almost enough to make him sinfully moan outright. 

But then something crept into his mind which made his grip loosen, and a panic replaced the lust and desire that he was feeling for the first time in years. Guilt sept in through his bones, and softly he released you from his hold. Still on top of you, his lips left yours, and he screwed up his weary eyes in shame. 

“I- I’m sorry, I-,” Jack stammered, a redness creeping up his neck in shame at what he’d done with you. Fear took over and he dared open his eyes to look at you, afraid of what your eyes would tell him. Would you be angry at him for overstepping the professional boundary the two of you had both worked on maintaining? Would you be upset at him for taking such a leap without either of you having ever discussed if this was something you’d be interested in?

But instead, he wasn’t met with either of those. 

“Jack-,” you whispered, pleading with him, not wanting him to stop. Through all the missions you’d been on over the years, the simple act of having Jack kiss you made you feel more alive than any time you’d risked your life. He’d ignited something that had for so long been neglected, and you weren’t ready to let that go just yet.  

“No, I shouldn’t have, I-,” he began, scrambling at his words to try and formulate an apology fast enough. 

“Shut up, and kiss me,” you said, paying little heed to the consequences. You knew that this would be something the two of you would have to work to unpick after this session, but in the moment you didn't want to think about that. You yearned to go back to the little bubble the two of you had created in the vast expanse of the gymnasium - to close off everyone else, and have it be just the two of you, in sync and finally listening to the urges you’d been fighting off. 

“W-what?” he asked, eyes wide and laced with confusion at your request. 

“Kiss me, Jack. Please,” you said, giving no further reasoning. You didn’t want to stop and think about the justification, you didn’t want to have to clamour for a reason why. It just felt so good to be in this position, beneath a man you’d come to care for so greatly, his lips on yours and your hands laced through his hair. 

You didn’t need to ask him a third time. 

Jack didn’t question anything else - his head dipped back down and caught your lips in another kiss. He knew, as you did, that this wasn’t going to be a simple thing either of you would be able to move past. But that was a problem for the two of you later - right now, no problems existed. 

With the reassurance you did want this as much as he did, Jack allowed his hands to wander across your body. Still with one hand cupping your cheek, the other traversed down the expanse of your torso, lingering for a moment over your chest. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat between kisses at the feeling of his deft fingers dancing over your nipples, so gently but yet with a need that showed itself in how eagerly he cupped the soft swell of your breast. 

Jack’s mind span as you so eagerly let him explore your body as if it was his own. Caressing your chest, his kisses became firmer and more passionate as a heat rose between the two of you. For so long he had never contemplated true intimacy with anyone else, resigning himself to years of meaningless hookups in bars with women he’d avoid seeing a second time if he could help it. He’d take his time, give them a night to remember, but he’d never been all that interested in the beauty in what it meant to take things slow, and to submit himself to any of them. 

But you were different. Like a siren calling lost men at sea, he was drawn to you in ways he could never explain. Taking you in was akin to taking an addictive drug, he knew that already, and that ever considering giving this up would be a near impossible task. 

You had to fight not to moan loudly beneath Jack as his hands continued to explore your body further, making your hair stand on end as the fabric of your clothing rubbed against your body. He timidly made his way down until he reached the hem of your shirt, then hesitated. You knew what he was considering, and what he so badly wanted to do. 

“Yes,” you whispered against his lips between kisses, giving him permission to explore even further. 

Grinning, Jack slipped his hand up under the hem of your shirt, and slowly slid his palms up your bare skin. You felt the calluses on his fingers drag against your flesh, and the sensation was pleasurable enough that you dared to contemplate what it might feel like to have his fingers elsewhere on your body. Your cheeks heated up at the mere thought of what that could be like, and you bridged the gap between you both with a kiss to hide your obvious embarrassment. 

Jack chuckled in the back of his throat as he gladly kissed you. He might not have noticed the heat of your skin, but he saw the dazed look in your eyes. The way your pupils dilated a little further, how blown out and glassy your eyes were staring back at him. He could tell from that alone that your mind was reeling as to what else the two of you might explore, and he’d be lying if he said that didn’t do something for him. 

Just to know that you were amenable to such exploration ignited a desire in Jack that he’d not had for years. The desire to lay with another, and for it to mean something. The prospect was still relatively terrifying, but for you he was more than willing to try and push those fears to one side so that he might experience such beauty once more. His own mind wandered at the thought of how you would look for him laid out on his bed, devoid of any clothing, begging for him to take you. 

Heat pooled in the pit of his stomach, and he felt his sweatpants begin to tighten as arousal continued to surge through him. A foreign feeling for Jack, with self pleasure being something he had only recently started considering again. There had been absolutely zero drive for him to indulge in such an activity for so long, with him being more focused on getting better physically, and then mentally. The act had very quickly fallen down the list of priorities that he had. 

But laying here with you, his hand slowly travelling up your bare skin, and with your lips fused to his, that urge had reawoken. He moaned softly against your lips as his fingers reached the band of your sports bra. 

How you wished you’d not dressed so practically for this session. You grunted beneath Jack in frustration as his fingers attempted to pry at the seam of your bra, but the strong elastic and reinforced band made it near impossible. It would only come loose if you were to release the entire band from the clasp that sat in the centre of your back, but from here there was no way that was getting undone. 

Still, his hands remained. He cupped your breasts and rubbed his thumbs over the peaks, grinning against your lips as you whined and writhed around beneath him at the sensation. He adored every small whimper that you made between kisses, every heavy breath that heaved from your chest, and every movement of your hands against him.

Your short nails dragged lightly across Jack’s back, feeling every muscle that spanned across his broad frame. You’d admired his stature from afar before, but never considered that there would be a time in which you would get to hold him against your body like he was yours to have. 

Jack was so easy to get lost in, and time almost stood still in the small bubble you’d made for yourselves laid out on the floor. The quiet moans and soft grunts, as well as the sound of your lips meeting in an embrace, was the only sound the filled the room. Both of you desired that louder moans and whimpers were what filled the empty space, but there had to be some element of restraint. 

Not that it was easy to stop going further. 

But then, cutting through the silence of the room; footsteps in the distance. Jack noticed before you did, and instantly pulled his hand out from up your shirt and went back to having you pinned down. You gasped as he pushed your arms back onto the cold floor, your lips breaking from his as he did. Looking up at Jack, his lips slightly swollen from the ferocity of your kisses, you heard the door to the gymnasium opening slowly, and the footsteps from outside the corridor coming inside. 

“And what exactly am I looking at here, agents?” a woman’s voice asked. 

Both of your heads snapped towards the direction of the voice, only to be met with the sight of a familiar redhead standing in the doorway. She was dressed in almost all black, even if she retained the cowboy aesthetic of the Statesman uniform, but today had opted to go without the hat. Instead, her curly red hair flowed around her face, which was adorned with a devilish grin and raised eyebrows. 

Eve. 

“Physical defence training,” you said, attempting to make it sound like you didn’t have a lump in your throat from being caught almost red handed making out with another agent. 

“I can see that,” she chuckled, now heading into the room, “But why is Jack here on top of you?”. 

“I disarmed her, she threw me to the ground, and I just managed to get the upper hand,” Jack explained, clearing his throat as he slowly began to peel himself off from you. You felt the weight from his body slowly begin to leave you, his legs sliding off yours and his hands loosening from your arms, eventually resulting in him getting off you entirely. 

“Mhmm, okay,” Eve chuckled as the two of you got to your feet, “And that’s all that was going on, right?”. 

“What else would there be, Eve?” you asked. 

She wasn’t dumb. You knew that, and she knew that. Hell, even Jack knew that, and he’d not had much interaction with Eve in several years. You just prayed to any God that might exist that she hadn’t actually seen what the two of you had done - speculation was one thing, but to physically see what had just happened? You weren’t sure you’d ever live it down. 

“Nothing!” she smiled as the two of you got back on your feet. You noticed out of the corner of your eye that Jack thrust his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, and you practically burned at the realisation of why he had to do that in the presence of someone else, given what had just happened. 

“What’s up, anyway? Wasn’t expecting to see you until later?” you said, taking your time to readjust your clothing which had been scuffed up during the course of the training session. Jack made no such effort, remaining as stiff as a board. 

In more ways than one, you suspected…

“Champ sent me,” Eve began explaining, smiling sweetly at you both. “You’re both needed for a meeting. Separately, though.”

“Separately?” Jack queried. Eve shrugged. 

“I know no more than you, Daniels,” she said, “All I’d suggest is you get a move on. He seems…I don’t know. Agitated, almost? I just wouldn’t keep him waiting.”

“Alright, thanks Eve. We’ll go get changed and head up shortly. We were almost done for today anyway,” you smiled. Eve chuckled, winking at you as Jack left your side to go and collect his gym bag. She leant forward so that she could whisper to you. 

“I bet you were…,” she said. 

Well, shit. 

Series Masterlist | A03 Link | Tumblr Masterlist

Next Chapter (Ch. 10 - "Furtherance") ->

[cloti-strifehart]

Who We Are

Title: Who We Are

Author: KristinaMarie

Chapters: 1/?

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Rating: M (will be E in later chapters)

Pairing: Cloud Strife/Tifa Lockhart

Summary: Cloud is racked with guilt after nearly killing Tifa under Sephiroth's influence. He carries her limp body back to the village, and as Tifa sleeps, Cloud realizes that he feels most himself when loving and protecting her. The story explores Cloud's anguish over nearly losing Tifa, his steadfast devotion to her, and his commitment to fight Sephiroth's memory to regain himself.

Read on AO3

Notes: This storyline in Rebirth is so beautifully done, I can't help but explore it more deeply. Cloud's psyche has always been so interesting to me, and I'm convinced that without Tifa, he'd become a shell of himself once again. Cloud's self-purpose started with Tifa. I think Sephiroth knows the influence Tifa has on Cloud, and the theory that he's aware of that and wants to corrupt Cloud against her to help himself succeed is so good. So, here's my imagining of how Cloud will figure it all out.

I have one more chapter in mind which will earn the E rating. I'd like to continue this, depending on how that goes and if inspiration hits. Let me know what you think! Unbeta'd.

There may be discrepancies with canon in this story. My apologies!

Tags: How i wanted it to go // The scene was perfection don't get me wrong // But why not? // Cloud Strife Needs a Hug // And to get a grip // That's where Tifa comes in // The gang just wants to help // Trauma // Angst // Guilt // Promises // Cloud tries to figure things out // Thought she was dead again // Promptly shuts down // 404 Error Cloud Not Found // Canon Rewrite // Canon Divergence - Final Fantasy VII Rebirth // rated M for now // Just barely M // Rating May Change // Will be Rated E in future chapters

______________________________________________________________

I was supposed to protect you, no matter what's to come.

Somehow forgot when they told me we hurt the ones we love.

- Friendly Fire, Linkin Park -

Sephiroth didn’t kill her. 

Liar.

I killed her.

Imposter.

I killed Tifa.

Who is she?

She’s my… she’s…

Another streak of white hot pain screams through Cloud’s temples where he sits, elbows resting on his drawn up knees.

No.  Not his temples.  Across his face, his cheekbone against the hammer that is Barrett’s fist.  Cloud takes the punch unfazed, deserving, because he did this.  He’s the reason she…

She’s dead.

Cloud killed Tifa.  He backed her up against the mako pit, swung at her with his blade.  All because he listened to him.  So sure she wasn’t who she said she was.

But it’s Cloud who’s not himself.  If he ever was.

He felt like he was, around her…

Barret roars.  Will he punch him again?  Cloud hopes so, if it’ll help. 

“Hey, get your shit together!  Tifa needs you!” 

Cloud stands with knees daring to buckle.  She said she needed me once.  Made me promise.  Each step toward the pool of mako feels like he’s trudging through cement. 

I’m no hero.  I’m not anything, anymore.

That’s it.  He’s not anything.  That’s why his bones feel like jelly, why his blood feels cold and sluggish in his veins.  Moments ago everything was a blur around him, like looking through heat rising off concrete, pressure behind his temples.  

Something laughs.  Laughs.  Then Cloud’s thoughts clear, his head gloriously empty to match his chest.  If there was a pulse beneath his armor, he’d be surprised.  Ashamed.

Without Tifa, what was the point?

But that clarity… it came and went.  Both strongest and weakest around her. 

Something roars.  The Weapon.  It looms over them and when Cloud looks up, the light is blinding. 

Then … she’s there.  Somehow she’s there.  And the silence in his head is so forgiving.

Cloud falls to his knees for the second time that day, palms on the ground as he hovers over Tifa’s soaked, still body.  Pain flickers in his chest, now; flows out through his limbs, stokes his heart to beat at an infuriating pace. 

She sputters wet coughs and her eyes flutter open and everything inside Cloud hurts so much…

It makes him want to smile. 

Cloud carries her the whole way back to the village.  Like a cross to bear.  Like he should have done back when…

When I killed her.

She sleeps in his arms, head tucked between his chin and shoulder.  Cloud maneuvers her only when he has to in order to cross the terrain, keeping his voice low and his words short each time he needs to wake her. 

“Tifa, listen to me.”

“Tifa, put your arms around me.”

“Tifa, hold on to me.”

She does what he asks each time, arms moving languidly, heavy with exhaustion.  She’s so strong.  She’s a big girl, always has been. 

She’d been right back in Kalm.  He hadn’t been there for her.  He should have, but…

It’s hard to think back to the mako reactor in Nibelheim.  His temples throb when he does, but he does it anyway, because… because…

He can still feel the rage that flowed through him in Nibelheim.  But before that was the emptiness.  That hollow nothingness that echoed throughout every tainted cell of his being as he’d carried Tifa, just like this.  As he’d nearly lost her, just like this.

You know she's dead. 

No.  She’s warm in Cloud's arms.  Her breath whispers against his skin.  The scar peaks at him from under her top.  Tifa.  His Tifa.  She’d waited for him; found him at the train station.  She’s been here all along.  And where was he?

He’s here for her now.  And look at what it’s done - nearly cost her her life.  Nearly lost her again… Without her, there’s nothing.  Nothing left but the other part of him he doesn’t recognize, or maybe recognizes too well.  The part of him that feels so wrong when Tifa isn’t with him, that pushes out all that feels painful and perfectly right. 

The part he wants to remember, but fights against him when he tries… except when she’s with him.

When the party finally arrives, the group buzzes about, busying themselves with ways to help Tifa.  Barret leads the way, clearing it, still grumpy that he didn’t carry Tifa back himself.  Cloud should have let him, he thinks, but the moment he picked up Tifa’s limp body, his head and chest screamed not to put her down; to keep her warmth close to remind him she’s alive.  Not dead, by his hand or by Sephiroth’s.  Aerith announces she’ll grab blankets, water, food, the kitchen sink too, probably.  Yuffie nips at his heels chirping away, how can I help, what can I do, is she okay?  

Cloud almost feels bad when he crosses the threshold of the bedroom and kicks the door shut in Yuffie’s face.  Almost. 

“We’re here, Tifa,” Cloud murmurs against her forehead.  This time, despite the commotion in the next room, she doesn’t stir.  The familiar chaotic bustle of doting friends makes her feel safe, he guesses. 

He wants to be that for her.  He’s tried to be that, so many times.  When they were in the village as kids.  On Mt. Nibel…

Carefully, Cloud lays her atop the bed over the blankets, kneeling one knee on the mattress as he sets to work.  As gentle as he makes sure to be, it all feels mechanical, what he’s doing.  Pulling her red boots off her feet.  Sliding her thigh highs down her legs.  Undoing her gear from around her waist, wrists, and arms.  Even the ponytail holder has to go.  It’s all dirty, tainted.  Like him. 

Cloud knows what has to come next, and he knows the girls just outside the room are better suited for this job.  But he has to do it.  He has to be there for her.  He’d promised.

Pushing off the bed, Cloud moves with quick determination to the door where Yuffie is still yammering and Red still scratching at the wood.  Cloud yanks the door open, effectively quieting them all.  Except Aerith who simply stands there with those sad eyes of hers, always sad, a blanket folded in her arms. 

Cloud can’t bring himself to look into her eyes.  He knows.  He knows he’s the cause of all this. 

He’ll apologize later, he decides, as he yanks the blanket from Aerith’s arms and shuts the door again, this time twisting the lock.  He…. They need privacy.  He needs to do this.  He’s known Tifa his whole life.  No one knows Tifa like him. 

Right?

Cloud returns to her bedside, letting that thought distract him as he works. 

I know Tifa better than anyone. 

First he removes his own heavy gear, leaving only his sweater and fatigues. 

And she knows me better than anyone.

He coaxes Tifa into a sitting position, slumped against him, forehead against his shoulder. 

Better than I know myself.

Her suspenders were easy enough to pop off.  Gripping the back of the fabric, Cloud rolls her white top up and over her head, then the black one next.  It all needs to be washed after being in the belly of the Weapon.  He keeps his eyes trained to the wall and lets his touch guide him.  She feels so warm against him, and he finds himself thanking whoever’s listening for that.  She’s warm.  His one arm wraps around her waist to keep her body pressed against his, ensuring modesty, while his other arm pulls Aerith’s blanket around her.  Leaning forward, he guides Tifa back to the pillow, then straightens the blanket around her before reaching beneath it to undo her bottoms.  He know it’s awful of him, but his fingers yearn to feel more than the smooth, warm glide of her skin as he pulls off her skirt, her underwear…

He only ever feels warm around Tifa, he thinks.  Like his blood suddenly remembers how to move through his veins. 

Her clothes neatly set aside for later washing, Cloud kneels beside the bed, hands on his knees, shoulders straight as he checks over his work.  Tifa is still sleeping, none the wiser, every bit of her covered and her dignity intact. 

A smile hints at the corner of her lips, and Cloud buckles, shoulders slumping forward while his fingers dig into his knees. 

What had he done?

He chokes against the sobs racking through his body, swallowing them down so as not to wake her.

You tried to… you almost…

What is she?

Cloud fists his hands in his chocobo hair and doubles over, his tears falling onto his fatigues and wetting it there.  “Shes Tifa,” he hisses.  “My Tifa.  You… you tried to take her from me.  Take everything from me.”

He knows Sephiroth is kneeling behind him, grinning, whispering into his ear.  But Cloud can’t feel nothing like his former hero wants him to.  Not this time.  Because Tifa needs him.  She needs him, and the anger is raw and lawless within him. 

This is when he feels most like himself, he thinks.  This, and when he’s loving Tifa.

Cloud’s eyes snap open.  His hands slowly leave his hair, moving to the mattress to grip the hem of Tifa’s blanket.

When I’m loving her…

That’s when everything makes sense, he thinks.  That’s when he feels like… like Cloud. 

Years of hiding feel forgotten as he climbs onto the bed, easing himself down alongside Tifa’s still body.  Unsteady fingers brush her stray hair  behind her ear, then trails down to the nape of her neck, holding her there so he can press his forehead to hers.  He knows he doesn’t deserve this; shouldn’t let his nose slide along hers, his blonde eyelashes flutter against her long, dark, whispy ones.  The arm under them curls under her neck so that his forearm can cradle the back of her head, and his free arm moves from her nape to her waist, wanting nothing more than to crush her against his chest like he did in Aerith’s garden.  Instead he insistently shows restraint, but only enough to satiate himself with the rise and fall of her chest against him.  He needs this. 

Needs her.

Cloud tucks the blanket more tightly around Tifa, though his hands tremble where they hover over the hem overlapped across her front.  Years ago, days ago, hours ago, he couldn’t imagine himself doing this, but now… His fingers part the blanket just enough to smooth his hand under to her stomach, following the dip of her navel up until he finds it - the raised edges of the scar.  The very thing he’s denied, burning into his fingertips and scarring there as proof. 

He’ll never doubt her again, he swears.  Another promise.

Cloud lets the tears come until he slips into dreaming, where he finds Tifa on the tower in her blue summer dress, smiling at him and asking for promises he’ll always, always keep. 

[my-name-is-markus-with-a-k]

prime numbers for the gif-maker asks? 👀

2. Least favourite set? Oh, I'm sorry but I don't want to answer that 😅 I've deleted any I really don't like, but I will say there's a set that keeps popping up in my notifs where I'm like 'really, that one again???' But that's all I will say. People like what they like.

3. The set with the most notes? This one with 1559 notes. I'm happy with that, it's a good set. The ones with Connor in them tend to do well.

5. Favourite movie/tv show to gif? dbh is my main fandom so yeah, dbh but more specifically, Markus. I just love giffing him, it's almost therapeutic at this stage.

7. Who are my top 3 gifmakers? @thirium @aghostinmyownmachine @mijchi for dbh gifs and also shout out to @babyjapril who is not a dbh giffer but her gifs are always incredible (sorry for the random tag ana).

11. One set I made that just won't die? I legitimately don't know what this means lol

13. Where and/or from whom did you learn to gif? I'm mostly self-taught but I have relied on a few tutorials here and there.

17. How many gifs do you prefer in a set? I guess 2? That's how many I usually make in a set, so that must be my preference. I do like a 4 set too though.

19. What I'd my giffing process like? Very on the fly, lol. I check to see if I have the footage I want, if I don't I screen record the scene I need. I upload that into ps, trim the clip to what I need, change the speed and crop. Then I brighten and colour them to whatever I'm feeling at the time. I always sharpen last. It's what takes the longest and I sometimes have to finick with the settings a bit until it looks nice on tumblr.

23. What's the thing you gif when you don't have anything else to gif? Take a wild guess. It's my boy ofc

29. Have you ever posted a set, realised you made a mistake later but realised it was too late? Oh yes many a time. Usually on sets with text and I made a typo. That's happens pretty often 😅 I usually go back and fix them anyway but then the old versions still get reblogged lol

31. Do you schedule/queue posts or do you post as soon as you're done? I usually post when I'm done. If I'm not really happy with a set, I'll save them to drafts and look at them later. If I decide they're actually OK, I'll post them, if not, I redo them. But I don't schedule posts, I'm too impatient.

37. What sets do you have planned to make in the future? There are a few sets I'm waiting to do when my skills catch up to my visions. But right now? There's a quote gifset I want to make with Markus but it will require time I just don't have right now.

41. Least favourite part of the gifmaking process? Oh my god, uploading to tumblr. I never really know what gifs are going to look good. Sometimes I'll spend ages on a set, upload to tumblr and it look like ass, so I have to redo the whole thing. It's infuriating.

43. Do you keep videos or delete them once you're done giffing? I keep them unless I need the space. I'm pretty lazy like that hahaha

47. Any advice for novice gif makers/people who want to start making gifs? Gif tutorials are your friend. I'm mostly self-taught but whenever I get really stuck, I search for gif tutorials. They are incredibly helpful.

That... was a lot of questions and I had to google prime numbers like a chump because I could only remember prime numbers up to 20 lmao