#there's a good chance the author codes something in for it

[crustaceousfaggot]

I am kissing the Xyzzy Awards people with tongue btw.

[erwinsvow]

𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥

summary: you were a pogue, and now you're a kook. just like how once you were no one's, and now you're rafe cameron's.

author's note: here it is!!! imagine like s1 rafe with the s2 hair, and basically just having a former-pogue girlfriend through out the whole season. i just think rafe would actually be such a good boyf, he just needs someone to settle him down when he gets a lil crazy. follows the sequence of s1 until about 3/4ths down, where i just started making stuff up. you might read this & think no one would act like this.. and that's fine, i know they wouldn't, but this is a self indulgent story for rafe <3 part 2 of the other seasons maybe? enjoy!!

now spinning: black beauty by lana del rey (soooooo rafe coded! he just needs a hug and some pussy!)

word count: 13.5k

warnings/tags: wheeze is a toddler for no reason. reader isn't the biggest fan of the pogues at this point in time. smut: oral (f receiving), fingering, degregation, use of daddy, rafe calls reader kid because <3, lemme know if i forgot something!

“So that’s it? Really? Your mom is marrying a Kook and you’re moving across the island… just like that?” John B speaks to you as if you had any choice in the matter. You look at him sadly, but you’ve cried so much the last few days, it’s hard to find any more tears.  

You want to tell him, want to explain everything. The way your mom has been so lonely for years, ever since your dad passed away. The way she would pull double-shifts every week just to make sure you had the nice, trendy shoes and hot dinner every night. The way you grew up in the cut but it never felt any different than growing up in figure eight, because she took care of you.

And now it was your turn, to take care of her. Blake Richards was rich, and he wanted to take care of your mom, which meant for the first time in a long time, she would be the one being taken care of. And you owed that to her, you owed that much.

“I-I don’t really have a choice, John B. I mean, this is my mom. And she’s getting her chance to be happy. I can’t ruin it for her.”

“Yeah, I get all that but, like, does this mean you’re gonna go full-Kook on us? Because I think that would just be disturbing,” JJ says, and you crack a smile, even as you feel a tear spill down your cheek. 

“I don’t think I could ever go full-Kook.” It comes out quietly, a notch above a whisper.

“Hey, hey,” you hear John’s voice again, as he stands up to get closer to you. You feel embarrassed, the way your cheeks flush and heat up when he’s only a few inches away from you. He wipes the tear away with his thumb. “No crying, okay? Nothing has to change.”

The way he says it, you almost believe him.

“Right,” you say, still quiet. There’s a sob stuck behind your throat, and you don’t want the boys to know how upset you really are. You’ve stitched up these boys more times than you can count, set shoulders and bones and nursed bruises for them. “Nothing has to change,” you repeat, trying to convince yourself. Everything was about to change, starting with your relationship with them.

And that’s the one thing you wish could stay the same. Deep down, no matter how many times you were teased and laughed with, there was a part of you, buried away, that thought you would end up with one of these boys one day. Sweet John, funny JJ, smart Pope. Well, maybe not Pope. You’ve seen the way he stares at Kie, even when no one else notices.

But John and JJ, the possibility of being with one of them always lingered in the air. Even when they’re flirting with tourists or cracking so-called boy jokes that you just wouldn’t understand, you always thought they were your endgame.

If only you knew. 

Pope and Kiara drive up, just as you’re wiping away another tear. You’re dreading repeating everything to them, shedding more tears. 

౨ৎ

“Who is that?” Topper asks, eyeing some girl entering the club. Rafe was getting sick of Topper crying over every pretty girl he saw on the street when he was supposedly dating his sister. He hardly cared about Sarah, daddy’s favorite, but that was his family, and he wouldn’t tolerate disrespect to his family. 

“She must be fresh meat,” Kelce says, “I’ve never seen her before.”

“Tourist?” Topper questions. Rafe downs the rest of his drink. 

“Nah, man, see that guy ahead of her? That’s Blake Richards. My dad works with him, he’s a big finance guy. He’s a widower, but I guess not anymore.” 

“Step-daughter? Jesus,” Topper says. “It’s like a cheesy porno. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he married her mom to tap that, I mean-”

“Enough,” Rafe snaps. “Shouldn’t you be in a fight with my sister?” Topper blanches. 

“I mean, look at her Rafe. That is something special,” Kelce says, and then finally, Rafe lifts his head to look at you.

You look… confused. Your head is turning, taking in everything about the club, like you’d never been there before. A waiter comes up to your family with tall glasses of water, little pieces of cucumber and lemon floating around in them with ice cubes. Richards—your step-father—takes a glass and hands it to a woman who can only be your mother, with the same hair and complexion. Before he can take a glass to hand to you, you take it from the tray yourself, smiling and saying thank you. The waiter, some teenage Pogue, blushes at your affection.

When you start walking, continuing the tour, the waiter turns to look at you walk away, gawking like men do when they see something pretty. Rafe feels an overwhelming urge to punch the kid, and cover you up with his jacket. 

You’re not in anything too immodest, compared to what he’s seeing girls at the club walking around in, but it feels like it’s too much for the leering eyes that follow you. Your jean skirt comes down a little less than half-way to your thighs. Your shirt is white, with puffy sleeves and little buttons that tighten around the chest.

He sees a glimpse of cleavage, which makes his chest tighten uncomfortably, not in the way he’s used to when he sees a pretty girl. He wants to take his shirt off his back and slide it onto you, buttoning it up all the way and making sure no one else looks at you the way he’s looking at you right now.

“Rafe?” his friend calls, and he’s not sure which one. In your glancing, you turn towards Rafe and you lock eyes for a second. You must have noticed him staring. You probably think he’s crazy, but he doesn’t seem to care much at the moment. Your mother must have beckoned you, because you turn away in a second, walking towards the older couple, trailing behind them again.

“Be right back,” he says, leaving a confused Topper and Kelce behind him at the table. He cuts through the tables near the bar, entering the walkway where your family is already, but coming out of the other end. He gets there just in time to run into Richards, who’s leading the little group.

“Hi, Mr. Richards, right?” he says, holding his hand out. “Rafe Cameron.”

“Oh, Rafe, hi,” the older man replies, shaking his hand. Rafe grips hard, making sure Richards doesn’t think he has a wimpy handshake. Otherwise he’s never gonna agree to what Rafe has in mind. “I haven’t seen you in years, I mean you were half your height last time I was over at Tannyhill.”

“Crazy, right? Well I just wanted to say hi since I ran into you. How’s, uh Benny and Brax?” 

“I can’t believe you remember them, they haven’t been to Kildare in years. They’re good, yeah, Benny’s in California now, and Brax is out at law school, at Oxford.”

“Oh yeah, international law, right?”

“Yeah,” Richards says, smiling wide. “You’ve got quite a memory, son, I’ll have to tell Rafe when I see him.”

“Oh yeah, he’s around here somewhere.” Then, he makes his move. He turns his gaze to your mom first. He thinks about it briefly, but if he addresses you before her, your mom will be on guard. He knows how their minds work. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, I’m Rafe,” and he shakes your mom’s hand, but turns back to Richards for the introduction—something else in his little cheat-sheet of rules. Let dad do the talking, so he feels like he’s in control. 

“Rafe, this is my wife, Anna-”

“Nice to meet you, Rafe,” your mom smiles at him sweetly, and he smiles back. 

“-and my step-daughter.” You smile, and hold your hand out. He shakes your hand, gently, and looks at your face, because he can tell the smile is forced. He wonders why. 

“Nice to meet you.” he says, and you smile that forced way again.

“You too, Rafe.” You let go of his hand, and it’s good, because if he held on any longer, the adults would get suspicious.

“First time here?” he questions, still looking at you.

“Yes,” your mother answers, laughing, if not a little uncomfortably. “Is it that obvious?”

“Nah, it’s a lot to take in, I remember that much.” Richards smiles at him, almost beaming. He knows Rafe has been coming here since he could walk. That means the old man appreciates him trying to comfort his new family. Another step closer.

“It is,” Anna says, looking at her daughter. She has those worried eyes, the one Ward’s new wife won’t stop looking at him with. 

“Well, it’s the perfect place to be all summer. I mean, pretty much everyone our age is at the pool or the courts.” At his mention of the both of you, you look up from staring at your shoes quickly to looking right at him. He smiles. You don’t smile back. 

“Really?” Richards asks, still openly friendly.

“I mean yeah, Mister R, I remember Benny on the golf course, like, everyday. And Brax, I mean he practically taught half of us how to swim.” Richards nods and laughs, continuing small talk about his sons. Rafe sneaks another glance at you, and you look back knowingly, like you can smell his intentions from a mile away. 

“Honey?” your mom asks quietly. “Do you wanna go with Rafe?”

“What?” you reply quickly, surprised. You weren’t listening, and he tries hard not to laugh.

“Well, I can take you ‘round, introduce you to everyone. I’ll finish the tour if you and Mrs. Richards are heading up to the course?” He nods at the golf clothes your parents have on, that you are lacking. 

“I think that sounds great, right, honey?” Anna presses, and after you lock eyes with her, you nod in agreement.

“Yeah, sure,” you say quietly. Rafe smiles again.

“Great, great, yeah. Well, it was great to see you Mister R. Missus R.”

“Thank you, Rafe. Kiddo, you can ask for the car to go home when you’re ready, okay? Your mother and I are going to get dinner here.” Anna looks up confused, probably wondering how they’ll get back.

“I’ll call someone to bring the car back, honey,” he explains, and your mom smiles.

“I can also take her back,” Rafe interjects. “Tannyhill is the same direction, and I’m headed back anyways. If you wanna leave the car here.”

“Really, Rafe, that would be great, thank you.” You look even angrier than before, but the plastic smile spread over your face doesn’t faze them.

“Right, thanks, Blake. Bye mom,” you say, and then lean over to kiss her on the cheek.

You watch them walk away, chewing your cheek and turning back to Rafe with anger splashed all over your pretty features. 

“I can’t believe that worked on them,” you tell him quietly, smiling when your mom turns back to look at you before they turn the corner. Your parents were too gullible sometimes.

“Yeah, me either, kid.”

“Don’t call me that,” you reply right away. “And despite what you think, I’m not touring this place with you. I’m probably never coming back here after today.” You start walking away, in the opposite direction of your parents, when he chases behind you.

“Y’know, I don’t get you. Every girl your age lounges around here all day, and everyone else wishes they could.”

“Well, you know what they say,” you start, smiling sweetly, though he sees through it again. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”

“Really?” he shrugs. “Never heard that before.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t have.” 

“Come on, you’re not even giving me a chance. You don’t even know me.” You laugh at that.

“Yes, I do, Rafe, you just don’t recognize me.” You continue your brisk pace, looking for the exit and getting closer. He reaches out to grab your forearm, holding you back for a second. He guides you into the corner, between the hallway where there’s no one else around.

“Yeah, that so?” Rafe is almost caging you in. He’s so close you can smell his cologne and the scotch on his lips.

“I’m from Kildare, Rafe.” You try to break free of his grip, but it proves even harder than you thought. He holds you in place without even breaking a sweat.

“No, no, no, because I know every pretty girl in Kildare. And you’ve definitely never been here before, so-”

“Really? Even the ones from the cut?” You thought that would be enough to get him to drop your arm, but he doesn’t budge.

“Huh. So that’s why you’ve never been here. Old Man Richards married a Pogue and made her daughter into a Kook? Did I get that right?”

“I’m not a Kook,” you say, squirming, because you still don’t want to be trapped by him. His cologne smells good, your mind wanders and thinks, like ocean air and sandalwood. You snap out of it at once.

“Not yet, you’re not.” 

“I’m not going to be, either. A little money isn’t going to change anything for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, kid. That’s what everyone says, ‘til it does.”

“Rafe, let go of me, I said let go-” And he does let go, quickly, and your arm falls. Faint red marks appeared when he was holding on, what can only be a bruise tomorrow. He’s marked you, and you’re not half as angry as you would have thought. 

“Come on, kid, we’re finishing this tour. I promised,” he says, and the last bit is so mocking, you can’t believe mom and Blake fell for his act. 

He takes you around the entire club, shows you the restaurants, the spa, the pool. At least a handful of girls stare at the two of you walking side by side, but Rafe doesn’t look back at anyone. You don’t know how to feel about that.

The oldest Cameron isn’t a mystery to anyone in Kildare, but you don’t know anything about him besides what the boys have told you. JJ hates him, naturally, John doesn’t let you look at him in passing, and even Pope can find a few bad things to say. But right now, he’s not doing any of those things you would have expected once he found out you and your mom are from the other side of the island. The crude jokes and gold-digger comments are nowhere to be heard.

But you can’t write him off completely yet. After all, this is Rafe Cameron.

He finishes the tour on the golf course, so you can wave to your parents on the course. You’re sipping on a lemonade through a little pink straw, and he finds it hard to look away when your cheeks hollow to draw up the liquid. Your mom and Blake wave back, and you smile—genuinely—for maybe the third time that morning. 

“They’re good together,” Rafe comments, on the walk back to the front door, where his truck is waiting. 

“Do you really think that?” you ask quietly. You’re tired, he can tell, drained from trying so hard to make sure he knows you hate him. 

“Yeah, kid, I do. He’s been a widower basically my whole life. And he married your mom, so he must really love her.”

You can’t tell if he’s just saying it to get on your good side. You hope he’s not. Through all of this, all the crying and the suffering and how much you miss your old life and your friends, if your mom doesn’t at least end up happy, it’ll all have been for nothing. You feel more tears brewing.

“Thanks, Rafe,” you end up saying quietly, as you put on the seat belt in the passenger seat of his truck. His music plays softly in the background of the drive - rap, something you've heard before but can't place - back to Blake’s house. With your window down, you stare out of it and try to pay attention to the breeze in your hair rather than the entirely overwhelming scent of Rafe, which is all-consuming in his car.

Rafe turns to look at you every few minutes. You look perfectly in place in his car, leaning against the panel with your eyes closed. That means you trust him, even though every word you say makes him think otherwise.

Your eyes flutter open when he puts the car in park, outside the door to your house. 

“Home sweet home, kid,” you hear his voice in your ear, but he sounds closer than he should be. When you turn to look, he’s leaning over you and so close to you, you feel the heat radiating from his body. 

“What’re you doing?” you ask quickly, heartbeat picking up and rocketing off. 

“M’just getting the door for you, kid.” His arm flexes, only an inch or two away from your chest, pulling the handle and swinging open the door. He leans back into his seat, smirking. “Why, what'd ya think I was gonna do?”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in and swallow uncomfortably. Your throat feels dry and your palms are suddenly clammy.

“Nothing.” 

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

You climb out of his car, shoes hitting the ground a little too hard. He strains his neck, trying to make sure you’re okay. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, not meeting his eyes, closing the door behind you. 

“Anytime, kid. I’ll be seeing you around.”

You thought he would take over the second the passenger-side door was shut, but he doesn’t. He stays and watches you fix your skirt that had ridden-up on the drive, and walk into the front door, glancing behind you, just for a second, before going inside. And then you hear the roar of the engine, only after the door was closed and you were safely inside.

౨ৎ

You didn’t take it literally, that you would be seeing him again. Rafe seems like the type to play with his toys and get bored before long, but true to his word, you see him days later. And to his luck, you were feeling even worse than the first time you met him.

The morning started like any other—showering in a bathroom that’s just yours, and no one else’s, and attached to your bedroom. You can hardly remember the years when your dad was alive, but after he passed, you and your mom moved into a tiny two-bed, one-bath with your mom’s best friend. You were there for the next five years, until she got married and moved out, and it was just the two of you. But even in all the years since, you’ve never had your own bathroom until now. 

You shower as long as you want, whenever you want. Your room is in a completely different hallway than the master, where Blake and your mom sleep. You blast music at night, singing along off-tune from the bathroom, and would stay on the phone for hours with your friends. If anyone answered your calls anymore. 

It’s been three weeks since you broke the news to everyone that you were moving. Two weeks since you actually moved. One week since Rafe walked you around the country club and drove you back home, like you belonged to him. In that time, you’ve driven down to the Chateau twice, walked by Kie’s house, which is now just a few blocks away, and texted multiple times—all with no responses. At first you panic, thinking something’s happened, but then you realize this was what always happened. When you’re off on an adventure, you don’t think about who’s waiting for you back at home.

That’s what’s running through your mind when you run into Rafe again that day.

You had showered without interruption, taking your time doing your hair up just because you felt like it. There was no work to be done, no chores assigned to you anymore. Breakfast was always prepared when you went downstairs, so you took your time getting ready now. 

You missed a lot of things about your old life, but the limited time and constant rushing and anxiety were not among them. 

Your clothes were picked out with the anticipation of seeing your best friends again, your favorite overalls from the thrift store—which had been bought when you were still two sizes too small for them, and had been baggy on you until last year, but they were such a steal your mother refused to let you put them back—and a yellow shirt to match your ratty, yellow converse. They had been washed so many times they were more brown than yellow, but it didn’t matter much. 

This outfit was the old you, and it brought up feelings inside you that nothing in figure eight could change. You wore it because you wouldn’t look any different to your friends in this outfit, and for maybe a few hours, you wouldn’t be the girl in the fancy house with the country club membership anymore.

“You look nice, sweetie,” your mom says, when you head downstairs. She’s drinking her coffee at the table, your step-dad nowhere to be found. It’s eleven in the morning and she’s just woken up too, in her robe and slippers, and you smile, watching her more relaxed than you’ve seen in years.

You swing by her side of the table to give her a kiss, and steal a piece of toast from her plate. You’re relieved she doesn’t mention your clothes, not when she keeps offering to take you shopping with Blake’s money, which you keep refusing, but is getting more tempting every time you step in a puddle in these shoes.

“Thanks mom, I’m going to see the boys and Kie, I’ll be back later, don’t wait up!” and with that you’re gone, before you can discern the disapproving look in her eyes. 

Your junky old car, older than you by several years and still somehow the nicest thing you own—used to own, a voice chirps in the back of your head—is hidden around several fancy cars in the driveway. It’s intentional, you’re sure, and likely your mother’s doing. Nothing embarrassed her more than you handing out constant reminders of your old life to everyone around you.

And then you’re on the way to the Chateau, windows down and no music, since there was no way to connect your phone and the radio was busted by Pope a year ago, who claims he was trying to fix it. 

But it’s what happens when you get there that embarasses you the most—no one’s there, and no one will answer your call. You wait around for a half hour, trying to see if they come back, but they don’t. 

And that’s when it hits you. They were off on their adventures, and you weren’t just down the street anymore, which meant you weren’t invited. You get back in your car and slam the door, humiliated, tears falling down your face and probably ruining the makeup you had done, stupidly, this morning, because you wanted to look nice for them, like your old self for them. You don’t realize until later, after you were done crying, and seen Rafe again, that your friends didn’t want to bother you while you were adjusting to your new life. 

You feel betrayed, and the words that John had told you rattle through your head, because he was wrong. Everything had changed, and nothing would be the same. 

You take off, heading back home. There’s a big storm brewing and your Accord gets dramatic in the rain. It’s not until you cross the border back into figure eight that you realize two things. One, that you had just thought of your new house as home for the first time. And two, that you had never felt more alone. 

There’s not much to do about either of these feelings, besides stopping for the biggest bowl of ice cream you can reasonably carry back home, and eating it in your room, crying and watching You’ve Got Mail for the hundredth time.

So that’s what you do, pulling into the ice cream shop closest to home. Your car also doesn’t have the greatest functioning air conditioner, and you don’t need any more questionable stains in your seats, considering how many times JJ had borrowed it and returned it, promising you it’s nothing and that that spot in the back seat was always there!

In line, tapping your foot, calling your mom’s cell. Your eyes are puffy and your nose is red from crying. She’s not answering, but the unspoken rule of your little family is to always, always call when you’re getting ice cream in case the other wants something. You’ve only been gone something like two hours, and you can’t imagine what she’s doing that she can’t answer your phone. You dial Blake’s number, hoping he answers instead, and while it’s ringing you realize it’s your turn to order. You haven’t even looked at the menu yet. 

You turn to the people behind you, telling them they can go in front, but when you look up from your phone, you almost drop it. 

Of course it’s Rafe Cameron behind you. Of course. Who else would it be? Who else would keep catching you at your lowest moments? He’s with a little girl, who can’t be older than four or five, with dark hair and glasses, holding his hand patiently while staring up at you, while you stare at him and he stares back.

“Rafe, she said we can go in front,” she says, tugging on the hand she’s holding. 

“Yeah, Wheeze, I heard. Let’s go order and then thank this nice girl for letting us go ahead, right?” The little girl nods, and follows him up to order. Rafe looks back at you but then your step-dad answers, so you turn away, cheeks heating up. You don’t want him to see.

“Hi, what’s going on?” you hear his voice through the phone, sort of staticky and jumbled. 

“Hi, Blake, I just wanted to ask if you and mom wanted ice cream? I’m at the place… yeah, the one near the house.”

“Oh, yes, let me ask her, one second-” You hear him put the phone down, or cover the mic, and then, “Honey! Kiddo’s asking if you want ice cream.” 

You feel yourself soften a little bit at the nickname. And then you hear your mom and Blake talking back and forth, for what feels like ages. The girl behind the counter looks at you with a glare and you try to look back at her with an apologetic smile, but you’re a little fed-up from the emotional turmoil you’ve just endured. 

“Hi, sweetie, I’m okay, I had some at the club with lunch and twice in a day is just not a good idea-”

“Just get it, who cares? We can have it later tonight too-”

“What if the power goes out? It’ll melt, and then it’s just a waste of money-” Crap. You hadn’t thought of that.

“We have generators for that.” Blake picks up the phone again. “Hey, kiddo, get your mom her usual and make sure you use the card I gave you, okay?”

You hang up the phone, smiling, and then order. It feels weird, being oddly comforted by someone other than your mom or your friends for once. In your distraction, you don’t see Rafe and the little girl hovering near the freezer window that showcases all the ice cream they offer. When you’re reaching for the shiny black Amex, you hear him again. 

“I got it, kid,” Rafe says, pressing his matching card against the reader and pushing your wrist down and away. He does it so easily, without trying, just like he did in the country club. You look up at him stupidly, brain not registering what he just did and why he did it, and you don’t move for a moment. You don’t move until he leans down a little, close enough to smell that enticing cologne again but not nearly close enough. 

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’. And you should probably get out of the way.” You blink back up at him, and he’s smirking again. You feel kind of stupid, the way he’s talking to you, but you also don’t mind as much as you thought you would. The girl behind the counter yells out Next! and that’s when Rafe takes you by the arm, just above where he had bruised you, and moves you away himself.

“You okay, kid?” he asks, and you feel yourself melt like ice cream left in your car for too long. You don’t know if he really means it, or if he really cares, but you do know Rafe Cameron needs to stop talking to you like he likes you, or you’re going to be in trouble.

“Fine, yeah. Thanks, uh, thanks for the ice cream.” You’re still blinking slowly, stupidly, stuck in a daze. You should really get it together around him. It’s a little pathetic if a strong grip and a couple of nice actions gets you acting like this. That’s a problem for another day right now.

“Is she okay, Rafe?” the little girl asks quietly from beside him. 

“No idea, Wheezie. Why don’t you sit and eat your ice cream?” he replies, and she sits down a few tables away, beginning to shovel chocolate ice cream with a tiny wooden spoon.

“Hey,” he says, and you begin to snap out of it. It’s raining outside now. You hear the pitter-patter of the drops on the roof. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yes. I am. I just had a bad morning. Sorry.” But you don’t know what you’re apologizing for.

“Well, are you gonna talk about it and shit? ‘Cause I don’t know you that well yet but you’re kinda freaking me out right now.”

“I-I…I just-”

“You, you, you just?” he mocks, and then when tears fill your pretty eyes and he sees one slip down your face, his own eyes panic briefly. “Hey, hey, I was just joking, kid-” He pulls out a colorful chair for you, and sits you down next to Wheezie, who is still eating ice cream at an alarming rate. Your ice cream is ready at the counter, and he brings it down next to you, holding his own strawberry cone in his hand. 

“Hold this for me Wheeze,” he says, not really asking, and the little girl shakes her head right away.

“How’m I gonna eat mine then?” 

“Wheezie,” Rafe says, in a voice that you haven’t heard him use before—and then you realize how stupid you sound. You’ve talked with him twice, you don’t know anything about the voices he uses or how he sounds when he’s talking to this girl who can only be his little sister. 

“Can I have some?” Wheezie propositions back, and Rafe nods. “Okay!” she says, taking a bite of the scoop with her front teeth.

“So, y’gonna tell me what’s going on or am I gonna have to guess everything?” 

“My friends, I just keep missing them, or they keep missing me, maybe. I just wanted to see them. It’s really lonely here, that’s all.” You’re staring into his eyes, his really, really blue eyes that are currently a little alarmed and concerned, and the fact that they’re that way for you is making you a little dizzy. 

“Yeah, I get that. Sorry, kid, that’s the lay of the land, right? Not a Pogue anymore, are you?” 

“I don’t know what I am.” You feel silly and embarrassed for pouring your heart out over ice cream with Rafe Cameron. He doesn’t know you, and he never will.

“Well, right now you have a choice. You can sit here and eat ice cream with us, or you can go home and cry about it alone. But if you choose the second one, Richards and Anna will see you, or hear you, and ask about it. And I’m not gonna keep asking if you don’t wanna talk. So pick one before this shi-stuff melts, okay?” 

You nod dumbly again. You’d like to turn your brain off and let Rafe decide for you. 

“I need a spoon.” He smiles, not smirks, for a second, before getting up to get you a spoon.

A few things float through your mind while you eat ice cream with the Camerons. First, Rafe remembers your mom’s name. Second, Rafe doesn’t swear in front of his kid sister. And third, and most important of all, Rafe Cameron cares about you.

“That’s a lot of ice cream,” Wheeze, or rather—as you’ve just learned—Wheezie, comments.

“I was feeling really sad,” you reply, shoving another spoonful into your mouth, watching the little girl eye your peanut and chocolate ice cream inquisitively. “You’ll understand someday.”

“Boy problems?” she asks, and you can’t help but crack a smile. Rafe looks up from his phone momentarily 

“Not really, but a good guess. This would also apply to that situation.”

“My sister’s always got boy problems.”

“Really?” you ask, and then look up Rafe. “You have another sister?”

“Yes,” he says, in between licks of strawberry ice cream. You should really look away when he does that, because your heart rate is picking up. “And she’s even more annoying than this one.”

You laugh while Wheezie frowns.

“If I’m so annoying, why do you always take me for ice cream, huh?”

“She’s got you there, Rafe,” and you resist the urge to look at him, even when you can feel his eyes on you. 

“Because you wouldn’t stop asking, dork, that’s why.” Wheezie shrugs in reply.

“I’m not gonna finish all of this. You want some, Wheezie?” you ask, offering her your spoon. She looks back at you smiling, and then at Rafe for permission, who nods.

She digs into the pile left, while you finally give into the urge to look up at her brother again. He takes another lick of his ice cream and you look away within a second. 

“Been eating that for a while, haven’t you, Rafe?”

“Yeah.” 

Somewhere in between Wheezie eating so much of the ice cream so quickly that she gets a brain freeze, and Rafe finally tossing his half-eaten cone into the trash, it’s time to go home. And as much as you hate to admit it, you don’t want to leave. The rain is coming down hard outside, a preview of the impending hurricane.

“Drive here, kid?” he asks, as your feet hesitate by the door. 

“No,” Wheezie answers, “I came here with you, dork.”

“Not talking to you, kid,” he replies, rustling the top of her hair with his hand, getting an ugh, Rafe, in response.

“Yeah. Yes, I drove here. But my car doesn’t do so good in the rain.”

“Huh?” he questions.

“It’s old, okay. Junky. The AC is broken. And the radio. Sometimes she just stops, y’know?” You gesture to your blue car parked out front, the rusty, tiny sedan two spots down from his shiny truck.

“No, I don’t know. Richards lets you drive around in that thing?”

“She.”

“It’s a car. Barely, at that.”

“She has a name, okay. HoHo. That’s her name.”

“Alright, well, you’re gonna have to ditch the hoe, because I can’t let you drive home in a hurricane in… that.” You turn to glare at him. “Her, sorry.”

That’s how you end up soaking wet in the passenger seat of Rafe’s truck, Wheezie secured in her booster seat and Rafe even wetter than you are. He drops you home and says the two of you can go pick up your car tomorrow—if it’s still there, he adds at the end, leaning over you again to open your door. You stare at him dumbly again, which has now become a bad habit, and it’s not until Wheezie says you’re getting her wet in the back that you finally climb out and close the door. You stand behind the front door with your mom’s melted ice cream in one hand, and your phone with Rafe’s contact saved in the other, wondering what exactly just happened. 

౨ৎ

The next few weeks pass through as quickly as they came. Your car—to your chagrin and your mother’s joy—does not survive the hurricane. Blake gives you a fancy, luxury car to drive around in that he just had laying around, which you don’t believe for one second. But, your mom is pleased when you actually start driving it, and you can actually listen to music from your phone and enjoy air conditioning and the most luxurious of luxuries—a backup camera. 

The night of the ice cream shop incident, Rafe texts you. You were completely ready to wallow in bed, waiting for the text from him that never comes, drowning your sorrow in more ice cream, but he does text you. First and right away. 

R: Is it wrong if I hope hoho drowns tonight?

that’s so mean. she never did anything to you.

R: She’s kinda ugly. And what was that about no ac?

so she deserves death????

R: The impound lot at the very least

if she dies, it’ll be because YOU manifested it

R: Never thought I’d believe in that manifesting shit, but here we are

did Wheezie eat dinner after how much ice cream you let her inhale?

R: No.

R: Ur fault. You gave her yours

you gave her yours too

and btw, I offered her a bite. she ate the rest. not my fault

R: She’s five, genius

R: I’ll come around noon tomorrow. Sleep tight kid

౨ৎ

Somewhere in between picking up your car—which entailed no less than stopping for lunch, even more ice cream that you can’t stand to watch him eat, and driving through town to see how bad the damage from hurricane Agatha was, and altogether three hours together ending with a wet, heated kiss in his truck with the windows fogged up—and today, you’ve been with Rafe more times than you can count. 

And you try hard to suppress the thought that it’s just because he’s available, that the availability is the reason for your attraction. And then you catch yourself trying to justify why you want to see Rafe so much, this guy that you had just been assuming was bad because your friends told you he was bad, without much in the way of an explanation. 

But Rafe is the furthest thing from bad. He’s so sweet to you it makes you delirious. He picks you up all the time, even when you tell him you’re just at home, and your car is right there. He pays for everything, he opens every door, the gentle but teasing way he is with Wheezie makes you even more head over heels.

But most important of all, he calls you first. He texts you first. He makes you feel wanted, and you definitely, definitely, want him, so you don’t think twice before saying yes to accompanying him to Midsummers. 

You actually don’t know what it really is, besides for a big party. It was always one of the worst nights at the hospital—litters of teens with alcohol poisoning and from car accidents— so your mom would be working. When you turned eighteen, your mom paid for classes to become a junior nurse, and so busy nights like the one of Midsummers usually was, you would get called in too. So before this week, you’d never spent Midsummers doing anything other than cleaning wounds and fetching suture kits.

You tell Rafe this and he looks at you strangely, another of his looks you hadn’t seen before, with furrowed brows, and you flush and apologize, regretting even opening your mouth. 

You know you’re deeper than you thought when he takes your head between his hands and kisses you—messy, with tongue and spit left glimmering over your mouth, so much so that he wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb when he’s done. 

“Go get yourself a pretty dress, and we’ll have fun, yeah?” You nod stupidly again, the way you’re prone to doing around him. He must have realized you get a kick out being told what to do by him, what to worry about and what to focus on. 

You finally take your mom up on the offer to go shopping. Her and your step-dad are going to this thing anyways, but you can tell she wasn’t completely sure you’d go to something so Kook-y, maybe not just yet, and she doesn’t want to push it since your mood finally seems to have picked up. But then you tell her Rafe asked you to go with him, and the two of you smile and jump around the living room, laughing like kids. She’s happy for you and you’re happy that the two of you are happy at the same time.

Rafe sends you money for a dress—enough money to pay for a month’s rent at your old place. Your mom says your step-dad insists on paying. You feel like things are coming together for the first time.

You wander the stores, trying on different dresses and feeling like a scene out of a movie until you finally find the perfect blue dress. Blue for Rafe’s eyes and his suit jacket, because you’re not embarrassed to admit to him that you want to match for Midsummers. It’s patterned with little flowers, ruffles and lace moving in the wind when you twirl, and for once, you stop feeling like you need to pick a side to be on—Pogue or Kook—and you decide just to be Rafe’s for now.

The night of the party, Rafe offers to pick you up, but you tell him you’ll come with your parents. They’re both wearing shades of peach and salmon, the three of you together look like you’re headed to a baby shower, which you and your mom laugh about in the car ride there. 

You text Rafe to let him know you’re there, and tell your parents you’re going to walk around to find him. When you glance back, they’re talking with some of Blake’s friends, people he had invited to the wedding.

You see, what you can only think, is a glimpse of Pope, in his usual waiter get up, but he disappears before you can see where he was. His father is still there, though, and you make your way through the crowd to get near him.

“Hi, Mr. Heyward,” you say, smiling and unsure if he’ll recognize you. You don’t think he’s ever seen you in anything but your overalls or scrubs. 

“How can I help yo-wait, is that you, well I’ll be damned. You’re blending right in, aren’t ya?”

“Well, it took long enough.” You suddenly feel embarrassed, because he knows the old you, the one who wouldn’t be here in a million years. “Do you know where Pope is? I thought I saw him, I just wanted to say hi.”

“He just went off that way, but if you see him, tell him I still need his help over here, just like I did before he walked away—”

“Can I help with anything?” you ask quickly, but he shakes his head and tells you the direction Pope went in.

You follow it generally, trying to see where he could have gone in such a short time. But then you see all of them, and you can’t stop your feet from running over. Kie, JJ, and Pope, all standing and talking about something, but you don’t really care about interrupting. Kie’s all dressed up too, and you suddenly don’t feel so embarrassed.

“You guys,” you feel yourself gushing. “It’s been so long,” and you go in for a hug with each of them. 

“Wow, god, you look so pretty,” Kie says, and you hug her again. You don’t realize how much you missed her. 

“You too, Kie,” your smile is so wide it starts to hurt. “Isn’t this so weird, all of us here at this party? Where’s John B?” you ask, looking around. 

“So weird,” JJ says, and you notice the bruise around his right eye because he’s turning to look at Kie again. 

“JJ, what the hell happened to your face?” JJ doesn’t answer, he actually doesn’t say anything at all, which should have been your first sign that something was wrong. You look at him quizzically, before turning to Pope.

“Pope, your dad’s looking for you, I just went over to say hi-”

“Oh crap,” he says, heading back in the direction you just came from. “Sorry, be right back.”

“W-what the hell is going on?” you question Kie and JJ, searching for any answer, desperately hoping that it isn’t we don’t wanna tell you. Your phone goes off, twice, and you pick it up. The look on your face must have been beyond palpable to your friends.

R🧸ྀི: Come inside the house

R🧸ྀི: Got a surprise for you

“I-I gotta go inside,” you say, looking at the confused faces of your friends.

“What’s inside? I thought-”

“No, nothing, I don’t know, Rafe just asked me to go inside, and I haven’t even seen him yet-”

“Rafe? What, Rafe Cameron?”

“Y-yeah?”

“What are you, with him, or something?” JJ asks, and you feel your heart fall into your stomach.

“I-I yeah, maybe. I’m here with him tonight, he-” Your phone goes off again. “I’m sorry, I have to go find him, but I’ll come find you guys right after, okay?”

You leave the two of them there, looking at each other confused, looking at you like they don’t recognize you. And it stings, for a moment, until you get inside the mansion and find Rafe hanging out by the entrance, nursing a glass of scotch and eyes lighting up when they see you. 

Everything with him is like that scene from that movie. Lights go dim, you walk in slow-motion, the room goes quiet. He watches you walk up to him and his eyes take in everything—your pretty hair, your dolled up face, the way your dress moves when you walk, and most of all, that you’re here with him. He reaches his hand out to grab you by the waist to bring you in for a kiss. It’s not like the others, it’s chaste and soft and romantic. 

“Hi,” you breathe out, resting your forehead against his.

“Hi, kid. You look fantastic,” and he presses another sweet kiss to your temple. 

“We’re matching,” you say with a smile, taking in his blue suit jacket and the way you feel dizzy right now, and you feel his grip tighten around your waist. 

“Yeah, we are. Now get in line with me, we’re walking out together.” Your eyes are big like coins, because you understood that you were coming here together, but this is his family’s big night, if everything your mom and Blake told you was to be taken seriously.

You don’t have time to say anything, because Rafe’s nice parents line up ahead of you, and his two sisters behind you. Wheezie tugs on your dress and you turn to greet her and Sarah quickly, because then the doors open and you’re walking out, following Rafe’s lead, lots and lots of eyes on you, but only one pair of blue ones you really care about. 

You almost want to cry, the whole thing is so magical. You have a flute of champagne and a sip of Rafe’s scotch, and you are deliciously tipsy for the next two hours. Your parents come over to talk to you and Rafe, and you can see how happy your mom is in her eyes. You and Rafe dance until your feet hurt, and it’s only then, when he leaves your sight, that things seem to get back down to how they normally are. 

You can’t find Wheezie’s parents or Sarah anywhere. The little girl spilled ice cream on her dress and is crying quietly, fat tears rolling down her chubby cheeks. You want to get her parents, because you think they can help, but you end up taking her to the bathroom yourself. With a damp paper towel, you wipe as much as you can, and you promise to get her another ice cream if she stops crying.

“It’s just a stain, honey, don’t worry.” You toss the dirty tissue and grab another one, wiping the tears and then letting her blow her nose. “It’ll come out when you wash it. And no one will notice because it’s so dark now, right?” She nods in agreement. “Do you wanna go find your big brother?” Another sad nod. “Let’s go honey,” and you take her hand and lead her back out. 

You’re not entirely sure what you missed in the last fifteen minutes. Everyone’s gone quiet, staring at what you hope is a trick of your eyes—all of your friends running from the party, hooting and hollering. Kiara’s parents look hopelessly upset, Mr. Heyward downright disappointed, and your mom scanning the crowd, trying to see where you are, until she spots you and Wheezie.

Her and Mrs. Cameron come running over, and you instinctively flinch, thinking the giant headpiece she’s wearing will poke you. You hand off Wheezie and turn to look at your friends, and you think, for a second, they’re waiting for you. They are, you realize slowly, waiting for you.

And you almost take off right then and there, until you feel Rafe’s warm hand on your shoulder, and you look up to see him bleeding.

At that moment, you turn right back around and head inside to the nearest room, sitting Rafe down on the bed and scrambling to find something to clean his wound with, and something cold to help the swelling, and in your panic, you don’t realize you’re rambling.

“I mean, what the hell was all of that? I turn around for two seconds and everyone’s running from the party like there’s a fire, and destroying things and throwing punches, I mean, I get they hate the whole Kook thing, but it was never like this before, even when I didn’t know you yet, and I-” you drop the frozen bag of peas onto the floor in your sudden realization. “I just let them leave. They waited for me. I didn’t go with them.” Your eyes fill with years. That’s a betrayal, not all the stupid stuff you thought was happening before tonight. They waited for you, and you turned right back around to go inside with Rafe.

“Hey, hey hey,” Rafe says quietly, taking your head in his hands again. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay.”

“You’re bleeding, Rafe,” you say, voice trembling. Your tears are ruining your makeup. 

“I’m gonna be fine. You know why?” he asks, and you feel more tears rush down. “Hey, hey, no crying.” Rafe wipes away the tears with his hand, then he brings his hands to your back and rubs soothingly. “You know why, kid?” “Why?” it comes out a whisper.

“Because you chose me. We’re gonna be fine, okay?” 

The way he says it you believe him. 

You spend the next two days at Tannyhill with Rafe, wearing nothing but his t-shirts and doing nothing but rolling around in bed. It’s been a month, maybe a little bit more, and you haven’t even had the talk yet—the sex talk. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s not ready for it, but you’re not ready for it, not yet. You’re working on it. He doesn’t make it easy for you, either. You’ve spent hours now, making out in his lap, grinding against each other until you make a mess all over his shorts and his hair is sticking up in every direction, and working your way up to telling him what you want. 

You’re almost there. You’re waiting for the perfect time. Which was almost right now.

“You like that? Shit-” he breathes into your ear, pressing a kiss to the tender skin of your neck right underneath. It makes you moan again, louder, until he clamps a hand—the one not three fingers deep inside your leaking pussy—over your mouth, barricading the noise from leaving. “Gotta be quiet, kid, you want the whole house hearin’ what a little slut you are?” 

His blue eyes, lustful and blown, stare into your own. You shake your head softly underneath the tight grip of his palm. You’re always obedient with him, but he really likes you like this. 

“Yeah? You gonna do whatever daddy tells you? Just so I keep my fingers in this tight pussy?” You nod compliantly, head falling back on to the pillow. His fingers are thick, and the cool of his ring rubs against your clit in the best way, in ways you didn’t even realize it could feel.

He keeps fucking three fingers in and out of you, moans muffled by his hand but not completely silenced. You must be making a mess, because it’s what he keeps talking about, rambling about your messy cunt, greedy and sucking him in, and how you’ve been cumming for him like a little princess for the last two days, but it’s never enough for you. 

It’s when he removes his hand and kisses you hard instead, tongue deep inside you mouth, the metal of his chain dangling on your chin, and you feel the similarly cool metal of his ring on you, you finish again, exploding around your boyfriend’s fingers and moaning into his mouth. He hears you, repeating his name over and over again, not Rafe, but rather daddy, and he swallows your chants into his mouth. When you calm down, he makes a show of licking his fingers off while locking eyes, and then you get flustered and bury your head into his neck. 

He laughs, because it’s so cute, but only for a minute. Then you two shower together and he makes another show, but this time out of you, kneeling on the floor of his tub while he paints your face with his cum, making sure to cover the necklace you’ve been wearing recently too, the silver, loopy little R hanging between your collarbone. 

Then you get dressed—a little pink dress that’s been his favorite recently, with buttons down the front and a pretty bow where your tits sit— and the two of you have lunch with his family like nothing ever happened.

Rafe drops you back at home later that day, gives you a kiss where he grabs the back of your head to bring you in, and then waves bye to your parents as he unlatches the door for you, in his usual way. 

౨ৎ

A week later, he does the same thing. Drops you off, drives away once you’re inside, and you’re starstruck walking back, so much so, you don’t realize there’s someone waiting for you.

It’s Kie, and Rafe’s sister, Sarah. You’re a little confused since you thought the two of them didn’t get

along,  but they look like they’re fine now.

“Hey, listen, we need you to help us. Can you come down to the Chateau later tonight, after sunset?” Kie asks, and you must look as confused as you feel, because Sarah speaks right away, before you can get a word out.

“You cannot tell my brother. Promise us you won’t.”

“Why are you asking me that? Why can’t I tell him?” Sarah and Kie exchange a look, and it’s clear to you that you are missing several pieces of the puzzle. “Guys! Come on, you-you can’t expect me to just be on board with lying to my boyfriend and showing up to help you guys without knowing what it even is, right? What’s going on?”

“We will explain everything, just please promise us that you’ll come,” Kie implores and you nod hesitantly. 

“And you won’t tell Rafe?” Sarah asks again.

“Come on. Pogues for life, right?” Kie says, and you get a flashback to your life two months

ago—doing anything for your friends and dreaming of how you’d end up with one of the boys someday. It all seems like a million years ago.

“Yes, yeah, yeah, I’ll be there. I won’t tell him.”

You guess that God was on your side today. 

R🧸ྀི: Hey kid. Busy with my dad today. Dinner tomorrow okay?

sounds perfect!! don’t work too hard! i'm gonna watch a movie with my mom and blake and stay in tn

R🧸ྀི: You got mail again?

you know me so well

R🧸ྀི: Have fun princess.

You set down your phone on your dresser, feeling like you could throw up your dinner. It’s just starting to get dark outside, and you’ve just lied to Rafe for the first time since you’ve met him. It feels terrible, like something’s gnawing inside you, begging you to come clean and confess, or not to go out at all. You think about it for a moment, maybe if he knows you’re with some of your old friends, it won’t be like a real lie.

Then you remember your old friends are the ones who punched him. You tell your mom you’re going to Rafe’s, and then you get in your fancy car that Rafe helped you christen the other day—in the backseat, specifically—and drive to your old life.

You park next to the Twinkie and get out, stepping into a slush of mud. Your shoes are new, and were clean, and you cringe internally at how much you started caring about these things. You don’t want Rafe to see you with dirty shoes.

The boys and Kie are sitting on the logs near the fire pit. Sarah is sitting right next to John B, looking at him how you look at Rafe, and then you realize the magnitude of just how much you’ve missed.

“Hey,” Kie says, looking up first, smiling. “You came.”

“Yeah.” You’re at a loss for words. Everyone looks the same. Everything feels so different.

A part of you wants to sink down between Pope and JJ, crack a beer, and laugh at jokes you think you would still understand. Another part wants to get into the fancy car and drive to Tannyhill. You opt for neither, standing a few yards away and letting the light from the fire cast its hazy glow over you and all your old friends.

“Did you tell him?” Sarah asks. She means it well, not in a rude way, but that’s how you feel. 

“No, no, I didn’t. He, he thinks I’m at home. With my mom and Blake.”

“Alright,” JJ says, tossing his empty beer can. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Listen,” John B says, getting up and sounding too sincere for your liking. “We all appreciate you coming. Because we need a favor from you, and it might not be easy.”

“I mean, I think it’s gonna be pretty easy. Unless Rafe is like, really, really crazy, like even crazier than we already know he is-” JJ says, but stops when Kie and Pope shake their heads. “What? She knows, she’s the one dating him.”

“Know what? I don’t even know what you want from me-”

“We need a distraction. For Rafe, okay?” John B starts.

“An hour, okay, that’s all we need, right guys?” Sarah asks, looking back at everyone. They nod, trying to convince you, except Jayj.

“Well, like, maybe a couple of hours. If he’s up to that, y’know, I don’t wanna assume shit ‘bout stamina and all that-”

“JJ,” Pope says, shoving the blond’s arm. “You’re not helping.”

“What?” you breathe out, even more confused than before. You start to get what they’re asking, you just don’t want to admit it.

“We need to distract Rafe, for an hour, or like two hours, and we figured you’re our best bet.” John B says, and you look at them with your mouth falling open a little.

“You want me to…sleep with my boyfriend, to distract him, so you guys can do something that you won’t tell me about?”

“Kind of, yeah. Pretty much.”

“And is, is this thing going to hurt him in the long run? Is he going to be upset? When he finds out what happened?”

“My Kook feelings radar is a little off, right now, but who knows, I mean hell, he might not ever find out,” JJ says, and you want to sit down, because your knees feel weak, but the ground is muddy and the logs are occupied. “If we do our job right, he won’t know for a long, long time, right guys?” A chorus of right, right rings around the fire. 

“And you’re not gonna tell me what this is about at all?” 

“Well, it might not be a good idea. Because, you’re dating him, and listen, we just need like an hour, and he never has to know you were a part of this, okay? I will never tell him, none of us will,” Sarah says, and you do believe her. But you can’t believe that they’re asking you to do this.

“And if he finds out, and he breaks up with me, then what?” 

“Yeah, I, uh, knew this was a bad idea. She’s not gonna do it, guys, so let’s just reformulate-”

“Oh, you knew I was gonna say no, JJ? Lying to my boyfriend? For the people who hurt him?”

“He hurt us too, y’know,” Pope says, and you feel your heart begin to race. 

“No, I don’t know, because no one tells me anything! No one answers their phone and no one’s here when I drive down. Kie, you live two streets away from me now. The first time I saw you all month was at Midsummers and then, today. Asking me to come here to lie to Rafe, to sleep with him to distract him.”

“No, no, we shouldn’t have asked you, because I knew you would say no, I told them-” and you can’t believe the words coming from your friend's mouth. “Look at you, you went total Kook on us.” 

And then you feel like they’re taking it all in. The R around your neck, the jewelry that sparkles in the light of the fire, all yellow citrine, for Rafe’s birth month. The pink dress that’s his favorite—you put it on this morning in case you ended up back at Tannyhill tonight. And worst of all, his white button up hanging from your shoulders, smelling like ocean and sandalwood and Rafe Cameron. 

“It’s like you belong to him now.” You feel a tear sliding down, but you wipe it away. 

“Maybe that’s because he was actually there for me, when I needed it. And I get it, maybe I should have tried harder. But you guys should have too.”

The group of you stand there in silence for a moment. Your phone goes off. You know it’s Rafe. They know it is too. It starts with Kie, and then a course of apologies from everyone. John B wipes away your tears like nothing has changed. JJ scratches his head, and then hugs you tighter than he ever has before. Pope tells you how much he’s missed you, how he had to start bandaging wounds in your absence. 

“I’ll distract him. An hour, that’s all you get. I’m not sleeping with him because you guys want me to, okay? So if he leaves, he leaves.” 

You take off for Tannyhill, leaving your old life behind and risking your new one all at once.

౨ৎ

Rafe’s phone goes off again, and he lets out a short, tight breath. 

Princess: are you still busy at home? i need you

Princess: please rafey

“I’ll be back,” he tells Ward, and before he can even respond, he’s out of the room, calling you. The line rings twice, and then you answer.

“Rafey?” you sound quiet, like you’ve been crying.

“Hey, hey kid. What’s going on? I told you I was working tonight,” and then he runs a hand through his hair, because he knows he’s fucked, if you’re crying and you need him, then he’s going.

“I know, Rafe, I just really need you, I had a really bad night-” “Woah, wait, I thought you were just with your parents?”

“I was, it just got really bad, I-I’m outside Tannyhill because I had to leave, and then I got lost and I was scared so I just came straight here.”

“Lost? Jeez, kid, it’s, like, down the street.”

“But I didn’t wanna bother you, ‘cause you were busy-” and then he hears a hiccup, and then a sob.

“Okay, okay, stay there, I’m gonna come get you,” and he hangs up the call. He darts outside, spotting your navy car and you inside, still in the same clothes from this morning, just wearing his shirt over it, like a jacket. He gets close and you climb out of the car yourself, jumping into his arms and burying your face into his neck, like you always do when you get like this. He can feel the way your body shakes under his arms, the wetness of your tears on his black polo.

“Okay, it’s okay now, come on, let’s go inside.” You make it up the stairs to his bedroom, when Rafe guides you inside and pulls his blinds, so no one peeks inside. 

He sits you up on the edge of his bed, squatting before you, hands in yours, arms resting on your knees. 

“You gonna tell me what happened?” You shake your head, another tear falling. You wish you could say you were pretending, but the tears find their own way when you think about the encounter you just had. You’re lying when you tell him it’s between you and your parents, but his reaction makes you regret it instantly. “Did they say somethin’ to you? Did they try something? I’ll go over there and sort it all out, okay, kid, don’t worry about a thing.” He stands up, running another hand through his messy hair, letting it fall in the moppy way it always does, over his forehead. “Stay here, okay, princess, I’ll be back.”

Then you realize he’s gonna go over there and talk to your perfectly happy, clueless parents, so you stand up and turn him back around.

“No, no, Rafe, don’t leave,” and then you melt into a hug, taking in everything about it. Rafe rests his chin on the top of your head, his arms tight around your back. He smells so good, and the way he’s taking care of you makes you realize a couple things. “Will you just…make me forget?”

Your boyfriend looks down at you, and you don’t shy away from his gaze like you often, when you get flustered. 

“Make you forget?” he questions. 

“I just don’t wanna think about anything else,” you start, undoing the bow of your dress, more cleavage revealing itself. “I just wanna think about you,” and then your fingers undo the buttons trailing down the front of your dress. It falls off your shoulders, and you stand before him, naked, certainly not for the first time but what feels like the most intimate it’s ever been. 

There’s a pretty lingerie set hidden in the back of your closet, what you had actually put aside for this moment, but you had no time to run home and get it, so you opted for the next best thing, taking your bra and panties off in the car ride here, shoving them into your purse, and hoping that Rafe was as tempted as you were.

“Just about me?” he questions, and you take his hand into yours, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his lips.

“Just you, Rafe. I’m ready, Rafey, I want you to fuck me,” and it seems like that’s all it takes. Rafe crushes his lips against yours, kissing you how he always does, tongue in your mouth and spit everywhere. He holds you by the back of your head and your hands run through his hair. You want him closer, even closer than he already is, than he possibly could be.

His hands leave your head and go down to your ass, grabbing both cheeks roughly and wrapping your legs around his waist. He drops you on his bed, head hitting the pillow, and you pull away for a second, to catch your breath. Rafe doesn’t let it happen, gripping your cheeks between his hand and bringing you back in for another kiss. You’re naked, and he’s still completely dressed, but you don’t miss the obvious way his hardened dick presses against your bare cunt.

You can’t breathe, and all your senses are overpowered by Rafe, but you also don’t really care. You keep kissing, moaning into each other’s mouths and gripping hair and skin that’s sure to leave a bruise tomorrow, until you feel him finally pull away for a second. You catch your breath, open-mouthed and heaving, eyes locked.

“‘M only gonna ask this once, kid,” he breathes, leaving another hot kiss on your neck, which makes you spread your legs further open with instinct. “Y’sure you want this? ‘Cause there’s no going back.”

You nod in that way you always have with him, telling him everything with no words at all. 

“That’s my girl,” he breathes against your neck, and you feel him bite down into the soft skin of the flesh there. You yell out, but it turns into a moan when Rafe licks his tongue over the wound. “That’s just so you can remember this night, okay baby?” You look back up at him, wet eyes, swollen lips, and flushed, sweaty skin. 

“Thank you, daddy.” He smiles, because you’re in for it now.

“You’re welcome, kid. Shit,” he breathes out, “I knew you’d like it, little freak.” He starts with more hot kisses, all the way down your neck, down your sternum, and stopping to press a kiss to each side of your ribs, before continuing down to your stomach. You whine from your position below him, one huge hand holding your hip in place and the other tracing the pattern of the kisses down, until he finally reaches where you want him to be.

“Gotta be quiet, kid, everyone’s home. You gonna let them all hear how much of a whore you are for me? Huh?” he mocks, and you shake your head fervently. “Good girl. You’re being so good, you’re gonna get a treat, okay?” You nod stupidly.

His breath catches for a second, when he gets down to your glistening cunt. He looks up at you from his position there, your chest heaving, tits bouncing with how much you’re squirming, how much you want him to do something. He moves his hands, one resting on your breast, pinching the nipple with his finger, and the other running a line down your pussy. Your whole body twitches up when he runs the metal of his ring over your clit, because he knows you really like it. 

“Rafe, please,” you cry, sounding stupid and fucked out, even though he hasn’t started yet. “Please, please,” and your hips jerk up. He pushes them down. 

“Be patient, kid. Gotta admire this virgin pussy for the last time before I ruin it, ‘kay?” You feel your walls tighten at his words, and you hope he missed the way everything just clenched, but it’s Rafe, and he didn’t miss a thing. “Like that, huh? You like being my little slut?”

You shake your head, trying to deny it, but the damage is done.

Rafe dives in, and you let out a moan that you didn’t realize you were capable of producing. You clamp your own hand over your mouth, because you know he���ll stop if you get too loud. His tongue licks you up and down, and true to what you had always thought, he does know what he’s doing.

The hand pinching your nipples doesn’t relent, and the weight of his arm holds you down when you buck up as he pushes two fingers inside you, scissoring them to stretch your walls out. It hurts, in the best way, and before you know it, he’s added a third.

His mouth stays focused on your clit, and your legs tremble, even though it’s barely been a few minutes. It’s all of it, all at once. Being naked in Rafe’s bed, his hand groping your tits, the way he holds you down without trying, the smell of his cologne and his skin and his sweat, making you lightheaded.

His fingers push in and out, and when he hits that sweet spot inside you, the one your own fingers have never been able to reach but somehow, Rafe’s have become well acquainted with, you can’t help the noises you make.

You repeat his name over and over again, and you think you’ve felt the height of this pleasure, that nothing could surpass this feeling, until your stomach tightens in an entirely new way. Your fucked out brain gets it together for a minute, to feel the overwhelming, ecstatic pressure of Rafe’s tongue on your clit, spelling out his own name. Your stomach tightens, unbearably so, that coil winding up, but before he even finishes the F, it snaps all at once. 

You let out a scream—which you think is so stupid of you. But it feels so good, there was no way around it. Rafe reacts instantly, grabbing your hand that’s pulling his hair and using it to snap over your mouth, all while he rides you through it. 

His nose presses against your clit while he slides his fingers out, your pussy walls clamping around nothing, missing him already. He laps up the mess you just made with his tongue, the noise being so overwhelming, you want to scream again. 

You use your other hand to yank his hair, pulling him up to look at you, because you know you want to see this. Rafe, your Rafe, your boyfriend, with blown, wide eyes and the entire lower half of his face glistening with your juices, with the mess you just made, and then you collapse back down onto the bed. 

Your breathing is heavy. You aren’t sure it’ll ever go back to normal.

Rafe pulls his shirt off by grabbing it from the back, yanking it over his head. Your hand floats up to

touch his chest, to make sure he’s still real and not just a vivid sex dream, but he slaps it out of the way.

“What did I say, hm?” he asks, leaning over you. His face is just an inch too far to kiss. Your limbs feel numb, and you can’t pull him down yourself. You want to cry, because you want to kiss him so badly. “I said you had to be quiet, or everyone’s gonna know what a little whore you are.”

“I tried, daddy, I did-”

“I don’t think you tried at all, kid.”

“No, I did, I swear-”

“You’re lucky that I-” and before he finishes his sentence, you pull him down into another kiss. He tastes like you and scotch, and the combination is so intoxicating, you can’t pull away. “Hey, hey,” he breathes. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” and the soothing way he says it, you believe him.

“I’m lucky that you what?” you ask, unbuckling his belt and snaking it off the loops.

“That I love you, and I’m not gonna punish you tonight for not listening to me.” You drop the belt over your stomach, the melt part hitting with a little clink. You look back up at him, your eyes wide, you imagine, your cheeks flushed. 

“You love me?” you ask, quietly. You can barely hear yourself over the thud of your heart pounding in your chest.

“I do,” Rafe replies, running his hand to smooth over your hair, which you’re sure is a mess now. “Enough that I’m gonna fuck you now, but I had to say it first, because I’m gonna fuck you until you break.”

You’re speechless, watching Rafe unbutton his pants and kick them off, boxers going with them. He strokes himself once, twice, and you’re still staring up at his face, even though normally you would get distracted. 

He looks up again. 

“You ready, kid?” 

“I love you, Rafey,” you say, twisting your hands around to the back of his neck, pushing him into yet another kiss. You can’t pull away, even if you want to, you want him so close that you forget everything else in the world for now. While you’re kissing, he lines himself up with your leaking pussy, which has probably ruined these sheets, and pushes in the tip.

You pull back from the kiss, just to moan, but Rafe silences you with his mouth again. He pushes in more, and more, until you’re sure he’s bottomed out. Your cunt is so, so stretched, you can’t fathom this is what you’ve been missing out on, and it feels so good, like nothing has ever felt before, not his fingers, not his tongue, not any other part of him. 

“That’s halfway, kid, you doin’ okay?” and your eyes jolt up to his in a second.

“H-half?” you breathe out. “I can’t, I can’t take any more, s’not gonna fit Rafe, not gonna fit-”

“Hey,” he repeats, which always has that calming effect on you. “You let me worry about that, okay? Just relax this pussy f’me, okay?” and the way he says it, you do, because you have no other choice. He pushes in again, fast, hard, and then pulls all the way out. You’re too scared to look anywhere but his eyes, so you stay locked in on them, until he pushes all the way in again, and your eyes clasp shut.

“Oh, oh my god, Rafe-” And you don’t care who hears you this time. He pulls out again, just his lip still inside you.

“Look, princess, look down,” he urges, and you follow his instructions, because you always do. “Look where we’re connected, yeah?” He fucks in and out of you, slowly but then faster, and you do look, entranced at the way your pussy sucks him in, the way your cum is coating his dick, at the brutal pace he’s set. 

You look until you can’t anymore, leaning back against the pillow and watching Rafe above you, his face twisted in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed, mouth panting. He buries his face into your neck, and you grip the top of his shoulders, nails digging in, because you just need to hold onto something.

He told the truth, you think, in your fucked out, blissful state, that he was going to fuck you like he hated you, battering into your sore pussy over and over again. 

You repeat his name—daddy, not Rafe—until he shuts you up with a kiss, and he watches the strings of spit connecting your mouths when he pulls away.

“Just needed this dick, didn’ya princess? Just needed daddy to think for ya?” You moan in reply. “You got it then, kid, because m’never gonna stop fucking you. Y’never gonna think about anything else again.”

And then he finally does you in, because he presses down, right below your stomach, while he slams in, and you feel something inside you break, like a flood breaking through a dam. It washes out to every part of you, from your ears to your fingers to your toes. White hot pleasure runs its course through your body, cunt tightening and shaking, eyes rolling back, your spine arching forward. Through all of it, Rafe pins you down, and fucks you through it. And finally, deliriously, you open your fucked-out eyes, looking up at him.

“I love you, daddy,” and he cums before he can even pull out, messy rivulets shooting inside you, leaking out onto his expensive sheets. He moans into your neck, and his entire body slumps forward, and you giggle under the weight.

A few minutes pass by.

“Rafey, you’re gonna crush me,” you say quietly, sing-songy. You’re so happy, you’ve forgotten everything else that’s happened.

Rafe presses a kiss to your forehead and rolls off, slumping next to you. Your head lands on his chest not a second later, his arm around your shoulder and another kiss to your hair.

“Feel better, kid?” 

“So much better, Rafey.” 

You don’t know when you fall asleep, only that you woke up to the sound of your phone going on. You pick it up, trying to turn down the light so Rafe doesn’t wake up too. There’s one message.

JJ: I thought you said you weren’t gonna sleep with him?

౨ৎ

[stickydrawingportraitlamp]

sebastian solace x reader? Anyone?

too bad :P

Sebastian Solace X Reader

Genre: Fluff, Found family

Warnings: None

Summary: After having been thrown into this hellhole, at an unreasonably young age, you find yourself trying to accomplish the task at hand; Find the Crystal. Whilst you are on your journey, you encounter a rather large angler man.

Author note: oh tod he's so dreamy guys. ALSO !! i made the reader into this sort of introvert where they're like "oh god people" kind? Not the "Oh no! People :(" kind of introvert. Reader is 14 by the way !!!!!

(spot the poppy playtime reference MEHEHRMRBR)

Screaming of an unknown enemy closes in quickly. Wanting to avoid certain death, you dive into a locker you made sure wasn't inhabited. It's screaming grows louder, tormenting your eardrums. You can't help but bring your hands to shield your ears from potential deafness and pain, a factor you wouldn't want in this place.

Hearing the screeching Angler pass it's way through, you burst out of the locker to cough out your lungs. The amount of dust your poor, overworking lungs hacked up was nowhere near healthy. Dust, grime and sweat had been imbedded into your diving suit, gross. You hope theres an open hole leading to underwater diving that would be able to wash away all the sweat and dirt off of your body.

Maybe, just maybe, if I'm able to get that crystal, and get out of this place... I can go home.

Home? Is that even a place anymore? Maybe it's the fact that the human mind finds so many things to cling onto when faced with impending death. One last hope to hold close. An unknown family, friends and maybe even a potential lover you could of had the chance to grow old with, and had many laughs in the house you grew up in. That... Sounds like paradise, but you are far away from that dream, the bile and sweat sticking to your swimsuit, a threat. Escaping this place is only a small plea, begging for anyone to hear your cries. To anyone, who could give you that boost to keep going.

'Door 46, am I almost halfway through?' You're surprised you even managed to get to 40, surely there's a surprise around the corner? A potential medkit would be fantastic. Your vitals read 35, that's nowhere near good. Batteries? Your lantern could use it. You only have enough to accompany your lone self through an empty, cold... Dark place.

The swirling thoughts in your head only manage to cease after encountering the door that finally indicates you are halfway through this hellhole. Door 50.

The dripping of a broken pipe drives you insane, every drop makes your fight or flight activate. The rapid pitter patter of your feet scurry to the next door, automatically sliding open once it knows there is a human presence.

The next room, however, is dimly lit. Two portable lights shining in the direction of a vent. How... Interesting? Is this where you need to crawl into? Your thoughts are quickly misguided as a gruff voice emits from the emit, earning a harsh flinch from you in response.

"Hey, stranger. Over here." This voice calls out to you, alluring your oh so close demise.

You have the thought to immediately scurry to the door, not wanting to take your chances. Fight or flight? Flight, surely. Your sweaty palms land on the door with a soft thud, realising that the only way out of this room requires a keycard. A code breacher is out of the question, seeing as you hold no such thing on you.

"Don't be so scared... I don't bite. Maybe." He utters that last part quietly, making a chill run up your spine. Will you really have to find out if this is something that will rip your spine out? But... It's the most friendly voice you've heard in hours, aside from the other angry prisoners from earlier that practically took everything you scavenged.

Investigating the vent, you crouch down to a level where it's most easy to be able to crawl in through. The size of the vent is no problem for you, since you are a 14 year old who could easily slot your way through tightly fit ventilation systems, or a blocked room.

Albeit, the diving gear on your back made it just a tad bit challenging to slide through, it was an easy feat. Your eyes dart from each side of the room, looking for the one who'd voiced out their friendliness. You definitely weren't expecting a 10ft terrifying Angler humanoid.

"Welcome, welcome! Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Sebastian, your only friend."

... With teeth. Sharp ones.

"Now, I'm betting that your supervisors gave you instructions to acquire a certain orange coloured crystal, no?" He words out with a certain amount of sarcasm dripping from his voice. Supervisors? You're only 14.

"However— Oh." He stops, suddenly. Normally, he wasn't one to take in the appearance of a fellow prisoner, seeming as it 'deemed unnecessary.' You, were younger. A lot younger than he expected.

"What the.. What the hell's Urbanshade doing sending kids down here...?" He was muttering to himself, his hand reaching up. Thinking that he was about to grab you, you recoil in fear. You find however, that your fear is misguided and that he'd only brought up one of his three hands to grab his chin in thought.

It had been a good 7 hours since you'd spoken last, other than the occasional screaming and crying. Your throat, croaks out at first which earns a cringe from yourself.

"I'm 14. I'm not a kid." Your throat feels like it was tortured from the amount of screeching you'd emitted running away from Anglers, and threats. That stupid Wall Dweller was one of those threats.

At your response, he chuckles amusingly. Sebastian finds your bravery endearing for someone your age. "Haha, alright. You're not a kid. What's someone your age doing here anyway?" He voices.

Observing the place, you talk as you walk around to analyse your surroundings, finding this small talk pointless.

"They threw me in here, I was trying to find my mum. Told me she'd be in here, just need to get a crystal first. Then they'd take me to her."

....

An uncomfortable silence passed by, before he frowned at you.

"are you that gullable? Thought 14 year olds were supposed to be semi intelligent." That earned a slap from you onto his tail. He hisses at the contact.

"Ow! Fuck, you little..." He hisses.

"You deserved that. She was here last, otherwise I wouldn't be here. Shut up, and give me your ware so I can get out of this shithole." You were obviously pissed, upset that the 10ft Angler guy offered no solace. (haha get it?)

"Alright, alright. That was a fault on my part, just.... Why did they throw you in here? You can't be here. You can't stay. Look, kid. I know they told you that your mother was here somewhere, and if she was then she's gone now. She probably made it back up to the surface." Though you narrow your eyes, you can sense a hint of comfort in those words. You can tell, he's genuinely worried about you.

Sebastian see's many people come and go, only to see that they inevitably meet their dark fate. He hopes, that this won't be the case with you.

"..Look. Urbanshade doesn't tell the truth, they lie to get what they want. I'm sorry to be the one that breaks it to you, but your mother was used as a false hope to get you down here. The more hands they have on the mission, the bigger the possibility to get the crystal. Take it from someone like me." he'd muttered that last part, he can understand your situation.

Urbanshade had lied to him too, told him that his Freedom would be granted. He just need to pay a price first. Be their puppet, be their experiment.

Sweat beaded down your face, this isn't what you wanted to hear. Had they really lied to you? Used you as a move like chess on a board? Sebastian can see your distress. How you came to the conclusion that he was indeed right, even if your mother was here... She would be nowhere to be found.

why were you even here?

Sebastian knows you can't be sent back up, Urbanshade will track your location and come to the conclusion that you're heading back. They would blow you to smithereens because of the bomb device around your neck. You're obviously too young to continue this harsh journey to ensure your families existence. A 14 year old shouldn't have to die in an agonizing way, especially when they're so young and have a life ahead of them. shit.

He really has no choice, does he?

"Agghh.... Fine!! Fine fine. You, are gonna stay here with me. Capish?" He inquires, your head shakes fervently. Your mouth gapes open like a fish out of water, wanting to reject this idea. He stops you before even a single word can come from your mouth.

"Don't worry about the crystal. Urbanshade will send more prisoners to do their dirty work. I'll get you food, and that damn collar off of your neck. Other than that, stay here. You'll be safe with me, and I will try and find out as much of your mother as I can. I trade these supplies for the data you come across. I should surely have one of your mother." Every single thing he says has you shaking your head. But, deep down... You know he'll be the closest thing that leads you to your mother.

"Oh. What's your name kid?"

...

"[Name]."

--------------------------------------------------

ALRIFHT so im done !!!! if this actually goes viral i will actually turn this into a full blown story on Ao3. pls comment and let me know if you want more of the family trope with Sebastian cause we just don't see enough.

Part 2 is out now!

[love-belle]

my sunshine !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which they're the 'it' couple and everyone's obsessed with them, rightfully so.

or

for when you find your forever kinda person. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // lando norris x fem!reader

warnings - language

author's note - finally it's here!!! i really hope u like it!!! thank you so much for reading, i love you <3

edit - changed it bc the person who requested it doesn't speak hindi x

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8,732 comments

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[jokin-around]

I made a Twitter thread about this, but I've been reading early issues of Batman lately and something I've noticed is how differently the contrast between Batman and "Bruce Wayne" is depicted

obviously, in many things today, "Bruce" (ESPECIALLY in fandom) is often depicted as a happy-go-lucky himbo in order to draw contrast with a grim and "tortured" batman

so how does this hold up when you look at older depictions? the answer: it doesn't. in fact it was almost the opposite.

way back in the very first issues of the official Batman title, Bruce Wayne, no matter WHAT he's doing, isn't the one who laughs and smiles, Batman is.

and these are comics that were published BEFORE the comics code authority caused a dramatic shift in tone

Bruce Wayne (or least the cardboard cutout refered to as Bruce Wayne) isn't nessecarily described as grim, but he isn't a very happy person either, he's still a rich airhead, but not so much a "himbo" or even a dedicated businessman, he's depicted as a BORED, uninterested, aristocrat:

this Bruce seems to spend of his time smoking a pipe at home or mingling with other upperclass individuals, that in-between we tend to see MUCH more often in modern comics doesn't seem to exist yet (in part because the batcave Is non-existent which I suspect has given him a bit more privacy as a character)

MEANWHILE Batman, who's investigates murders every other night almost seems to be having the time of his life:

the early comics seem to routinely depict the burgoise as cold, snobbish & bored, in contrast to batman who seems particularly expressive and joyful, for all we know Batman may partially exist as some millionaires weird passtime, but of course Bruce Wayne (the real guy, not the facade) is written as someone who genuinely seems to care due to his own past experiences:

but , with all of that layed out, one can conclude that when ppl say Batman is the "true persona" ect. originally, it wasn't (just) because of his coping or whatever it was because when he wasn't Batman he was forced to live life as a cold, "useless" millionaire:

"what if a rich a guy gave a fuck?" is still very much the base concept here, but what's surprising is how much BITE there is to it

the concept wasn't being proposed because it's like… a plausible thing to happen or attainable on a personal level, but because the rich reliably and consitently do not care

the rich ppl in this book, "Bruce Wayne" included, are not written to be envied as people. they're written to be insufferable. ppl with endless resources who are still somehow unsatisfied with life and choose to do nothing useful or direct with the amount wealth they've accumulated

but ofc it shouldn't be ALL THAT surprising, Batman debuted in Detective Comics in 1939…. ONE year after the great depression, Bob and Bill had more than a good reason to feel a bit bitter

but rolling back to the point of this analysis, whenever I say "let batman be happy" I mean "let Batman enjoy his job" despite the pain, despite the death, despite the murder, despite the hypocritical nature of it all and how problematic it may be because it's a life he also chooses, not just out of compulsion, but because it's hands on, direct & purposeful. it gives him something to do & it gives him a chance to punch a problem in the face (which may be good or bad depending on what that problem is, but still)

that kind of depiction is what set up the groundwork for nearly every deconstruction that's come since but it's so buried in time at this point that lines from characters claiming bruce "loves being batman" seem to ring completely hollow

tbh, I think the old way of depicting Batman can be ( and as been in some media) woven into the way he's depicted today, in the past Batman was an outlet for every emotion Bruce Wayne had to hide elsewhere, a symbol of empathy, fury and passion, for modern Batman, I imagine those three things still hold true, layered on top of an alter ego that allows a modern Bruce Wayne to be weird and damaged and dark.

so uh, ln conclusion, I think batman enjoying what he does to a certain extent is a crucial aspect of his character that's been lost and withered and forgotten about, let him a have a little fun, we can discuss the ramifications of all that when discussion seems necessary

[potionpeddlerpatchy]

word count: 10.2K

paring: Sero x fReader

warning(s): dirty talking, fingering(f! receiving), premature ejaculation, messy sex, semi-public sex (if ya squint) - you know the works here, pretty standard smut, nothing too crazy.

authors note: Happy Belated Birthday to me! Not only did the amazing Onyx give me this idea MONTHS ago about the dynamic between Sero and I, but this won the poll for what I was going to work on next - and though I went with Bakugou's story first (cause it was fresher in my mind) I have finally finished this! AND OH BOY, how self-indulgent I was with this one - I am not known for my dialog but couldn't help but put lots in here! That being said, I did try and keep this as generic as I could, just may not be AS generic, ya know? Anyway, I hope you all love this glorified tape dispenser as much as I do~🔮

Sero had always loved to draw, even when he was a little kid. What started as scribbles covering the walls of his home turned into small doodles - those that filled his notebooks more than his writing and school work turned into piles and piles of sketchbooks that were filled with intricate drawings and were stacked high within the confines of his room. 

He remembered being little, using washable markers to doodle fun patterns and designs on his arms and the arms of his friends, remembering how most recess breaks were filled with doing a doodle request for several fellow classmates. To being older, and having those same classmates come up to him to see if they could utilize his skills to make projects look nicer; to make epic banners for school events, or to make posters pop in his signature way. Even while he was in college, next to a prestigious art school that only accepted a handful of creatives a year, he had people beg him to create designs for tattoos they were wanting to get; willing to pay lots of money so they could forever have a drawing of his on their skin.

And that sparked something inside him. A passion to turn a hobby into a career.

It took years and years of effort, of schooling, of practicing, of littering his skin with designs both good and bad - and subsequently spending more time fixing his faults - and then shadowing those more experienced, to be taken into their shops and under their wings, so he may draw on the bodies of those that were hoping to decorate their skin. Not all patrons were ideal; some were not hygienic, and others moved too much and then complained of sloppy work, demanding a refund. And not all shop owners were pleasant to work for; many accepted clients even when they shouldn't, often dismissing those beneath them out of pride and a superiority complex, and always taking the side of those patrons trying to scam him and his time. But there were a few people that made it all worth it in the end, a few colleagues turned friends that made ‘sticking it out’ much more bearable.

And without all the bumps and hurdles, Sero would not have become as confident in his abilities and his worth, and he would not have had the chance to meet so many amazing people and artists - some of which had the same goal and ideas in mind as he did; who would follow him wherever he went. Before he even knew it, Hanta Sero finally achieved his goal, of making his childhood dream and hobby into a reality. He finally owned his tattoo parlor. 

He found a little shop within the city, perfect enough for him and a few friends to call their own, to create their own brand, and to make their own living; to finally call the shots and have complete creative control. The building itself was a little run down - something to be expected with the small price tag attached - but it was the ideal size for all of them and in the perfect location. So no one cared that it needed a few months of intense TLC to get the building up to code, it was more than worth the effort. And before anyone knew it the inspector came to claim the building was up to standards, giving the business license and the all-clear to start accepting patrons; it only took a few days before people heard the news.

When word got around that Sero and his business partners had finally opened their shop, to start accepting clients and creating art on their skin that they would enjoy for a lifetime, so many jumped on the chance to get an appointment with them - Sero especially. Some were people he had known for years, eagerly awaiting another drawing of ink, and some were those that saw his work on the many social pages advertising the business that wanted to add another to their growing collections. Whatever the case was, once he turned on the neon ‘open’ sign on the day of opening, he and his friends were booked for months in advance.

And the cherry on top of all of this? Another wonderful addition to the streams of success he was facing, was the bookstore that sat just across the street from him. 

Not because he was into books, though he did read from time to time and enjoyed it when he did, but because of the owner that bookshop had. At first, he couldn’t be sure you were the owner, but day in and day out he watched you show up at opening and leave at closing, and unless you were an incredibly dedicated employee, it was an easy assumption to make. And Sero couldn’t deny that he thought you were pretty when he first caught sight of you through his window after closing on his first day; and he couldn’t deny that he would wait with anticipation when you closed your shop and would begin making your way home, just so he could get a glimpse of your cute face.

He wished he had the free time to go and speak to you, to see you up close and hear your voice (which he could just tell was adorable and sweet), but his clientele made it nearly impossible for him to get the chance. By the time the last client would leave, your shop would already be closed, and for some time, with you nowhere in sight. There were just simply not enough hours in the day for him to spare to meet you; as well he was terrified of canceling an appointment or rejecting a client so early on in all of this, afraid that one bad comment could ruin the shop and cause it to sink.

But Sero always made the best of any situation, that was part of his charm. He figured that if he didn’t have the time to go in and speak to you, to properly act on his little crush, he would let you know who he was and his existence through different means. 

Romantic gestures that could be seen as small and friendly - those that wouldn’t scare you off or have you become afraid. He started by sending you flowers; a small bouquet to help liven your shop if you wanted; which you did if the vase by your check-out counter was any indication. Next were chocolates, all bundled in pretty wrapping paper for you to carefully tear away. Then balloons, attached to a small gift basket with quality skincare items that could be found at his shop with his business card nustled amongst the jars and tins to ensure that you knew who sent them and that it was from the new neighbor across the street - not some strange admirer. 

He could tell that you liked them, given the delight that bloomed on your face whenever you received them - the bright smile as you brought those flowers to your nose to inhale their earthy scent, or when you eagerly started to open up some of the chocolates to enjoy, or when you carefully inspected each tin of cream; placing a small dollop on the back of your hand before putting them aside and back to your work. Sero especially knew you liked them when, a week later, you sent a gift basket back to him filled with artisan treats from the local farmers market; with a card welcoming the new store to the neighborhood.

After a while of staring hopelessly at you, to the point where all his friends were relentlessly teasing him, Sero finally made the decision to meet you properly; to make his way over to your shop to say hello. 

“And it has nothing to do with Kaminari!” he exclaimed at Kirishima and Mina, ensuring they could hear him over the snickering, as he grabbed his jacket to sling over his shoulders.

“Sure, whatever you say, big guy~” Mina sang as waved goodbye with a wink, clearly not buying it - especially as Kaminari just got back from your shop, book in hand that you recommended.

Sero shook his head, out of frustration at Mina’s words knowing that she called his bluff, as he slammed the door shut behind him and briskly walked across the street; breathing a sigh of relief, one that made the tension in his shoulder slack, when he stepped foot into your shop. It was everything he thought a bookstore should be; it was cozy and warm, the kind that would make anyone instantly at ease and would spend hours just curled up to read; which he assumed the patron he walk passed had been doing all day.

“Welcome! Can I help you?” A voice sang through the air, causing his head to turn to face a young woman - sadly not you - wearing an apron with the store's logo on it.

“Uh, not sure.” Sero smiled, nodding his head in acknowledgment, and as a polite hello, before gazing around.

“First time here?” She inquired, moving behind a nearby counter to grab a stack of books.

“Yeah, pretty obvious huh?”

“A little, many have the look on their face when they first come in. It’s a little overwhelming at times, the place is a bit bigger than they assume.”

“You could say that again…” Sero could hear her airy giggle, watching in the corner of her eye as she began to sort through the titles.

“I can give you the run down if you like?”

“Please, if you don’t mind.”

“Not a problem at all, sir.” She smiled, pausing her task to free her hands for gesturing with her explanation  “This place is a lot like a library, people can come and go as they please, staying all day if they want to, without the pressure of needing to buy something. They can also borrow books for a small fee if they want, to ensure they don’t waste their money on a bad book, or they can obviously purchase them if they want.”

“A safe haven for those that love books, huh?” Sero chimed with a smile, taking another glance at all the sitting areas close to him - the plush pillows and fireplace inviting for those that would want to curl up.

“Pretty much, that was the idea” The employee agreed, already starting to sort again “Have a look and take all the time you need.”

Sero left her with a ‘thank you’ and another nod before venturing further into the store - taking stock of what sections of books there were and all the small cozy nooks for people to curl up in; taking his time to explore the entirety of the shop before leaving. “For research purposes, in case I wanna go back” he would mumble to himself, ready to defend his actions from his teasing friends upon his return. It was for those reasons, and those alone, not at all because he was trying to find you.

He finally did come across you, after what seemed like hours of searching, hidden away within the Historical Fiction sections tucked near the back walls, shelving some books that were stacked within your arms and reorganizing the ones that had been misplaced. To say Sero was smitten with you would have been an understatement before, but now? Seeing you so close? Smitten would not even begin to compare to how love-struck he was; one so strong it struck him dumb and left him unable to do anything but look at you.

“Sir?” 

Sero couldn’t tell if he was lucky or not to have your voice call out to him; luck that it broke him out of the stupor he was in, unlucky that he was unable to say or do anything more than gaze up at you with his mouth agape.

“Do… do you need help with anything?” Your sweet voice called out to him again, though clearly confused, and it made Sero look away to try and gain his thoughts once more.

“A-art book.” He cleared his throat, cheeks turning hot and red as his eyes did their best to look anywhere but you “Looking for one of those.”

“Well, which one?” You smiled, biting your lip to hide it as you gently placed the books you were holding down.

“Art, The Definitive Visual Guide” Sero blurted, voice sounding rushed as he named the first art book he bought when in college; watching as your brows furrowed as you took a moment to process what he said.

“By Dixon?” 

“Y-yes!” Sero exclaimed, eyes brightening and heart swelling with pride when you giggled over his excitement.

“Well, that would be in our art section, which would be…” You began to lean forward, carefully perching yourself on your ladder to see past the bookshelf currently in your way “Ah! Just over there!”

“O-over there?” Sero nodded, trying his best to not be affected by the smell of your shampoo as it lingered in the air as you moved to stand upright again “T-that’s perfect thank you!”

“Oh, no worries at all! You just let me know if you can’t find it okay?” You smiled, already picking your books back up.

Sero smiled back, giving a wave goodbye, before almost scurrying away; head hanging in defeat once he knew you were out of sight. A small part of him hoped he couldn’t find the book so he could talk to you again, but he knew that would be a mistake - especially as the spine of the book stared right back at him when he first began looking in the section you sent him to. Begrudgingly he accepted his fate, bringing the book up to the front cash and paying the borrowing fee to the employee he met earlier.

He came back to the parlor feeling like a complete idiot over messing up his first proper encounter with you, not doing at all what he planned to do - not being the effortlessly charming and fun guy he knew he was. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t keep stopping by. 

After all, he had to return the book he borrowed.

~

Sero waited a week, in his mind if he went back the next day it would cause him more harm than good; would lead to you asking him way more questions than he would want about the book itself - and well, he already made a fool of himself once. Besides, the week-long buffer would allow him the chance to clear his head and come up with a game plan, so he could be properly prepared himself to see you again.

Because this time he wanted to start an actual conversation with you, one where he could learn about who you were, why you opened this store and everything in between that led to this moment in time. He wanted to know if his crush on you was justified, or if he should just cut his losses now before he was in too deep. But to be fair, based on what all his friends have said, he already was; even so, he couldn’t hold onto that book forever.

Regardless of what the outcome may be, he had to see you again; even if it meant rescheduling a client for a Sunday to make up the lost time, he just had to get to you and your store before closing.

And it was the perfect time to go he found. The store was almost completely empty, with seemingly no one else in the building but you as you began your usual routine for closing - so dutifully organizing stacks of papers and placing books that needed to be returned into a neat little pile; he almost felt bad for clearing his throat and breaking you out of your stride.

“H-hi!” You exclaimed, your body jolting in surprise when you regarded him, clearly not used to anyone being here so late “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you sooner, I hope you weren’t waiting long!”

“No you’re fine, I just walked in,” Sero reassured, taking a step closer to your counter.

“Oh, are you here to return that art book? The one by Dixon?” You asked, back straightening as you smiled up at him. “I hope you liked it!”

“I did, it was a great read.” Sero mirrored your smile as he handed the book back over to you, enjoying the way your smaller hand brushed against his briefly “Though I was wondering if you could me find a similar book?”

“Sure, of course! Do you want a recommendation or are you looking for a specific title?”

“Uh, Creatives on Creativity is what I am looking for,” Sero said, breathing a mental sigh of relief over remembering the title - one he only heard of a day prior when searching for art books to ask you about.

“Creatives on Creativity…” You mumbled, turning to your computer to check if you had the title in stock - the sound of a keyboard clacking could be heard, filling the silent space briefly “By Steve Brouwers?”

“Yup! That’s the one” Sero confirmed with a nod, perfectly hiding the fact he was completely unsure as he watched you round the counter of the counter with a wave.

“Yeah, we should have a few in stock if you would follow me!”

You took him back to the Art Section, your stride confident as you weaved your way through bookcases and magazine towers, as you began locating the book in question; trying to remember where exactly you cataloged it - whether it was with the Art Help books or the Art Education ones.

Sero followed behind you, keeping his stride to a more casual pace to avoid possibly stepping on your heels, as he regarded your profile; enjoying the concentrated gazes, those mixed with slight perplexity, as you looked from shelf to shelf trying to help him out. Never before was he grateful, and possibly will never be again, about having trouble trying to find a book.

“Can I ask you something?” He finally spoke, watching as you began to stand on a small stool to look at a higher shelf, figuring his time was running out.

“Uh, sure?” You muttered, voice soft as you continued on your hunt. “Go ahead”

“I’m sure you get asked this all the time, but I’m curious as to what a bookshop owner's favourite book is?” 

“Oh! Wow, that’s a great question!” You said, finally sparing him a brief glance with a smile “And one that’s kinda tough to answer. I love books from all genres for different reasons, so to compare one that’s horror to one that’s fantasy is a little difficult to do.”

“Well, what are you enjoying right now?” Sero asked, body leaning against the bookshelf so he could continue gazing up at you.

“Uhh, wow what am I reading right now?” You chuckled nervously as your mind began to race, feeling your cheeks heat up as you heard him do so as well “Let's see… probably The Historian, it’s a thriller mystery kinda deal - involves vampires and stuff - it’s proving to be quite fun” 

“Vampires?”

“Yeah… it’s historical fiction. It blurs the lines of what happened with whatever our imaginations can think of with the folklore of Vlad Țepeș and Dracula. Partly why I like it I guess…”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sero hummed, watching as you scanned the titles before you, almost as if you were counting each one for inventory later “Take it that’s why you opened this place? Fell in love with reading books from far and wide?”

“Something like that” You agreed with a shrug of your shoulders “Wanted to be a librarian, always thought they had a great gig going on, and one thing led to another and, well, here we are.”

As you spoke your deft fingers delicately pulled the book you both were looking for from its place in the self, where it was hiding. Once you secured it in your grip, you slowly descended from your stool handing the book out to him once your feet were securely on the ground.

“And here you are.” You smiled, watching as he stood upright and uncrossed his arms.

“Thanks, for finding this for me” He gingerly took the book from you and tucked it under his arm, smiling wider at your cheery response back; following you obediently back up to the cash to once again pay the borrowing fee.

“Hey, if you don’t mind…” Sero began, fingers tapping nervously against the wood of the countertop “I have one more question to ask ya.”

“Sure, go ahead!” You giggled, amused by his polite curiosity as you began the transaction of payment.

“Would you want to go for some coffee sometime?”

His question made your fingers fumble on the touchpad, causing an error screen to pop up and for you to almost frantically try to fix, and you nervously cleared your throat; face going hot in surprise and embarrassment over your stumbled, and failed, answer back.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you or make you uncomfortable” Sero tried to soothe, hands raising up and away from the bubble around you to prove he meant no harm “Just think you’re cute and would like to treat you to some coffee, that’s all.”

“W-well, that’s um, very sweet of you, I just um…” You floundered, doing your best to finish quickly so you could hide away from him - to shield him from witnessing your embarrassment further “Just don’t think that would be a good idea?”

“You don’t? Why not?”

“Y-you know, we’re strangers! We only met a few days ago and all….”

“Actually we’re neighbors, good ones at that if our gift exchange was anything to go by.” Sero clarified, watching as the realization of who he was crossed your face, his hands lowered to shove themselves in his jacket pockets before shrugging his shoulders “But hey, not gonna pressure you or anything. If you don’t want to that’s cool, I won’t pressure you!”

“I’m flattered, believe me, just….” You countered a sheepish look on your face as you passed the book back his way for him to take “Maybe some other time.”

“Sure thing, thank you again,” Sero said, giving you one last small smile before taking his book and leaving; wishing you a good night as he walked past the threshold of your store with a wave.

A few things were certain that night; the first being that you were worth having a crush on, and he would love the chance to treat you right. And second, you were not used to the straightforward approach, and if he didn’t want to screw anything up, he would have to be patient and go about things slowly.

But Sero Hanta was up for any challenge, and you were more than worth the wait.

~

After that night, Sero found himself stopping by your shop a few times a week; to return a new book he borrowed (and spent the night before diligently reading), and to further chat with you. The conversations were always led by a question or two before it sparked into something beautiful - he loved the way you would ramble, talking with your hands, as you explained something, how passionate you got over the things you loved, and how blessed he found himself when you tried to tell a story from when you were younger but couldn’t over your laughter of remembering it all.

And after each night, when the conversation had reached its end and the book he had paid for was tucked snugly under his arm, he would, without fail, ask you out on a date as he was leaving your shop; in love with the smile and the amused shake of your head when you bid him a simple goodnight, to - “try again some other time” - before shutting the door behind him and switching you sign to closed.

Slowly but surely you were coming out of your shell, becoming more than eager to spend the last hour in his company; you didn’t realize it right away, but soon you found yourself noticing how excited you got when you would greet him. Or how you would try and keep the conversation going just a little bit longer as you walked to the cash, not wanting the night to end so soon. And how you would linger close to him before closing the door and saying good night. He was fun company, some of the best you ever had, and you couldn’t deny that you were starting to catch feelings for him too; to slowly become as enamored as he was.

Sero noticed this little factor as well, after a couple of months of visiting, when it was you who ask him a question; as you gingerly took hold of his arm to get a better look at the intricate tattoo that was perfectly placed on his forearm after handing him his recently purchased item.

“Did you do this yourself?” You whispered, almost in awe, as your fingertips barely brushed over the details of the design.

“Yeah,” Sero breathed out, quite taken aback by your bold action - though nowhere near complaining. “Took a while, but I think it turned out great.”

“Did you design it too?”

“Mm-hmm, designed all the tattoos on my body.” His eyes shifted their gaze from his arm to your face, “Wanted to work on my skin first before anyone else’s, just in case I wasn’t good at it.”

“I think it’s safe to say that you are, it’s beautiful work.”

“Do you have one?” 

“N-no…” You broke your gaze away, taking a step back from him - completely aware of how close and possibly inappropriate you were behaving.

“You want one?” Sero inquired with a clear of his throat; wanting nothing more than to move closer to you again, to gain that moment of intimacy once more, but knew he couldn’t

“Well yeah,” You shrugged, looking anywhere but at him, “But I just never really know what to get, and I don’t wanna regret getting something cause it’ll be on my skin forever, you know?”

“I can design something for you if you want?” 

“You would?”

“Obviously, wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to!” He smiled, grabbing a piece of scrap paper and a marker from your countertop “Just tell me some things that you like, and I’ll come up with something! See, I already know you like owls, and foxes, and of course historical fiction and fantasy books…”

“Sero, listen this is really sweet! I am honored you would do this for me and all but….” You began, cutting him off from his parade of knowledge of all things you loved - heart swelling almost uncomfortably with the attention - “But really, you don't have to do this for me.”

“You kidding, I would love to! If I didn’t I wouldn’t have done this for a living; hard to make a career out of something you hate!”

“Yeah, clearly, I obviously get it. But even so, you’re booked for months! You got plenty of other clients that need your attention and designs a lot more than I do.”

“Oh ho~ How do you know I’m booked for months?” Sero teased, enjoying how you looked away in fake annoyance as your shoulders raised in embarrassment “Even if I was, which you’re so cutely right that I am, I would reserve a spot for you regardless.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it can be after hours too, if you wanted.” Sero offered, with a shrug “Ya know if that would help put your nerves at ease; less people and all that stuff. And it could help make you feel better about accepting my offer~ I wouldn’t have to cancel on a client if you did.”

You sighed, shoulder slumping as you weighed his very tempting offer. You had been wanting a tattoo, ever since the new parlor opened across the street; and especially so every time you looked in Sero’s direction - the ink that was littered across his skin was beautiful - now here was the most perfect opportunity to finally get one and to get some more alone time with the artist himself; you knew you would regret it every day if you said no; despite your nerves telling you otherwise.

Squaring your shoulders you finally looked back at him, giving him a nod of approval over his proposition.

“Yes!” His fists thumped the counter as he proclaimed his excitement over your acceptance “I promise you won’t regret it! I’ll start working on the designs tonight and will have them done A-S-A-P!”

“Okay, okay!” You laughed, playfully rolling your eyes at his childish behavior “Sounds good to me.”

“Oh! One more thing!” He passed the marker over to you, his palm slayed out as if acting as a canvas “I’ll need your number so I can both let you know when the design is done and so I can book you in for your appointment.”

“Okay, well then hand me the paper you were just scribbling on” You pointed and the scrap paper, brows furrowing when you watched him shake his head ‘no”. 

“No can do babe, it’s covered with stuff already. Just write it on my hand”

“Sero, this is a permanent marker, I’m not going to do that!”

“I think I’m more than comfortable with permanent ink on my skin,” Sero winked, moving his palm closer to you “It’ll come off in a few days, but hey, if you don’t want me to leave you could just say so~”

You couldn’t help rolling your eyes again, hating that he was right and you were wasting time yet again to have him stay longer. You acquiesced, taking hold of his hand to keep it steady as you carefully wrote your number, being sure it was as clear as possible to avoid any confusion or mishaps that could be caused if you didn’t.

You watched as Sero left, head held high and chest filled with puffed-up pride as he sauntered back to the parlor; clearly happy with himself at winning you over and gaining your number.

~

It only took four days before you got the message from Sero; stating, with plenty of exclamation marks, about how your design was done and to stop by at any time to come and review the sketches - he was more than happy to squeeze you in at a time that worked best for you; whether that be between a client or after-hours.

And well, the thought of coming after hours was tempting, your confidence in quelling those nerves that swam in your stomach wasn’t strong enough yet; you were already pushing your limits when it came to the tattoo appointment. But the thought of you extending your lunch break by a few minutes seemed like a good idea.

The sign said ‘Closed for Lunch’ when you finally made your way across the street, and though Sero was insistent that you could come in regardless, you were still a little hesitant; standing by the door debating whether to knock or just walk in.

The decision was made for you when a woman with beautiful soft pink hair opened the door, startling you out of your thoughts as she asked if she could help you with anything.

“I-i’m just here to review some sketches…” You mumbled, hands playing nervously with your phone that still had the messages from Sero open “But I can come back if you’re closed!”

“It’s with Sero right?” She inquired, golden eyes squinting at you as they scanned you from head to toe; 

“Yeah..” You nodded your head, trying your best not to shift your body in reaction to her gaze.

“Oh my gosh! So it’s you! The librarian across the street!” She squealed, wasting no time in taking your arm and pulling you into the shop  “I’ve heard so much about you! Just been dying to meet you! I’m Mina, one of the artists here.”

“Bookstore owner….” You mumbled, casting a shy smile her way as you gave her your name “Heard about you as well, it’s really nice to meet you too”

“Right, bookstore owner, sorry about that!” Mina waved in apology, taking a step back to appraise you once more “and I gotta say, super jealous of Sero that he snagged you as his client; you’re a total babe! Like, that outfit is to die for! Where’s you get it?”

You could feel the blood rush to your face at her statement, her brazen compliment both flattered and embarrassed you as you mumbled out a ‘thank you’ as you gazed down at what you were wearing.

“And oh my god, your nails!” She exclaimed again, taking hold of your hand to inspect closely inspect your delicately painted fingernails “These are so pretty! Where’d you get them done?”

“Uh, the spa a few blocks down the road” You answered with a breathless laugh at her enthusiasm “They always do a good job.”

“I can tell! I’ve always wanted to check them out, but was a little unsure, but now I’m definitely gonna go as soon as I can!” She squealed, squeezing your hand in delight “Oh, but you’re not here for me, which is a total bummer. Sero’s station is just back here, I’ll let him know you’re here!”

You gave her your thanks, appreciating her help and unknowingly helping you become more at ease, as she led you to Sero’s area; leaving you with a wave and a promise he’ll join you in a few minutes. 

His area was quite spacious, possibly the largest out of the others you passed, and the furthest from the front door. His chair and equipment sat near the center of it all, just slightly off to the left for others to pass by, and looked clean and organized as you peered around the room. He had a work table as well, pressed up against the wall, with a book of design and sketches.

If you were braver you would have opened it and gone through the slightly worn pages to see what they contained. But instead, you opted to scan the wall before you, taking in the fun, wild, and beautiful designs that were taped to them; staring in awe at just how beautiful they all were. Masterpieces in black and coloured ink, ones you were sure some lucky people got to wear proudly on their skin.

Or perhaps they were littered on his…

Sadly, you couldn’t allow your mind the chance to wander to such thoughts, to wonder just how much of his body was covered in ink and how low some tattoos would travel, before you hear his footsteps approaching.

“Hey! Admiring the wall?” He greeted, his smile as bright and friendly as always when he greeted you

“Yeah, the designs are beautiful” You glanced back at him with a smile “But I think you already knew that.”

“What can I say, just like hearing people sing my praises!” He joked with an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders before walking up to you “But we’re not here to talk about these, eh?”

You watched as he gently, smoothly, pulled open a large drawer at the table you were currently standing at, one you didn’t realize was there given the sleek design. Carefully he pulled out a tiny stack of papers, laying them out before you to inspect and admire, as his arm kept him leaning over the table, and more importantly, you.

You tried your best not to be affected by his voice, how his breath tickled your ear, as he spoke about the direction he went with the designs. Some larger, more detailed as they encompassed all the things you loved - like the barn owl sounded by flora and books before a full moon - and some that were smaller, simply beholden of a single item you loved, like a sitting fox amongst fall leaves; and where on your body each tattoo would be placed.

He left a pause when he was done speaking, allowing you the chance to mill over what he said; to further inspect his designs, and to take your time in picking out what you wanted most; unable to help himself from staring at you, eyes half-lidded, as you bit your lip in concentration.

“I like the fox,” you finally whispered, pulling the sketch closer to you to admire it further, already imagining where it will sit on your arm.

“Yeah?” was all Sero could breathe out as he leaned in closer to you

“Mm-hmm” You nodded, finally turning your head to face him; watching as his eyes gazed at your lips, causing you to do the same “...h-how much will it be?”

You could feel your breath catching in your throat as Sero ignored your question, instead taking the opportunity to lean his face closer to yours; feeling his breath gently fan against your lips as you shut your eyes in anticipation; wanting nothing more than to feel what his kiss would be like.

“Sero, delivery is here!”

A gruff voice is what made you turn your head away; face scrunching in frustration over the unwanted interruption. You heard him sigh; feeling cold and a little disappointed when you felt his warmth pull away from you.

“Yeah… I’ll be right there Bakugou…” Sero spoke firmly, trying his best to keep his voice from sounding frustrated and annoyed as he looked back at his friend “Just finishing up here.”

Sero took another deep breath, one that turned into a loud sigh, over the now-ruined moment as he pulled the fox design from the pile of paper; taking a step away from you with a shake of his head.

“Don’t worry about paying, it’s on the house.” He gave a pained smile, slowly backing his way towards the backrooms, to where Bakugou was waiting “Just pick a day with Mina and we’ll go from there, ‘kay?”

You simply nodded your head, giving him a small smile and wave as you watched him disappear; taking the time to finally release the air you were holding as you clenched your fist in anger over your ruined kiss; at how perfect Bakugou’s timing was in all of it.

But after a moment, you couldn’t help but laugh; shaking your head in amusement as slowly made your way back to the front desk to book your appointment; knowing you had to get back to work soon and relieve your assistant.

~

It wasn’t long before the day of your tattoo arrived; the Saturday you booked it for came faster than anticipated, though the entire day felt like a year as you kept glancing at the clock to see how much time has passed, only to groan to yourself when it showed a mere 10-minutes.

Cataloging books did help with your dilemma, taking your mind off the many hours between you and seeing Sero again, as you continuously went up and down your little ladder to put the many returned books away. And before long, it was 9:00 pm, and you could flip your sign to ‘Closed’ and make your way across the street. 

You were surprised, given that the parlor was supposedly closed - or at the very least seeing their last clients at that point of the night - to see all the artists by the front desk chatting away; almost as if they were waiting for you to arrive.

“There you are!” Mina exclaimed, making her way from behind the desk over to where you stood, taking your jacket, and hanging it up for you “Thought you got cold feet on us!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that” You smiled, allowing her to complete her courteous gesture “And if I did cancel I would make sure you knew.”

“Are you excited!? First tattoos are always the most fun!”

“I am! Been looking forward to this all week!” 

“Oh, I’m sure you have~” Mina winked, “Now, let me introduce you to the other artist! Well, we’re all friends here but ya know.” She guided you over to where the three men stood, pointing first to a blonde with an unamused expression “You already met Bakugou last time you were here, I think you met Kaminari when he was at your store a few weeks back. And that giant redhead is Kirishima - he looks more scary than he is!”

 “It’s really nice to meet you!” Kirishima smiled, nudging Bakugou to acknowledge your presence - which he did in the form of a nod - before extending his hand out to you to shake “Heard a lot about you, been meaning to stop by your store for a while now. Apparently, you give good recommendations!”

“Oh, I do?” You asked, gingerly shaking his hand with a confused expression

“Of course you do, babe! Why else would Sero keep bugging you~” Kaminari jumped in, winking as he took your hand in his own and squeezed it “Nice to see you in our neck of the woods finally.”

“Okay okay! That’s enough, you guys!” Sero finally emerged, walking his way in between the group to disperse them; pulling Kaminari away from you to force him to let go of your hand “You should all be getting ready to leave, as you said you would!”

“Oh come on man! We just wanted to say hi to her!” Kaminari whined as he, and the rest of the group, were huddled towards to back of the place while you stood in place, fighting off a wave of giggles that were threatening to overcome you over the whole scene.

After a moment Sero returned, smoothing out his shirt as he tries his best to act as nonchalantly as possible; an act you could see right through given the blush that was dusting his cheeks but decided not to comment on.

“Sorry about all that, you ready to get started?” He asked, hand running through his hair nervously.

You hum in agreement, head nodding as you let him guide you back to his station; once there he motioned for you to get comfortable on the plush leather chair as he got his equipment ready.

 “Your friends are really nice,” You commented, tugging up the sleeve of your shirt for ease of access.

“Yeah, they are” Sero admitted, chuckling to himself “Pains in the ass half the time, but they mean well”

“Well, that’s how you know they love you” You chimed, sitting more upright as you watched him press an alcohol swab against your skin for a moment

“Guess you’re right.” He shrugged, holding up the stencil of your tattoo next to your arm “You want the tattoo here or a little lower?”

“No, there looks good! After all, you are the expert” You smiled, allowing him to press the paper against your skin; feeling him pressing down on it, before removing it to showcase the temporary art that was to forever be marked on your skin.

“Yeah that looks good,” He murmured, taking his tattoo machine in hand and dipping it in ink “Now, you let me know if this hurts, or becomes too unbearable okay?”

“Okay..” You bit your lip and nodded your head as you stared at the machine.

“Don’t worry, on arms you normally can’t feel anything” Sero reassured “ and I’ve got a steady hand which helps. All this just looks more scary than it is.”

“Like Kirishima”

“Yeah!” He laughed, shaking his head at your silly, but accurate, comment “Just like Kiri. Now, take a deep breath for me, kay?”

You nodded and did as you were told, taking a deep breath as his machine whirled to life; you watched with bated breath as it approached your skin, letting out a large sigh of relief when it finally touched you and no pain could be felt.

“See? Not so bad, yeah?” Sero smiled, slowly beginning to outline his design.

“Yeah…”

You didn’t converse much after that, not because you didn’t want to, but rather because you were blown away by Sero’s skills and concentration. You had never seen this side of him before. Normally he was goofy, animated, and fun, which you thought was endearing and cute; gave him his boyish charm. But now? As you watched his brows furrow and eyes look at you with such steely focus, you couldn’t help but find him extremely attractive. Choosing not to break the silence in fear of breaking his concentration, and thus this newfound allure, or embarrassing yourself.

Though he did make it difficult.

Throughout the entire session, every time he needed to shade something or thicken a line, he would always praise you after; claiming you were doing ‘such a good job’ for pushing through it; or for being called a ‘good girl’ when you took a needed deep breath at the right moment in time.

He said it so often that you can’t tell if he’s being reassuring or doing it to get a rise out of you; to tease you to see you get all hot and bothered.

Whatever the case was, it was affecting you way more than it should have; lighting a small fire deep within your core as you tried to rub your thighs together without him noticing to relieve some of the newfound pressure, as you suppressed all the small squeaks your wanted body wanted to let out every time another praise left his mouth.

It was agonizing torture in the best possible way; and when the session was finally done, when he was gently placing cellophane wrap over your fresh tattoo, you weren’t sure whether you were relieved or disappointed that it was all over.

“How much…” You gently cleared your throat, voice a little raspy over underuse “How much do I owe you again?”

“I already told you, babe,” Sero chuckled, carefully putting away his equipment “It’s on the house, my treat for you allowing me to borrow all those books.”

“You paid for those, Sero” You shot back, legs moving over the side of the chair as you leaned closer to him; showcasing your cleavage further from the lowcut hem of your shirt “I can’t just let you give me something like this for free - it’s not fair.”

“I told you, I like doing this.” He shrugged, ignoring you and your subsequent subtle attempts of seduction “More than happy to do this for you, think of it as a first-timer bonus!”

“There must be some way I can pay you back”

It was your tone that made Sero’s back straighten, clearing his throat he carefully placed what was in his hand down to turn and face you - breathing ceasing when he saw you sitting so pretty for him; the dark look in your eye making this cock twitch to life in his pants.

Sero couldn’t help it when his tongue poked out to lick his lips, unable to stop his eyes from trailing over your figure sitting before him; his own legs spreading further apart as he shifted a little closer to you; making you bite your lip. 

“How about finally going on that date with me?” He offered, hands twitching in his lap as he tried his best to restrain himself from touching you without permission.

“Payments happen immediately after a service…it wouldn’t be right paying you back days later, especially after you did such an amazing job” You reasoned, your voice barely above a whisper as you tilted your head up; brushing your nose against his “I prefer to pay you back now, kay?”

“Kay…” Sero barely even had the chance to whisper the word out before your lips pressed firmly into his; hands fisting into his shirt to keep him from pulling away.

As if Sero even wanted to move away, his own hands reaching out to pull you closer to him; closing any inch of space between him and your soft body. His hand cupped your face to deepen the long-awaited kiss that he dreamed about for weeks, as he slotted between your legs, groping and pinching the meat of your thigh as he hiked your leg up to wrap around his waist as he placed more of his weight onto you; groaning into your open when your clothed cunt brushed against his hardening length.

Your sweet, breathless, mewls were addicting and it made his mind dizzy with lust as his lips descended down your jaw and onto your neck; licking and sucking on the sensitive skin you so graciously barred to him, biting down on your pulse to hear you cry out his name into the heated air as he continued to grind his hips against yours.

His kisses continued downwards to your chest, pulling your shirt down - not bothering or wanting to take a mere moment to part from you to properly rid yourself of the article of clothing - before his lips began to suckle at the plump flesh his found; moaning into the heated flesh as he relished the way your hand began to tangle and tug at his hair.

It was all so much, and yet not enough for you; the fire that slowly emerged in your core was raging for me, not being fully satisfied with his sweet kisses or the grind of his hips. You needed more, been craving for more for hours, and you were starting to get a little impatient as you guided the hand pinching and stroking your thigh up to your core.

“Sero, please, touch me more,” You sighed out, legs widening to give him better access as held his hand against the damp cotton of your panties

“Hanta,” He corrected you, wringing his hand from your grasp to slowly stroke his knuckle up and down your slit “call me that, and I’ll do what you want, you needly little thing.”

“Hanta, please? Want you…” You whined, arching your back in an attempt to get more friction; unable to keep the smile off your face when you heard him groaning; clearly loving the way his name sounded off your needy tongue.

“That’s a good girl, hips up” He gently coaxed your lower half off the chair to pull your panties down your leg; pocketing them for later, before slowly guiding your legs to spead even wider for him “Already so wet after a few kisses, hm?” 

You looked away, face buried into his neck, the heat burning your cheeks in embarrassment over his teasing, as you nodded your head - unable to muster the courage to say the truth - as your heart fluttered over his rumbling chuckle.

“Aw, are we shy now?” He teased even more, deft fingers spreading your lower lips apart to gently stroke at your hardened clit “You weren’t shy a second ago when you asked me to play with this pretty pussy, want me to stop?”

He felt you shake your head, a sweet little whine accompanying the motion, as you continued to cling to him; your warm breath, coming out in pants, next to his ear made him slow his pace to one that could barely be considered movement.

“I dunno, it sure seems like you do” 

“N-no!” You mumbled, gripping his shirt tighter; biting your lip to suppress another whine threatening to escape. “Please don’t stop..”

“Then let me see that pretty face, hm,” He asked, tone still mirthful as he watched you slowly come out of your hiding spot “There you are, look at you, huh? All cute and flustered, you like what I’m doing that much?”

You nodded your head, once more, voice squeaking out a ‘yes’ as you felt his fingers resume a faster pace - swirling your bundle of nerves before slipping into your wet heat; your own hand coming down to grasp his forearm over the sudden intensity.

“That feels good, baby? You like my fingers?” Sero hummed, lips grazing your ear as he leaned closer to you, gazing down to watch his fingers go in and out of your drenched hole.

“God yes, Hanta!” You couldn’t help but cry out, throwing your head back, as you felt his fingers curl; stroking that sweet spot within your gummy walls that you made you see stars.

“Yeah you do,” He groaned, feeling your slick drip down his wrist as he repeated the motion “you wanted this, didn’t you? That’s why you wore that cute little skirt, huh?”

Sero watched you nod your head, though the blissed-out look on your face made him question if you even heard what he said as your hips began to wiggle, legs shaking as you neared your release.

“Can feel you twitching around my fingers, pretty girl, you gonna cum for me?” He asked, as his free hand pushed down your squirming hips “Hey, hey, don’t whine! I’ll give you what you want, promise”

His swollen lips brushed against your collarbone, a subtle gesture to prove he meant what he said - that he wasn’t going to tease you or stop you from going over the edge; his thumb twisting up to rub at your clit to help ease you over the edge you were climbing.

“That’s it, cum for me, god you sound so pretty, keep twitching for me.” He groaned, fingers working frantically as your cries grew higher in pitch.

Everything went white for a moment, an end to the mounting pleasure he was giving you, the world was forgotten for a brief moment as you succumbed to the pleasure; your back arched almost painfully as your legs clamped around his wrist; your entire form shaking from the intensity as eyes rolled back into your skull. The only thing that kept you in the realm was his deep voice cooing down at you as you felt your juices run down your thighs and stick to the surface of his leather chair.

“There she is…” He mumbled, lips kissing all over your face and chest to slowly help ease you back down “Slowly, that’s it, you did so good for me…”

“Hanta, s’too much!” You whined, bucking your hips away from his still-moving fingers; ones that were still slowly stroking your soaking cunt; hissing when he finally took them out.

“Sorry, sorry,” He chuckled, hands returning to stroke your thighs and hips as he gazed down at you “You certainly know how to stroke a man’s ego, huh? Never had a girl do that from my touch.”

You groaned one that turned into a giggle, as your hands came up to your face to hide from another wave of heated embarrassment “Well, to be fair, never had a guy touch me like that. Can’t blame a girl for enjoying it!”

“No I can’t, glad you liked it so much, baby” He murmured, pulling your hands from your face to kiss you once more, murmuring sweet nothing to you between each small kiss as his hands wandered again, up and down your body, smiling into the kiss when he felt your hands do the same.

“A-ah!” Sero moaned, unable to stop his hips from bucking to your small hand that started to stroke at the large bulge in his pants; another one choking out, ending in a whimper, when you applied more pressure.

“Can I return the favour?” You asked, voice sounding so saccharine and confident that it made his head spin at the total 180 you just pulled with your demeanor.

“N-no,” He whimpered out, hand grasping at your wrist - just as yours did before - to stop you from continuing your sinful motions.

“Why not?” You whined, the pout you gave almost made him regret his choice, “Wanna make you feel good…”

“I know you do, but I won’t be able to last long if you keep that up” He reasoned, clasping your hands in his to bring them away from his twitching, aching cock.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“God, you’re too much…” He mumbled, head shaking in amusement as he cleared his throat, trying his best not to let you get the best of him as he watched you squirm.

Your pout was still prevalent on your swollen lips as you gazed up at him, calling out to him once more in that saccharine sweet voice “But I wanna make you cum.”

Sero couldn’t help but groan again, head turning away from you as he thought of anything else at that moment - things that made him cringe in his past - to try and stop himself from creaming in his pants like a teenager. With his voice strained, hoarse with effort, as he instructed you to lay back.

You do as you are told, heat in your belly igniting once more when you hear the clinking of his belt unbuckling; bending your legs up, to get betting frictions on your tingling nub, as you waited as patiently as you could for his return.

The chair groaned, squeaking slightly, at the added weight Sero provided, as he situated himself between your legs once more. You gasped, one that turned into a moan, when you felt his cock head tap at your entrance; his hard length sliding up and down your slit - teasing you as he coats himself in your juices.

“Hanta…!” You groan out, hips bucking to try and slip him inside; groaning once more in frustration when you feel his hands pin your hips down once more “Hurry up!”

“So impatient, naughty, naughty, naughty ” He clicks his tongue at you, chuckling at the frustrated glance you cast his way “Just give me a second, don’t wanna hurt you after all”

You huff, brows furrowing further as acquiesced; knowing thing it was for the better to have him take things slow - but the burning in your core was making it difficult for you to have a clear and level head; wanting nothing more to feel him fill you up.

After another agonizing minute, you slowly feel him sink into your heat; feeling his fat cock stretch you out so agonizingly slow that it makes you throw your head back and moan; mouth agape as you feel every inch bury itself deeper into your core.

“God, you’re tight!” Sero hisses, body taut as he holds himself above you as he continued pushing into you “Already milking me, baby, damn!”

You both groan when he finally bottoms out, breathing labored as they mingle together in-between tiny kisses as you both try to adjust; legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him down to you, as he begins his slowly thrusting into you.

His thrusts were almost teasing with how slowly he was moving, dragging his cock out languidly from your gummy walls before slowly returning back into your warmth - but they were precise, with each thrust hitting every sweet spot you had; making your eyes cross as you fell into the throws of pleasure over his slow lovemaking.

Over time though, Sero could not keep up the unhurried pace; what was once a tactic to ensure that he didn’t cum too early, to properly worship you and your perfect body, was now not enough - his body needed more. His lips attached to yours, kisses muffling the sweet moans that you were making as he slowly picks up his pace; thrusts turning sloppy and hurried, a fair cry from before, as Sero now becomes unable to hold off his own pleasure; frantically trying to chase his release.

The sloppy, wet, noises of your pussy could be heard over your constant moans, over the  sound of his skin slapping against yours, and it was becoming overwhelming - his thumb joining his frenzied hips as he rubbed at your clit; trying desperately to get you up and over that edge before him, to feel your walls flutter and clasp his weeping cock as it did his fingers before he spilled into you.

But he failed, your wanton moans as they called out his name, and the sharp sting of your nails and they dug into his back pushed him too far; quickly pulling out with a choked wail he came; spilling his hot seed all over your thighs and stomach.

“I-I’m sorry” he gasped, trying to regain his breath - body, and cock, still twitching over the intensity of his organism; leaving you for a brief moment to get a clean rag from his equipment table to clean you up.

“Why are you sorry?” You asked, voice still raspy and sore, as you watched him methodically clean you up.

“Well, you know, about getting you all messy. And…. yeah…” He mumbled, shrugging his shoulders, too embarrassed to look at you or saw the real reason he apologized.

It made you smile, though you did your best to contain the giggles that threaten to pass your lips as you watched him. Sitting up, you pushed the hand that was cleaning you away, pulling him back down into you for a kiss.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind getting messy. Part of the fun, right?” You giggled, nudging your nose with his trying to lighten the mood; effectively making a small smile tug at his lips as he returned your kiss.

“Besides…” you whispered, hands coming down to teasingly stroke his chest “My place isn’t too far from here. If you wanted, you could spend all night making it up to me”

“Aren’t you a naughty girl,” Sero smirked, hands grabbing the meat under your thighs as he picked you up from his chair; moving your legs to wrap around his hips to keep you upright and in place “But, I think my place is closer.”

[bowtiepastabitch]

Heaven's Not Homophobic in Good Omens, and Why That's Important

I need to preface this with, I am not trying to start a fight or argument and won't tolerate any homophobic or bad faith arguments in response to this. Cool? Cool.

This is in large part inspired by this ask from Neil's blog, which sparked some discourse that I don't want to get involved in but that brought up some analytic questions for me.

He goes on to reblog a question asking about Uriel's taunt specifically, clarifying that "boyfriend in the dark glasses" can just as easily be read/translated from angelic as girlfriend or bosom buddy. The idea is that an angel and a demon "fraternizing" is seriously looked down upon, not that heaven is homophobic. And that's super important.

We see homophobia in both the book and show, of course. Aziraphale is very queer-coded, intentionally and explicitly so, and we see the reaction of other humans to that several times. Sergeant Shadwell, for example, and the kid in the book that calls him the f-slur when he's doing magic at Warlock's birthday party. These are, however, individual human reactions to his coding as a gay man.

I am, personally, not a fan of heaven redemption theories for the show; no hate for people who want that it's just not something I'm interested in. I don't believe that heaven is good with bad leadership, or that God Herself remains as a paragon of virtue. To me, that's not in line with the themes and messages of the show. It's important, however, that heaven doesn't reflect human vices. Heaven can be nasty and selfish and apathetic in its own right without ableism, homophobia, transphobia, or racism. This matters for two reasons.

Firstly, we don't need the -isms and -phobias to be evil or at least ethically impure. In a world where we spend so much time fighting against prejudice and bigotry, our impulse is to see that reflected in characters whose motivations we distrust or who we're intended to dislike. While it's true that that's often the big bad evil in our daily lives, it can really cheapen the malice in fictional evil from a storytelling standpoint. A villain motivated by racism or as an allegory for homophobia can be incredibly compelling, but not every bad guy can be the physical representation of an -ism. Art reflects the reality in which it's crafted, but the complexity of human nature and the evil it's capable of can't be simplified to a dni list.

Secondly, and I think more importantly, is that for Good Omens specifically, this places the responsibility for homophobia on humanity. If you're in this fandom, there's like a 98% chance you've been hurt by religion in some way. For a lot of us, that includes religious homophobia and hate, so it makes sense to want to project that onto the 'religious' structure of Good Omens. It's a story that is, in many ways, about religious trauma and abuse. However, if heaven itself held homophobic values, it would canonize in-universe the idea that heaven and religion itself are responsible for all humanity's -isms and -phobias and absolve humans of any responsibility. Much like Crowley emphasizes repeatedly that the wicked cruelty he takes responsibility for is entirely human-made, we have to accept that heaven can't take the blame for this. To make heaven, the religious authority, homophobic would simply justify religious bigotry from humans. By taking the blame for religious extremism and hatred away from heaven and the religious structure, Good Omens makes it clear that the nastiness of humanity is uniquely and specially human and forces the individual to take responsibility rather than the system. Hell isn't responsible for the Spanish Inquisition, which by the way was religiously motivated if you didn't know, and heaven isn't responsible for Ronald Reagan.

This idea is perhaps more strongly and explicitly expressed in the Good Omens novel, in the scene where Aziraphale briefly possesses a televangelist on live TV. It's comedic, yes, but also serves to demonstrate that human concepts of the apocalypse and religious fervor are deeply incorrect (in gomens universe canon) and condemn exploitation of faith practices. Pratchett and Gaiman weave a great deal of complexity into the way religion and religious values are portrayed in the book, especially in the emphasis on heaven and hell being essentially the same. They're interested in the concept of what it means to be uniquely and unabashedly human, the good and the bad, and part of that is forcing each individual person to bear the brunt of responsibility for their own actions rather than passing it off onto a greater religious authority.

Additionally, from a fan perspective, there's something refreshing about a very queer story where homophobia isn't the primary (or even a side) conflict. The primary narrative of Good Omens isn't that these two man-shaped-beings are gay, it's that they're an angel and a demon. The tension in their romantic arc arises entirely from the larger conflict of heaven and hell, and things like gender and sexuality don't really matter at all. Yes, homophobia and transphobia are very real, present issues in our everyday lives, but they don't have to be central to every story we tell. There's something really soothing about Crowley and Aziraphale being so queer-coded and so clearly enamored with each other without constantly being bombarded with homophobia and hate. It's incredible to see a disabled angel whose use of a mobility aid makes no difference in their role and to see angels and demons using they/them pronouns without being questioned or misgendered. It's all accepted and normalized, and that's the kind of representation that we as queer people deserve.

[bakuhatsufallinlove]

Who Wants To Talk About Japanese Orthography In Manga???

Me, it's me, I do, and I have been chomping at the bit to get the chance to.

Orthography refers to the conventions of written language to represent sounds. That may bring to mind the idea of rigid grammar rules or spelling standardization, but in a linguistic sense, orthography simply describes observable trends across language use. This isn't about authority--I am not going to talk about what schools teach or say people should write one way or another. This is about examining how real people use written language creatively to convey different things in popular media.

This is a huge topic, so I'm only going to use examples from MHA to highlight Horikoshi's style.

First, let's get a run-down of the main parts of written Japanese and how they tend to be used.

We've got kanji and kana; kanji are logograms, while kana are syllabaries. Kana refers to both hiragana and katakana collectively, but we will delineate the two from here on.

The Wikipedia page for kanji, describing this more succinctly than I'm about to.

For clarity, I'm gonna color-code each one.

Let's take a quick look at all three in action.

Chapter 65

By virtue of being the syllabary that grammar particles are written in, hiragana can get away with a lot that kanji and katakana can't.

You can write simple sentences in hiragana alone, like so:

The sentence is perfectly comprehensible like this, but it reads as casual or perhaps a bit immature, like the person is either leaving out kanji for speed or simplicity (like online) or they aren't confident using kanji. Although, the word hito (person) is extremely common and its kanji is simple, so this would probably look more natural:

But there are also kanji for the word kawaii, so you could also write it this way:

On the other hand, writing the whole thing in katakana looks weird as fuck:

bECAuSE iT kINDA reADS LIKE THis, or maybe L I K E T H I S

It seems almost alien, overemphasizing the phonetic sound of the words, implying there's something notable or unusual about them.

But what if you write it like this?

Both ways use katakana to put flavor on a specific word. The first puts it on person, which could be used in a situation where someone hasn't been named yet, but the speaker tonally emphasizes your knowledge of them--like "oh, you know who."

The second emphasizes cute, which could read as sexually suggestive, teasing/joking, or even a threatening tone, depending on the context. "Real cute, ain't they?"

Basically, the connecting grammar bits need to be in hiragana, but nouns, verbs, and adjectives can typically be written in any of the three systems. That introduces choice into the matter, and these choices may have some cultural connotations.

This is a subtlety in written Japanese that manga loves to take advantage of. Orthography contributes a lot to characterization and tone, so individual creators develop little quirks as part of their own writing style.

Now let's finally take a gander at some of Horikoshi's!

Kanji instead of hiragana for semantic emphasis

Chapter 48

Best Jeanist could have used only hiragana for the word "good" (いい, ii), which is a very common way to write it. But he's not just commenting that they are nice kids, he's talking about them as "goodie two-shoes" and even puts brackets around the idea. The kanji emphasizes the cultural idea of a Good Child™, a well-behaved, morally upright, obedient young person.

Kanji instead of hiragana denoting a serious or severe tone

Chapter 36

Katsuki's "you" pronoun omae being written with kanji comes across as markedly serious, especially compared to how his dialogue is normally written. This is actually the only time Katsuki says omae and it is written with kanji--all the rest are in hiragana, which tends to read as more casual.

Hiragana instead of kanji denoting a gentle tone or youthful/childlike language

Chapters 129 and 183

Katsuki and his omae show us how kanji use can be seen as more mature and serious; Eri's dialogue does the opposite of this by using hiragana when it could use kanji, emphasizing her youth and innocence.

Katakana instead of hiragana or kanji for emphasis or slang

Chapters 209, 207, and 2

As I detailed above, one of katakana's most common uses is similar to italics or all-caps.

But you also tend to see slang written with it, and depending on the slang, the word being in katakana can immediately clarify it from other, perhaps more standard meanings. In Jirou's case, her personal pronoun uchi can mean a couple other things, so it being written in katakana clarifies her usage. It could arguably also imply she is taking a bit of an argumentative tone--Katsuki's slang is typically written in katakana for both of these reasons!

Katakana denoting regional dialect/accent, nonstandard pronunciation/muddled speech, or confused articulation

Chapters 102, 208, 394, and 2

Ochako gets flustered and defaults to her regional Kansai dialect. Instead of "chigau wa" (Tokyo dialect), she says "chau wa" repeatedly.

Katsuki and Toga both drop the w- sound from a word. Katsuki says "ore a" instead of "ore wa," while Toga says the word "kawaiku" as "ka'aiku" and "kawaii" as "ka'aii." Notice how the katakana which represents the vocal omission/hiccup is actually smaller than the others? That's also a little stylistic detail for communicating this kind of nonstandard speech.

Izuku repeats All Might's words, chikara wo, in a confused daze because he isn't following All Might's point. By removing the kanji especially, this kind of katakana emphasizes him sounding the words out without recognizing the underlying meaning.

Basically, Japanese has some excellent ~vibes-based~ orthography because of how the language is structured!

Of course, you find this kind of thing in English as well--especially in the age of the internet, where people note that "how dare u" reads as tonally distinct from "how dare you." As you develop language fluency, you tend to pick up these things subconsciously more than anything, but it's one of my favorite things to analyze and compare.

These are just a few examples and my own interpretations of them. I'm sure there are many more uses and flavor-nuance I'm not picking up on. Since any given choice can be read a few different ways, context is very important. My examples aren't definitive proof of anything, but it can be fun to keep these kinds of details in mind while reading.

Shueisha and Shonen Jump surely have in-house standards for text, and mangaka must operate within that range. That said, I have indeed seen every one of these examples in other manga as well.

And on the independent side of things, doujinshi and online manga are basically the wild frickin' west--I have seen tons of totally crazy, highly creative ways to take advantage of the unique flexibility found in Japanese, but that's a post for another day.

I will probably write more about this kind of thing in the future when I can pinpoint some more observations, but I hope you all enjoyed the ride. <3

[theoceansluvr]

Tim Drake x Cozy! Reader

warning; none ! author's notes; my favorite boy's birthday which means a work for him ! sorry for writing so many headcanons y'all, i have a lot to blabber about 😞 also idk if the title makes sense but i have was going for a very.. homebody, smells like coffee/hot chocolate, big sweaters coded reader if that makes any sense !

oh how he loves you...

he never gets a chance to relax because Gotham never rests

but with you it's so easy

he could come back from the worst fight in the world and be greeted with hazelnut creamer filled coffee and the sight of string lights everywhere

it might not be a lot, but it's everything to him.

reading dates are a very common thing !

you'll drag him to the local used bookstore any chance you get

it's usually followed up with a trip to the bakery or record shop too

super into crime books

(to nobody's surprise im sure)

he has a whole bookshelf dedicated to forensic books, even though he knows pretty much everything.

he likes to be sure, y'know ?

you guys have plants that are all names and their birthdays are on a calendar on the fridge

the oldest is named Robert ans he's a dragon's breath you two bought when you first moved in together

the name was merely based on you thinking it was funny to give a plant a people name..(me too)

steals your sweaters all the time and claims he doesn't know what happened to them

but you always catch him up in the middle of the night wearing them while he's doing his detective stuff

random but candle shopping is a MAJORRRRR part of y'all's budget planning..

i mean sure, overhead lighting can be nice, but candles just have a better feel !

which is exactly what you say to Tim every time

he groans and mumbles a soft "Whatever you want, rose.." and it's off to Bath and Body works or the local candle shop !

BAKING TOGETHER !!!!

i will give any excuse to talk about Tim and his baked goods, so you two bake together a ton !

not specifically from scratch, but it's usually better when it is.

"All that matters is it was made with love." is the common statement he uses when he burns something..

which is probably a common occurrence if im being completely honest

slow dancing to records might i add

not much to add about this, but something about him being a Wayne tells me he probably had to learn to slow dance for whatever reason

he'll gladly teach you if you don't know how :))

you guys are usually cuddled up drinking coffee/tea/hot chocolate(pick your preference loves !)

the Gotham rain adds to the ambience of it all

having someone as lad back as you are definitely helps with his whole "gotta prove my wort" mentality as well

if you ever got pets i think you'd have rabbits or maybe a ferret

not cats, don't ask me why i just have a weird headcanon about him being allergic.. so sorry to all my cat allergy havers

completely and utterly in love with the fact you're not out a lot because he likes knowing your safe at home !

playing stardew or animal crossing together to cool off ?

absolutely !

you have a shared island and farm bc he refuses to let you marry any of the characters(SAM I LOVE YOU !!!)

I COULD WRITE SOSOSOSOSOSO MUCH ABOUT HIM WITH A CALM, COZY PARTNER !!! but i want to get this done before the 20th so :((( but happy birthday again to my boyfriend in another universe 😞

[thehopelessromanticclub]

WONWOO FIC RECS  I

💋- smut // 💗-fluff //🥀-angst //💌-personal favourite

Series

introduce me a good person - @taeyegu (friends to lovers au) 💗🥀

“if there is a nice person, please introduce him to me. sometimes like water, sometimes like fire. someone who can love me sincerely. i hope he is someone who is mature and faithful…”

I found love in your smile - @wonlouvre (royalty au, arranged marriage au)💗🥀

The shattered camera - @puppetwritings( celebrity au, paparazzi au)💗🥀

Wonwoo already had enough on his plate as it is—proving his parents wrong, making a living, fighting his just conscience—and with you in the picture, nothing could possibly go more wrong. Or could you be his ticket to the good life that he wanted?

Drabbles/one-shots

Healing hues - @thedensworld (Slowburn, friendship au) 💗🥀

Exhausted by the monotony of his life as a celebrity, Wonwoo makes a pivotal decision to return to his childhood hometown and embark on a heartwarming project: building a small library named 'Healing Hues.' Little does he know, this journey will lead to a series of unexpected and transformative events.

Ruminations - @waldau 💗💌

[08:41 pm] - @jjuniehao💗💌

Deluxe version - @darl-ings💗🥀💌

in which you and Wonwoo spend some alone time together.

Bedtime routine - @yikesmary 💗💌

where you loved times like these with your boyfriend, Wonwoo.

Two umbrellas - @hanniology💗💌🥀

Wonwoo doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but you do after meeting him.

Flustered - @waldau💗💌

Take a chance - @wonwoonlight💗💌

and they were newlyweds - @viastro 💗💌

in which Wonwoo builds the Ikea couch, but something... doesn’t look right.

conclusion number three - @wonwoonlight💗💌

you have a hypothesis you'd like to prove. a/n- this one was sooo Wonwoo-coded

The regular - @trblsvt (bakery au, college au) 💗

Wonwoo couldn't really recommend anything at the bakery he worked at, he couldn't even handle going in a couple days a week. that is until he found his new favorite customer.

Chocolate rum cookies - @wonwoonlight (non-idol au, friends to lovers au) 💗

Play again - @shuarush💗💌

after ten years of not seeing your high school crush you find yourself partnered with him at the company you work for. Since you've been rejected before, you try your best to not let any feelings flourish, but Jeon Wonwoo's charms make that attempt especially hard for you. a/n - totally an all-time favorite.

first kiss with seventeen: wonwoo - @etherealyoungk💗💌

"stay there. i'm coming to get you." - @dokyeomin💗💌

wedding weekends with wonwoo - @suhnshinehaos (fake dating, non-idol au)💗🥀

jeon wonwoo, the perfect man. kind, smart, successful career, and not too bad on the eyes. all his friends are getting married and everyone’s aunts, mothers, and family friends are trying to set him up with their friends, sisters, brothers, nieces, and nephews at every wedding he attends. he’s tired of it. what better way to solve his problem than to employ your help, someone who’s having the exact same one?

Thank you authors for all your amazing works.🤩

If there are any fics that anyone would like to recommend feel free to do so🤗😁.

( also the dividers were from @cafekitsune and @baexywth. they have really cool dividers. do check them out.)

[oceanwithouthermoon]

okay some people genuinely really need to accept that the ONLY "queer coding" in saiki k is when they make gay jokes. there is NO other intentional queer coding, and i think people dont understand that claiming rep where it isnt there is much much more harmful than you think it is... just headcanon! its fun! you guys act like youre going to fucking die if you ship/hc something not canon, so you convince everyone that everything you say is canon ☠️ its literally insane

theres a HUGE difference between a headcanon or ship having what YOU see as canon backing, and a hc or ship that is actually implied or canon...

the only ship that you could argue is implied in saiki k is terusai, thats literally it, you could potentially make an argument that yumekai could be reciprocated towards the end, satoumiya, or MAYBE mikosai, but im pretty sure thats it...

nonbinary saiki is one of my personal favorite headcanons (one of the only ones i pretty much ALWAYS have in mind when talking or writing about him, it's practically a given) and i think it has pretty good canon backing, but its not ACTUALLY implied.

hes FAIRLY certain that his biological sex is male, and all evidence points to that, but he doesnt know and specifically says that he doesnt know what his true gender is... he clearly has absolutely zero discomfort with masculinity OR femininity, doesnt know or care about his gender, and is comfortable with either sex... he seems very happy to just be either...

seems like pretty solid evidence, but you also have to realize that there is literally zero chance that the author intended for saiki to be read as nonbinary, or trans in any way, this was literally just an excuse for plot and to have a reason to take advantage of his shapeshifting to do crossdressing/genderbend chapters ☠️ i love to see it as him being nonbinary and i think it has a lot of backing, but its not canon or even "implied" at all.

theres a lot of other examples of this kind of thing in this fandom, like theres a lot of people who claim that kubokai are queer coded (its usually just a joke when people say things like "hehe my ship is so canon" but im talking about like... people who see yumekai and go "um 🤨 this is LITERALLY homophobic because erm um kubokai are basically canon and queer coded and you shipping one of them with a WOMAN is HOMOPHOBIC" lmfao) and i am actually just not even sure where this comes from because they dont have anything that can even be twisted into romantic subtext, theyre just a popular ship because they have a good friendship. which is great! but theyre like the LAST thing i wouldve expected people to claim as implied or canon. they are absolutely not. the only thing i can even think of that might make people think that is saiki saying they look gay in that one chapter ☠️

[signfromeywa]

AUNGIA TA EYWA (A SIGNS FROM EYWA)

Chapter 01: A difficult start️

Description:

Anastasia Novak is a behavioural scientist tasked with socializing a captive Na'vi on behalf of the RDA. The longer she works with the Na'vi and the closer she gets to him, the more she has to rethink everything she thought she knew and redefine her morals and values. Can she just carry on like this, or will she follow her heart?

Content: Rating +18, Avatar fanfiction, human x Na'vi ship, Na'vi captured

Characters: Human OCs: Anastasia Novak, Steven Turner, Patra// Na'vi OCs: Ean'tu,

Word Count: 4379

⊹˚₊‧─────────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

❗️English is not my native language! I apologize very much if it reads a bit bumpy here and there.

I'm a German author and this is the first time I've tried to translate a story I'm working on into English and upload it. I still hope you enjoy it.❗

An automatic heavy iron door opened with a hydraulic sound. As it opened, it disappeared into the wall on both sides, revealing a young woman. 

" Mam, please raise your arms." Two guards approached her, both armed and in uniform. One of them stepped up to her. 

She raised her arms uncertainly. She didn't want to cause any trouble or complications. It was her first day at work and she wanted to make a good impression. 

The man picked up a hand-sized scanner and ran it along her body at a distance to scan her for metal parts and weapons. Since everything was inconspicuous, he nodded to his colleague. 

"All right, please go straight out to the airlock at the back. They're already expecting you." He pointed to a much smaller metal door in the distance next to a window. Behind it stood a man who seemed to be busy with something. 

"Thank you very much." The young woman made her way out and the guards resumed their positions. Her heart was pounding in her chest. On the one hand, this was her big chance, but on the other, she was terrified of doing something wrong. It would ruin her once and for all. 

When she reached the airlock door, the man behind the window looked up and noticed her. Then he disappeared from her field of vision and shortly afterwards a beep sounded, whereupon a light came on and the door opened. Behind it stood a man: very inconspicuous, white coat, files in his hand and dark circles under his eyes.

"Miss Novak I presume?" He examined her with his tired eyes. The man seemed overworked or had simply not slept well for many nights, or even too little. 

"Yeah, right." She walked through the door and held out her hand to greet him. He didn't seem to notice, as he turned away and went back to looking at his papers.

"Follow me Miss Novak." He simply walked off and, somewhat irritated, she stumbled after him. "I'm honestly surprised. You're a petite woman and yet you signed up for this job."

She blinked in surprise. "Excuse me?" 

He stopped and looked at her over his shoulder. "But you do know what you signed up for, don't you?" 

"Yes, of course I do. The job description was clear." 

"Hmm..." He started walking again. "We'll see how you do. After all, we work with the highest security measures and technology. So we can assume that nothing will happen to you. But you should still be careful."

What kind of strange conversation was that? Was the guy trying to scare her? Or was he seriously worried? In any case, canceling was no longer an option. She hadn't flown here for three years only to go home again. No way. She was just right for the job. So far, every animal had been trained and tamed by her, and it would be no different here. She shouldn't let these statements unsettle her in the first place. She was the best in her field and that was exactly why she had got the job. 

They stopped together in front of another door with a keypad next to it. He entered the required code and the door opened to let them both in.

"This is the team's workplace, so it's yours too. Apart from the enclosure, of course." He pointed into the room. It had no windows, was made entirely out of metal and was artificially lit with white light. Two desks stood in one corner, close to a large filing cabinet with countless files. A few of them were spread out on the desks as if someone was still writing on them and a few more were stacked in boxes next to them. "You'll have a lot of paperwork," commented the man who still hadn't introduced himself. 

"Over here is the plant's equipment. Everything important is controlled from here, but you don't have to worry about that." He pointed to another corner with a huge control panel. With lots of switches and buttons, none of which the young woman understood.

"Keep moving, over here." They went through another door at the end. This led into a smaller room with a window through which you could see into another area. The employee led her to the window and looked through it with her. 

"You have a wonderful view of the enclosure from here." His gaze wandered vigilantly from right to left, as if he was looking for something. "You can't see it just now. It often hides in the treetops." He was probably talking about the animal she was supposed to look after. She had already seen a picture of the creature in the job advertisement, which had not come to her by coincidence, but through a special contact. Her eyes wandered along the tree. 

"Oh, don't bother. You can't see through the dense leaves from here." He turned around. "Here we have the monitors from the cameras we've installed all over the enclosure, so we can usually keep an eye on it... but it doesn't seem to be visible through them right now. So it really will be in the tree."

A man came in through the door. He was also wearing a white coat and sat bluntly on the chair in front of the monitors with his cup, without saying anything.

"This is Mr. Gonzales, he takes care of the surveillance in shifts. Then we have three mechanics for the enclosure and two people who look after the switchgear over there. So you don't need to worry about that. Just let us know if you want to know anything." 

The young woman nodded and looked at her counterpart with her brown eyes. 

"Oh yes, I'm Mr. Turner. I'd like to welcome you. Let's hope you can hold out here. That beast in there is giving us a hard time. It would be good if you could get it under control."

"Doctor Anastasia Novak, a pleasure. I'll be fine. I've managed to tame all the beasts so far. Don't worry about it." For the first time, Ana smiled. Her colleague seemed a little plump, but he probably didn't mean it unkindly.

"The facility is attached to the main building. The boss likes to come by and take a look at Sky," Mr. Turner said.

"I understand that. But he doesn't go into the enclosure?" 

"He was there once, with a guard. Sky bit the guard's ear off. Since then, he's been wearing an electronic collar and the boss doesn't go in anymore." He looked at Ana. "That's what you're here now for. You're supposed to work with Sky and socialize it to humans." 

"Sky seems really aggressive. It's a male, isn't it?" 

"Yes, but to us it's just an alien. I don't care if it's female or male. I've seen that thing attack our people. If you ask me, it's highly dangerous and just aggressive. I don't think you can get it to get used to humans," he said.

Ana crossed her arms "Any animal can be trained. But I can understand why you're skeptical. Are there any other safety measures apart from the collar?" 

"Someone is always in the control room. From here, a sleeping drug can be released via its collar if it can no longer be held. You have to go through two locks if you want to enter the enclosure. We also have automatic shooting systems that can detect and shoot the target at any time, whether it's sleeping arrows or live ammunition." 

Ana was amazed, but she knew it was necessary. A three-metre animal could certainly do bad things to a person and if she was really going to go in there to work with the animal, her safety had to be guaranteed. Mr. Turner had certainly been able to convince her of that.

She turned back to the window and looked into the enclosure. "Are there any medical records?" 

"Yes, I'll show you the files in a moment. There's not that much in them, though." He stood by her and looked now too. 

"I'll at least be able to file my psychological report there. That would be a start. I'd also like to go straight into the enclosure, is that possible?" Ana looked at Mr. Turner expectantly.

"Yes, that will work. I'll get your equipment ready straight away and inform the shift on duty. Then we'll watch your back from up here," Mr. Turner confirmed. 

"All right, let's get going! I need something to write on, would that be possible?" 

"Come with me." He went ahead into the other room to the desks to get a clipboard and paper. "Will that be enough?"

Ana took the pen from the table and clipped it to the board as well. "Yes, here we go."

Gradually, she could feel her heart beating faster. It wasn't the first alien she'd had to tame. But she could remember exactly what the job advertisement had said. Big, strong, fast. It was said to be somewhat predatory and very aggressive. Ana didn't think she had ever looked after such a violent animal. But she also saw it as a chance to prove once again that she was the best at her job. It was a challenge she wanted to take on and she wasn't just doing it for that reason. She loved all life, other species and animals. All life has its place, you just had to learn to understand it. You could live in harmony with everything, she was sure of that. The dog was the best example. Or the cat. If you found out more about the species and their way of communicating, then you could respond to them and come to an understanding. It would be no different here. She was sure of that. There was always a way.

Her colleague had guided Ana to the airlock door that led into the enclosure. "Here, put on the mask. The enclosure has the atmosphere of the moon, which is necessary for the animal. So you will have to wear the mask at all times when you enter." 

Ana took the mask and put it on. By now, she didn't need any help, as she had already been shown how to wear them a few times on the way here. It was also very easy. A short hiss confirmed that the mask was on properly.

"Good, I'll open the airlock door now. Go inside and wait until the pressure has equalized and the enclosure door opens. I'll have a view of you in the control room upstairs." He opened the door, which only opened with the ID card he had on his coat.

As the scanner light turned green, the airlock door opened, revealing a small room that resembled a larger elevator. Ana entered cautiously and startled when the heavy airlock door closed behind her. There was a small beep and then it started to hiss. The airlock had started to equalize pressure. When the hissing stopped, it beeped again. A light turned green. Ana's heart was now beating up to her neck. She knew she was safe, but she was still excited. After all, she was now entering a predator's enclosure unarmed. It had already proved often enough what it was capable of. 

The sluice door to the enclosure opened to reveal an artificially created natural enclosure. The ground was earthy and covered with grass here and there, bushes had been planted and at the end was an incredibly tall tree. Only now, from down here, could she see how high the treetop was. So high that the ceiling had to be extended and there was now a dome above the tree. But it wasn't made of glass. It was lighting in the form of huge spotlights on the ceiling that imitated the natural light from outside.

"Are the plants real?" she asked Mr. Turner over the radio.

"Yes, they're all real. We have extra staff in here for the flora. They're all real plants from the moon. To recreate the animal's natural habitat," he confirmed.

"So much effort," she marveled. 

"It had to be done. The first enclosure wasn't natural enough and the animal became very weak and ill. Then the boss had this enclosure built straight away." 

"He must really like Sky." Ana slowly stepped into the enclosure and looked around. "Have you spotted Sky on the cameras yet?" 

"No, nothing yet. But stay alert, the beast is damn good at sneaking up on you," warned Mr. Turner.

"Yes, thanks, I'll keep looking around." Ana walked on. The enclosure was surprisingly well maintained and had beautiful flora. It was hard to believe what the boss had taken on himself to make his pet feel at home. Keeping an alien as a pet wasn't easy. Only the rich could afford it. Ana was happy with a simple cat to snuggle up with in the evening. She walked slowly towards the big tree. Her colleague had said that it often stayed here. Maybe she would be able to see it. As she got closer and her gaze wandered over the tree, she spotted something in the branches higher up. It looked like branches tied together and seemed to be hanging from something similar to a plant.

She took out her clipboard and started to draw it. She had never seen anything like it and found it fascinating. "Mr. Turner, do you know what that tied branch is hanging from the tree? What did you hang it for?" 

"We didn't hang anything. It must be new. But it's not ours, at least I don't think so. I'll ask the staff later." 

"Thank you." Ana walked on. But it was unlikely this far up. How could people from the team have got there? It was several meters from the ground, among the branches and leaves. How unusual. 

Then she reached the tree and looked up at it. It was unbelievably huge, not even two full-grown people could have reached around the trunk. 

"How big is the tree?" she asked over the radio.

"Phew... it should be something like 47 meters," was the answer she got.

Ana was amazed. A tree that big was something rare on Earth and would mean that it was a very old tree. Would the growth behavior of the plants be different here? She cautiously placed a hand on the bark. 

Then she heard a branch crack and looked up, startled, but it was too late. All she could see was something large and blue pouncing on her and throwing her to the ground. Frightened and startled, she screamed and the clipboard fell out of her hand and landed at some distance on the earthy ground next to her.

Above her was that animal. Sky! Despite her panic, she recognized it from the photo she had seen. This was the animal she was supposed to tame. Only now that it was so close above her did she realize how big three meters were. But she didn't have time to think about that. She could hardly breathe. Sky had pushed her to the ground and placed his hand on her chest. He really was extremely strong.

Gasping for breath, she looked into the dark blue face. Deep red eyes glared at her. His face was contorted into a snarl and his ears were pinned back. It bared its pointed fangs in anger. She grabbed the animal's wrist, but Sky was stronger. 

"Mr...Turner..." she stammered choked and hoped he would hear the radio. 

Nothing came at first, but then: "Oh shit!" The first electric shock came immediately. Ana got the electric shock from the touch. Shit, that was painful. Her body spasmed under the brief electric shock. But it was enough. The animal had retreated in fright. But it was not in a peaceful mood. Sky crouched in front of her. He hissed at her and his tail whipped back and forth anxiously. 

"Get away from there!" she heard Mr. Turner's panicked voice over the radio.

Her limbs still aching, she picked herself up and tried to get away. Sky jumped towards her again. He was clearly not done with her yet. Ana had invaded his territory. She had been careless. But before the animal reached her, the electricity on the collar was activated once more. This time it wasn't a short shock, but a continuous stream. Sky slumped to the ground and writhed as he screamed. He was clearly in pain, but Ana knew it was her only chance to get away. She stood up and took a quick look at Sky before running off. Suddenly Sky's eyes snapped open despite the pain and their gazes met. 

Shit! None of this was right! What was happening here was wrong and she knew it. Animals shouldn't be tortured like this. A single electric shock or two would have been enough. But to let it suffer like this was not okay.

"Mr. Turner! Turn off the power, damn it. That's enough!" she radioed nervously as she stood anxiously away from the animal. 

"Are you crazy?! Get away from there! There's no way I'm turning off the power." 

"POWER OFF! NOW!" Ana shouted into the radio and looked angrily up at the window where she knew Mr. Turner could see her. 

After a moment's hesitation, the power went out and Sky went limp. "Shit! You must be crazy. Come out of there now!" 

"I'm here to get to know him, not traumatize him." Ana's words sounded harsh. She was annoyed. She certainly wasn't an animal abuser. She never had to use such educational measures before. She had just felt for herself how painful this fucking electricity was. It was not okay to expose the animal to this pain for so long.

Anyway, it was over now and Sky didn't move. He must have been exhausted from the pain. It was the perfect opportunity to get to safety. But that wasn't what Ana was here for. Running away wouldn't help her if she wanted to tame the animal. 

For now, Sky was exhausted. So exhausted that he would certainly not attack her again so quickly. This was a good opportunity to get closer to the animal. She approached cautiously. Just a few steps. Sky turned his head to the side, exhausted, and scrutinized her with his reddish eyes. He watched her closely. 

Ana ducked slightly and held out her hands. "It's all right... everything's fine," she said in a soft voice and continued to approach Sky. This time the animal didn't move. It just looked at her and it almost seemed like it was letting Ana. Why was it okay for her to go over to it now? The animal's tail lay still and its ears were no longer laid back. Only its watchful gaze told her that Sky probably wanted to say: "I'm keeping a close eye on you, I don't trust you completely yet."

She knelt down on the floor next to him. Admittedly, she was terrified. Now she had seen for herself what the animal was capable of. It was dangerous, but it also took courage to tame an animal. 

"Shit! What are you doing, Miss Novak? You'd better get away from there. The animal attacked you earlier. That's dangerous!" Mr. Turner was clearly very upset. His voice was shaking so nervously that Ana could hear it through the radio. 

"Yes, it is dangerous. But I have to start getting him used to me straight away, otherwise it will only get worse. You can't show any weakness," she explained in an equally nervous voice. Although she had tried to sound confident. 

Slowly, she reached out her hand to Sky, and just before she could touch his head, his ear twitched nervously. She paused briefly and waited to see what signals Sky gave her. The animal, however, also seemed to be waiting. Right now, he didn't see Ana as a threat. 

"Calm down, I don't mean you any harm," Ana said gently in a low voice to reassure it. Then she put her hand on its head and stroked it gently. Sky moved shortly afterwards.

"Miss Novak!" Mr. Turners sounded worried.

"It's all right, don't do anything. It's all right." Under no circumstances should he switch on the power now, Sky was behaving quite peacefully. There was no trace of aggression and Ana was surprised that he had changed his behavior so much. What had triggered it? Had it been the punishment? Was it afraid of being punished again? But that didn't make sense, animals don't actually learn the concept that quickly, unless they've often tortured it with electricity like that. The thought made her angry. That wasn't acceptable. 

Sky had sat up and sat in front of her. He still seemed exhausted. But his mind was awake and Sky looked at Ana warily. It wasn't friendly towards her, but it wasn't hostile either. It was more observant. 

Ana gently held out her hand so that Sky could sniff it. "It's all right, big guy, just relax." She smiled at him. 

Sky really was an extraordinarily beautiful creature. He had something human about him despite his predator-like features. The skin had a beautiful pattern and the eyes were a great color. The unique disorder of pigmentation that ran across his face and part of his shoulder also added to his beauty.

To Ana's surprise, Sky not only leaned forward to sniff her hand, but placed his hand in hers. The hand was much bigger than hers and very warm. Was Sky's species a primate? He acted very humanoid as he looked at her and held her hand. He certainly seemed smart. His nose, eyes and ears reminded her a lot of a cat or panther. Very curious. She would get some documents to find out more about the species. She hadn't gotten much information. Only the rough reports from the tabloids on Earth. But who knows how much of it was correct. News was not known for accuracy and scientific precision. 

"What's the name of his species again, Mr. Turner?" The word had completely slipped her mind.

"Na'vi is the name of these beasts," he said much more calmly now.

That's right, that was their name. The Na'vi were widespread on Pandora and known for their ferocity, which led to them attacking the bases of the drilling companies and killing the workers. In general, people told each other about the dangerous flora and fauna of Pandora, and the voices even got all the way to Earth. Even though there was a lot of publicity about traveling to Pandora to work for the RDA. The payment was good, but you were also far away from home. Ana had made it to Pandora and was now really sitting opposite of one of those dangerous Na'vis. At that moment, however, Sky was completely calm. 

Ana sat down too. Sky was so much taller than she was. It was impressive but also intimidating. Where should she start? Talking would not help the animal, body language was the most effective and the right charisma. She was no enemy of Sky, quite the opposite. She wanted to help him fit in and allow the helping presence of humans. 

Gently, she also reached out her other hand to him and he grabbed it, then something strange happened. Sky turned her wrist so that her palm was facing him and brought her fingertips to his chest, where she assumed his heart was.

"irayo..." she heard from Sky. 

Ana's eyes widened. What kind of sound, what kind of gesture had that been? It seemed so human, the way he was looking at her, touching her. Had he been trying to communicate with her? Or had it just been a sound? She didn't understand any of this. She looked into the Na'vis' watchful eyes and he looked into hers. 

It was completely silent. She was very still and breathing evenly. Somehow she had a strange connection to the animal. Sky was special. 

"Are you okay down there?" It was Mr. Turner's voice through the radio. 

Ana averted her eyes to look up at the window, it was quite small from down here, she could barely make out anything, but knew her colleague was standing up there keeping a close eye on her. 

"Yes, I'm fine. Everything's ok down here," she assured him, slightly confused, and then felt Sky let go of her hands. She turned her head back in his direction as he had already stood up and returned to the tree in a crouching position, partly on all fours and partly on his hind legs.

He seemed more insecure and dismissive again. He was clearly afraid of the radio message. "It's all right Sky, it's all right." Ana made a placating gesture with her hands and stood up as well. However, she had no intention of following the Na'vi. It had been enough excitement for today. She should let the animal have its space; after all, she didn't want things to escalate again. 

Besides, she urgently needed to gather herself now. She had gained so many new impressions and so many questions had now arisen in her mind. As soon as she was back at her desk, she would get permission to contact a research facility. She needed to find out more about the Na'vi and their behavior patterns if she wanted to avoid incidents like this in the future. 

Sky shouldn't have to suffer through the collar anymore. This stupid electricity hurt like hell, even if Ana only had it for a second. In future, it would be nice if Sky didn't need a collar like that at all. That would be Ana's goal.

Slowly she walked backwards to get safely away from the animal and Sky watched her closely. When he realized that she really wanted to leave, he swung himself onto a branch to withdraw. He probably wanted to get back to his hiding place in the tree. 

When Ana was far enough away, she turned around, collected her clipboard and made her way to the airlock. The doors opened as soon as she arrived and let her through.

[mothandpidgeon]

The Outlaws (Outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader) - Chapter 2

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: T (eventual E 18+ MDNI)

wc: 1.7k

summary: Wanted for murder with a bounty on your head, your only hope of escaping the Pinkerton detectives is an outlaw named Joel Miller and his sidekick Ellie. But Joel has other plans for you.

tags: old west au, enemies to lovers, grumpy Joel, handcuffed together, period/genre/canon typical violence, alcohol, morally grey characters, reader has backstory, no use of y/n

authors note: Posting this today in honor of act ii. Yeehaw. As always, thank you @ezrasbirdie for the beta and support in this (you really need to tell me to stfu about these two) and in life.

Joel once took Sarah to see PT Barnum’s Greatest Show on Earth. Each ticket cost him two quarters. She pulled him by the hand past the tents with Tom Thumb and the giantess, straight to the exhibition of wild animals. There were all sorts of exotic animals in the menagerie– giraffes, elephants, snakes. You remind him of the tiger. Beautiful and cunning. Fierce. Dangerous unless it’s kept under lock and key. 

Which is why he’s grateful he kept these old shackles in his saddle bag. 

You’re in a friendlier mood once camp is set up and a rabbit is roasted on a spit. He knows it’s a rouse, that you’re still spitting mad and hoping to slit his throat in the night. On that train, you were the demure damsel in need of a rescue. Soon as he put that cuff on your wrist, you turned into a fire breathing dragon. 

You can be as mad as you’d like. You’re no match for his strength or his revolver. 

They sit around the fire, Joel and Ellie propped against their saddles. It’s a cool evening, a steady breeze blows off the river. The stars paint the purple sky and the cave is illuminated with the orange glow of a fire. There’s plenty to celebrate. Though, even when they score a good amount of money, gold pieces, and get away without a scratch, Joel never feels much satisfaction. Despite his personal quandary, it would be a beautiful night, really, if Joel weren’t sitting there waiting for you to do something foolish. 

He can tell you’re meditating on some new escape plan, knows better than to look at you too long. A girl like you, pretty and with that sharp mouth, is the type that knows how to use her womanly wiles. You’re desperate enough to try just about anything and he’s not giving you the chance. 

You must think he’s stupid enough to fall for it too. He reluctantly passes you his flask and, after you drink, you wipe your wet lips with a seductive  finger. 

Ellie’s being a real chatterbox, recounting each moment of the robbery as if she’s writing her own nickel weekly and peppering you with questions. He’s not surprised she’s taken a liking to you. There aren’t too many of the female persuasion out here. Maybe she can see some of Tess in you. He doesn’t. Tess was always calm and controlled. And when she was angry, she never fucking spit at him. In fact, he resents you for making him think about Tess at all. 

“Ten thousand dollar bounty, huh?” Ellie asks you. “What’d you do?”

Joel’s seen more than a few people running from the law but none of them look like you. You’re no Annie Oakley. 

“My sweetheart was fooling around with my sister so I killed em both,” you say. 

“Really?” Ellie asks. 

“No,” you say. 

“What was it really?” she tries again. 

“Leave it,” Joel says. 

He’d be just as cagey about his past. Outlaws don’t live by any code but if they did, questions like that would be frowned upon. 

Ellie grumbles at him. 

“I’ve got ten on me too,” she tells you. 

“Your daddy must be proud,” you say, looking to Joel. 

They respond in unison— “He’s not my Pa,” and a “I ain’t her daddy.” 

You do a lousy job suppressing a smile. 

“So this is the infamous Miller gang? Ain’t much of a gang if you ask me,” you say. 

Joel grinds his molars. 

“We used to be a proper one. Most of ‘em are in prison now. And then we lost Tess to a bout with fever. And Tommy left,” Ellie recounts. 

“Who’s Tommy?” 

“Nobody,” Joel says same time as Ellie tells you, “His brother.”

You look Joel up and down. 

“That’s enough yakking for tonight,” he says. “I’m turning in. C’mon.” He pulls the chain. 

Ellie laughs. “I should warn you. He snores something awful.”

You scoff. “Is this some kind of ploy so you can wake up on top of me?” you protest. 

Joel’s patience is wearing thin. He’s got half a mind to turn you loose and let the wolves deal with you. 

“You can quit the belly aching, missy. I ain’t taking that thing off til you’re with the sheriff in Jackson.”

“You’ll wear him down eventually,” Ellie encourages. 

“Ellie, go to sleep,” Joel orders. 

She rolls her eyes. 

“What if I got to use the privy?” you ask. 

“Hope you like company,” Joel says. 

You huff. 

“You at least going to give me a blanket? Cold out here,” you say. 

Joel’s only got one in his bed roll, a beautiful Pawnee blanket he bought off a trader from Kansas woven with geometric patterns. He knows it would be gentlemanly to let you sleep with it but you’re no lady. 

He sighs as he hands it over. You wrap it around your shoulders with a self-satisfied look on your face. 

“Anything else I can do for you, missy?” he says with mock cordiality. 

“You can stop calling me missy,” you say. 

“G’night, missy,” he says. 

It’s not your best plan. But just because it’s simple doesn’t mean it won’t work. 

First step, you wait for Ellie and Joel to fall asleep. The girl takes a while. She’s got a dime novel with a cowboy on the cover that she flips through as the flames die down. You watch her through your cracked eyelids, pretending to have already drifted off yourself. 

It’s hard to tell if Joel’s out. He uses his saddle as a pillow and you’ve positioned yourself on the other side of it, your arm outstretched so you don’t have to be too close to him. 

He murmurs to himself. You strain to catch what he’s saying. At first, there are words you can understand. The name Sarah passes his lips. But then you hear him make a sound you can only describe as a whimper. 

It gives you pause. You’ve never been a nurturing type but it pulls at your heart strings, almost makes you want to put your arms around him. You imagine a hurt puppy inside that big, snarling dog of a man.

His sharp silhouette is highlighted in the amber glow of the campfire. It’s a shame he’s such a mean son of a bitch because he really is easy on the eyes. Then he rolls over. His unexpected motion nearly twists your connected arm out of its socket and you bite your tongue to keep from swearing. That bastard has you chained up like a dog. You do all you can to control your temper, swearing soundlessly. You can’t afford to wake him. 

You wait a long while, listening to him grunt and snore. Once you’re sure he’s good and asleep, you move. 

It’s a process. You begin by flexing your wrist. An innocent gesture that could be explained by sleepy twitches. He doesn’t stir. 

Eventually you feel bold enough to inch towards him, pulling the chain carefully along the ground. You crawl on your belly until you’re in front of him, then you dare to lift your hands up. 

The chain clinks against the buzz of the night insects and you swear it’s so loud you hear it echo off the mountains. You hold your breath, wide eyed, every muscle in your body taught. 

Joel doesn’t wake. He might be pretending but his chest still rises and falls slowly. Either he’s a hard sleeper or he’s deaf. Might be a little of both. You’re always tired after the rush of a big score. 

Ellie hasn’t woken up. Her eyes are closed, mouth hangs open. Down for the count.

You flex your fingers before you begin the next step, lick your lips and take a steadying breath. 

You’ve picked pockets before. Never tried it on a sleeping man, though. You keep your touch light, delicate, unbuttoning his waistcoat with one hand. It falls open for you and you can’t help but smile. 

The key to the handcuffs is tucked in the inner pocket. You saw him put it there. All you have to do is lift it out, unlock the cuff, and you’re a free woman. What you’re going to do after that, all alone in the middle of god only knows where, you’re not sure. But that’s not of material importance until you have that key. 

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip and you move slower than molasses in January, easing your first two fingers into the little pocket. Your fingertip connects with metal and your heart jumps. Pinching the ringed end, you hold on and pull. It’s awfully heavy. 

Because it’s not the key at all. You’ve fished a pocket watch out of Joel’s vest. Damn it. It’s a dainty little thing— fine gold with intricate scrollwork engraved on the back. The face is all busted up and it doesn’t seem to be ticking. Most importantly, though it’s not a key. You need that goddamn key if you want to get— 

The unmistakable click of a gun being cocked makes you freeze. Joel’s awake, dark eyes shining in anger. You’ve had guns pointed at you on a number of occasions but still it makes your blood run cold. 

“The hell are you doing?” he asks. 

“You’re dreaming,” you tell him. 

He doesn’t think that’s cute. The scowl on his face just deepens. 

“Alright,” you say, raising your hands in surrender.

You put the watch back in place and crawl back to your spot. 

“Gimme the damn blanket,” Joel growls. 

You toss it to him, cowed. But what did you expect? This had never been a very good plan.

Once you hear the hammer of Joel’s gun go back into place, you breathe a sigh of relief. It’s quiet for a while as Joel gets under his blanket and you know he’s laying there waiting for you to fall asleep. 

You try to settle down, wrapping your arms around yourself. The night air bites at you now that you’ve lost your blanket privileges.

“Sarah a sweetheart of yours?” you ask him. 

His head snaps your way so fast you think his neck might break. 

“You was talking to her in your sleep,” you explain. 

“Say that name again and I’ll wring your neck,” he says. 

He sounded like he meant it before but you feel like he’s looking forward to putting a bullet in you. You shiver. You’re smart enough not to say another word. 

---

Chapter 3

I'd love to hear from you! Comments and reblogs appreciated. My asks are always open!

[hangmanssunnies]

Double Tap

House We Share: Double Tap, Sfumato, Good Comes In 3

Summary: You were hesitant when your friends told you about their other friend who needed a roommate. Living with a man, let alone a Naval aviator, isn't your ideal living situation. However, you are desperate to get out of your current house. So, you will have to suck it up and make a deal with Jake "Hangman" Seresin. Now you just wish he would stop doing things that make you fall in love with him.

Pairings: Jake "Hangman Seresin x Fem! Civilian! Reader, minor Javy "Coyote" Machado x OC

Word count: 19k

AO3 LINK

Warnings: Abuse (Implied and mentioned), confrontation with Abuser, Child abuse (mentioned), Slow burn, Implied calorie counting, routines and compulsions, Jigsaw puzzles, taxes, Neurodivergent coded! Hangman, Fiscally responsible!Hangman, Protective!Hangman. Please let me know if I missed any for this part, I know it is a long one.

Authors Note: This got so completely out of hand. It started as one scene and then grew a mind of its own. Part two is written, just not edited, I'm planning on having that done later this week. Hangman Coyote BFF supremacy.  I apologize for writing the most hyper-specific!Jake you have probably ever read. 85% of his personality is just things I find attractive in men.

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.

You had been at your friend Marlee's house for almost an hour before she couldn't stop herself from confronting you. She had at least let you get settled and offered you a drink while pretending to be distracted by the lasagna she was making. She had spun towards you expectantly when it was in the oven, having reached her limit on waiting. 

"What happened?" Marlee asks. 

"It's nothing." You respond. 

"It is something. I don't want to reread your texts back to you, babes."

"Marls," you sigh, briefly closing your eyes, trying to fight the exhaustion you feel. 

"You can't live there anymore. We need to get you out."

"Yeah, let me just move and find a place to live. It's not that easy, Marlee." 

She sighs heavily. "I know, babes, but at least stay here with Javy and me. If he touches you like that again."

"It was just a one-time thing," you quickly cut her off. But, from the pitying look in her eyes, she knows it hasn't been just this one time. 

"If something happened."

"Nothing is going to happen." Marlee was too bright and too good of a friend. She knew something had already happened, and she knew things had been happening. Her frown and eyebrow raise say it all. 

"I can't just crash here," you say. 

"You are always, always welcome."

"You are," a voice pops up, and you both look over to the couch. You thought Marlee's husband, Javy, was thoroughly invested in the game he was playing on his Xbox, but it turns out he had an ear on your conversation. 

It wasn't something that bothered you. You loved Javy, he had been an excellent partner to Marlee, and you considered him a friend. He was fun and easygoing, something you hadn't expected from a Navy man. You also weren't bothered because everyone knew they were the type of couple that told each other absolutely everything. So, Javy would have found out one way or another.

"I know that. Thanks, you two." You tell them, trying to get them off your back. 

"Marlee is right. We can't have anything happening to you."

"Nothing is going to happen to me, Javy," you say, now trying to reassure them and stop this unnecessary worrying. 

"You know. I have a friend who has actually been looking for a roommate." Javy says. 

"You do?" you ask, surprised you hadn't heard about this sooner. 

"Yeah, I mean, he can be a lot. But he is a good guy and a great roommate."

"Who ?" Marlee cuts in. 

"Jake."

"Hangman?"

"Yeah, Hangman." The two of them stare at each other, and you can see that they are having one of those conversations of glances and small expressions you weren't entirely privy to understanding. 

Marlee then shrugs, nodding, and looks back at you, "It would be a nice safe place." 

"I mean, it's an option and would be a nicer place to stay than anything else you'll find. Plus, someone who is not a total stranger as a roommate." Javy tells you. He pulls off his headset and makes his way to the kitchen. He sets his hand on your shoulder and gives you a kind smile. 

"I'm not sure about living with a man."

"If you don't want to live with Jake or you aren't interested, we will find somewhere else. Or you stay here with us, but you can't stay there anymore." The seriousness behind Javy's smile isn't lost on you. So you start to slowly nod. 

"I guess I could at least chat with your friend if y'all think it's a decent option." 

"Yeah, for sure," Javy said with a grin. "I'll ask him about it, then maybe y'all can meet this weekend. We are still having a big bonfire on the beach. I'm sure he will be there."

"Oh, I wasn't planning on going to the bonfire." You start to say, which makes both Javy and Marlee frown.

"Why aren't you coming to the bonfire?"

You tried to think of a valid excuse beyond that being in open public spaces was terrifying to you right now. An excuse past the fact that you knew your bruises wouldn't be gone by Saturday. 

"I've just been stressed about finding a place to live, you know." You gave them both a weak smile, but neither of your friends seemed appeased. 

"Well, now you have a reason to come," Marlee says. 

"Yeah, exactly, and I'll talk to Jake." Javy presses a kiss to your forehead and then a lingering one to Marlee's lips. He returns to the couch, but not before looking at you seriously. "You know if you ever need anything, you call us?"

"Sir, yes sir," you tell him with a laugh, making Marlee giggle too. 

Even with Javy's reassurances, you are unsure about this whole idea. However, whoever this friend Jake is, you know he had to be better than your current living situation. After dinner, Marlee and Javy both reiterate their feelings on the whole issue before you leave their house. You did your best to wave them off and tell them you would see them in a few days.  

When Saturday rolls around, you head to the pin Marlee sent you for the bonfire. You are thankful it is a cooler day and will only be colder once the sun sets. It allows you to not look so out of place in your conservative clothes, ensuring all your bruises are covered. 

You arrive purposefully late and park far from the beach. By the time you make it to the group of people, you have sufficiently hyped yourself up to interact with the others. You decide to ease yourself into the party. You walk around the different coolers, opening them and investigating the available drink options. 

You are in the middle of shuffling through one when you hear a voice behind you.

"Anything specific I can help you find, sweetheart?" You turn around and are met with one of the most attractive men you have ever met. He is tall, with dirty blonde hair and a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose. 

"I'm just browsing," You tell the man with a shrug, proud of yourself for being able to put together a sentence. 

"I think I know what would be perfect for you, sweetheart.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah," He says, flashing you a grin. His smile makes something in your stomach swoop a tiny bit. 

"And, what would that be?" you say, raising an eyebrow. 

"Me, of course."

You can't help the shocked laugh that falls out of your throat. Which just makes his handsome smile widen. 

"I was thinking something a bit stronger, actually."

"I know I look like a tall glass of water but let me tell you, I won't disappoint you."  

"Well, looks certainly can be deceptive."

"That's true. Are you really as sweet as you look?" 

Before you can answer, you hear Javy's voice to your right. "Oh good, you two already met." 

You turn your head to see Javy jogging over. He stops next to you with a smile on his face. You process his words and feel your stomach drop. The incredibly handsome man you were trying to flirt with was Javy's friend. Javy's friend he thought you could live with. 

"There haven't been any formal introductions," you say. 

"Jake Seresin," he says. He sticks out his hand, waiting for you to shake it. You take his hand, give it a firm shake, and share your name. He repeated it softly, giving your hand an extra squeeze before letting go. 

"Javy said you are looking to move," Jake says casually. Your voice seems stuck in your throat. You examine Jake's handsome face again and know you can't do this.

"Yeah, she is. Soon, too." Javy says after you haven't said anything leaving an awkward pause. 

"I have lots of space."

"Oh well, you know." You say, trying to figure out what to say by saying nothing at all. Jake nods along with you, but his eyebrows pull close together while his eyes narrow. 

"Plus, Jake is really clean," Javy adds. 

"That is good to know. Maybe Jake and I can talk about it later?" You say, giving both of them a smile. You turn back to the coolers and grab the first drink you see. 

"Yeah, we can talk about it later. Javy owes me a spike ball game anyways," Jake says. He flashes you another smile while grabbing a High Noon out of the cooler, gesturing for Javy to do the same. You leave them to find Marlee and chat with some other people at the party. 

You are considering how to best say goodbye and leave the party while sitting next to the fire later. You stare into the flames hoping they might provide you answers. 

"You would actually be doing me a huge favor by moving in, "Jake says to you casually. You are startled by his sudden presence, and you look over at him, quirking an eyebrow in response.

"Oh really?" 

"Yeah. I haven't had a roommate for a while, and I would prefer someone who isn't in the military. I don't want to bring work and ranks home. You know?"

"Oh yeah, sure, that makes sense," you say, following his line of logic. 

"Also, rent these days is," Jake doesn't finish the sentence, instead just whistling quietly.

"Yeah, rent is expensive," you laugh. You find it much easier to talk to Jake if you don't have to look directly out at him. 

"You don't have to let me know right now, but I don't have any issues with it."

"We haven't talked about it much," you tell him, surprised he had decided so quickly.

"There is this saying that beggars can't be choosers."

"I would want a roommate contract. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that would be fine by me, Sugar."

"Okay, cool, but we should think about it."

"Tonight is a party, and we are supposed to be having fun. Not doing business. So, why don't you text me, and we will hash out the details this week. Plus you can see the place, which you would probably want. Maybe you could move in next weekend if we can work it all out?"

Part of you thought you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, so you decided to text Jake throughout the week to hash out the details. And the next thing you know, Javy, Marlee, and Jake are helping you move your stuff. 

Living with Jake wasn't as hard as you worried it would be. In fact, it was much easier than you were anticipating. Jake led his life with strict regiment and routine. It was something that stretched beyond that he was in the military. 

Jake would wake up in the mornings and go on a run before coming home, making breakfast, showering, and going to work. Then he would come home, change and go to the gym, come home, shower again because he needed to, and then eat dinner. Every night if you were home while he was cooking, Jake would always offer you some. That leads you to find out he is a phenomenal chef. 

Then Jake would read in the large armchair in the living room and half-watch whatever you put on the TV to watch yourself. He only requested to use the TV when one of his sports teams was playing or on Wednesday nights, where he would spend an hour and a half playing Animal Crossing with his niece while they facetime. 

You had told Jake that the TV was his, and he didn't have to ask you to use it. Jake just laughed and shrugged before telling you he wasn't the biggest TV guy. Jake had been telling the truth when he said that. You realized that Jake was more interested in his books. If he wasn't reading a book, he sat silently with one of his sudoku puzzles and country music playing on vinyl. Then Jake would go to bed after whatever chores he deemed he should do. 

It was a strictly followed pattern, only differing on Fridays when he would sometimes go out to a bar with the guys or sometimes Saturdays. However, even on the weekends, he would follow the schedule closely. Regardless if he had gone to the bar, he would still wake up outrageously early in the morning, work out, do chores, and then go to the gym again. Sometimes Jake would venture out of the house to see his friends, but more often than not, he was reading or in the workshop in the garage with some project. 

Marlee had not prepared you for how amazingly hot Jake was. When you moved in, he had been very polite, if a bit curt. Never venturing to flirt with you again like when you first met. As the weeks living with Jake passed, though, he definitely warmed up to you. But still never pushed the roommate line between you. 

You worked hard to push your attraction for Jake to the side or shove it into a safe in the back of your mind. That was a challenging task to accomplish because, just like Javy said, Jake was very clean. It wasn't that he was a clean freak per se, but he was definitely an orderly and well-kept person. Everything in the house had a place it belonged. 

Jake always did his dishes and tidied up after himself in your common areas. He also never leaves any of his laundry waiting around. You had watched in a mix of awe and horror the first time he pulled out clothes from the dryer within five minutes of the machine going off. Then Jake started folding, halfway through the laundry, stoping to pull out an iron and ironing board. 

The sight was all so attractive that you had to excuse yourself upstairs. That was something that you often had to do. Anytime you felt heat build in you towards your roommate, you would quickly excuse yourself. You knew giving into your attraction for Jake in any shape or form would not lead anywhere good. You needed a place to live, and this place you had with Jake was way too good to risk anything. 

Given his career choice, it was not entirely surprising how regimented Jake is. However, what did surprise you was when he started to incorporate you into his routines in small ways. Jake would automatically set out an extra plate for you when cooking, and picks up snacks you like from the store. One day you come home and find a second shoe rack by the door just for you. On the days you had to be up for work, you would find that Jake had already put your morning drink together for you when he returned from the gym and was making his own breakfast. You like the steady rhythm and consistency that living with Hangman provides you. It's seamless and easy to fall into step with him. 

You had been living with Jake for a few months, and things were going really well, almost too well you sometimes felt like it was too good to be true. Your nightmares weren't as frequent. You get full nights sleep and feel comfortable here with Jake. The only times you don't feel content are the times that you think about how hot Jake is. Or when Jake does something that makes it hard not to try and smash your lips against his in a heated, passionate kiss. 

Then one day, you get home from work, and worry suddenly sweeps over you as you glance at your phone and realize what time it is. The house is completely dark and quiet. Jake should have been home several hours ago and on his way to the gym already. In fact, right about now was when he should have been getting home from the gym.  

You resist the urge to call Jake and check that he is okay. You know that action would be overstepping the roommate boundaries that exist clearly between you. You tell yourself it's silly to worry all because he wasn't following the schedule you made up for him in your head. It's not like Jake had ever written down his routine and given it to you. Maybe today was a special anniversary, or maybe he had after-work plans you didn't know about. 

Your worry is eased about twenty minutes later when you hear Jake's truck pull into the driveway, followed by the garage door rumbling open. You find yourself easing further into the couch, some of the tension you weren't wholly conscious of easing out of your body.  

Jake comes in, and you cut your eyes over to see him still in his flight suit. He doesn't say anything to you as he unlaces and kicks off his shoes. He passes you while walking to the stairs and manages a short but gruff hello. Then, without another word, he is gone. You stare after his back in shock. Something is definitely not right with Jake. 

He left his shoes sprawled on the ground by the door. It was not a sight you had ever seen in the house, not even the times Jake had stumbled home drunk and giggly. Jake always pulled off his boots, neatly tucking the laces in and then setting them up on his small shoe rack by the door. 

You get up from the couch and walk over to fix his shoes, tucking in the laces. You tell yourself it is so no one will trip over them, not for any other reason. Then you hear Jake's shower turn on, and the water runs much longer than the twenty-minute showers you are used to him taking. It all feels so odd and out of place. You decide to make some pasta for dinner, convinced Jake is planning on not eating at all with how far he is off his schedule. 

You are just finishing dinner when the water in his bathroom finally shuts off. Then fifteen more minutes later, Jake comes downstairs in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a thread-bare Annapolis shirt. He appears to be looking around downstairs, almost a bit dazed and lost. 

"I made dinner. How about you have some?" You call out to him from the kitchen. Jake follows your voice to the kitchen and looks at the food you have made and dishes up. Hesitantly he sits down at the table. 

"If you don't mind."

"Of course not. I know this may shock you since you normally cook, but I can do it too." 

"I've never thought that you couldn't cook." Jake quickly responds. 

"I know, Jake. I'm just teasing you. Now eat up." 

Jake follows orders and takes a bite of the pasta, letting out a small groan. "So good," he mumbles before taking another bite. 

"Do you want the macros?" You ask him conversationally after eating in silence for a few minutes. 

"Oh. No, thank you. I appreciate you making something and sharing. No need for you to put in extra work. I will be fine not tracking my macros for one meal," Jake says. 

"Okay," you say and give him the kindest smile you can think of. You don't want to push him on why he isn't okay. However, you can't stop yourself from sliding the piece of paper you wrote the macros on across the table to him anyways. 

Jake stares at the note card for a long moment and then looks up at you. It's not a look you have ever seen on your roommate's face before. You aren't entirely sure how to decipher the way his green sea-glass eyes are gleaming back at you. He folds the paper once before putting it in his pocket. 

Jake clears his throat, and the edges of his lips quirk up. "Thank you."

"Of course, anytime, Jake," you say back. He puts away his plate a few minutes later after finishing his food. Then packs up the leftovers into some tupperware. 

"I'm going to bed," Jake tells you. Jake doesn't even stop to grab the current book he is in the middle of from where it is placed next to his chair in the living room. 

The moment Jake disappears up the stairs, you are frowning again, considering his behavior. It bugged you, something clearly was off, but you weren't in the position to ask him what it was. As you start to settle down for the evening, you notice that Jake had put it in the laundry basket next to the washer that morning. Seeing that you knew he originally had every intention of starting it before going to the gym that night something that never happened.

You briefly considered that maybe it isn't normal how you have memorized his routine, but also maybe that was just part of living with Jake. You didn't even think before you were throwing his laundry in the washer for him. You stay up to put the clothes in the dryer. Then you find yourself folding items and hanging some of them, not confident that you could iron them correctly. About halfway through the chore, you stop realizing just what you are doing but finish it out, imagining the look on Jake's face when he sees his laundry done. You are in too deep to back out at this point. 

🏡🧩🏡

You knew it wasn't the best idea that morning when you had left to go pick up some of your remaining stuff and random mail from where you used to live. However, you didn't expect it to go as badly as it had. You were still shaking from the interaction you had when you got home. Every moment of the interaction repeats over and over in your head. You hazardously throw your keys into your little key bowl, not caring to notice Jake's there as well. 

You were still trying to take calming breaths and push away the tears streaming down your face. Standing at the entrance to the living room frozen, you aren't sure if you are actually at home or back there with him. 

You startle and jump, letting out a small shriek, hearing a sound in the kitchen. You turn slowly, shocked to see Jake staring at you dressed in his NWUs instead of his flight suit. You are equally surprised by the sight of him home in the middle of the day, in a uniform you rarely see him wear. 

The adrenaline of being scared forces your brain into letting go of the nerves and panic you had barely been keeping in check. Tears spring freely from your eyes as you take gasping breaths. J ake sets down the knife he is holding and takes long strides across the room to quickly reach your side. His hands hover near you but don't actually touch. 

"What's wrong?" Jake asks in a deep voice. 

You just shake your head at him, unable to respond, instead focusing on getting air into your lungs. 

"Can I touch you?" Jake asks then, and that does seem okay, so you jerkily nod your head yes. 

First, his hands settle lightly on your shoulders. Once it seems like you are okay and comfortable with that. Jake goes a step further and wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. You press your face into the material of his shirt. Your hands come up to bunch it slightly on his chest as you find purchase to clutch him closer. 

He makes gentle shushing noises but otherwise doesn't say anything while holding you. He is so warm, and his arms feel strong around you. Jake's hold on you doesn't waiver once while you cry. Only relaxing slightly when your sniffles and crying start to level out and you let go of his shirt. 

You take one more deep breath of him. Jake smells of a pleasant mix of his body wash, y'all's fabric softener, and his cologne. Letting the calming effect of the smell flood your system before letting go of your hold on him completely, only then does Jake let his arms slip away. 

Pulling away from the hug, you shyly look to see Jake's face. You find that he is already looking at you. For one of the first times since you met him, you don't like how Jake's face looks. There is a soft and sad demeanor that you see in his eyes. His eyebrows crease and his lips are pressed into a flat line. You feel embarrassment and shame flood you. The way that you just broke down and cried on your roommate, fully processing in your muddled tired head. 

"You're home," you eventually say, trying to break the ice and put a brave face back on. 

"Yeah, I'm not flying today. So, I had the time to come home for lunch."

"Sorry to interrupt." You say, looking down to examine your feet. 

"You didn't interrupt anything," Jake reassures you. He goes back to the kitchen, and you watch as he continues to cut ingredients for his salad.

"Do you want me to make you anything?" He asks.

"No, thank you. "You say not feeling even a little hungry. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jake asks next. 

"No, thank you," you say again and settle at the kitchen island to watch Jake cut the veggies and toss them in a big bowl. 

"Okay," he says. You like that Jake doesn't push you for things. He respects the boundaries you set and doesn't even try to toe up against them. 

"Am I allowed to know why you aren't flying today? I thought someone had broken in. Plus, I hardly recognize you out of a flight suit."

"You don't like these?" Jake asks, looking at the Navy camo print he is wearing as if this uniform suddenly offended him. 

"I didn't say that," you tell him, giving a small laugh. Obviously, Jake could make anything look good, even things that shouldn't. 

"Can't fly every day." He says with a shrug. "Also, I'm going through some maintenance stuff and checks with my sailors." 

You hum, but otherwise, don't comment watching Jake wash the knife and cutting board he had been using then. Then, after he drys them and puts them away, he turns back to you. 

"There isn't anything to be embarrassed about," he tries to venture lightly. 

"You don't come home and cry on me," you say, frowning. 

"You sure about that one?" He asks, shoving a mouthful of salad into his mouth. 

"Pretty sure that I would remember such an occasion." 

Jake just hums. One of those sounds that makes you feel like he doesn't actually agree. A few bites of his food later, he sets his bowl down. His green gaze is trialed on you, but then he glances at his watch, huffing in annoyance. 

There is a slight caving feeling inside you. You feel bad. How much of Jake's lunch have you taken up? You had never actually seen him come home for lunch before, so he must not get a long time. 

"I do all the time. Maybe just a bit less of the wet physical crying." Jake tells you, putting a container lid on his bowl.

"You could," you utter to him, a little embarrassed. 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, wouldn't bother me if you ever needed to. You know. I'm here for you."

"Thank you, Darlin," Jake says. Then glances at his watch again. "I got ten minutes before I have to go. What would you like to do?"

"I'm fine," you tell him. "You should use that time to eat." 

"I'll munch while I'm doing some paperwork later."

That was a lie. You knew that Jake would never eat around paperwork. However, it was the kind of lie that settles warmly. It was one of those lies born with good intentions and made to be soothing. You could never be upset that he is even trying to comfort you at his own expense. 

"I don't want to talk about it, Jake." You reiterate again.  

"I know, and you don't have to. I won't ask again. However, if you ever decide that you do. I'm here for you too. Always." 

"Thank you, Jake. You're a really good roommate."

"I hope you can consider me a friend too?" 

"Of course, we are friends too," you reassure him. Jake's lips quirk upwards, his dimples flashing upon hearing that. 

"Now, I can't go back to work without seeing at least one smile." 

"That's a pretty tall order." 

"Well, they don't call me the best for nothing."

"Do they really call you the best or is that something you just tell people?" You ask him, mostly joking. Jake pretends to take offense, pressing his hand dramatically to his chest. 

"Ma'am, you wound me," Jake says, pouting. 

"I don't know. I think it is a pretty legitimate question." 

"I am the best." 

"And how do they determine that exactly? Who the best is." 

"Well, there are a lot of ways. Many different factors to consider." 

"Oh really?" 

"Yup. Also sorts of stuff, but they get us all together once a year, and we have a competition." 

"What kind of competition?"

"Only the elite members of the Navy participate. We all take turns sliding." 

"Sliding?" 

"Yup," Jake confirms, sounding one hundred percent serious. "We set up a huge slip and slide on the carrier runway. You only get three tries, and then we add them for scoring. I may have ripped off all the skin on my chest last year, but it was worth it to win." 

You can't help but let out a laugh. You picture Hangman competitively sliding down a yellow tarp that doesn't have enough water on it. It's such a silly concept you aren't sure where he came up with it. 

"Ahh there she is," Jake says with a broad smile. 

"I never would have thought that was a skill the Navy values." 

"Yes, Ma'am. It's actually the second part of the Naval academy mission," Jake tells you, still maintaining a serious tone despite his smile. Then Jake stands up straight to his full height in parade rest. 

"To develop Midshipmen morally, mentally and physically and to imbue them with the highest ideals of duty, honor and loyalty in order to graduate leaders who are dedicated to a career of naval service and have potential for future development in mind and character to assume the highest responsibilities of command, citizenship and government." Jake repeats dutifully and then adds. "In addition to putting these ideals to the test by hosting the world's most competitive slip and slide competition. Weirdly, people don't talk about that second part much." 

You only laugh harder, shaking your head at him. "Yeah, an absolute mystery. I can't believe that isn't common knowledge." 

Jake chuckles along with you. Then you two are interrupted by a timer going off from Jake's phone. He sighs and silents it. 

"I'm sorry. I've got to go, sugar. Are you going to be okay?" 

"Yeah. I promise I'm okay. Thank you, Jake." 

He bites his lip and nods at you going to put in his shoes and lace them back up. "Are you going to be home later?" 

"Yeah, I'll be home." 

"We could do something if you're feeling up for it. Or I can pick up takeout." 

"That's sweet, Jake, but you really don't have to." 

"I want to," he says with a shrug. Then checks his reflection in the mirror, making sure he is presentable to go back to work. After that, he turns back to you. 

"I'll think about it." You tell him before playfully shoving him out the door so he isn't late. You try not to melt when Jake gives you another hug. You catch his hand just before he is too out of reach.  

"Thank you, Jake. For making me smile."

"It's the prettiest thing I've seen all day," Jake says, squeezing your hand with his own. His words muddle your brain a little bit. You don't get to say anything else before he heads off to his truck, waving at you one more time and driving off. 

You also pretend you aren't screaming on the inside when Jake comes home from work that night with your favorite food and ice cream. The night feels easy and warm, sitting and eating with Jake. The events of that morning can't cross your mind while Jake tells you all about some of the weird contraband he found in the junior sailors' barracks that day. He is no less than spellbinding. 

🏡🧩🏡

Jake is sitting at the kitchen table when you get home from work. He is surrounded by neatly organized papers spread all along the table in various piles. Jake is wearing a button-down, tie, and slacks that make you do a triple-take on him.

"Welcome home," he says, glancing up from his laptop that is open in front of him. That's when you see he also has a pair of glasses on. 

"Thank you," you say, slowly making your way to the kitchen but still looking at him. 

"What are you working on there?" You ask. 

"Oh, I'm doing my taxes," Jake says while giving you one of his winning smiles. 

"Taxes?"

"Yes, Ma'am"

"I guess that makes sense," you say while looking around the kitchen for a snack. 

After a few minutes of silence, you decide to ask another question. "Do you have a date later?" 

You knew Jake dated. A man who looks like that has to date. However, you had yet to see him ever bring someone home, which felt odd considering everything about Jake, and the persona he liked to put on as Hangman.  

"No. What makes you ask that?" Jake asks you. 

"Oh. I don't know. You're dressed like you are going on a date."

"No, I'm not," he says, looking down at himself. 

You laugh at him and shrug. "If you say so."

"I would never wear this on a date," Jake mutters, clearly offended. 

"Well, then, why are you wearing it?"

"I'm doing taxes," he says again. 

"Yeah, we have covered that. What does that have to do with your clothes?"

"I'm dressed like an accountant," Jake tells you. You can't hold back your giggles at his phrasing and bring a hand up to your mouth to try and stifle them before giving up entirely. 

"What? What's so funny?" 

"Two things," you say, holding up two fingers, finally biting back your giggles. 

"One, the fact that you got dressed up to do your taxes. The second is that being an accountant is a euphemism for being a sex worker." Jake chuckles at your explanation but shrugs. 

"Well, Mrs. Celeste said I should always dress for the day. It helps you present your best self. If you dress the part, it helps you act that part." Jake says that like a well memorized and treasured quote. A saying he clearly remembered with much fondness.  

"And today is my tax day, so I am dressing like a tax professional. I will have you know. Since I started doing them myself, I have never had one problem with my taxes."

You couldn't help but chuckle more at his explanation and give him a fond smile. Sometimes the way Jake was so perfectly built and attuned for the military was endearing. Of course, a career Naval man would think a uniform was essential for each different activity. 

"So, are the glasses part of your tax uniform too?"  

He made a show of pushing the said glasses further up his nose. "Yes, Ma'am. They also are blue light blocking, which helps prevent migraines."

You nod along to his explanation. You finish putting together your snack and lean against the kitchen counter while munching on it. "Who is Mrs. Celeste? A teacher?"

Jake's lips flatten slightly before the expression relaxes just as quickly. "No, Mrs. Celeste is my Babula." 

"Your Grandmother?" You guess. 

"Yeah, sorry. My grandma, but she was strictly Mrs. Celeste growing up, only Babula occasionally." 

"I don't think I've met someone who calls their grandparent by their first name."

"Well, not really her first name. You have to be respectful and throw the Miss in there with it. She is a very particular lady."

"Is it a southern thing?"

"Yeah, maybe," he says with a small laugh. The edges of his lips quirk up, and you have to look away from Jake to distract yourself. It is easy to fall into the trap of how beautiful he is, with the sparkle he can get in his eyes. Or how even the smallest of his smiles makes you want to grin back. 

"So, how are the taxes?" 

"Oh, it's good. I'm almost finished up."

"Awesome, congrats Jake."

"Have you done yours?" He asks you. 

You shake your head and roll your eyes at the idea. "No, I definitely haven't."

"But you got your W2s in the mail last week."

"Jake, are you snooping through my mail?"

He raises both his hands up in defense. "No, I'm not! W2s just have a very particular look." 

"I'm just kidding. I know you wouldn't snoop through my mail. Yeah, I got them, but I've been busy. I guess I should make a Tax Masters appointment or something."

That crease in between Jake's eyebrows appears, the one that haunts you, that you pretend you don't obsess over. Followed by a small frown.

"Tax Master?" He asks, clearly appalled. You shrug back at him, not entirely seeing the issue. 

"I could do them for you," Jake says, then quickly adds on. "I mean, I can help you do them. If you have the time. I'm already dressed for it, and I won't charge you or anything."

"Oh no, Jake, that is so sweet, but I can't ask you to do that."

"No, really, I wouldn't mind. I think it would be fun. Plus, then you will have it done, and you won't have to worry about it." 

"Really, thank you so much, but it's fine." 

Jake's frown deepens at your answer, and he seems almost genuinely upset at your denial of his help. The warm feeling in your chest likes to flip over and grow a little bit more each time he is too sweet in moments like these. 

"You know Javy warned me that you were an asshole when I was going to move in. However, you have not once lived up to that. You could stand to be less nice to me, Jake." You tell him. You mean it to come off as almost flirty and a bit of a joke. However, it doesn't seem to land with him that way. 

The change that comes over Jake isn't something entirely tangible. It is almost like a shift in the air around him rather than anything physical. The way Jake looks at you just feels heavier and more charged. The confidence he always exudes seems to double with how he sits up just the smallest bit straighter but then leans back against his chair casually. 

"Go get your W2s." He tells you in a perfectly level tone, but it has a demanding edge. 

"Jake," you start to say and roll your eyes at him. 

"Nope," Jake says, popping the p. His voice takes on a lower candace, leaving no room for arguments. "I'm not giving you a choice. We are going to do your taxes." 

"No, we aren't doing my taxes." 

"Yes, I am. I can't be caught not living up to my reputation. So, I'm not going to be nice and accept that you don't want to. This is one of the few situations I won't take no for an answer." 

"It was just a joke." 

"No, it wasn't," Jake says, giving you a small shrug. You can't tell if he is actually hurt by how he is acting, but you suspect some part of him was twinged at his best friend's description. 

"It really was, Jake. Javy adores and trusts you. I'm sure he never would have suggested me moving in with you if he actually thought you were an asshole." 

"I know I'm an asshole. It's fine, sugar, don't worry. I'm not going to tattle on you telling me that to Coyote."

"You aren't an ass, though. That was my whole point."

Jake just shook his head at your answer. "I am one, and I don't want that to be a surprise when you inevitably witness it." 

You aren't sure how to respond to that, so you are relieved when Jake changes the topic. "Now, get your tax stuff, so it doesn't take us all night."

"Okay," you sigh, giving in to defeat. Jake gives you a mega-watt smile, and looks back at his computer screen. 

As you are walking up the stairs, you hear him yell across the house. "Dress like your best accountant self!"

"I won't be doing that," you yell back. 

"Please! It's important." Jake yells back.

When you are in your room getting all your stuff and paperwork pilled together. You find yourself opening your closet and pulling out an outfit that you could imagine wearing if you were an accountant.

You also spend several minutes too long wondering what would happen if you went back downstairs in the most provocative lingerie you own. After all, Jake didn't specify which type of accountant to dress up as. You wondered if it would be tempting to Jake. Could you provoke him into falling into lust with you? Tempt him enough that he took you on the dining room table on top of all the Tax paperwork? Jake has expressed attraction to women before, so there must be at least some part of him that is at least a little attracted to you. 

You smash down your thirsty thoughts and try to screw your head back on straight before it can drift too much off on track. When you get back downstairs, Jake is still at the table. You dump all your stuff on an empty spot there. 

Jake looks up from his computer and smiles at you, quirking an eyebrow. Then, Jake speaks to you teasingly, "And here I thought you might dress up as the other type of accountant you were telling me about." 

Your brain has no choice but to start short-circuiting, and you open and close your mouth twice. Jake starts shuffling through your paperwork, looking at what you have brought him. 

"I ordered us some pizza too," he says before you get out a proper response or say anything teasing back to him. 

"Yum. I'm excited," you tell him sliding into a seat and opening up your own laptop. 

He stops his shuffling and examination of the papers to level you with a serious look. "Thank you for indulging me, by the way." 

"Anything for you, Jake," you tell him and mean it. Unfortunately, the way you feel about your roommate is rapidly spiraling out of the tight control you tried to keep it in. 

"I like when we do fun things like this together," Jake says to you, grinning. 

"Me too," you tell him. Then add, "Only you would find taxes fun, though, Hangman."

"I am about to show you just how fun taxes can be and how you can get a great return," Jake says, taking your words in stride. 

Jake does your taxes almost entirely by himself, only asking occasional questions. He also then organizes all of your paperwork in an extra accordion binder he has. The taxes aren't fun, but spending time with Jake is.  

"Thank you," you say to Jake daring to press a soft, affectionate kiss to his cheek. You linger for a moment, the prickle of his end-of-day stubble ticking your lips, but you don't mind it.  When you pull back to gauge his reaction, Jake looks almost pained and upset. You worry for a moment that even just a cheek kiss could make him react this way. You briefly thank god you didn't actually try to seduce him earlier. 

"Always, anytime." He finally says. However, Jake is now glaring down at his keyboard and not looking at you. 

"I hope it wasn't too much trouble," you venture, confused by this mood shift. 

"Sugar?"

"Yes, Jake?" 

"I don't think you should pay so much rent." 

"What?"

"Listen," he runs a hand through his hair, pushing it all out of sorts. "I just don't think it's fair for you to pay so much."

"Of course, it's fair. I live here," you explain. 

"Yeah, but no. I get BAH, and I don't have any student loans from school. Plus, the Navy pays me plenty as an officer. I was paying for this place all alone before you moved in anyways."

"I'm not going to pay less rent because you saw my financials and feel bad." You tell Jake quietly, trying not to actively become upset. 

"Please don't be so stubborn," he pleads with you. 

You cross your arms over your chest, "Take your own advice."

"I'm the one being stubborn?" 

"Yes! You are. You are the most stubborn man I have ever met."

Jake's frown deepens, and that sad look in his eyes at your words starts to break through to you. Then he responds, "I'm sorry. I guess I'll try and work on that." 

Jake starts meticulously putting things away into different folders. He moves through each of his piles on the table and doesn't spare you a second glance. It leaves a crushing feeling in your chest. 

"I'm sorry for snapping at you." 

"There is no need to apologize. I'm the one who is sorry." Jake says, shrugging off your apology. 

"No, you don't need to apologize. I understand why you said what you did. I know you were trying to be sweet." You start to say but are cut off. 

"I wasn't trying to be sweet."

"Oh my god. Okay, fine, trying to be nice, then," you say, rolling your eyes. 

Jake sets down the folder he is currently holding, and it thumps a little bit on the table. The force and loud sound make you flinch. 

"I'm not sweet, nice, good, or kind. Okay? I'm not any of those things. I call things how I see them. I look at facts, figures, and numbers. Then I run calculations and act accordingly."

"And how is it mathematically possible that me paying less rent possibly works out for you, Jake? You will be losing money." As he shakes his head, he huffs at your words a little bit like they are funny. 

"You could do a lot and make a lot of gains if you paid less rent, and I don't mind picking up the extra amount. You might be one of the few people I haven't hated living with. I don't want you figuring out you need to live somewhere cheaper and moving out on me. So, I'm not being nice. I'm being a selfish asshole." Jake clenches his fists hard, and you see his knuckles start to turn paler. With a deep breath, he relaxes and shrugs. Loosening the tight coil of his muscles, Jake gives you a curt tight lipped smile with a nod. "I'm just a selfish asshole, okay?"

"Please stop. Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true," he says, rolling those beautiful eyes at you. 

"It's not true. Also, I would prefer if you don't use the word selfish around me, please." You say in a surprisingly steady voice. You don't really want to get triggered right now, and you could only hope that you wouldn't have to explain triggers to Jake. It takes him one moment to think and another to process before he says anything. 

"Oh fuck. I'm so sorry. I won't use it again." Jake promises, no questions asked. His words blow up a balloon in your diaphragm, making it feel like your breath is about to catch. Then he adds on, "If there are any other words…" He looks around and grabs a loose pen and one of his notebooks. Jake slides them across the table to you. "Write them down. Maybe? If you can." 

The warmth Jake inspires in your chest is unparalleled and drowns out anything you can think of aside from how endearing he can be and how fond you are of him. Jake doesn't take the lack of response from you well.  

"I'm sorry," he apologizes again. You spring from where you had been sitting, walking slowly and deliberately toward him. You make sure to give him plenty of time to protest and say something. 

Jake looks steadily back at you. However, he looks like he is preparing himself to be slapped or punished, holding perfectly still. Instead, though, you wrap Jake in a tight hug. He is stiff as a board beneath you. After a long moment, as you consider pulling away, Jake relaxes and wraps his arms around you. They are wrapped loosely at first but then tighten in small intervals until Jake is practically clinging to you. 

"You are so good," you whisper to him, a little dazed. You are almost stunned by how desperately Jake tries to pretend otherwise. 

"Don't say that," Jake whispers in a broken voice, hugging you a bit tighter. 

"Too good." You left the words for me unsaid, but you felt them. 

"I'm really not."

"It's okay if you don't see it. I see it for you. I'll make sure everyone else sees, too," you tell Jake curling your hands into a fist in his shirt. 

He doesn't say anything but keeps holding you tightly. You don't know how long the two of you stay embraced like that until Jake finally eases his grip on you, and you reluctantly pull away from him as well. 

He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Please stop paying so much in rent," he requests again. 

"That will not be happening, Hangman."

"So stubborn." He sighs. Jake kisses your forehead again. He leaves his lips lingering, and you start to count the breaths memorizing how warm his lips are. Three breaths later, he is pulling away. Jake grabs his laptop and a stack of folders heading upstairs without another word to you. 

You stare after him for a while, trying to parse out the mystery Jake presents, and coming up a bit short, just like you always did. He is one of the most outwardly confident men you have ever met. Yet, other times, Jake is the first person to make a self-deprecating comment about himself. You swallow down how much you desire more from him, wishing for more, knowing you can't and shouldn't have it.  

🏡🧩🏡

You and Jake were lounging on the couch. He was scrolling on his phone, avoiding going to the gym, half-heartedly trying to convince you to go with him. You were also scrolling your phone while deflecting Jake’s offers. 

That was when your doorbell rang, followed by heavy knocking. You and Jake both look up at each other. He raises his eyebrows, and you just shrug, having no idea who could be at the door. Jake looks back to his phone, clearly ready to ignore it, when the doorbell rings twice more, and the pounding on the door gets louder. Jake sighs and gets up, walking across the house towards the noise. 

“Hold your horses out there!” Jake yells towards the door before opening it. 

You wait for a moment, trying to hear who it is, curious about who would be so rude and what they needed. However, you don’t hear anything from where you are on the couch. So you stand and follow Jake into the entry hallway. 

“Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave.” You hear Jake say. He is standing at his full height in the door frame. 

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” You hear from on the other side of the door. 

Nervousness shoots through your whole body hearing that voice. Anxiety immediately pops up, and your stomach drops. You know that voice. You have heard it a thousand times before. Why was he here? How was he here? 

“I asked you to leave, Sir.”

“Just tell that little bitch that —”

Jake steps further forward onto the front porch. “Now, we don’t speak about ladies like that where I am from. And I’m going to ask that you act accordingly while at my home, Sir.” Jake cuts him off with that well mannered southern military niceness. 

“I don’t give a fuck where you are from.”

You flinch at his tone of voice, feeling bile rise up in your throat. You lean against the wall slapping your hand over your mouth, trying to prevent yourself from throwing up. 

“I asked you politely to leave. I won’t ask again. I can call you a taxi or an uber. But don’t you dare take one more step on my front porch.” Jake says in a deep tone. You are hit with the sudden, horrifying realization that he is going to hurt Jake, and that is something you just won’t let happen. 

You are trying to go through possibilities in your head. Anyway, this could shake out; it would be bad for Jake. Jake would either get hurt and get in trouble, or he would kick ass and gets in worse trouble. This would end badly; either way, Jake is going to get in trouble, and it would be your fault. You would be responsible because you caused this situation. Jake was going to pay the consequences all because he was trying to protect you. You were roommates, so Jake must think he has some obligation to protect you. 

You feel swamped in stress knowing how easily Jake can escalate a situation and provoke someone; sometimes, all it takes for him is one well-placed smile. That stress is finally what unfreezes you, and you stumble towards the front door. 

Jake’s large, broad form still mostly hides your view of the other side, but you cautiously approach and set your hand gently on the back of his shoulder. You feel how tense Jake’s muscles are under your hand and can see it in the line of the back of his neck. 

“Sugar, I’m not going to tell you what to do,” Jake says in a deep voice. He doesn’t budge an inch or look back toward you. “But I would like to suggest that you go back inside. I have this handled.” 

You want to cry. You want to cry for so many reasons: cry because you are in this situation, that you have to deal with this again, that you feel so small. However, you mostly want to cry because Jake “Hangman” Seresin is such a good man. It’s startling sometimes, not because it’s really unexpected, but rather that it is so completely and bluntly genuine. 

Having Jake here defending you, trying to protect you from the person who has probably scared you most in your life, it feels so silly to pretend like you don’t have feelings for him, to pretend that you aren’t more in love with him than you ought to be.

The realization doesn’t really feel shocking; it is closer to acceptance. A given truth that is part of your life now. An empowering truth that swells in your bones like a swift tide, filling up the spaces that have been empty for so long. 

You love Jake more than you are scared. The warmth of affection towards him is so hot it burns out the freezing ice in your veins and the numbness in your fingers. You love him, and you will be damned if you let Jake be hurt, touched, tainted, or affected by this man who has hurt you. It seems cliché that loving someone like this is enough for you to finally break through the barrier of fear you have lived your whole life in. However, now it just feels so simple. 

Your heart is beating hard. The adrenaline is pumping through you so strongly that you can hear it echoing in your ears. Your hand slides up Jake’s back to his bicep, and you give him a gentle push. Jake shifts with the movement. He slides to the right so you can finally fully see the front porch. However, he doesn’t move enough that you are fully exposed. Jake’s body is still partially concealing you from view. 

Then you hear your name, and your attention snaps away from its hyper-focus on Jake. You turn it forward and brace yourself. You drift your eyes to the ground, landing on the feet of your visitor, staying there for a minute before meeting his burning eyes. 

“Hello, Dad.” 

“Ah, so she is here,” your father says, throwing his hands up and glaring at Jake. You can smell the booze on him from the doorway. It makes your stomach turn. You resist the urge to wretch, squeezing your hand, which is still on Jake’s bicep. He flexes, and his bicep digs into his shirt as your nails also dig in. You don’t like those angry, hateful eyes on your Jake. Jake doesn’t budge an inch or react to your nails on his skin.

“What are you doing here, Dad?” You ask him. Your hold on Jake acting like an anchor point for you. 

“You don’t bother to answer my texts or anyone else’s calls and texts. Just because you moved out doesn’t mean you get to be a selfish bitch” your dad spits out. 

“I’ve been pretty busy,” you defend yourself in a small voice.  

“Oh, I bet you have been so busy. What are you doing these days?” He growls at you. “You know it doesn’t really count as moving out if you are spreading your legs to pay for it.” 

You flinch, your hand falling from Jake’s arm and balling into a tight fist at your side. You hate how easily he can make you feel small, even when you are angry. 

“Watch your mouth,” Jake hisses, rejoining the conversation. You glance at him, and Hangman is shaking with contained rage. You know this is not a good situation; anytime, someone could blow up. 

“You should go inside, Hangman,” you tell him gently. 

“Absolutely not,” Jake responds instantly. 

“So you are playing the part of a pathetic little whore wife for this pretty boy.” Your dad says, cutting in. 

You grit your teeth as he continues on. “Come on. I thought you gave up pussies after our talk when you were in high school.” 

With the reminder of just what he is referring to, You are overcome with anger, and you finally can’t take it anymore. You recognize his words for what they are, a direct bait at Jake and undercutting you. It makes you so angry you start shaking. Tears burst from your eyes, trying to let off some steam bubbling inside you. It boils up, so you can’t take it anymore, and you whisper, “Shut up.” 

“What?” Your dad asks, clearly shocked. You take a step forward fueled by your anger. 

“Shut the fuck up.” You pronounce each word slowly. Then continue on, “I’m tired of this. You don’t get to be mean to me and still expect a relationship with me. You don’t get to hit me, yell at me, and abuse me just to show up at my house on your bullshit. And you sure as fuck don’t get to say anything about Jake.” You suck in a rapid breath, the words fueling the fire in you. Your angerburning brighter with every word. 

“You made me think that kind, decent men didn’t exist, Dad, but Jake is good. He isn’t a pretty boy. He is smart, sweet, strong, and kind. I will not hear you say one more thing about him. Ever.” You punctuate the sentence with a jab of your index finger at him. He looks like he might be cowed, and before you can even finish a prayer that he will be done, the fire in his eyes lits again. 

“You could have at least found someone who stands up for you. A real man.” Your dad isn’t even looking at you when he says it. Instead, he is staring at Jake. 

“That’s a rather rude thing to say about an active duty Naval Officer,” you hiss. Your dad takes a step back, his eyebrows raising, reexamining Jake. He shifts his weight between his feet nervously. 

“You aren’t welcome at our home. So leave and crawl back into the bottle you drank before coming here. Don’t come back, Dad. I don’t want to see you.” 

You try to force your body to relax, but the adrenaline is still pumping hard in your veins. So, you start to walk backward back into the house. Jake still hasn’t taken his eyes off your dad, and he makes no move to come with you back into the house. 

“Jake?” You ask. 

“Just give me a minute, sweetheart. I need to have a talk with your old man here and make sure that he makes it home.”

“I don’t want him near you.” 

Your dad still looks blown away by this turn of events. Like he is scrambling to put words together. He keeps looking back and forth between you and Jake. 

Jake breathes out heavily through his nose. He turns his head enough to glance at you. Whatever he sees on your face must break his resolve. Jake clenches his jaw, and you watch the muscle flex once, then twice. After that, he rolls his shoulders, and it’s like Hangman is physically able to just shrug the tension of the situation off. 

“Get home safe, Sir. I suggest doing so soon. MAs are known to drive down our street.” Jake says it in a light, easygoing tone, border lining on cheery. Then, plastering that practiced, perfect smile on his face, Jake nods his head toward your dad and comes back into the house. 

Jake closes the door but doesn’t move, staring out the frosted window on the front door. His body is tense again, standing rigidly at his full height. You are still shaking from anger. You slump against Jake’s back, letting your body weight shift into his. One of his arms bends backward a bit awkwardly, sitting on your waist. His large palm is burning hot. You can feel it through the fabric of your clothes. Then Jake’s fingers flex to give you a small squeeze of reassurance. 

When Jake finally does move, it is just to turn away from the door and wrap you tightly in his arms. You enjoy the warmth of his strong embrace, feeling exhausted as the adrenaline starts to fade. Jake is still shaking, though. 

“He’s gone,” Jake says into the crown of your head. You let a little sigh escape you, feeling a bit more of the tension release. 

“Good,” you manage to tell him. 

“I wanted to defend you. I wanted to slam his face so hard into the porch that he wouldn’t ever be able to open his mouth again. Wanted to tell him how you are—”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you cut Jake off before he can continue. You don’t want to know what he thinks about you right now. You can’t handle whatever words could spill out of his mouth next. 

“I’ll make sure he never comes back here,” Jake says, his voice dropping, and you feel the rage contained in him, the subtle shake and heat coming from how tense he is. 

“I don’t want him near you. If something happened to you because of him….” you trail off. Your hands wander the expanse of Jake’s back in an almost soothing motion. However, you don’t know who it is soothing more, you or him. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

He takes a deep breath and then releases it in a heavy sigh. “What if you just give me his full name and social security number? You wouldn’t have to know about anything else.”

“Jake,” you whisper in a tone that is almost reminiscent of amusement. 

Jake sighs again. He draws back from your hug and cups your face. He swipes his thumb across your cheekbone, wiping away the tears that have been lingering. 

“You are the kindest, most compassionate person I have ever met,” Jake whispers. Considering how he is looking at you with a glimmer in his eyes, it’s clear the emotions of the situation are still running rampant. That look, paired with how he is holding you, makes you think Jake might be about to kiss you.  

“No, No. Stop.” You don’t know if you are trying to ask him not to kiss you or to stop talking. Either way, you feel like you might explode if this interaction isn’t over soon. 

“Yes,” Jake says. “Let me, please.” 

His thumb is still tracing along your cheek, and you can’t help yourself from leaning a tiny bit into his palm. An action that momentarily freezes his thumb before it picks up steadily again. Not hearing an explicit no from you again, Jake continues on. 

“That man has no say over you. Who you are is so stunning. You never deserved to be treated the way you were. I am so sorry you ever had to go through that. I am so sorry he showed up here. You don’t owe him a single second of your time or attention. You are valuable. You are amazing. He is trying to make you small because he sees how good you are.” 

A shudder racks through your body, hearing Jake’s words, and fresh tears start to fall unprompted from your eyes. As soon as they do, though, Jake pushes them away. “I am so proud of you for getting away from him. You are so strong and brave. It makes me awed. I’m so glad that you moved in here. You are…” Jake doesn’t finish the sentence, he seems to lose his train of thought. His mouth parts a little bit, and his eyes flash down to glance at your lips. 

Jake is going to kiss you, and it might possibly be the worst thing that could happen. If he kisses you right now because of your dad, you know you might break into a million different pieces. You don’t want Jake to kiss you for any reason but pure desire and affection. You don’t want him to kiss you in comfort, or pity, or convenience, or as an outlet. You don’t want him to kiss you just because emotions are running high from the incident that just happened. Most of all, you don’t want Jake to kiss you and not mean it. You don’t want him to kiss you without the intention of kissing you again. 

So, even though you are desperate to feel his lips, and memorize their shape, how they feel against yours. Desperate to discover what he tastes like, curl your fingers in his hair and take comfort in the form of his body. You know you can’t, it has the power to break you, and you already feel so broken and exhausted. 

You cover the hand Jake has on your face with your own and pull it away. However, you don’t immediately let go holding his large palm. Hangman takes your hint and steps backward, giving you a little space so that he is pressed against the door again. You decide to thread your fingers with his. Jake’s skin is still almost hot to the touch in your hand.

“Thank you, Jake,” You finally say, meeting his piercing green eyes again. You squeeze the hand you are holding. He gives you a tight nod and then tips his head upwards, so he is looking at the ceiling. Jake rests his head against the door as well and closes his eyes. 

You observe him for a moment, then you go to release the hand you are holding. Jake stops you, though, his hand tightening as yours loosens, and you try to pull away. You give a little tug, and he tightens his fingers even more. Jake’s head is still tipped, and you hear him sucking in a deep breath before blowing it out.

 “Please don’t let go,” he begs you. Jake’s eyes flash open again, and he is looking down his nose at you. “I just, I need you.”

You inhale sharply at his phrasing, and he sighs heavily. “I might do something terrible if you let go of me. If you don’t need me here, there won’t be anything to stop me.” 

“You’re not going to do anything terrible,” You say, retangling your fingers with his. Jake’s hand flexes in yours, and he takes another big breath. 

“I’ll make sure he loses our address and forgets it too. Make sure he doesn’t remember anything at all anymore. I’ll—”

“You’ll stay right here, Jake.”

He lifts his head so it isn’t tilted against the door anymore and stares down at you. He looks like he is holding on to every word you are saying to keep his sanity. His skin is flushed from anger, and his palm shakes slightly in yours. You were in awe he was able to hold back this reaction so long, remaining calm and collected throughout the entire encounter. 

“You will stay here with me, Jake. I need you.” 

“Yeah?” He asks shakily. 

“Yeah. Need your help, Jake.”

There is a low rumble in his chest, almost resembling the hum it was probably supposed to be. You step closer to Jake, once again closing the gap between you.

“Tell me what you need.” It comes out as a demand, and he seems to realize that when he adds on a small quick “Please.”

You look at him then, trying to read his face and those eyes that haunt your dreams. You examine the creases and lines his face makes with the severe angry look he has plastered on. You take the time to observe how his hair is hazardously falling out of place for how many times he has run his hand through it. You don’t really find any of the answers you are looking for. You just find Jake. And Jake is an oh-so-wondrous thing to find. 

You step closer to him and tug the hold he has on your hand again. His nose scrunches for a moment, and his frown tightens. His eyes lift upwards towards the ceiling again as his jaw clenches; he lets go of your hand. Jake’s hand falls heavily back until it hits the door making a smacking sound. You flinch at the sound but take another step forward, crowding Jake against the door. You lift your hand up to trace over his neck and then settle on his face, encouraging him to adjust his gaze back to you. He follows direction and leans into your hold, just like you leaned into his earlier. 

“Need you to stay with me,” you start slowly, encouraged as Jake nods his head in a small jerk. 

“I need you to leave the front door.” 

He considers your words for a moment, then shakes his head. “I don’t think I can do that. I’m sorry, sugar. I need to protect you.” 

“There is no one in the world I feel safer with than you, Jake.” He squeezes his eyes tightly closed at those words and pulls in a ragged breath. “So, you can’t leave me alone here.”

He nods again but still has his eyes closed. “Ain’t leaving. You need me.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Can I hold you?” Jake asks, then once again remembers his manners throwing out another small, please. 

“Yes, please,” you whisper. Jake doesn’t waste a moment before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you snuggly against him. The change of angle causes your hand to slip from his face, so you wrap it around his neck instead, your fingers drifting against the short hairs there. You go to wrap your other arm around his waist but instead awkwardly hit the front door. You hiss out a small breath at the momentary pain. 

Jake responds to the sound. He starts walking forward, making you walk backward. Walking while he is wrapped around you proves to be difficult, and you stumble a little. That seems to be all Jake needs; he wraps his arms under your ass and lifts you. 

You are terrified at the concept that Jake is going to try to carry you, and you open your mouth to protest. However, with only one small grunt that honestly sounded more like pure sex with how low and husky it is, Jake is carrying you down the hallway. You wrap your arm around his neck more securely, adding a second one for more leverage. 

Jake doesn’t stop to set you on the couch like you had expected. Instead, he continues up the stairs and right into his room. He sets you on his bed gently, and you unwrap your arms from his neck, letting him pull away. Jake goes back to the door of his room, closes it, and clicks the lock into place. You raise an eyebrow at his action.

"That’s rather presumptuous, Hangman.” 

“What?” He looks at you confused before he looks back at his door. “Oh no, I’m sorry. I wasn’t, I’m not.”

You shush him motioning towards yourself to try and get him to come closer again. “I know.” 

Jake comes back to your side. Now that you have been given the temporary clearance to freely touch him, you cannot stop yourself. Jake sits next to you on the bed, and you are scooting closer so that your thighs are flush side by side. Jake throws an arm across your shoulder, pulling you even closer to him. 

“Do you need to talk about it?” He asks you softly. You let a hollow dry laugh at his question, your laughter starts to devolve until it’s nearly hysteric giggling. Jake takes it in stride, holding you close and his thumb drawing small soothing back-and-forth shapes. After you are almost breathless and heaving, you finally start to recover. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, but I definitely need to. Not with you, though, Jake.”

“Why not me?”

“Because it’s the kind of fucked you talk to a therapist about.”

“I’m a great listener.”

“I know you are, but this isn’t your baggage to pack around and deal with, Jake.”

“Baggage? Sugar, that’s why we have the attic. If that isn’t enough space, or you fill it up. I’ll build a shed in the backyard.”

“What if that’s not enough room?”

“Then we have the garage. We’ll just park in the driveway.”

“You would give up your shop?” You ask, thinking of Jake’s favorite place in the house. 

“Yup,” Jake says without hesitating. “And after that, well, I’ve never been too fond of the extra guest room anyway.” 

“If that’s all not enough?”

“Then we’ll move. Or we go through it until we find some we can let go of.” Jake says, his free hand crossing his body to settle warmly on your knee. 

“It’s not physical baggage.”

“I know it’s not.” 

The feeling of affection you feel for him grows even more. Every time you think that there is no way possible you can fall further in love with him, Jake turns around and proves you wrong. He does some kind, funny, sweet, unexpected thing that makes you fall a little harder. 

You lift your head and look at him. Jake’s eyes meet your own, the severe stormy look in them a little less present. He is a bit more at ease, no longer shaking with anger. You let your eyes fall to his lips. You briefly think you love him so much it might be worth the risk to shift forward and kiss him. That maybe it wouldn’t lead to disaster like you’ve convinced yourself it would.

“What’s your favorite comfort movie?” Jake asks, breaking you from your trance. You shift a bit further away from him but not far before giving him an answer. 

The two of you watch your favorite comfort movie. You are cuddled into Jake’s side the whole time. The two of you had shifted back into the bed, cuddled close while watching the wall-mounted TV in Jake’s room. Exhaustion hits you like a wall as the adrenaline leaves your system, accompanied by the heat radiating off of Jake, the way everything smells like him, and his Tempurpedic bed; you relax more than you have in a long time. 

As you start to drift asleep against Jake’s chest, his heartbeat has a steady, soothing rhythm under your ear. You think out of all the times you have dreamed of falling asleep with Jake in his bed, none of those fantasies come even close to how good it actually feels. None of your dreams prepared you for how safe you would feel.

Your dreams also didn’t prepare you for sneaking back to your room at three in the morning when you woke up. Or pretending the next day that nothing had happened. After all, nothing had happened except some tense moments and Jake getting a glimpse of your past. You don’t say anything, and he doesn’t, either. You catch him watching you closer than he would typically for the next few days. 

More time starts to pass, and you are thankful that nothing was risked or changed between you and Jake or has affected you as roommates. There are only the slightest moments when both of you are much more casual about physical affection. Hugging Jake was now a commonplace part of your day, and you occasionally catch yourself daydreaming about what it felt like to fall asleep in his bed. 

🏡🧩🏡

You had started to pick up what the signs were when Jake wasn't okay, and something was bothering him pretty early into moving in. He had some pretty obvious tells. However, something had been really really bothering him for a while now. He didn't say anything to you, but he didn't have to; Jake's mannerisms gave him away. Jake wasn't following his routine and had started obsessively cleaning.

The other night, he knocked on your door, bursting open seconds after you told Jake he could come in. Then Hangman had all but begged you to let him deep clean your room. When you told Jake no, he gave you a look like you just insulted his Babula and stalked out of the room. Half an hour later, he was back in your doorway, asking the same question phrased slightly differently. You had finally given in after his second time double-checking. However, you insisted that you helped and supervised his cleaning. Once you agreed, Jake had done his happy dance. It was so cute it managed to cover the embarrassment that was crawling in you at letting someone else, let alone the man you loved your roommate, clean your room. 

The next day Hangman decided to reorganize all the bookshelves. First by color, then by genre, and even one time by the number of pages. His last reorganization was to put them all back to by author's last name. This was only after Jake talked to you for over an hour about the pros and cons of the Dewey decimal system in modern library science. 

After the books, you come home, and there is a puzzle on the table. A 2500-piece puzzle of the painting Meeting On The Turret Stairs. Jake works on it constantly. Only stopping to go to work and the gym. For three days, he doesn't read and doesn't do his sudoku. Jake doesn't sit with you in the living room at night. Instead, he just works on his puzzle, blowing past his typical bedtime every night. Then he stops going to the gym, and a day after that, he cancels his weekly call with his niece. That's when you know without a shadow of a doubt that whatever is bothering Jake must be significant. 

Finally, you can't bite your tongue or try to keep your nose out of his business anymore. The concern you feel is too much to handle. You had gotten up at 3 am for some water, and Jake was still puzzling at the table. 

"How's it going, Sport?"

"No, I'm Hangman," Jake answers in a quiet voice. 

"What?" you ask him, confused. 

"Not my callsign," Jake mumbles to you. You squint and try to piece together what he means in your still half-asleep brain. 

"You know someone named Sport?"

Jake just shrugs his shoulders, engrossed in his task. "There are worse callsigns to have." 

"Like Hangman?" You tease him. Jake finally looks up at you when you say that. Jake's eyes are bloodshot, and he has a hurt look. The small frown, paired with his glassy tired eyes, makes you feel like you just kicked a puppy. 

"Hangman is cool," Jake protests. 

"Hangman is very cool," you tell him placatingly, holding up your hands in surrender. 

 "You don't actually think it's cool," Jake whispers, his tired eyes falling back to his puzzle. Jake sounds so sad about it that your feet are moving before your brain, and you are sliding next to him on the bench for the long side of the table.

"Hangman is cool," You say and then nudge him affectionately with your shoulder. "You are cool." 

His lips quirk upwards from his frown before falling again. “Well, I am the Hangman.” 

"How is the puzzle going?"

"Fine, good. I like puzzling."

"You have done other puzzles?" You ask. 

"Yeah, I have a whole box full."

You hum at his words, tiredly wiping your eyes. "You should have been Puzzleman." 

Jake's eyes flash over to yours, slightly worried. "Do not ever say that around Coyote." 

"Hangman, It's three AM." He looks surprised to hear the time, and you watch him turn his wrist to confirm the time on his watch.

"Go to bed," You add softly. 

"I like when you call me Jake." 

"Then why do you listen better when I call you Hangman?" 

"Hmm, maybe because that's the name I hear most often. Maybe because it's easy to be Hangman."

"Is it hard to be Jake?" You ask him gently. 

Jake is quiet for a long moment after your question. Before answering, he sets the piece he had been holding back in its color pile. All he gives you is a whispered, "Sometimes."

You aren't sure what to say, so instead, you put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it. "It's time for bed, Jake. It'll be here in the morning." 

Jake nods his head, listening to you. You get the water you initially came downstairs for and wait until Jake starts up the stairs. Following behind him, you make sure he goes into his room. You aren't really eased about the situation when he shuts the door. However, you are glad he will at least get some sleep. 

Before you go back to bed, you shoot your group chat with Marlee and Javy a text. 

Have you ever seen Jake do a puzzle?

You wake up to texts from Javy and Marlee, both asking all kinds of questions like: what you meant? What kind of puzzle? With how many pieces? And, how long has Jake been working on it?  

From the questions alone, you gather that your worries are correct and Jake puzzling is not a good thing. Getting out of bed, you make yourself presentable enough to venture out of your room and downstairs. 

In the mid-morning light, you are once again greeted with the sight of Jake hunched over his puzzle. A steaming cup of tea sitting next to him, and Chris LeDoux playing from the record player. 

"Good morning," you say. 

"Morning, sugar," Jake says back. You are glad to get a response, but the worry is still gnawing at you. You start putting together your own morning drink, and your eyes keep drifting back to him. 

"Jake, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." He says, not looking away from the puzzle piece he is currently studying. 

You stop leaning against the counter, taking your drink with you and walk over to his side. Jake is completing this puzzle concerningly fast; you notice examining his progress this morning alone. He keeps staring at the piece in his hand, unblinking even as you approach. You watch him for a few more moments before deciding it's time for you to intervene. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" You pose cautiously. His eyebrows crease, and he still doesn't look away from the puzzle. 

"About the puzzle?" he asks you in a hopeful tone. 

"No, Jake. About what's bothering you." 

He finally does spare you a glance, and you don't like how dull his green sea glass eyes are. The normally vibrant, mischievous glint isn't present, and they are slightly bloodshot and red, even after you forced him to get some sleep. 

"It's fine. I'm fine. Just work stuff. I've got to finish this puzzle." He tells you, then looks away. 

You frown at Jake's answer. Puzzles are supposed to be fun, and you don't think this is actually a healthy, cathartic activity for Jake anymore. You almost preferred his book reorganization or when he went to every door and oiled the hinges, the top and bottom hinges twice but the middle ones only once. When you asked why not the middle one twice? Jake had told you something about middle children that had made you laugh. 

While Jake normally released stress through organization, order, and control. The frenzy and energy he has with this puzzle is different. This wasn't like the month after you moved in, and he decided to rearrange his shop in the garage. Jake had reorganized his tools, labeling where they all went. After that, he made you a booklet of where everything in the garage was located, just in case you wanted to use something. Jake was very genuine about it, too. As if he really believed you were about to start borrowing his screwdrivers, saws, wrenches, lathe, and various other tools. 

Your frown deepens, and you pull out your phone, shooting a text to your group chat with Marlee and Javy. Answering some of their questions from the morning and shooting back a request of your own. 

After texting with them for a few minutes, you set your phone down on the table, taking the spot next to Jake. He gives you another short look but doesn't say anything. You take a moment to look at the piece he has been staring at for over five minutes at this point. 

Taking it gently from his grasp, you examine it yourself. A moment later, you place the puzzle piece into the correct spot. Jake ghosts over the piece you just placed and taps it twice as your hand retreats. 

"You got to tap it into place," he tells you softly. Then Jake is back digging through his piles, looking for the next piece. 

You help Jake with his puzzle for a little bit, pleasantly surprised at the textured surface of the pieces, enjoying how tactile they are. You know this must be a very expensive and nice puzzle. Any time you place a piece, you make sure to tap it twice for Jake. Each time you do, Jake gives a small nod of approval. The one time you forget, his fingers quickly find the piece again and tap it twice with a small annoyed huff. You don't try and coax Jake into a conversation again, simply enjoying just being with him. 

Y'all's work is broken a while later by the doorbell ringing. The sound startles Jake, and he jumps in his seat and his head snapping towards the door. You place a hand on his shoulder again to try and ease the sudden tension.

 "It's okay," you tell him quietly, giving his shoulder a slight squeeze. "I'll go get it."

"No, I can get it," Jake says, starting to stand up. You know he doesn't like you to answer the front door anymore. He hasn't ever since your dad showed up unannounced. Jake has never explicitly told you he doesn't want you to answer the door. However, you have picked up on it because he has not let you answer the door once since the incident. One time Jake had even sprinted across the house to beat you to the door. 

"Don't worry. I know who it is," you say. Jake gives you a concerned look but then nods a little bit. His eyes trail after you as you make your way to the entry hall. 

You open the door to Javy's tall form and are immediately wrapped in a tight warm hug. You lean into his embrace, enjoying the comfort for a moment. 

"Is it really bad?" Javy asks you in a low voice when you pull away from his hug. 

You shrug but then follow it up with a nod. "Yeah. I mean, I don't know. Maybe not? But it's the worst I have ever seen." 

Javy gives you another reassuring squeeze before he saunters into the house towards the living area. Jake's eyes are trained on the hallway, clearly waiting for you to come back. However, when he sees Javy, he blanches, dropping his eyes back to the puzzle. Jake's shoulders hunching tight almost up to his ears. 

"Hey, Hangman," Javy hums. 

"Machado," Jake says gruffly, fiddling with a piece. 

Javy shocks you by not immediately going over to Jake. Instead, he meanders over to your TV. He shocks you even more by opening a drawer in the entertainment center and pulling out an Xbox. Javy starts hooking up the console, and you shift your eyes to Jake again. 

He is still sitting there digging through his puzzle pieces. You aren't sure what to do. If you should leave the two of them alone, join Javy in the living room, or go back to the table with Jake. So instead, you end up in a weird middle ground lingering in the hallway. Finally, when Javy has everything set up, and the Xbox booted on, he goes over to Jake. Coyote sets his hands down so hard on Jake's shoulders that it jostles the blond a bit. 

"Wow, buddy, this is a nice puzzle," Javy says casually. 

Jake just hums in response, placing a puzzle piece and tapping it twice. Only answering once he picks up another piece. "It's a watercolor by Frederic William Burton. He painted it in — "

"It's time for a break, Hangman," Coyote says, cutting him off mid-sentence. 

"Naw, you see this section," Jake gestures generally towards the entire surface area of the puzzle. "It's almost done."

"Nope, it's break time," Javy repeats more firmly. 

Jake's shoulders hang, and it looks like it takes him physical effort to stand up from the table. Jake's joints and back audibly pop from the action, and he raises his hands above his head to fully stretch. 

You try to root yourself in concern, not thinking of the flash of skin you saw where Jake's shirt rode up a bit. Jake blinks a few times, and when he finishes stretching, he turns to fully look at Javy. 

"How long are you staying?" Jake asks, daring to glance back down at the puzzle. Javy snaps his fingers in front of Jake's face twice and then points aggressively toward the couch. 

"As long as I want to," Javy responds with an upbeat tone and a wide grin. He gives a light shove, and Jake shuffles over to the couch. Jake looks at you as he walks, and you can tell that he feels betrayed. 

"I'll leave you to it," you say, ready to retreat into your room. 

Jake looks away from you then, and you don't like the flash of embarrassment on his face as he does. It's been odd seeing Jake so completely out of his element and uncomfortable in his skin the last few days. Embarrassed wasn't a look that fits well on Jake. It made you want to rush in and remedy the situation. 

"You don't gotta go," Jake calls to you.

"Javy came over to hang out with you, Jake." You say plainly. You want to give them space to talk and hang out. 

"Yeah, bro, feeling the love," Javy says jokingly. It earns him a sharp jab to his side from Jake. The action just makes Javy laugh, though. "Don't worry so much, Hang. Marlee is coming by later with dinner, and then all four of us will kick back, but right now, it's me, you, and the Master Chief." 

"You'll hang out with us later, though? Or are you doing something tonight?" Jake asks, ignoring Javy.  

"There is nothing I would rather do tonight than hang out with you," you tell him. Jake's eyes snap up from where they had drifted to the left, lowered just enough not to meet yours. The burning bright color in them is startling after the dull, distant look he has supported the last few days. You can't stop the words you say next, needing to try and back peddle. It takes a long beat before you say, "and Marls and Javy. I don't know if you've ever had Marlee's green chile enchiladas, but they are to die for." 

"They are so good," Jake agrees enthusiastically and looks down at the controller he is holding for the first time. Javy then shoots you a smile with a thumbs up, and you are reassured enough that you head upstairs and into your room. 

You hear Javy's voice behind you, "You know Marlee only cooks for two reasons." 

You close your door before hearing Jake's answer and resist the urge to eavesdrop. A few hours later, you hear loud yelling and laughter from the living room. Then get a text from Marlee to send the boys to help her get the food out of her car. 

The rest of the night is mostly light, and Jake almost passes for his normal self. He jokes with Coyote, eats two helpings of Marlee's enchiladas, and with you... well, with you, he is hot and cold. One moment Jake will be flirting with you in a heavy bravado, then the next, he falls into a quiet, contemplative silence. Javy has to herd Jake away from his puzzle three separate times. It gets easier to draw Jake back in every time; the last time only took a question directed toward Jake to draw him back to you guys. 

It is a good night, and everyone seems happy at the end. Jake hugs Javy and Marlee goodbye and leaves you to walk your friends out. You let out a small sigh of relief, seeing Jake walk up the stairs and not back to the dining room table. 

You talk with the couple for a few more minutes on the front porch, then hug them goodbye. You are thankful for them, to have such good friends who are willing to be a support system, for you, for Jake, and for their other friends too. It warms your heart, and it feels a lot like family. 

Jake's puzzling is less frenzied after that night, and he starts to reign back in. He has full conversations with you again and goes to the gym after work as well. He follows Javy's rules that had been texted to you both and doesn't puzzle by alone again.

 For the next week or so, Javy and Marlee end up in your living room in the evenings. Keeping Jake from becoming too obsessed, you also notice that he won't let Javy or Marlee touch his puzzle pieces. But when Jake does work on the puzzle, and you are home, he always invites you to join him. 

Jake makes an effort to converse with you while working too. The conversations you two get into range from academic to childhood memories, favorites — books, movies, foods, bands, animals— funny stories, and anything else that would pop in your heads. Of course, each puzzle piece must still be double tapped into place, and you are meticulous about following that rule. 

Puzzling in the evenings with Jake surprisingly becomes one of your favorite times of the day. Sometimes you would even just sit there at the table with Jake, scrolling on your phone while he works on the puzzle. 

Hangman's presence is a comforting steady grounding force, so much so that you can only hope you provide half of that for him. You knew you were roommates, and Jake may not carry the same romantic feelings you do. However, you couldn't deny the plain platonic affection that poured from him, so much you sometimes think M aybe . Maybe he does feel more. 

When you enter the kitchen, you see the puzzle is finished. You go to examine it and realize two pieces are missing. You feel a bit of worry creeping up in you, not sure how Jake will react to having lost pieces and being unable to complete the puzzle. 

You start to look around, checking every chair and bench to make sure a piece hasn't fallen. You shine a light under the couch in case they slipped under there. Then you are flipping up the edge of the rug in the living room and trying to think of any other feasible place the pieces could have disappeared. 

"What are you doing?" you hear, and you snap your head to see Jake standing on the other side of the couch, looking at you bemused. 

"Sorry, I was just looking for your missing pieces," you say, straightening up and fixing the rug. 

Jake quirks an eyebrow then he follows your gaze to the table where his puzzle is. Jake's mouth drops open, lips barely parted, and a soft "Oh." falls out like he didn't even make the sound intentionally. 

"No luck so far, though. I'm sorry. I'm sure they will turn up. Only so many places they could have gone," You say, making sure to project an upbeat, positive tone and attitude. 

Jake looks between you and the puzzle twice before suddenly you are graced with the rarest of Jake Seresin's smiles. It is one you have only seen a handful of times. It's different than his smirk and his confident panty dropping smile. It's not the smile that he gets when he laughs, and his eyes crinkle around the edges or the mouth wide open smile. It's not his practiced perfect smile he uses for pictures. 

No, this smile is closed-mouthed, those pearly whites hidden from view. It's a quirk of his lips like Jake is trying to hold it back from showing it on his face but he isn't entirely successful. His bottom lip is tucked a little bit between his teeth as if he is physically trying to bite back the expression, none of which prevents Jake's dimples from popping up. 

It's a smile that always leaves you a little stunned, and this is no exception. Not that there are many things about Jake that don't leave you feeling that way. This smile, paired with the soft look in his eyes, makes you want to melt into the floor. 

"I have the pieces," Jake tells you then. It takes you a few moments to process his words. 

"Oh, you do?"

"Yeah, I do," he says and pulls out a ziplock baggie from his pocket with the two pieces in it. 

"That's great!"

"They weren't lost. I was saving them, actually."

"Saving them for what?"

"For you. Well, for us."

You don't think you are able to hide your surprise at his words. "For us?"

"Yeah. You know, so we can finish this puzzle together. We worked on it together. So, we should finish it together. Few things match the feeling of putting the final piece of a puzzle into place."

God, you want to kiss him. You want to grab his face and smash your lips against his. You want to taste him and thread your fingers in his short dirty blonde hair. The little fantasy starting to form in your brain is cut off by Jake walking over to the table. 

You follow him there, and Jake sets the last two pieces on the table, letting you pick which one you want. Once you make your selection, Jake grabs the other one. 

"Okay, on three," he tells you with a grin. At his countdown, you both place the pieces of the puzzle. Automatically you double tap your piece into place. Jake was right; it is an extremely satisfying feeling finishing the puzzle and seeing it whole for the first time. 

Your gaze drifts over the puzzle, and you look up to see Jake staring at you instead of the finished piece. After a moment, you realize what is wrong. Your hand reaches across and gently nudges Jake's to the side. Then you tap Jake's piece twice, realizing that for the very first time, he seemed to have missed that compulsion of his. However, you knew it would bother Jake when he realized he had forgotten, so you make sure to complete the ritual. 

Jake's gaze snaps down to the piece you had tapped for him. Then his knuckles purposely brush against the back of your hand, sending shivers up your arm.

"Thank you," spills from both of your mouths at the same time, which makes you laugh.  

"Jinx," Jakes says in a rushed voice, making you laugh harder. That odd tension in the air between you two disappears. 

You walk into the kitchen and grab a white claw from the fridge, bringing it back for Jake, handing it to him. Jake is a strict enforcer of the jinx soda pop rule. The two of you look at the puzzle for a few more minutes. Taking in the stunning painting, the yearning and sadness of it never fails to impact you. 

While the two of you had been working on the puzzle, Jake had told you many different facts about The Meeting On The Turret Stairs. How it was a watercolor painting by Frederic William Burton, the poem it was based on, the era it was painted in, and its place in Irish art. 

When you asked Jake more, he surprised you by knowing hyper-specific details and answers off the top of his head. Intrigued, you learned how he had double majored at Annapolis in Aerospace Engineering and History. However, because Jake was golden boy Midshipman Seresin, he had gotten away with his final history thesis being art focused. Hangman more than understood how to be charming when he needed to be. 

"What now?" You ask him. 

"What do you mean?" Jake asks, confused. 

"What do we do with the puzzle?" you ask. It sounds much better than what you wanted to say. What now between the two of you? What were you going to do to keep spending time together? 

"We take it apart." Jake shrugs. 

"No," you gasp, horrified thinking of all the time you had put into the puzzle just to undo it and throw it back in the box.

"What else would we do?" Jake asks you. You think for a moment before smiling at your own idea. 

"Let's Mod Podge it, and then we can hang it up. We have some pretty bare walls in the house, and it is a stunning piece of art," you suggest. 

Jake doesn't even take a moment to think it over before saying, "I love that idea." 

So, you two are driving to the craft store to get cardboard and Mod Podge. A week later, the puzzle has been cemented and hung on the wall in between your and Jake's rooms upstairs. After the puzzle is finished, Jake is back into his sudoku and his various other reading books. He still lingers near you in the evenings, waiting longer than he used to before retreating to his room for bed. 

One night almost a month after you two had finished the puzzle, Jake brings the subject up again. You two are lounging on the couch, he had just gotten home from watching the Army-Navy game at a bar with some of his friends, and he is definitely a little bit tipsy. 

"I am going to build us a puzzle table," is the first thing he had loudly declared, walking in the door. 

You were instantly worried about why Jake might want to start a new puzzle. "Is everything okay?"

Jake doesn't seem to hear you, though, as he continues on. "A really nice one that opens and closes with velvet or something so we don't have to worry about losing pieces, and maybe I can even make it an adjustable height?" He is talking to himself more than to you. 

You watch as he grabs a notepad and pencil out of a drawer. Then he slumps on the couch. Before you know what's happening or can stop it, Jake has his head on your lap and is sketching design ideas, potential measurements, and materials. 

"How are you doing?" you ask him again, staring down at his face, unable to contain your enamored smile. Jake just nods his head and keeps sketching while mumbling. 

You run a hand through his soft hair tentatively. It is a bit longer than usual right now, almost out of regulation. He will need to get a haircut this week, but the strands are so soft, and you can't help but enjoy that there is a bit more there to run your fingers through. His eyes instantly close, and he hums contently at your touch. 

"Hangman?" you ask him almost teasingly, halting your movements.

"Yes, sugar?" 

"Are you okay?" 

He blinks his eyes open and looks at you. Their gleaming sea glass green color is a little glazed over and so very soft. His mirth is open and obvious to you. "I'm so great. Navy won." 

"That's great. Go Navy." A wide grin splits his face wide, and Jake's eyes actually crinkle closed, hiding their unique color from you again. 

"That's right, Honey. Ooh ahh!" Jake responds automatically, making you both laugh, and maybe you had been drinking a little bit of wine before he came home; perhaps you were warm from that, or maybe Jake was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. Your eyes lock with his, and your hands pull out of his hair. You let one drift trace his face helping him relax the furrow in his eyebrows. 

"Why do you want to start a new puzzle?" You ask. 

"No new puzzle. A new table." He corrects you. Jake taps his pencil on the notepad pointedly. 

"For a new puzzle?"

"You liked doing a puzzle with me, right? Well, after the first bit, you liked it?"

"I loved it." The words slip out of your mouth before you can amend the sentiment to come off less forward.

"Me too,"Jake says and trails off for a moment. Then he continues asking, "So you would be open to doing another one with me? Just for fun this time, not my mental health." Jake doesn't say the last sentence with any bit of shame or embarrassment, which you admire. However, the vulnerability is obvious and glaring. 

"Yeah," you confirm, once again having to run your fingers over his brow to relax his face. 

"Perfect. I'm building the table, then. You can pick the puzzle this time." 

You can't help but let your hands slip back into Jake's hair, and he returns to sketching on his notepad. It was a moment of quiet peace you knew you didn't ever want to let go of. 

"Javy said that you don't like to do puzzles with other people, and that's what helps you pull out of the pit." 

Jake's eyes don't leave his notepad, and he turns the page. You watch Jake start to scrawl the pros of a dovetail joint versus a dowel joint before he starts to draw it out as well. You almost don't think he will say anything back by the time he finally does. 

"You aren't other people," Jake tells you, as he starts drawing in shading, which is completely unnecessary for anything beyond aesthetic. He bends the lines from a basic blueprint to a detailed drawing of a realistic table joint. It was distracting watching the engineer in him flow into the unexpected artist. 

The idea that you ever had thought his talent for art and engineering were such radically different things was a bit funny. Now that you see him dance between the lines back and forth so elegantly that you understand it wasn't two competing sides of Jake. It was just him. It was how he worked and operated. 

It was how he was Hangman and also Jake. It was how he could fill out sudoku then go to bed at 9 pm and how he could shoot pool until closing with the squad. It was how he was a cowboy and a pilot. It was how you wanted to cry a little bit, knowing he enjoyed you there, knowing you weren't like other people. 

And you are struck with the thought that you don't ever want Jake to do a puzzle with anyone but you. You never want to see him sitting alone at three am with bloodshot eyes putting pieces into place again. And you don't even want to consider him explaining animatedly why he believes a piece goes in one color pile and not the one it was originally sorted to anyone but you. 

You want to be selfish with Jake. You want to have him, and you want to keep him close, never letting go. Surely you could convince Jake to be yours. It was a selfish act that could be forgiven if you promised to cherish him. After all, there were worse things in the world than loving someone, so entirely the fact they might not love you to the same degree didn't hurt so much.  

Jake flips to the next page in the notepad and starts to sketch out the living room. As he works, the living room table starts to look significantly different than your current one. 

"Oh. It's for the living room?" You ask him.

At first, he just hums in response, but when he finishes rounding out a line, Jake lifts his pencil from the paper. It pauses there, poised and frozen, as he asks, "Do you want the dining table instead?" 

"No." As you continue, the pencil falls back to the page, "It just wasn't what I was originally thinking."

"I could do a dining room table too. They could even be made of the same wood." Jake says. His green eyes broke from the page to glance up at your face for the first time in a while. He searches your face trying to gauge your reaction to his suggestion. 

"Two puzzle tables?"

"Think of all the possibilities. We could do two puzzles at once." Jake gasps. You kind of hate the excited timbre that Jake's voice picks up at the idea, but you actually mostly love it. 

"Just one puzzle at a time, please." You say, giving his hair a teasing gentle tug, ignoring the sharp inhale of his breath that immediately follows. You refuse to give away the unexpected thrill sent straight through your body that settles at your core. You have to consciously make sure your words do not fall out rushed, "I think it would be nice to have out here, comfier." 

"I thought the exact same thing."

"Oh really?" You ask, amused. 

"Yes, Ma'am. I've got two words for you, puzzle naps." 

You huff a small laugh at him and bite your lower lip. He flips back to his first page of notes, where he had a small list of wood. He adds cherry to his list after oak. 

"Juniper is really pretty," you suggest. He immediately starts to write down your suggestion with a little heart next to it. When Jake starts to shade in the heart, you feel like the one in your chest might actually burst out. Something very similar to butterflies was fluttering around in you, but it is much less nervous and rather born of pure fondness. 

"Sounds beautiful. I'm sure it's perfect," Jake tells you. 

"Let's pick one together, though. It should be our choice."  

"No," Jake says, drawing an elegant oval around juniper. Then he goes back and strikes a straight line through the other options. "No one else has ever remembered to double tap."

Jake spends a few more minutes detailing the design before his eyes start to get sleepy, and his pencil marks become light and halting. It doesn't take much from you to encourage him to go to bed, just a whispered suggestion. 

He stumbles up from the couch and places a kiss on your forehead. Jake puts his notebook on the counter in the kitchen. After that, Jake circles back to press a second lingering kiss to your forehead. You watch him go all the way around the house to double check the locks, the front door, the garage, and the back door. Finally, after sending you two finger guns, Jake drags himself up the stairs, humming Anchors Aweigh. 

"Until we meet once more, here's wishing you a happy voyage home!" You loudly hear him sing. You listen to Jake as he hums his fight song while randomly peppering in other lyrics. When you finally hear him close his door, your mind makes a decision on the war it's been having. 

You are going to do whatever it takes for Jake Seresin to agree to be yours. Potential consequences be damned; Jake is worth the risk.

[ohtobeleah]

Bruises // Jake Seresin

Chapter Seven: [War Wounds in the Ward]

Summary: When help finally arrives, Jake believes it may be too late. The extent of both your injuries are finally revealed and the both you come face to face with the reality of just how long you’d been held in captivity for.

Series Warnings: Heavy themes of violence, sexual assault, torture. 18+ content. Minors DNI. Mature themes. Being held in captivity. Hostage style situation. Main character death! Whump, Angst. Conversations that discuss antisocial & antisemitism views.

Word Count: 7.4k

Author Note: THIS SERIES IS CONFRONTING, FICTIONAL, AND DEPICTS IMAGES OF TORTURE. DO NOT READ PAST THIS POINT IF YOU BELIEVE THAT THIS SERIES WILL BE DETRIMENTAL TO YOUR MENTAL STABILITY. CURATE YOUR OWN TIMELINE.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“We gotta move.” How this guy got the key to Jake’s cell he’d never know, but what was important was that he had it and he was here now. “We’ve got about ten minutes to get you both out to the medi-vac.” 

You never would have guessed how quickly Jake Seresin could still move in order to put his body on the line for you. At the sight of someone coming into his cell yet again, rescuer or not—he was shielding you with everything he had. No one was touching you, not again. 

Once the man was inside Jake's cell he took a knee to assess your current state. At the mere thought of anyone touching you Jake flinched and held you a little tighter. He wasn’t sure who he could trust, wasn’t sure if this was real or just some cruel joke. Another attempt to shatter any kind of hope. 

“It’s okay Lieutenant, you can let her go.”

“I don’t trust you.” Jake used his body to shield you as much as he could. He was done letting people hurt you, including himself. The man in the dark mask paused, but then in order to gain Jake's trust, he took that mask off, revealing his identity to Jake as he tried to reach out to gauge your pulse. “Please don’t hurt her, she’s been through enough.” 

“I’m not gonna hurt her Jacob.” The man with silver hair and a cocky half smile confirmed. “My name is Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS, I’m gonna get the two of you out of here.”

“Who was the woman, the one who gave me the note?” Jake couldn’t stop thinking about her and her lifeless body. Who was she? How did she get a note from Rooster? How did she know help was coming? There were so many unanswered questions he thought he’d never get answers to. 

“CIA—deep cover agent, she had sent out a coded message around the time the two of you went missing. Descriptions matched, your friend Rooster I believe?” Gibbs was still trying to find your pulse. “Yeah he told her to write a note out, give you something to fight for.” 

“Hold tight, Stay alive—“ Jake repeated to himself just under his breath, the agent who wasn’t happy with how weak your pulse was nodded too. 

“Which is exactly what she’s gonna have to do, let’s get her out of here before it’s too late.” 

“Gibbs!” Another man came racing down the hallway. “Gibbs we gotta move!” He was dressed in the same dark uniform as Gibbs was. “They’re angry as shit, like ants! A hive of angry ants.” 

“I thought I told you to distract and disturb?” 

“Yeah well, change of plans—we gotta get the hell outta dodge, now!” 

Jake wasn’t all that sure who to follow or what to think. He only knew two things for sure, one being he had to get you out of here while he still had a chance too. And two? He couldn’t run. He couldn’t come with you. He was damaged goods. 

“I can’t go.” Jake confessed with a deep sigh as he handed you over to the man who’s just come racing in. He ran his finger down your cheek and tried to hold it together. Was this the last time he was ever going to see you? “She’s in a really bad way, please take care of her, get her out of here.” 

“Lieutenant it’s now or never—“ Gibbs made sure to remind Jake. 

“They put a pacemaker inside my damn chest alright! I can’t let my heart rate get above one forty!” Jake explained as the older man helped him to his feet. “The Commander has a remote control for it too, and I gotta be honest with you, I’m not all that keen on the idea of my heart exploding inside my fucking chest.” 

“The Commanders dead.” Gibbs tried his best to bluff his way through this. He had to get Jake out of here, there was no backup plan. It was now or never and never wasn’t an option. “He’s gone, ain’t got no way to press that button.” DiNozzo knew as a matter of fact that Dennis Gervais was well and truly alive, because he’d just come from the same room that he was in. “So we focus on keeping your heart rate down and get you out of here.” All Jake did was nod as he looked at you just barely breathing, barely holding on for dear life. You’d been through so much—he owed you this much, to try till his dying breath to get you out of this hell. “DiNozzo you take Y/n, I’ll guard Jake here and we’ll get ‘em on the medi-vac before shit gets too out of hand.” 

“On it boss.” Tony acknowledged the plan and knew the risks involved as he bent down to pick you up and pull your nearly lifeless body across his shoulders so that he could carry you. “Okay ma’am, sorry if this hurts a little.” 

“We’re heading down the hall, taking the first left and making a run for the stairs that leads up to the ground floor—it’ll take us right out to the loading bay.” Jake couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Gibbs knew it was going to be a hard pill to swallow as the group started to make their way out of the cell. 

“You mean to tell me there’s been an exit door right down the hall this whole time!!” It made him sick to his stomach. Freeform was right there all along. It made things so much worse knowing it was right there. 

“We’re gonna get you home Lieutenant, just keep in step and don’t look back.” Gibbs commanded as he made sure his weapon was loaded. “Let’s get these two out of here DiNozzo.” 

Jake watched as DiNozzo took off running with you slung across his shoulders. His heart ached on two fronts, one being he knew you were about to be safe, about to be away from all this. The other being he hated whenever you were away from him. When you were with him you were safe in his arms. Apart? He couldn’t help you. 

There were guards slain in the hall from where gunfire had recently rung out, Jake tried his best not to get too caught up but he couldn’t recognise a single soul. None of them he knew from his time trapped. They were just foot soldiers. 

“Take a left DiNozzo!” Anthony corrected his direction promptly as Jake followed, he was being careful to pace himself. He didn’t want the beeping to start, not now. It couldn’t, he was relying on everything he had left inside him to keep it down. To breathe steady, In and out. 

“Right! Sorry!” Gibbs was the last one up the stairs, he was protecting his people, firing the odd shot at anyone who tried to stop them four of them from getting where they needed to go. 

“Jake?” It was the softest of whimpers that escaped from your lips as DiNozzo carried you up the stairs. “Jake?” You mumbled again, only this time a little louder and more confused. “What’s going on?” 

“You’re okay ma’am.” Tony tried his best to calm you before you had a chance to panic. “Jakes right behind me, I’m special agent Anthony DiNozzo with the NCIS.” 

“Oh.” Was all you could say as you dangled over Dinozzo's shoulders. “Oh god someone found us.” It was more like you were trying to convince yourself this was real. “Someone came.” 

“We did ma’am.” DiNozzo confirmed as he opened the latch on the door that led out to the loading dock. “We’re not out of the woods yet though, so just stay with us for a little while longer okay?” When he was finally able to unlock the heavy metal door, DiNozzo was delighted to see the medi-vac choppers coming in for landing. “Over there!” He shouted back at Jake and Gibbs before he took off running with you on his shoulders. 

The sunlight burned Jake's skin as he stepped out into the light. God how long had it been since he’d felt the warmth of the sun on his usually tanned skin. He’d never been this pal, this skinny, this unkempt. 

“There’s someone who wants to speak with you, Lieutenant.” Gibbs smirked as he escorted Jake across the snow and over to the helicopter that would be taking him back to the carrier. He handed him a radio, one of those sat nav ones. 

Jake held it up so he could talk just as five F-18 Super Hornets came racing past to pepper the building with ammunition. It was a full takedown if there ever was one. A covert operation to get you and Jake back. The signal had been given and it was go time. 

“What took you so long?” Jake wasn’t sure who it was going to be, but he knew they were all up there. All cheering that he was alive, that you were alive. That the pair of you were being rescued. Hey did however have a slight inkling as to who might answer. “What the hell has the Calvary been!” 

“Hey Hangman.” Rooster bellowed through the radio as he flew closer to the building just to drop a missile on the southwest corner. “You look good!” Jake couldn’t contain his laughter, this was really happening. 

“I am good, Rooster.” He remembered what he’d said all those years ago. “I’m very good.” Jake sighed as he watched his colleagues and friends dismantle the building you and Jake had been held hostage in for what felt like forever. “Now get us outta here!” 

“We better keep moving, Lieutenant.” Gibbs ushered Jake over to the other medi-vac helicopter, it had all gone according to plan. Jake had kept his heart rate below one twenty as his watch kept telling him. You were being loaded into the other helicopter, strapped to a medical gurney and fitted with oxygen immediately. Jake watched on as the building the four of you had just come out of went up in smoke and flames. Insurgents scurried out for their lives at any exit they could take. “Let’s get these birds in the sky!” 

“Yes sir.” The pilot copied just as Jake saw the man he’d been told was dead appearing out of the smoke, surrounded by insurgents with guns who aimed right for the two medi-vac helicopters. 

“Come on probie help me get her strapped in.” Tony grumbled as he fiddled with the straps around the wheels of the bed you were on. He didn’t want it to budge. “How the hell did you get the easy job anyway!” 

“Easy job!! I’ve been out here for ten minutes fending off enemy fire!” 

“I thought you said he was dead!?” Jake hissed as he eyed off the man who’d put you both through hell. He couldn’t help but to say as he thought about making a break from the helicopter just to get his revenge from n the man who’s done so much damage. But he couldn’t, Jake wouldn’t do that as the helicopter began to rise from the snow covered ground. He wasn’t going to, not for any amount of money, you’d told him when the pair of you were first captured to never play the hero again—but Jake was a villain. A hero would sacrifice anything for the greater good. He’d see anything ax expendable. 

But Jake would walk through fire and cross the seven seas for you, he had no such desire to want to play the hero. He just wanted to be safe again, with you. So knowing you were already safe, there was no reason to go back. There was no reason to want to be a hero. 

“I lied—“ Gibbs sighed as he aimed his weapon. “Get us up in the air!” Jake knew the moment he saw The Commander standing there watching him escape that he wouldn’t let him go without a fight, without causing enough damage that he might not make it out alive. As the helicopters took off you sat up just to watch the group below you get further and further away. 

You were safe. Jake was safe. You were finally getting out of this hell together. And then? Everything you thought you knew came crashing down around you as you watched what appeared to be Jake's lifeless body fall out of the side of the medi-vac helicopter. No. Not now, not after everything you'd been through. 

“NNOOOOO!” You cried out from behind the oxygen mask you'd been given. “JAKE!!”

Jake first fell to his knees as his hand gripped at his chest. The pain was all too real, too overpowering for him to stay steady on his feet. The Commander stood grinning ear to ear as he watched Jake fall out of the Medi-vac that was in the process of taking off. It would have been a solid hundred metres give or take a few. But it was surely enough to break Jake's jaw on impact. 

“You’re not going anywhere Seresin!” The Commander growled as he and his men ascended on Jake. Two of them pulled him harshly up by his forearms as they forced Jake to look up at the very man who had caused so many people so much pain. “Your girl might get out, but you–you won't ever see the light of day ever again. 

“Take us back to the carrier!” DiNozzo ordered the pilot who had carried on his way. You were in complete hysterics. You couldn't leave, not without Jake. 

“WE HAVE TO GO BACK!” With all your might you were trying to get up off the bed. “WE CAN'T LEAVE HIM!” You felt like you couldn't breathe, Jake had been your rock this whole time. You'd seen the worst in people but also seen the best in him. You couldn't leave him behind, you couldn’t betray him when he never once let you give up. 

“Ma’am, Ma’am you need to try and relax alright, Gibbs will figure it out.” Tony reassured you just hoping that his boss could pull something together. “We’re not going to leave him here, but we need to get you back to people who can help keep you alive.” 

“I’m gonna kill you, I’m gonna kill you dead just because I can and for what it's worth? Your name will be forgotten once we are one word and one people, Jacob.” It was the worst kind of pain, a pain unparalleled to no other, the kind of pain that takes your breath away. That kind of pain that stops blood in its tracks, that shortens ligaments and tendons as you seize. “If only you’d just stayed the fuck away.” The Commander spat as he stopped Jake's heart, he fried the pacemaker in his chest past the breaking point and when his finger finally came off the little button in his hand: Jake was just thankful to have gotten to hear you say you loved him. Even if you only said it back to even the playing cards. 

Jake knew you could never love him. Not after this, not after you’d gone through unspeakable agony all because of a split second decision he made. 

“You’re not, you’re not going to win this.” Jake struggled out as he looked up at The Commander. “Dennis—“ That struck a raw nerve as The Commander reached for a handgun one of his men held. He wasted not a single second before peppering three rounds into Jake's gut. 

“Maybe, but you won’t be around to see the outcome.” 

Jake Seresin laid dying in the snow surrounded by insurgents as five F-18 Super Hornets laid waist into the building you'd both been held captive in—destroying every crevice, every brick. But ultimately it was just a little too late. You’d be okay though, you had to be. Jake had to believe that as his blood stained the China white snow he laid in. 

The expected was always easier to accept than the unexpected. 

“Everybody get to the evacuation points, if you see anyone you don’t trust? Kill them.” Jake could hear The Commander ordering his men before he kicked the heel of his boot into Jake's face. “Goodbye Lieutenant Seresin—you really did your country proud.” The condescending tone in The Commander’s voice really drove it home that all this had been for nothing. He was going to die, killed in action his final report would say. 

The last thing Jake thought about as he laid in the snow watching as the medi-vac helicopters flew away, one of which had you finally safe on, was that he hoped you went on to live a beautiful life. Got back on your feet, healed from everything you were subjected to, went on to love and experience all the good the world had to offer. He thought about what kind of guy would be so lucky to marry you, have a life with you, raise your children, and watch you thrive. Because it wouldn’t be him. He was okay with that though because you were safe now, Jake Seresin was okay with dying so long as it meant you got the help you needed, that you deserved. 

“I love you.” 

Because you weren’t ever expendable. Not to him. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

People have scars in all sorts of unexpected places. Like secret road maps of their own personal history. Diagrams of all their old wounds. Most old wounds heal, leaving nothing behind but a scar, but some of them don't. Some wounds you carry with you everywhere, and although the cuts are long gone: the pain still lingers. 

“Where's Jake?” It was the only thing you could say as you fought off unconsciousness. “Where's Jake? Where is he?” 

“Lieutenant Y/l/n we need to get you into medical so we can start you on IV fluids and antibiotics–” It was a voice you didn't recognise that replied to you as you were being wheeled off the medi-vac and onto the deck of the carrier. “Someone let the Swaine know we’re on route!” 

“Where's Jake?” Why wasn’t anyone listening, why wasn’t anyone answering you? “Please someone tell me he’s okay, that he’s alive? Please?”

It truly was a spectacle on the deck, but in all the commotion of your big arrival no one was listening to what you were mumbling behind your oxygen mask. No one except for one sandy blonde aviator who was pushing past every person he had to in order to get to your side as they wheeled you across the runway. He’d barely shut off his F-18 before he was racing down the tarmac after you. 

“Hey!” Bradley beamed as he reached your side, his hand slipped into your as he walked with the team who were in charge of getting you where you needed to go. “Hey, Hollywood, holy shit–” He couldn't believe you were alive, sure none of them had ever given up hope and from the fleeting information they had been given during your time in captivity, he hoped that CIA agent was still alive, but still he couldn't believe you were actually back. It had been so long. “You’re safe now, we’ve got you.” 

“WHERES JAKE!” It came out as an agonising scream until Rooster could see your tears. “Where is he Bradshaw?” As far as Bradley was aware Jake's rescue Evac was still in the process. He’d fallen and that's all Bradley knew for sure. 

“He’s right behind you, they got him Hollywood, you don't have to worry anymore.” DiNozzo, the Special Agent in charge of escorting you back to medical, looked at the aviator across the gurney from him. He knew that Jake was still yet to be evacuated. He was still on the ground the last Tony saw. “You can rest now, it's alright, Jakes right behind you.” 

“Oh–” You sighed as your entire body relaxed, it was a weight you didn't realise was compressing your chest. “Oh good.” It was only then did your body allow you to go into complete rest. You fell into unconsciousness seconds after being told that Jake was okay, he was coming, that he was right behind you. 

“We’re losing her, we gotta move.” One of the officers informed Bradley as he stood still, watching as you were wheeled into the carrier. Not knowing if you were actually going to make it out of this hell alive. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

Jake swore the chill of the snow would take him before his heart gave out. He couldn’t move a single muscle as he laid there on his back in the silence—only burning rubble seemed to break through the deafening silence of his last moments on earth. 

He thought about you, the entire time. How your laugh would fill up the Hard Deck and how he’d roll his eyes in response. It was stupid really but Jake honestly thought if he didn’t get involved with you personally it would be easier to forget about the way you made him feel whenever you walked into a room. 

“Y/n.” Your name sounded so familiar to him, so alluring and all consuming. “Y/n.” It brought him comfort in death. To whisper your name to himself as his life drained from him. “Y/n.” 

“Not Y/n—“ Gibbs groaned as he pressed gauze into Jake's stomach and moved his hands to cover it. “Keep your hands on that.” He told Jake with a hushed tone, like he was trying to keep quiet. “Lift on three, one, two—three.” 

“AAHHH!” Jake couldn’t help the agonising whelp that escaped his mouth as he was lifted up onto a stretcher. Had they come back for him? Surely not—at this point he was dead weight. Why on earth would they turn back for him? 

“Get him on that medi-vac now!” Gibbs ordered as he stood and looked around, it seemed as though The Commander had been able to flee with a handful of insurgents. “Stop the bleeding as fast as you can.” 

What's worse? New wounds which are so horribly painful or old wounds that should have healed years ago and never did? Maybe old wounds teach you something, maybe they remind you of where you've been and what you’ve overcome. They teach you lessons about what to avoid in the future. 

That's what Jake liked to think. Because as he let his head rest back against the stretcher and thought about how beautiful the embers of that god awful building were, he couldn't wait for these new wounds to become valuable lessons that didn't hurt as bad as they did now. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

Every cell in the human body regenerates on average every seven years. Like snakes, we shed our skin. Biologically, we’re brand new people. It's imperative, change that is. You might look the same, you probably feel the same, but the change isn't visible. At least not for most people. 

“She’s waking up—“ You barely heard it, the husk of a familiar voice that came from beyond the darkness. “Do you want me to leave?” 

When people say things like ‘People don't change’ It drives scientists crazy, because change is literally the only constant in all of science. Energy. Matter. It's always changing. Morphing. Merging. Growing. Dying. It's the way people try not to change that's unnatural. 

“No kid, no—“ Again, another familiar voice echoed beyond the darkness as you were brought back into the light. A steady beeping droned in the background monitoring your vitals. “You stay, I’ll go check on how Lieutenant Seresin is doing after surgery.” 

The way people cling to what things were instead of letting them be what they are. The way you cling to old memories instead of forming new ones can be just as damaging as trying not to evolve. The way people insist on believing, despite every scientific indication that anything in this lifetime is permanent. 

“Okay, yeah—let me know how he is?” Bradley asked as your dad, Commander ‘Hollywood’ Neven, tapped his shoulder as he sat by your bedside. Watching over you as you recovered from what had been some of the most extensive and exhausting surgeries Rooster had ever seen. 

His mother had had a few operations in her battle with Cancer—but none of which came close to what he was told you were going through. 

From the complete orthopedic reconstruction on your shattered wrist to the skin graft on your lower back, to the plastic surgery repair made to damage done on your face. Some scars would remain—but your surgeon was pretty hopeful that the swelling would go down. It made Roosters heart break. 

“Roo—“ It was the first thing you managed to struggle out. Your throat was so dry as you tilted your head to the side just slightly to see him better. “Hi.” The light hurt your eyes, in a way it felt good to be out of the dark. 

“Hey Hollywood.” Bradley smiled as he reached out to grab your hand. “Tell you what you know how to scare us, don't you?” You couldn't help the oh so soft smile that crept across your face when you realised you were home, that you were finally safe. “How you feeling?” 

“Uh–” You didn't know what to say. Your entire body ached for various different reasons all the more painful to describe than the last. You were a plethora of injuries, a thesaurus of unspeakable acts of violence. And even though there wasn't a part of you that didn’t hurt, all your mind could think about was Jake. So you lied. You lied straight through your teeth. “I'm okay.” Bradley didn't believe it, not for a second. He had seen the state you were in when they airlifted you back to the carrier. And it seemed as though your number one priority hadn’t changed. “Where's Jake? Is he okay?” 

“Hangman's–” You interrupted Bradley quicker than he could explain Jake's current status. 

“I asked where Jake was Rooster, Hangman isn't Jake.” The man who had done everything he could to protect you wasn't Hangman. He was simply Jake. “So please, just tell me Jakes alive?” Bradley complied with your very specific request and told you what you wanted to hear first. 

“Jakes alive.” He nodded. “But he's critical, he's been in and out of surgery for a few days Y/n.” Rooster had collected a series of coffee cups on the table in your hospital room, ranging in size and kind. He must have been here with you for a while. “Your dads seeing to it that he gets the best care.” 

“How long have I been out?” You asked next, everything was blurry. You could remember bits and pieces of being rescued, but not many. You could hear the sound of the helicopter blades in your head, but faces were all distorted in your memory. You could remember Jake holding you, his warmth protecting you from all harm, but then you saw him fall. He fell. Over and over in your mind you watched Jake fall and then you heard your pain filled cries of pure heartbreak. “How long has it been?” 

“Since we got back here, a few days–you've been on some pretty strong painkillers and the doctors just kept telling me you'd wake up when your body was ready.” It was nice to fill in the gaps. But there was one gap you weren't sure if you wanted to fill. 

“And how long were Jake and I, you know, held for?” Bradley wasn't sure if he should be the one to tell you, but then again, if you wanted anyone else to tell you, you would have waited to ask them and not him. So he told you, point blank. 

“Almost Three months.” 

“Oh god.” Change is constant, how you experience change, that's up to you. “No, No no no it cant have been three whole months Rooster.” It can feel like death, or it can feel like a second chance at life if you open your fingers, loosen your grip and go with it, it can feel like pure adrenaline. 

“Y/n?” Bradley frowned when he heard your heart rate monitor start to beep at a faster rate than the machine was comfortable with. “Are you okay?” You felt like you couldn’t breathe as your brain tried to process the harsh reality that you and Jake had been held prisoners for three whole months. Your airways were tightening, like someone had their hands around your neck and was squeezing, holding you down, choking you. “Hey! Hey, I need someone in here! Nurse!” Bradley jumped up to his feet and hit the panic button as you began to cry, panicking as your body didn't feel like your own. 

“Oh god, I can't breathe!” You cried out. “Rooster, help!” Like at any moment you can have another chance at life. Like at any moment, you can be born all over again. Or die from the pure weight of it all. 

“She's having a panic attack or something.” Rooster explained to the nurses who were first into the room. “I don't know what to do.” 

“It's the Asthma, sir.” One of the nurses explained. “She needs ventolin.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

“You gotta wake up for me.” An induced coma, that's what the doctors had told you. That's what they said Jake needed in order to heal. In their words, his injuries were extensive, critical and very much life threatening. But while you watched Jake breathe through tubes and held his hand just to let him know you were there, you had to believe that he was going to be okay. That he’d pull through and you'd get to see his smile again. 

“You don't get to leave me now you son of a bitch do you hear me?” You leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I'll be so pissed if you leave me here.” You snarled right in his ear so that he could hear you. “I'll come and find you in the afterlife and when I get there? I'll rain hell down on you for all eternity.” You weren't expecting a reply, not with Jake being in an induced coma and all. The tubes alone would have stopped him from replying even if he was awake. “Please wake up soon, I really miss you.” With your good hand, you gently ran your palm up his forehead and moved the hair that had fallen across his face away. The bruises were dark and extensive, but Jake was still there under it all. Under all the swollen and bruised skin and bone. Jake was still there. Your Jake was still fighting with everything he had. “I love you, please don't leave me.” 

You sat back in your chair, the one you had been in since you were able to leave your own room during the day and visit Jake. You had to take your IV pole with you though, it was a non negotiable. You had to stay hooked up to antibiotics to fight off the infection in your lungs. It hurt to breathe, so the oxygen tank came too. 

“How are we doing today Kiddo?” You dad asked as he came to visit you like he did every day. He, like all the other aviators that came to visit you and Jake, had gotten used to finding you up in Jake's room up in the intensive care ward. 

“My lungs are on fire but it beats the alternative.” You only took your eyes off Jake for a second to acknowledge your father, who so far, hadn’t pried too deep into finding out details of your imprisonment. You knew he'd have to take off the farther figure hat and replace it with his Commander of the pacific fleet hat soon enough. “The doctors said they’re happy with Jake's stats, said he might be able to come out of the coma soon.”

“That's good to hear sweetheart.” Your dad replied as he stood at the end of Jake's hospital bed, eyes off the man who had kept you alive from what he could tell. “I've uh, i've organised for you to speak to someone, someone who might be able to help you start to process what you went through.” 

“I'm not interested.” It was as dismissive as it could be. You had no intention of leaving Jake's side for any longer than you had to. You didn't want to talk to anyone about any of it, they wouldn't understand and you certainly had no desire to explain all your trauma to a complete stranger. “With all due respect, dad, I don't have any intention of returning to active duty, so a therapist signing off on a clearance form that I’m mentally capable of returning to work, isn't needed.” You added the explanation at the end without so much as looking at your dad. You had a sinking feeling in your gut the more you thought about it. The more you were told about the people you had been tasked to take down. To dismantle. 

“Baby girl.” Your dad tried to reason with you as a father and as Commander. “You are a highly skilled weapons system officer, the Navy cannot afford to lose you.” 

“But yet I wasn't good enough to not be labelled as expendable huh?” The room was cold, but your heart was colder now more than ever before. It made sense but at the same time it didn't. Why? Why would the man you looked up to, respected so much–do this to you? 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Did you know that I was sent on this mission? Why I was chosen over Bob and Fanboy, two highly skilled, highly decorated WSO that Jake already worked with and had worked with for years?” Your dad was silent. Of course he knew, he had to have known considering the stakes of the mission. It just hadnt crossed your mind until you were sitting at that dining table with The Commander being told details you weren’t privy to prior to your file being selected. 

“I–” There was nothing your dad could say to change your mind about the situation. He knew, he had betrayed you. 

“I almost died, dad.” You barely spoke above a whisper all the while you kept your eyes on Jake's face. “And you signed off on this mission, knowing that we were going in blind with half a file that contained only basic information.” 

“We knew you were capable.” Your dad was firm with you, like a Commander would be. “I knew you were ready for this, and I knew you were capable of understanding the risks involved—none of us banked on Seresin not knowing how to let go.” So it was true. They all believed the same thing, that if push came to shove Jake would save himself, not his WSO, not his Wingman. No one. 

“You used me as collateral in case it didn't go according to plan!” 

“Darling, you cannot blame me for what happened—I signed off on the mission file, the admirals were given recommendations, your name and file happened to be one of many.” 

“I need you to leave!” You snapped with tears streaming down your cheeks. Now more than ever you wished Jake would just wake up. “I need you to leave and I need you to understand that I don’t have any intention of talking to any therapist or physician or anyone!” It was then you took your hand out of Jakes to pick up one of the empty coffee cups on Jakes bedside table, one of the many you had begun to collect, and threw it at your dad. “Get out!” 

He did. He did what you asked without a fight, knowing the consequences of his actions along with many others would come back to bite him. You and Jake were not letting this slide, not in a million years. 

“Where is it?” You mumbled to yourself as you fumbled around your pockets for your inhaler. You didn’t understand the panic induced asthma yet, but you had been told how to manage it. “Where is it?” When you finally found the little red inhaler in the pocket of your hoodie, you took a single hit of the ventolin and tried to calm down. 

“Miss Y/l/n, are you staying for morning rounds?” One of the doctors who had been looking after Jake asked as he came into the room. Followed by his interns. 

“Yes please—“ You sighed as you got comfortable and reached out for Jake’s hand again. “And for the love of god Doc tell me you’re gonna wake him up soon?” 

All he did was smile in return before looking over to one of his interns. A young female who looked all the more surprised that she was being called upon to present.” 

“Uh this is Lieutenant Jacob Seresin, sustained three gunshot wounds to the middle abdomen that resulted in severe blood loss, major cardiac trauma resulting in a heart attack that left his right aorta damaged.” It was nothing you hadn’t heard before, could probably resight it all yourself by now you’d heard it so many times. “A broken mandible as a result from falling one hundred meters and multiple other injuries ranging from minor to major abrasions, bruises and laceration that all seem to be on the mend.” Hearing it every day didn’t get any easier. Until the last part that put fresh hope in your heart. You hadn’t heard that part before today. 

“Due to be slowly woken from an induced coma as of today.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

“Today could be the day Y/n.” The first twenty four hours after surgery are critical. Every breath you take, every fluid you make, is meticulously recorded and analysed, celebrated or mourned. But what about the next twenty four hours? “You just have to remember that both of you went through hell, his body needs time.” Phoenix had brought your flowers. A kind gesture that put a sparkle in your eye for only a few minutes. You were back at Jake's bedside, curled up under a blanket in your chair with your IV poll still at your side. “You need time.”

“I just really need him to wake up—“ But what happens when that first day turns into two, three and four and then those days turn into weeks and possibly turn into months? “I’m starting to lose my mind—the longer he sleeps the more time I have to convince myself that they won.” You explained to Phoenix who fluttered about Jake's ICU ward room. Tidying up, making sure you had company. “That they broke him, me.” 

“They apparently picked the guy up on the coast of Positano—“ It wasn’t the first time you’d heard it but it still felt so surreal to hear. “And that CIA lady's body was recovered a few days after you were rescued.” You’d never met her, but Jake had. The CIA and the NCIS were working together to get this guy long before you were assigned your mission. “So was Captain Hewens.” Phoenix made sure to remind you. “I don’t think he won Hollywood—if he won I don’t think you’d be sitting here.” 

“He didn’t win.” The goal of any surgery is total recovery. To come out better than you were before. But for you and Jake? There was no certainty that the two of you could ever go back to the people you were before. “Ain’t no way he won.” Jake mumbled as he stirred slightly, his hand gripped yours back for the first time since you were able to visit. “He didn’t win—this is nothing I can’t handle.” 

“Oh my god Jake! You’re awake!?” You cried as you got as close to him as you possibly could. “Hi, hey I’m right here yeah? You’re gonna be okay.” 

“I love you—“ Jake needed to say that. He needed you to know. “You’re okay? I’m not dead am I?” 

“No, no you're not dead Jake.” You couldn’t help but to chuckle with utter relief. “You’ll know we’re dead, remember? when it’s just us, on a farm somewhere in the middle of nowhere, just the two of us.” You whispered as you pushed his hair up and away from his forehead. 

“Count me in for that version of heaven.” He’d barely opened his eyes, but Jake had missed your smile oh so much. He would do anything to see it, like a damn fool head over heels in love, he’d do anything. “So we made it? We’re out?” 

“We’re out, we’re home and we’re safe.” Some patients heal quickly and feel immediate relief. For others, the healing happens gradually and it's not until months or even years later that you realise that you don't hurt anymore. “You saved my life Jake Seresin—you never left me hanging.” 

“I’ll leave you two alone for a little while.” Phoenix politely excused herself to go check in with the nurses station about notifying a doctor that Jake was awake. You appreciated it—because now that he was awake you weren’t leaving his side. 

“Are you okay?” Jake asked as he just tried to focus on breathing. When he was finally able to open his eyes they were in you and never left. “Woah, I kinda forgot what you looked like without the dirt and grim, you’re beautiful.” 

“Apparently I’ve got a pretty serious infection in my lungs that gives me asthma attacks when I get worked up but other than that I think I’m okay.” You explain knowing Jake would honestly want you to tell the truth rather than just say you were okay. “And the last thing my body was focused on was maintaining its cycle so I lost my period.” Jake knew why you were mentioning it. “Guess my body just knew what it had to do and not drop any eggs.” Jake squeezed your hand a little tighter and brought your palm up to his lips. “So no need to abort any insurgent fetuses.”

“How long?” You’d asked Rooster the same question, it ended in a panic attack. But again—if Jake wanted to know from anyone else he would have asked them and not you. “How long were we in there for?” 

“Almost Three Months.” So the challenge after every surgery is to be patient. But if you can make it through the first few weeks and months? If you believe that healing is possible–then you can get your life back.

“Guess we’re gonna be pretty messed up for a while aren’t we?” Jake sighed as he fought back tears, this was hell on earth. His entire body hurt but not nearly as much as his heart ached looking at you with his head full of your screams. “But I’m so glad you’re alive.” 

“I’m really thankful you’re alive too.” But that's a big if. “And I know that isnt gonna be easy, it’s gonna really hurt—and be really hard, we’re gonna have to work at this everyday.” You were trying to keep yourself together for Jake’s sake as you let your hand squeeze against his. “But I want to do that because I want you.” 

“You sure about that hotshot?” Jake breathed in softly as his heart beat steady without any doubt that you were the love of his life. “I’m the one who got you into that mess in the first place.” When you nodded softly as tears fell freely down your cheeks, Jake knew one day he’d ask you to marry him. 

“I want all of you, forever, you and me, everyday.” You added, but then there was the pause Jake was waiting for. He knew it was coming because he was thinking the same damn thing. “But we have to heal first, recover—I think the worst thing we could do for each other would be to go into a relationship when we’re literally being held together by glue and some staples.” 

“Can we recover together? But unofficially?” Jake smiled softly as he reached out to cup your still bruised cheek. “Because I unofficially love you, and unofficially I think that I’m not going anywhere.” You let out a laugh, a laugh so pure it brought Jake back to life. He needed nothing but you, forever. 

“Unofficially that sounds like a pretty good idea.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Tags 🏷️ @americaarse @blindedbythelightt @tayl0rhuynh @athenabarnes @imaginecrushes @whyareallnamesgone @mjmaximoffbarnes @amiets2 @mads-weasley @gabbyella @ephemeralninon @xoxabs88xox @pedrohoe04 @starkleila @je-suis-prest-rachel @clancycucumber230 @maisie-rebloging-blog @callsign-barbell @obiwankenobis-lap @some-lovely-day @paperbag333 @callsign-magnolia @jhiddles03 @hardballoonlove @shanimallina87 @seitmai i @abaker74 @missemrose @starset21 @kmc1989 @phoenix1388 @emma8895eb @tsofo26 @itsmytimetoodream

[catslvrr]

one too many years

kim minji x fem!reader | one shot

Synopsis: Minji comes back into your life after 3 years and asks you to take her on a drive, for old time’s sake. There’s a lot of feelings involved.

Contains: cursing

Playlist

You were fourteen when you first met Minji.

It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. You had seen her around, since you practically shared all the same classes, but never had the chance to interact one-on-one. She was merely a passing thought — that pretty girl who sat in the top ranks alongside you.

It was when the two of you had been paired up for a science project — something about a presentation on the digestive system, that you finally got to know each other. But not necessarily in a good way. You didn’t leave the best first impression after the first conversation.

You weren’t a hardworking person. But you weren’t stupid either. Growing up, you were used to being one of the smartest in the room. Teachers would always praise you for being naturally intelligent and academically gifted. You would do the bare minimum, leaving everything to the last minute, and yet always somehow end up with almost perfect scores.

You grew complacent, cruising through school with no worries in the world. So when you first started working with Minji, and she rambled on about meetups and splitting tasks and deadlines, you couldn’t help but internally scoff.

Minji pulled you out of your thoughts with a tap on the arm. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Huh?” You reflexively closed the MonkeyType tab.

“I asked what parts you wanted to cover,” she narrowed her eyes at you.

“Oh,” you waved dismissively. “Just give me what you don’t wanna do, and I’ll send you the stuff the day before it’s due.”

“What?” Minji scowled. “That’s way too late. I won’t even have time to proofread it and make the presentation pretty.”

“Two days?” You suggested with a half-smile.

She ran her fingers through her hair as she let out a sigh. “Three.”

“Okay, boss!” You grinned, opening up MonkeyType again and aggressively typing away, trying to beat your WPM record. “Done deal.”

Minji stared at you for a few seconds longer before huffing and turning to her laptop, starting her research.

(The two of you passed with flying colors, to no one’s surprise (except Minji’s), and that was when any grudges that Minji held against you flew out the window. Because if there was one thing Minji cared about, it was her grades.)

And that was how the two of you officially forged your friendship — Minji would always force you to be partners for any collaborative projects that came up, and you didn’t have anyone else to partner up with anyway. 

You slumped back in your chair and balanced yourself on its hind legs, looking around the room in boredom. Everyone else seemed to be actually doing their work. Something about researching a famous author.

“Hey,” you bumped Minji’s knee with yours under the table.

She ignored you for a few minutes until she couldn’t stand the constant nudging. She stomped her foot on yours.

“Fuck!”

“What do you want?” She hissed under her breath.

“What’re you doing?” You leaned towards her, obnoxiously peering over her shoulder to scan the document she had opened. It was a bunch of gibberish, to you anyway, but it had a nice color coding system at least.

“Researching Sylvia Plath,” she muttered. “Something that you should also be doing right now.”

“You know I’ll get it done,” you smiled cheekily, casually draping your arm on her chair.

Minji chose not to reply. You watched her type up an analysis of one of Plath’s texts, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your foot.

“…Have you ever tested your words per minute?”

She gave you a side-eye. “What’s that?”

You bit back a smile. You knew how competitive she was. “It’s just a measure of how fast you can type. Think the average is around 80 or something.”

You could practically see her ears perk up at the word ‘average’.

“Is that what you do every lesson?”

“Most of the time. Or I’m playing Octagon.”

“Am I meant to know what Octagon is?”

“I’ll introduce it to you next time.” You shifted Minji’s chair closer to yours and dragged your laptop to her. “Here, try it out. You just have to type the words on the screen for 15 seconds straight. The words are random.”

“Is that it?” She furrowed her eyebrows.

You nodded. “You can type whenever. The timer starts as soon as you type.”

You watched as she began furiously typing, almost poking holes through the keys. Your eyes flitted around the room, checking to see if anyone noticed Minji assaulting her keyboard.

“Damn,” you whistled as the final score showed up. “Not bad.”

“100 and it’s my first time,” Minji proudly beamed and cracked her knuckles. “I’m above average.”

“Alright, relax,” you laughed softly. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself, hotshot.”

“What’s your record?” She eyed you suspiciously.

You tried to hide your smirk as you shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, nothing much. Just a measly 160.”

“What?” Her face dropped. “No way.”

“Yes way,” you nodded smugly. You successfully set the bait, now all you needed to do is reel it in. “There’s actually a website where we can ‘race’ against each other.”

Minji opened a new tab and swiveled her laptop in your direction, a doubtful look on her face. You smiled victoriously as you clicked your way to TypeRacer. Caught her.

The two of you spent the rest of the lesson racing against each other, Minji grumbling every time she lost (which was every round).

It was something else — watching Minji slowly unravel and open up to you. When you were expecting her to start homework early in class, she would ask you to get on TypeRacer instead. The two of you spent time playing other games too: Lavaboy and Watergirl, Tetris, Cool Math Games, and Octagon, of course.

Unfortunately, you still had to do work. There was an unspoken compromise that you could only get her to play games after you had finished the assigned work, so you actually ended up not procrastinating and finishing everything early for once (and in record time, too).

Becoming friends with Minji was easy. Seeing each other every day, you naturally grew closer and talked about everything under the sun. And eventually the two of you became inseparable. The two of you became known to be attached to the hip, never one without the other. You were proud of this, proud to be associated with such a good person, and you hoped Minji felt the same.

(Internally, you were surprised that Minji would choose to continue being friends with you outside of classes. There were better classmates out there. Regardless, you were grateful for the opportunity.)

You grew up together. You were there when she broke down in the bathroom after her speech on climate change because she thought she bombed it (she didn’t). You were there when she discovered the Harvard Reference Generator for the first time (she had written bibliographies by hand before this, which was absolutely mind-boggling to you).

Likewise, she was there when you were panicking at 5am because you hadn’t finished your history research paper on the Indo-China war that was due in two hours. She was there when you accidentally fell asleep in the library and almost missed the next class.

There was no better person to call a best friend. So it wasn’t much of a surprise that falling in love with Minji was even easier. There was no dramatic realization, no lightbulb moment where you suddenly stopped in your tracks and felt the world flip on your head as you thought Fuck, I like Minji.

It was quieter, creeping up on you, as if it was always there. As if it had already been written in fate. You do remember the first time you consciously admitted it though, cementing it in your heart.

Both of you were 15 by then. It was a languid Tuesday afternoon, and you were doodling random shapes as the teacher droned on about erosion and longshore drift. You lazily smiled as you observed Minji — the sharp slope of her nose, the crinkle in between her eyebrows, her tongue slightly poking out as she diligently wrote down notes.

Feeling your gaze on her, Minji turned to you and quirked her eyebrow, nudging you as she wrote ‘What are you staring at?’ on the margin of her notes. You shrugged innocently and looked away with a smile and burning ears.

She’s pretty, you thought. I like her.

Young love — it was naive and innocent. You would do stupid things to get Minji’s attention, like leaving your collar messy or ruffling your hair just so she would fix it. You remember making playlists with her in mind so you could zone out and daydream about her. You cherished these moments. You weren’t one to want, but you wanted Minji.

To you, Minji was the highlight of your high school experience. From sharing Airpods in class and queuing airhorn sounds to watch her jump in her seat when it blasted out of nowhere, to inviting yourself to her Google documents so that you could change the font to be unreadable and the color to a blinding neon pink, to receiving her Airdrops of cute puppy photos, to accidentally downloading viruses from trying to watch anime on illegal streaming websites, to taking Photobooth pictures of each other sleeping. 

And this was enough for you. Habits were hard to break, and your longstanding tendency of procrastinating didn’t appear out of nowhere. It was rooted deeply in the fear of failure — you were so used to being good at everything on your first try, or without having to try at all, that you were scared that if you did try, and failed, people’s perception of you would change.

So procrastination was a way for you to control this fear; it provided a scapegoat, for if you ever failed, you could blame it on a lack of time rather than your own shortcomings.

This fear translated to your feelings for Minji too. You had never liked anyone else before, and you were terrified of failure, the unknown possibilities that came with confessing. You would rather swallow down your feelings and bury them deep within your chest than have to face rejection and lose your best friend.

(And it wasn’t like you thought you had a chance either. She had always been the smarter one, the kinder one, the more responsible one out of the two of you.)

And so you let the feelings fester in silence, all the way up to graduation. It wasn’t easy to hide your feelings, but it wasn’t hard either. You resorted to teasing Minji like you always did, and seeing her happy was enough. She stayed focused on her studies and continued to excel in all her classes. 

Your job was just to be there for her, to be the one to help her relax and find respite from studying.

You were both 18 when you graduated high school. Minji was going away for university, somewhere far away where you couldn’t follow. You weren’t shocked — you always knew Minji was greater than this place. That’s how it always was in your head: she would go on to find success while you stayed behind in the shadows, cheering her on.

You had a plethora of things to thank Minji for. She never let you fall behind. Even if her kicks on your shin left bruises, at least it got you to stop playing Minecraft on your laptop and attempt to be productive.

It was embarrassing to admit that one of your biggest motivations to study and try was to be considered worthy as Minji’s friend. Not that you would admit it to anyone. You made it to graduation, and that’s what mattered.

You never liked saying goodbye to Minji, but you knew she would do well wherever she went. This goodbye wasn’t like the others, where you knew you could go to sleep with the promise that the two of you would meet at the school gates the next day.

It was more definitive.

You let out a long exhale as you leaned against the school gate, waiting for Minji to finish speaking to teachers, friends, and family who were congratulating her.

You watched as students filed out, chatting animatedly and taking photos together. You probably weren’t going to remember any of them. You plopped a lollipop in your mouth. It was strawberry-flavored, just how Minji liked it.

You smiled as you saw Minji coming out.

“Hey, Miss Popular,” you teased. “Done greeting all your fans?”

She rolled her eyes. “Are we going to get ice cream?”

“Yeah,” you pushed yourself off the gate and started walking to your car. “I thought that ceremony was never going to end. Tell me why every speaker kept yapping on and on.”

“Right,” she groaned. “I was trying my hardest not to fall asleep.”

The two of you walked in silence for a while before Minji broke it. “How do you feel?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “The same, I guess. How about you?”

“Scared,” she admitted. “University seems like such a big change.”

“Yeah,” you said. You had been trying not to think about it. “You’ll be leaving in a few weeks, right?”

She bit her lip as she nodded. You both got in the car.

“Have you packed?”

“I’m about halfway done. It’s harder than I thought,” she complained sulkily. “I want to take everything with me.”

“Does everything include me?” You asked cheekily as you started the car, passing Minji your phone to pick a song.

“Absolutely not,” she deadpanned. “You would be the last thing I’d bring.”

“Liar. I’m way better than whoever you’re getting as a roommate.”

“Are we talking about the same person? I’ve literally seen the state of your room… it’s like a landfill in there.”

“No it’s not,” you said defensively. “It may be a little messy, but everything has its own place. It’s organized in its own way.”

“Sure,” she chuckled. “You keep telling yourself that.”

You pulled up to the place. You took a while to parallel park (Minji laughing at you while recording didn’t help), but you got it eventually. It was a quaint little store, and the two of you were regulars. You both got hooked after discovering this place when you got lost trying to find where you parked for a shopping trip.

You smiled when you heard the familiar chiming of the bell as you opened the door, the air-conditioning hitting you in the face. You chucked your lollipop stick in the bin. The store owner, a middle-aged woman from the area, looked up and waved in recognition.

She was sweet, sometimes giving you both an extra scoop or toppings if you showed her good test results (which was all the time). The only issue you had with her was that she kept trying to set Minji up with her son who was almost graduating from university.

“The usual?” She asked, already preparing your cups.

“Yes, please,” Minji answered with a polite smile.

You both sat down after collecting the ice cream with thank you’s and the payment (this one was on you). Minji would always get the cheesecake flavor (which you never understood and adamantly refused to try), while you would settle for the classic chocolate. Sometimes, if you felt adventurous, you would ask for pistachio.

“It’s hard to believe that this might be the last time I eat here for a while,” Minji said.

“I know,” you pouted. “The poor store is gonna lose so much money now that you’re gone.”

You winced as she kicked you under the table. You mentally noted to get your shin x-rayed at some point.

“You're so annoying,” she grunted. “Can’t you be sentimental for once?”

You were sentimental. Especially when it came to Minji. You just weren’t the type to show it. That was one of the differences between the two of you — Minji was straightforward and self-assured, never having trouble voicing her feelings. You, on the other hand, preferred to mask your emotions with humor and deflections, saying a lot without really saying much.

You liked that about Minji. It was definitely jarring when you were first getting to know each other, but you learned to appreciate her bluntness and honesty. It meant you didn’t have to overthink as much.

“I am sentimental!”

“You literally gave me a card that just said ‘HBD’ on it for my birthday. Actually, it wasn’t even a card! It was a post-it note.”

“That is sentimental…”

Minji glared at you.

“Okay,” you huffed, folding your arms. “Maybe it’s not. But it’s the thought that counts.”

“If you’re so thoughtful,” she tilted her head. “You wouldn’t mind helping me clean and pack, right?”

“…Fine.”

You regret not getting a parting gift for Minji when she left. Her departure was bittersweet, like all departures tend to be, with tearful promises to keep in touch. You never ended up confessing, and so you tucked away your feelings in the locked box that held all of your memories with Minji — the one you kept hidden in your closet, filled with birthday letters from her, polaroids, receipts and other miscellaneous collectibles from your time spent together.

The hardest part was watching her cry as she said goodbye, both to her family and friends. She had always been more of the crier between the two of you. You remember her pulling you in for a hug, her arms wrapped tightly around you as her tears stained your hoodie.

“I’ll miss you,” she sniffled. “Keep in touch, okay?”

“I’ll miss you too,” you mumbled, barely audible over the chatter in the crowded airport. “You’ll do great, just like you always do.”

She pulled back with a sad smile. “Thank you, Y/n. I’ll try to come back soon.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

You held back your tears on the drive home, only allowing yourself to cry when you reached the comfort of your bed.

You weren’t one to welcome change. You enjoyed the stability that routine brought. Minji leaving was a change that left a gaping hole nothing could fill. You always preferred solitude, but the loneliness that was gnawing at you because of Minji’s absence was hard to adapt to.

‘Keeping in touch’ never really works out the way you want it to. The first few months were fine, the two of you consistently Facetiming and texting as you both settled into uni life. Then as months went by, texts were less frequent, especially during exam season.

By the time you were both 20, communication was sparse between the two of you. The two of you were never avid texters anyway. You did chat from time to time, making small talk, or talking when there was something to talk about, like birthdays or a memory popping up on Snapchat.

Small talk with her wasn’t really small talk though. You savored every conversation, clinging onto past memories and what she made you feel. 

It wasn’t really the same. Both of you knew this. You never held it against Minji, though. Watching her Instagram stories with her new friends and posts of her adventures brought you happiness. You hoped she was happy too.

But on the melancholic nights when you went out on drives to ease the emptiness, coasting through the sleeping streets with nothing but the moon to guide the way, you felt Minji’s ghost in the passenger seat. And if you tried hard enough, you could almost feel her presence, imagine her soft laughter.

You would always wonder if she was also thinking of you when she lay in bed at night, when she opened up a new document, or when she went and ate ice cream with her friends.

When the ache in your chest was too much to bear, you would roll down the window, find solace in the wind blowing against your face, and turn up the volume of your playlist to drown out your own thoughts. You felt silly for yearning for someone who was miles away now, both literally and metaphorically.

You were 21 when you met Minji again. It was the end of the year, so anyone who left was finding their way back home for the Christmas break. You knew she was coming back, you saw the stories of her packing and the pre-flight pictures.

This was the first time she was coming back — she couldn’t make it the previous three years. You didn’t know why, because you didn’t ask. You didn’t know if you still had a place to ask.

She texted you and asked to hang out. It didn’t really come to fruition until one unsuspecting Friday night. You were playing a parkour map on Minecraft when you received a call notification from her. You almost dropped your phone when you saw it.

“Hello?”

“Y/n, hey.”

You wiped the sweat off your palms. It had been a while since you last heard her voice.

“Did you need something? It’s almost midnight…”

You heard her scoff over the phone. “Don’t act like you go to sleep early.”

“I’m not! It’s just, you know, pretty random for you to call out of nowhere. Especially at this time.”

There was a short pause. You set your phone on your lap as you continued to make your way through the parkour map, distinctly tasting the strawberry flavor of the lollipop more now, for some reason. You knew why.

“Are you seriously playing Minecraft right now?”

You stopped. “…Maybe. How'd you know?”

“I can hear you smashing the space button,” she laughed, sounding almost fond. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

You cleared your throat to fight the embarrassment. “Anyways. What’s up?”

“Oh, right. I know it sounds crazy, but do you wanna go on a drive?”

“Right now?”

“Yeah. For old time’s sake, you know. And I miss you.”

“Um,” you got off your bed and opened your closet. “Sure.”

“You’re driving by the way.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for letting me offer.”

You grabbed a familiar hoodie. It was Minji’s. You remembered Minji stealing your hoodie, and giving one of hers to you as a peace offering. You both agreed that the swapped hoodies were a better fit for each other. You decided to wear another one.

“I’ll pick you up in 15?”

“See you soon!”

“Wow,” Minji said as you pulled up in her driveway. “New car?”

She was still so pretty. You temporarily discarded the lollipop stick in the cup holder before popping your head out of the window. “Get in, loser.”

“I kinda miss your old one,” she clicked her seatbelt in as you started to reverse out.

“You sure about that?” You asked incredulously. “The air conditioning didn’t work half of the time. And the window on your side couldn’t fully roll down.”

Minji shrugged. “Still held a lot of memories.”

You both smiled as you reflected on the many nights spent in the old junk: belting your hearts out on highways, feasting on fast food in empty parking lots, sitting on the hood at lookouts that flaunted the city’s charms. You put on your playlist that you always had on loop whenever you thought about her.

“Speaking of memories,” she continued. “I see you still have this little guy.”

She poked the bobblehead of a monkey wearing sunglasses. It bobbled. She bought it on a whim at one of those quirky souvenir stores because the two of you were both born in the year of the monkey. Little Guy had been here for a while, since your old car. 

“New car felt pretty empty,” you said. “I couldn’t live with the guilt of throwing him out.”

What you didn’t say: I have a bad habit of hoarding anything that reminds me of you.

“That’s good to hear,” she grinned, reaching into her pocket. “Because I bought him a friend!”

You glanced at Minji in amusement while the light was still red. She carefully placed the new bobblehead next to Little Guy. It was another monkey one, slightly taller than the original, and it was posing with a peace sign.

“Where’d you find that?”

“Pure coincidence,” she explained. “I was out shopping with my friends one day and I saw it. I knew I had to get it.”

You tried to focus on the road as thoughts began racing through your head. She still thought about you. That was good to know.

“Thanks.”

You bit your lip as there was another lull in the conversation. There would always be so much to say back then.

“I can't believe it’s been three years,” is what you settled for.

“Yeah,” Minji’s eyes softened. “It has.”

You tightened your grip around the gear stick. “How are things over there?”

“Really good,” she answered. “Besides university. That’s always a pain in the ass, no matter where you are.”

“That’s good to hear,” you said. And you truly meant it.

“I get homesick a lot, though,” she confessed. “I miss the food, my room, everything. You should visit one day.”

“Maybe,” you pursed your lips. “I’m super broke after buying the new car, though.”

“Do you still do the tutoring thing?”

“Yeah. It’s relatively easy and brings the money in.”

“I still can't believe you willingly tutor math.”

“And I still can't believe you don’t tutor. You’re so much smarter than me.”

“That’s not true,” she frowned. “But, I’m glad you bought the new car. So I don’t have to drive.”

You sighed in mock frustration. “Three years and you’re still a passenger princess.”

She only laughed in response. “Enough about me. How have you been?”

“I’ve been good. Just living life.”

Heat washed over you as you felt Minji’s intent gaze on you. There was always something so compelling about her, the fact that she could disarm you easily and make you feel unguarded. 

“Uni sucks,” you continued hesitantly. “I’m still procrastinating. And playing Minecraft during my lectures.”

“I was wrong,” she said with a hint of a smile. “You’ve changed.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “I have?”

She tilted her head slightly, still studying you. “You seem more… withdrawn. And grown-up. Weary, even.”

“I’m the same as I always was,” you said, but you weren’t too sure who you were trying to convince. Maybe spending all this time alone along with the inevitability of growing up did change you.

“I’m still amazing at typing. None of my friends have beat my record yet.”

“Of course you still brag about that,” Minji rolled her eyes.

She turned to face the window again, watching the scenery that rushed past.

“But, my point still stands. You have changed. Since when was I the one to lead the conversation?” She asked playfully, but you knew there was some truth behind it.

Younger you would jump at the opportunity to hang out with Minji and talk her ears off. When the two of you started to grow apart due to the long distance, you subconsciously stopped initiating conversation. You just wanted to quell your feelings and move on as soon as possible. It worked, for the most part, you think. 

Until tonight, that is. Seeing her again after all these years fostered emotions you weren’t sure you wanted to face. You’d never tell Minji any of this, though.

“You’ve changed too,” you said. “You look older. Hag.”

“Rude,” she scoffed and pinched your hand on the gear stick.

“I’m joking,” you continued with a faint tug on your lips. “You carry yourself lighter now. But you still have that maturity about you.”

She leaned back in satisfaction at your response, humming in acknowledgement.

“By the way, did you have a destination in mind?” You blurted out. “Cause I’m just driving mindlessly, if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s fine,” she murmured, her gaze lingering on you. She could always read you like a book. You hoped that these years changed that. She could probably feel the nervousness and awkwardness radiating off you.

You welcomed the silence as you tapped on the steering wheel to the rhythm of the current song, processing what was happening. Minji was here, in the car, with you now. Just like how it used to be. A different car now, though. And a different her. A different you, too. You had missed her so much, but now that she was here, you didn’t know how to feel or what to say.

You took a last-minute turn, deciding to drive on a path that you knew all too well, one you could practically drive with your eyes closed.

(Pass by the park where you would force Minji to push you on the swing. Keep driving straight until you reach that one flickering street lamp, then turn right. Continue driving, cross three roundabouts, then turn left on the fourth, driving onto a rocky road.)

Minji smiled as she recognized the destination.

You parked the car and the both of you hopped out, feet on the gravelly surface. You had walked on this ground so many times now that it was basically ingrained into your feet. The two of you sat on the hood of your car. It was a bit chilly, but the hood was still warm from the engine.

Minji breathed out deeply. “This view never gets old.”

“No,” you murmured in agreement. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Did you still come here?” She turned to look at you. “When I was gone, I mean.”

“Sometimes.”

The two of you continued to take in the view, both lost in your own thoughts.

You always wished you could capture a moment in time, especially the moments with Minji: the light fluttering in your chest, the quiet intimacy you two shared. This moment was no different.

Nostalgia was a deceiving thing. You had dreamt of this moment so many times — meeting Minji again. That it would be like the polaroids you kept at home, give you peace of mind, provide you with some sort of comfort. It was silly of you to think that, too idyllic and quixotic. Maybe it was a good thing that you’re not as optimistic anymore.

You could barely contain your shock when the next words came out of Minji’s mouth.

“I loved you, you know.”

You swallowed down the hope that started to rise in your chest like water. You didn’t want to drown in the feelings you had suppressed long ago.

“I loved you too,” you said warily, slightly confused. “You were my best friend.”

The use of past tense left a bitter taste in your mouth. But you were afraid she had moved on, found new friends and found a home in them.

Minji smiled wryly. “I meant that romantically. As in more than best friends.”

You took in a sharp breath. You wanted to cry. All those years I spent wanting, you thought, and she loved me too.

“You loved me?” You whispered in disbelief, wringing your hands together.

There was an unreadable look on her face. “You say that like it’s hard.”

Isn’t it? You wanted to say. What could you possibly have loved? The tight squeeze on your chest was persistent, uncompromising to your pain.

“I loved you too,” you said quietly. You had always thought confessing would lift the weight off your shoulders, free your heart from the burden of hiding. You never felt more hopeless than in this moment, though. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How could I?” Minji replied as she sagged her shoulders, her voice small. “I was so sure you only saw me as a friend. You were always teasing, so I didn’t know if you were seriously flirting or not. And you’re not the emotional type… I couldn’t tell how you felt about me.”

“I’m sorry,” you exhaled shakily. “You seemed so focused on your grades and your work, I thought I never stood a chance.”

“You don’t need to apologize. We were both stupid,” she shook her head with a chuckle. “I can’t believe teasing was your only way of showing affection. I think tonight’s the first time I’ve heard you say ‘I love you’.”

You never wanted to say it, because you felt guilty that it meant something else to you than it did to her (or you thought it did). You wanted to give your younger self a kick in the shin.

Minji’s eyes were glassy, shining with unhushed tears, and you wanted to reach out to her. Your hands were resting on the hood of the car, only centimeters apart. If you were brave enough, you would inch your finger closer, ever so slightly, to brush against hers.

But you were never courageous.

You felt like you were suddenly 14 again, staring at your laptop screen, staying up late to finish your Sylvia Plath research task, reading an excerpt from The Bell Jar. You had stared at the fig that held the possibility of you being Minji’s for so long, never daring to believe it, and watched it die. And the way your heart plummeted now was the fig dropping at your feet.

You tried to not let the quiver in your voice show. “Do you think things would be different now if one of us confessed back then?”

“Of course it would be,” Minji smiled ruefully. “But there’s no point in thinking about it too much. What’s done is done.”

She was right — what-ifs were a dangerous rabbit hole to find yourself in. You didn’t know which was more paralyzing: the fear of ‘what if Minji rejects me’ from back then, or the regret of ‘what if I had confessed’ now. It’s always so easy to berate yourself for making the wrong choice once you know the outcome.

Then, as an afterthought, she added, “I wonder how the younger versions of us would react to us now. I don't think they'd recognize us."

You laughed softly. “No, they wouldn't."

The two of you spent a few more minutes in silence.

“You’ll be leaving again in a few weeks, right?”

“Yeah,” she checked her phone, hopping off the hood. “We should head back. It’s almost 2am.”

There was so much left unsaid. But if you had learned one thing from tonight, it was that things were different now. This is how things were meant to end. Sometimes, things just don’t work out, and you just have to learn to live with it.

You should’ve realized how stuck you were in the past, your mind refusing to accept the fact that everything has changed. And that everything will continue to change.

There was a certain sense of freedom in the conversation on the way home, like the two of you knew that you wouldn’t get something like this again. You reminisced and laughed about the good old times, and you think that this was enough. This is what you needed. 

Letting go can be a beautiful thing as much as it is painful. And love isn’t something you ever stop doing, or feeling, it’s always present in whatever fig you choose to grab, and it transforms into what it wills. You’ve chosen yours, and Minji’s chosen hers. You’ll always love her, just not how you used to.

“Thanks for the ride,” Minji clumsily pulled you in for a hug (it was a bit cramped because you were both in the car). “Take care of Little Guy and Big Guy.”

There weren’t any promises to keep in touch this time, and that was okay. If you were to ever see each other again, then nature will take its due course.

“Enjoy your time back here, Miss Popular,” you smiled. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

You watched Minji exit the car. There was a fleeting spark of hope as she lingered at the door, but you quickly shut it down. You weren’t the kids you used to be. But maybe in another lifetime, things would end up differently.

Your eyes followed her as she walked to the front door, waving at you before entering the house and closing the door behind her. You waited until you saw her bedroom light turn on through the window.

You started the drive back home and turned up the music, deciding to take the long way.