#you don't have to like any of these ships but you don't need to be such a fucking asshole about it.

[the-ginger-is-loose-again]

I don't do much receiving, but we ship out boxes of biohazards every day, i will say shipments from colleges use the most reused and unconventional packaging, like using puppy blue pads as absobancy material lol

We use 2inch tape, and usually don't do the edge tape, but we are also using cooler and cardboard boxes that come as a set, so they usually don't need such reinforcements.

We do put the labels on the side, but our boxes are tall rather than wide, so the side is the large surface, labels such as "time/temp sensitive" or "animal exempt specimen" go on top so it is right there when you are opening it, and then any hazard stickers like category B or dry ice go on another side.

We usually use FedEx, and one of the levels of priority are "FO - First Overnight" and so we put one of those stickers on all 6 sides of the box so it is much more visible when it is surrounded by other boxes, whether stacked or lined up

We have only had one box with catastrophic damage upon arrival, pretty much the only issues are it getting stuck in the hub due to weather or someone not putting all the samples in. The one that got fucked up looked like it had gotten ran over and just taped back shut completely empty, unfortunately the [redacted] we were shipped were no longer inside, never did find out what happened to them, so maybe someone out there has a souvenir

guy who does unboxing videos but he only talks about the boxes

[geminiwritten]

domestic fantasy ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

summary: your ex is coming back to collect some things he left behind and you accidentally tell him that you have a new boyfriend, so hangman accepts the role of your new (fake) boyfriend

notes: did i spent the last three days writing for 8-10 hours a day? yes... am i going slightly insane? also yes... but guys!!! fake dating!!! i don't know how i vomited this fic up so quick, jake is just so easy for me to write (i think it's because i love him but not in a soul-crushing way like the way i love rooster?) anyway, PLEASE enjoy and please, please let me know what you think!

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, reader is shorter than hangman (just want to mention it), allusions to sex, and it's pretty horny so 18+ ONLY please! let me know if i’ve missed anything!

word count: 10937

“This weekend?” Your voice is unsteady, but you hope the crackling from the poor phone reception is enough to mask it. “I’m not sure if I can do this weekend.” 

Spencer sighs, clearly frustrated by your repeated attempts to keep him away from San Diego. “Look, I know you don’t want to do this—and honestly, neither do I—but it has to be done. I’ll only be in town for a couple of days. I’ll grab some boxes, hire a van, and get them shipped straight to my condo. Don’t you want your spare room back?” 

You gnaw nervously on your bottom lip as you glance out at the open-plan office space, hoping none of your coworkers are listening too closely to your phone conversation. 

You broke up with Spencer six months ago, after dating for nearly four years, and he left in such a rush that almost an entire room of his stuff stayed behind. It isn't anything important—mostly old sports gear and college memorabilia—and it’s not like he’s needed any of it. The breakup hit him hard, and he spent the following four months backpacking around Europe to clear his head. He’s only been back at his condo in Upstate New York for two months, and during that time, he’s been relentlessly bugging you to let him come pick up his things. 

It’s not like you want to hold on to anything that reminds you of him, but you desperately do not want to see him again. You offered a few times to pack up his things and ship them to him, but he flat-out refused. He even called it a violation of privacy now that you’re no longer together. So, about a month ago, you told him you’d find a free weekend for him to come by and collect the rest of his stuff—and you’ve done everything you can to avoid it since. 

“Okay,” you mutter, turning away from the office to face the window overlooking North Island Naval Air Station. “But you can’t stay at the apartment.” 

“What?” Spencer snaps. “Why? It’ll be so much easier. I’ll be in an out in three days, tops.” 

“Three days?” you echo. “Spence, that’s my whole weekend gone.” 

“There’s a lot of stuff,” he argues. “I could bring Harry with me, if-” 

“You are not bringing your brother, Spencer.” You stomp your foot, despite the conversation being over the phone. “Look, if that’s how long it’ll take, then fine. But you are not staying at the apartment. You can’t. My boyfriend just moved in last week.” The last few words slip out before you can stop them. 

Fuck. 

There’s a beat of silence before Spencer speaks again, his voice wavering. “Boyfriend?” 

You tip your head back and take a deep breath. “Yes, boyfriend.” 

Another awkward stretch of silence. 

“Okay... I’ll stay at the motel around the corner,” he says. 

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “Good.” 

“See you Friday, then.” 

“See you Friday.” 

You pull the phone away from your ear and tap the red button, watching Spencer’s caller ID photo flicker out before the screen goes black. With a sigh, your arms drop to your sides, and you lean forward until your forehead rests against the windowpane with a soft, dull thud. 

What the fuck did you just do? 

- 

Gravel crunches beneath your tires as you swerve into the parking lot of The Hard Deck bar. You pull up beside a familiar Ford Bronco, yanking the parking brake just a little too hard before practically stumbling out of the car. Your feet carry you across the lot and through the front door before coming to a stop as you survey the room, searching for the familiar face you came here to find. Across the bar, tucked into the booth closest to the pool table, are your friends. They’re sipping beers and chatting happily, blissfully unaware that an electrical storm of stress and anxiety is headed right for them. 

You weave through the tables and other patrons with determination, your breath coming and going in quick, anxious bursts. Your feet only stop when you reach your friends’ table, and their conversation quickly dies as they each turn to look at you. 

Jake’s brows pinch. “Hey, are you okay?” 

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth and bite down nervously, unsure how to reply. 

Javy, who was sitting next to Jake, stands up and nods toward the bar. “I’m going to grab another drink. Want anything?” 

You nod. “Whatever you’re having.” 

He gives you a cheeky wink before striding off toward the bar. You watch him for a few seconds before turning back to the booth and sliding in beside Jake, leaning into him and letting your head fall on his shoulder. 

Natasha sits across from you, her head tilted and a curious glint in her narrowed eyes. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“Not yet, I haven’t,” you say, before letting out an exasperated sigh. “My ex is coming back this weekend.” 

She rears back and sits up straight, her brows raised. “Coming back to stay?” 

You lift your head from Jake’s shoulder and shake it softly. “Nah. He just wants to pick up everything he left behind.” 

Jake shifts beside you, his arm sliding around your lower back almost possessively—but you know he only means to comfort you. “Including you?” he asks, his tone playful but laced with a hint of uncertainty. 

You snort and turn to face him, a little startled by how close those piercing green eyes are. “Of course not. Or at least, I hope not. I mean, I think I made it pretty damn clear he wasn’t getting me back, even if he was planning to try.” You trail off, turning away, unsure how to bring up the real reason you came here tonight—the question that’s been gnawing at you since your phone conversation with Spencer. 

“Okay,” Nat says, “so, what’s the big deal?” 

You suck in a deep breath, filling your lungs as you gather every shred of dignity you still have left. “I told him he couldn’t stay at the apartment because… my boyfriend just moved in.” 

Natasha’s brows shoot up toward her hairline and her mouth pops open. Amusement dances behind her eyes, but she has the decency to hold it back as you drop your head into your hands and let out a groan. “I fucked up.” 

Beside Natasha, Mickey leans forward. “But you don’t have a boyfriend?” 

You look up at him and scowl. “No shit.” 

“Oh.” He nods slowly, fighting the grin that tugs at his lips. 

“So, what are you going to do?” Reuben pipes up from the other end of the table, looking just as amused as the rest of your friends. 

“Well...” You lean back, pressing your shoulder blades into the vinyl of the booth as you twist your neck to glance at the man beside you. “I was going to ask Jake if he could help me... pretend.” 

Jake’s smirk fades, and a flush creeps into his cheeks. His green eyes widen, the usual cocky confidence replaced by startled confusion. “What? Why me?” 

You shrug, trying to act nonchalant about asking the man you regularly fantasise about to be your fake boyfriend. “It just makes the most sense. I’ve known you the longest.” Your eyes flick toward the other boys at the table. “No offense, but Jake and I just have better chemistry—and Spencer knew it. He was always a little threatened by our friendship.” 

You shift your gaze back to Jake, who’s still looking stunned, his lips parted slightly. 

“Plus, I only broke up with Spencer six months ago. I couldn’t have met someone new and asked them to move in that fast. It has to be someone I already knew.” You widen your eyes and bat your lashes dramatically. “Please, Jake. I’ll do anything.” 

He blinks at you, cheeks still tinged pink. “Define anything,” he says, that cocky smirk slowly starting to return. 

“Whatever you want,” you reply, planting both hands on his thigh closest to you—oblivious to the fact that it makes his dick twitch in his jeans. “You know I’m good for it.” 

Jake coughs into his hand, shifting slightly, trying to hold onto his bravado while making sure your touch doesn’t creep any higher. “Alright,” he says, voice a little rougher than before. “I’ll do it.” 

You raise a brow. “That easy?” 

He lifts a finger. “On one condition.” 

You narrow your eyes, suspicious. “Which is?” 

He leans in, that cocky smirk curling at the edge of his lips. “I want a home-cooked dinner. Every night I’m there. Candles. Music. Maybe a little wine. You know... boyfriend perks.” 

Natasha snorts across the table. “You mean domestic fantasy perks.” 

Jake just shrugs, eyes still locked on yours. “Hey, if I’m going to play house, I want the full experience.” 

You swallow hard, but your mouth moves before your brain catches up. “Deal.” 

He grins wider, and this time you’re pretty sure it’s not just cockiness—it’s anticipation. 

- 

You pace in circles around your kitchen island, one arm tucked under your breasts, holding your opposite elbow as you anxiously gnaw on your thumbnail. Jake is supposed to be here any minute, and the cork in the bottle of nerves rattling around in your stomach just won’t stay put. 

You’ve known Jake for years. You met in college and, despite the distance with his deployments, have been metaphorically inseparable ever since. But physically? That was a little harder, obviously. 

You’ve always had a soft spot for Jake—a bit of a crush, but you were never foolish enough to think anything could come of it. You’ve been perfectly content being his friend, never pushing for more. But every single one of your boyfriends? They hated him. You can’t blame them, really—Jake has that effect on people. That cocky, irresistible charm that makes it impossible for anyone else to ignore him. 

Still, you can’t shake the guilt creeping in. Fooling Spencer into thinking you and Jake are together? After all those times you promised him there was nothing more than friendship between you and Jake? It feels wrong. Even if Spencer never really took your word for it. 

A knock at the door pulls you out of your spiralling thoughts, and you hurry to answer it. Jake is standing on the other side, looking even more irresistible than usual. There’s no uniform today, no flight suit or polished boots. Instead, he's wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, and somehow that makes him look even better. His hair is messy, not gelled like it usually is, and the scruff on his jaw—a day’s worth of stubble—only adds to the allure. He looks... delicious in a way that’s totally different from the polished, put-together fighter pilot you’re used to. 

“Hey, girlfriend,” he says with a smirk, “sorry I’m late.” 

Your brain and mouth have completely short-circuited, leaving you with no choice but to smile, nod, and step aside to let him in. He’s got a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a box of random belongings in his arms—little odds and ends that someone might have lying around their apartment. 

Jake drops the box onto the kitchen counter and turns back to you. “What time is Spencer the Snob getting here?” 

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “In about an hour. Do you think you can manage to be civilized?” 

“Yes,” he replies, his voice sharp as he props his hands on his hips. “Can he be civilised?” 

“Spencer is always civilized.” 

You walk over to the box and start pulling out items, mentally sorting them. But Jake isn’t done. 

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Spencer is not always civilized. He’s just really good at hiding what a complete dick he is.” 

You turn and lean your hip against the countertop, raising one eyebrow. “You only don’t like him because he didn’t like you first. And let’s be honest, that’s because you bought me lingerie for the first birthday that I was with him. He didn’t get the joke and thought it was way too suggestive.” 

Jake snorts, his jade eyes lighting up with mischief. “Yeah, that was a good one. I’ll never forget the look on his face.” 

You resist the urge to laugh and roll your eyes again, turning back to the box. “I’ll admit, Spence is a little snobby. But that’s just how he was raised. It’s not his fault he’s got money.” 

Jake’s expression darkens, and he narrows his eyes at the affectionate nickname. “Spence?” 

“Sorry,” you say, your cheeks flushing pink. “Force of habit.” 

The two of you move quietly around the apartment, slipping into an easy rhythm as you make space for Jake’s things. You tuck two framed photos of his family onto the bookshelf, nestled between your novels, and slide one of his official Navy portraits beside them—one you definitely wouldn’t mind keeping. 

He hangs a jacket and a couple of worn caps on the hooks by the door and drops two pairs of his boots beside your own lineup of shoes. You clear off a bedside table for him to clutter with his things, and listen to the soft clink of bottles as he unpacks his toiletries in the bathroom. 

Finally, you add a towel for him to the rack beside the shower. And for a moment, you let yourself imagine it: the two of you in there together. His hot, slick skin pressed to yours, the steam curling around your tangled limbs. His hands sliding soap across your body, rinsing you slow and thorough. He’d wash your hair too, fingers working into your scalp until your eyes fluttered closed—and then you’d return the favour, watching his mouth part in bliss beneath your touch. 

“Hello?” Jake waves a hand in front of your face. “Anyone home?” 

You blink rapidly and turn to face him, only to find him standing way too close with that maddening smirk tugging at his lips. Your eyes flick up to his, and the look he gives you is downright dangerous—curious, cocky, and just a little bit amused. 

“You good, sweetheart?” he asks, tilting his head. “You’re lookin’ a little hot under the collar.” 

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Instead, you let out a weird half-laugh, half-scoff and sidestep him like he’s radioactive. “I’m fine. It’s just warm in here. Is it warm in here?” 

Jake leans back against the bathroom doorframe, arms crossed and eyes glittering. “Could be. Or maybe you were just thinkin’ about something real steamy.” 

You choke on air. “Excuse me?” 

He shrugs, all faux innocence. “Just sayin’... you’ve got that look. Like your brain wandered somewhere it probably shouldn’t have.” 

You grab a towel—any towel—and smack him in the chest. “Shut up.” 

Jake laughs, catching the towel with one hand like he knew it was coming. “Whatever it was, must’ve been good.” 

When he finally steps aside, you scurry past like lingering too long might scorch your skin. Only once you’ve turned down the hall and reached the kitchen—putting a safe stretch of space between you and him—do you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“Okay,” you say, planting both palms against the cool, marble countertop. “Spencer is going to be here in half an hour, so we have exactly thirty minutes to practice being a couple.” 

Jake smirks like this is nothing—like he’s been in this exact situation a hundred times before. “You tell me what you’re comfortable with, darlin’.” He steps up to the other side of the kitchen island and leans forward, mirroring your posture. 

You tilt your head slightly, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you narrow your eyes at him. “We need to look convincing. No weirdness, no pulling faces. Just... act natural.” 

Jake cocks an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “Natural, huh? So, no kissing? Not even a little peck?” 

You try to focus, but the way he’s leaning across the island—just far enough to make the space between you feel electrified—throws you off. “Uh, no. Nothing like that. We’ll start slow. Hold hands, sit close... you know, the easy stuff.” 

Jake’s grin widens, his gaze flickering down to your lips before locking onto your eyes. “Hold hands, sit close. Got it. But what if I make you want to kiss me? I’m really good at that.” 

You feel the heat spreading through your chest, but you refuse to let him see it. “You think you can make me want to kiss you?” You raise an eyebrow, trying to match his cockiness. 

He leans even further toward you and drops his voice low, the teasing edge still there but with a smouldering intensity you’re having a hard time ignoring. “Oh, sweetheart. I know I can. All I need is the right moment.” 

You can’t help but laugh nervously, your pulse quickening as he stays there, so close you can feel the heat of his presence even if the island bench is still separating you. “Well, we’ve got thirty minutes to see if you can keep your hands to yourself, Seresin,” you tease, but there’s an edge to it now—a hint of challenge. 

Jake leans in a little more, his gaze fixed on you, like he’s seconds away from crossing the line. “Trust me, darlin’. I can keep my hands to myself... but only if you can keep your hands off me.” 

Your chest rises and falls faster than usual, your head spinning slightly from all the extra oxygen surging through your blood. You part your lips, ready to fire back something just as cocky—something to keep the volley going—but the sharp chime of your phone slices through the tension, and both your gazes snap to where it buzzes on the countertop. 

You settle back onto your heels, and reach for your phone, huffing out a small, frustrated sigh before sliding the answer button and pressing it to your ear. “Hey, Spencer.” 

“Hey, how are you?” 

Your eyes slide toward Jake, who is looking almost as frustrated as you feel. “Fine. How far out are you?” 

Spencer chuckles, and something inside of you instinctively recoils, even though the sound itself isn’t particularly offensive. “I’m great, thanks for asking. The flight was fine, a little bumpy, but we made it. I’m just waiting at baggage claim, so I’ll be about twenty minutes.” 

“No worries,” you say, “see you soon.” 

You hang up before he even finishes saying goodbye, drop your phone face-down on the bench, and glance back at Jake. “Alright, let’s go over the details. We started dating three months after Spencer left. You asked me out, and I was a little surprised.” 

Jake frowns, already halfway to an objection, but you cut him off with a raised hand. “Just go with it, okay? It keeps my integrity intact. You have no idea how many times I had to convince him I wasn’t into you.” 

His frown fades fast, replaced by that maddeningly smug smirk. “Go on, then.” 

You roll your eyes, but continue. “I was surprised, but everything just... clicked. Being best friends made the relationship feel natural. That’s why things have moved fast. You were already here most nights, your rent went up, so you moved in two weeks ago.” 

Jake nods like he’s logging it all away. “Okay, but more importantly—how’s the sex?” 

You stare, deadpan. “Seriously?” 

He shrugs, hands raised like a saint. “What? It’s a legitimate question. Spencer might ask.” 

“I highly fucking doubt it.” 

Jake chuckles. “Yeah, fair. Still worth a shot.” 

With a long, theatrical exhale, you walk around the kitchen island and stop in front of him. “Alright, let’s talk touching.” 

His eyes light up, devilish. “Now you’re speaking my language.” 

You ignore him. “I’m ticklish, so don’t touch my ribs or ghost over my arms—I will flinch.” 

“I know.” 

You pause. “Okay…” You shake your head, ignoring the question trying to form. “I’m not huge on PDA, but I like lingering touches. Just small things, to remind each other we’re there.” 

“I know,” he says again, that smirk glued in place. 

The question in your head itches a little louder, but you push it aside. “And if we go out—which I really hope we don’t—make sure you’re always sitting next to me. I hate it when couples sit across from each other. I don’t want to gaze into your eyes, I want to feel your warmth.” 

Jake’s smirk splits into a wide, boyish grin. “I know.” 

The floodgates crack. “How the fuck do you know everything?” 

He leans in just slightly, voice soft but sure. “Because I know you. I’ve watched you with every guy you’ve dated. Just because I wasn’t the guy doesn’t mean I haven’t been paying attention.” 

You blink, reeling from the quiet truth in his tone. It hits you like a gust of wind—real, unshakable. You actually have to take a step back to steady yourself. There’s no teasing in his voice, no smug edge. Just Jake, earnest and open in a way that’s rare. 

And it almost wrecks you. 

Jake might be cocky and insufferable ninety percent of the time—but when he loves, he does it fiercely. Deeply. Fully. And you’ve always known you were lucky to be one of the people he loves. 

But for the first time, you let your mind wander somewhere dangerous. What would it be like to be loved by Jake Seresin—not just as a friend, but as his person? His everything? 

“So,” Jake says, cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter, “where should I touch you first?” 

You close your eyes for a beat, reminding yourself that this is still Jake—insufferable, irritating Jake. “You don’t have to be weird and over the top about it. When he gets here, you can just sit on the couch, then I’ll join you and sit close. You can put a hand on my thigh.” 

Jake’s brows furrow, his face contorting with mild disgust. “I know you’re trying not to make him uncomfortable, but that’s not going to work. Think about it—your ex is coming over, and your current boyfriend is just sitting casually on the couch? Not buying it.” 

You roll your eyes again, hoping to avoid yet another pointless argument. “Jake, this doesn’t need to be-” 

“You told him you’re dating me,” he interrupts, poking his chest with a finger. “And if this was real, I’d be making damn sure I had a hand on you at all times.” 

You raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore how your body reacts to his proximity and his words. Heat floods your chest and settles behind your hipbones, desire tightening in places you don’t want to think about right now. “You don’t need to stake your claim, Jake. Spencer isn’t here to win me back.” 

Jake steps closer, cutting the distance between you until there’s barely two feet separating you. “You don’t know that.” His voice lowers slightly, making the air between you feel thick and electric. “And yes, I do. If you want him to believe we’re dating, then you need to let me do exactly what I would do if this was real.” 

You’re not sure whether he’s just being cocky or trying to show off, but damn it, he’s making a good point. “Okay, fine. But don’t make him uncomfortable.” 

Jake’s smirk widens, taking on that familiar, smug edge. “No promises, darlin’.” 

You spend the next ten minutes pretending to clean—wiping already spotless counters, rearranging throw pillows, and dusting things that definitely don’t need dusting. All while Jake lounges on the couch like this is the easiest job he’s ever had. 

“It’s three days, sweetheart,” he says. “By Sunday, Spencer will be back in his overpriced New York apartment sipping single malt and Googling himself.” 

You snort but say nothing. Three days. Just two dinners and one brunch. You’ll keep the visits restricted to daylight hours, keep Jake close, keep your story straight—and by Sunday afternoon, Spencer will be out of your apartment and out of your life. 

That’s the plan, anyway. 

But as you glance over at Jake—sprawled out, so completely at ease in your space, looking infuriatingly good even in his most relaxed state—you start to question the rest of it. 

Because it’s not Spencer you’re worried about fooling anymore. It’s yourself. And when Jake turns his head and catches you staring, smirking like he knows exactly what you're thinking? 

Yeah. This might be harder than you thought. 

The intercom buzzes, loud and sudden, startling you from your task of rearranging the flowers on the dining table. Your heart launches into your throat, pounding like you’ve just jumped from a plane without a parachute. 

Jake chuckles and rises from the couch, strolling over to the intercom with infuriating confidence. He presses the button and leans in. “Come on up.” 

You force your feet to move, carrying you toward him and not stopping until you’re right beside him. You press yourself against him and the moment your body meets his, heat blooms under your skin. It’s not new—you've touched him before—but it feels different. More charged. More deliberate. Jake’s arm slides around your waist without hesitation, and his fingers curl into your hip, firm and possessive. There’s a subtle squeeze and the pad of his thumb grazes a sliver of skin just beneath the hem of your shirt. 

You feel it everywhere. 

He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “It’s showtime, sweetheart.” 

Your breath stutters. This is just pretend. 

Your heart pounds against your sternum, each beat like the tick of a countdown clock. The elevator dings. Footsteps echo down the hallway. Closer, closer. You draw in a deep breath and hold it, ignoring the sharp ache it sends through your chest. 

“Relax,” Jake murmurs, pulling you tighter against his side as he reaches for the doorknob. 

The second the footsteps stop, he yanks the door open—no chance for a knock. 

“Spence!” Jake beams, like they’re old frat brothers reunited. “Come in, buddy. How are you?” 

You nearly snort. The absurdity of his enthusiasm bubbles up in your throat, but you bite your lip hard enough to keep it down. 

Spencer looks good—but all it does is remind you how little you miss him. His perfectly coiffed blonde hair hasn’t changed one bit, but he’s tanner than you remember—courtesy of the European sun, no doubt. He’s not as tall as Jake, but he’s got that same overinflated ego. The difference? Jake’s cockiness comes from… well, let’s just say it’s probably anatomical. Spencer’s is inherited—passed down with a trust fund and a country club membership. 

He’s dressed exactly as you expected: a sky-blue Ralph Lauren polo, crisp white pants with a crease so sharp it could slice bread, and tan boat shoes—an ironic choice, considering he’s terrified of boats. 

But it’s his face that really seals the moment. Jaw unhinged, eyes wide, staring at Jake like he just opened the door to a ghost. Or maybe something worse: the ghost of his ex-girlfriend’s new sex life. 

“Jake?” Spencer finally says. “Your new boyfriend is Jake Seresin?” 

Jake’s grin is unbothered—like this is the moment he’s been waiting for his whole life. “The one and only.” 

You feel his hand press a little firmer into your waist, anchoring you there like you might suddenly run—and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t tempted. 

Spencer steps further into the apartment, his eyes glued to Jake’s smug face. “I thought you said there was nothing going on between you two.” 

Your stomach twists, but you keep your voice even. “There wasn’t. Not back then.” 

Spencer glances at you. “You told me I was being paranoid. That he was just your friend.” 

Jake chuckles. “I remember you telling me about that.” 

You shoot him a look that’s supposed to say “not helping,” but he just smiles innocently and shrugs. 

Spencer looks seconds away from spontaneously combusting. “I trusted you,” he says, starting to sound like the whiny, private-school rich kid you always tried to ignore. “You promised me nothing would ever happen with him.” 

“Yeah, that was then, and this is now. Things change, Spence—and this has nothing to do with you,” you say, tone sharpening. If he’s going to act like a child, then you're going to treat him like one. 

Jake’s hand slides from your waist to the small of your back, his thumb sweeping in a slow, easy circle like he’s soothing a spark before it ignites. “People change, bud. Timing is everything.” 

Spencer folds his arms, visibly rattled. “So, what—he swooped in the second I left?” 

Jake tilts his head, eyes full of mock offense. “Swooped? Come on. Give me a little credit. She came to me.” 

You snap your head toward him, about to object, but his grin is wicked and the mischief in his eyes dares you to play along. 

“Well...” You drag the word out, buying a few precious seconds to stitch your story together. “Technically, yes. I was upset after the breakup, so of course I turned to my best friend for comfort.” 

Spencer’s blue-grey eyes narrow. “You broke up with me.” 

“That she did, pal.” Jake tries for a sympathetic look, but you know better—he’s enjoying this a little too much. 

“Just because I ended things doesn’t mean it didn’t rattle me,” you shoot back, trying to shift the focus away from Jake. “We were together for four years, Spencer. That’s a long time. I just had the guts to do what you didn’t. So, forgive me if I’m not in the mood to explain myself to you. I don’t owe you anything—and my new relationship? It’s none of your business.” 

You see his expression twist into an offended scowl, and anger flickers in your chest. The nerve of him, acting like you still owe him something just because you pulled the plug first. 

“For the record,” you continue, voice cool and firm, “yeah, I leaned on Jake. And somewhere along the line, I found something a lot deeper.” 

Then, without missing a beat, you glance at Jake—who’s already wearing that cocky smirk—and let one of your own curve across your lips as you look back at Spencer. 

“Actually,” you say, eyes narrowing with satisfaction, “I think it was Jake who found something a little deeper… if you know what I mean.” 

Jake snorts, slapping his hand over his mouth, but he can’t suppress the gleeful chuckle bubbling from his lips. Spencer, on the other hand, looks utterly humbled—his cheeks are bright red and his jaw is hanging open like he’s just been slapped across the face. 

You step away from Jake, waiting for his hand to drop so you can grab it. The second your fingers slide into his, a rush of warmth zips up your arm, and you try to ignore how good it feels, but damn, it’s hard. 

“Get your boxes,” you say to Spencer, keeping your tone cool. “Jake will help you pack some stuff this afternoon, but it’s date night, so you’ve got exactly two hours. You can come back in the morning.” 

Spencer's lip twitches, like he's about to argue, but then he stops himself. He nods curtly and unties the fancy cashmere sweater draped around his shoulders, hanging it carefully on a hook by the door. He hesitates when he notices Jake’s clothes tossed haphazardly alongside yours. After a moment, he huffs, shakes his head, and stomps out of the apartment. 

You fight to suppress a grin as you turn to Jake, but he’s already beaming at you. “You’re amazing, you know that?” 

You pretend to flick your hair off your shoulder with theatrical flair. “Oh, I know.” 

He chuckles. “I can’t believe you just told your ex I’ve got a huge dick.” 

You shrug, one shoulder rising nonchalantly. “You’ve got the ego to match, so I figured I could make an educated guess. Besides, it’s not like Spencer will ever know for sure.” 

His brows shoot up. “Oh, so you were just guessing?” 

Heat floods your cheeks, and suddenly his eyes are too intense to meet. “Well, obviously.” 

He leans in, his hand tightening around yours, voice low and teasing—laced with a challenge that feels dangerously not like a joke. “Want to find out for real?” 

Your breath hitches. Words abandon you. All you can do is stare at his face—too handsome and too tempting. 

“Because I’d go a hell of a lot deeper than that weasel. So deep, you’d be screaming-” 

The intercom buzzer cuts him off, and you’re hit with a wave of relief and frustration all at once. Your pulse is racing, your chest tight, and the thrum of your heartbeat fills your ears. 

Jake chuckles, clearly amused by the timing, and leans back, releasing your hand to press the button on the intercom. He glances over at you, winks, and casually strides toward the lounge, sprawling out like he owns the place. Like he’s some modern-day Adonis—there to wind you up and then claim your couch like it’s his throne. 

You force your limbs to move, opening the door for Spencer and helping him carry in the flattened cardboard boxes tucked under his arms. You lead him to the spare room—where all his abandoned belongings have been gathering dust for the past six months—and leave him to it. 

You don’t have to ask Jake to help. The second you return to the living room, he stands, crosses the space without hesitation, and steps right up to you. His palm finds the back of your head as he pulls you in, pressing a warm, gentle kiss to the top of your hair. 

You know he’s just doing what you asked—pretending to be your boyfriend. But the tenderness of the gesture feels heartbreakingly sincere. It sinks into your skin, fills your chest like warm water, and when he pulls away, he takes the comfort with him. 

Your eyes trail after him as he walks toward the spare room, and you shamelessly ogle his ass on the way out. Then you collapse onto the lounge where he’d just been sitting, curling up in the lingering scent of his cologne. You tug a blanket from the wicker basket beside the couch and wrap it around yourself, clicking on a show you barely register—because all you can think about is the way Jake Seresin touches you. 

This might not have been such a brilliant idea after all. 

- 

Spencer uses up his two hours like he paid for them, waiting until exactly 5:59 PM to dust off his palms on those stupid white pants—as if he hadn’t made Jake do all the heavy lifting—and announce that he “better get going.” 

You give him a tight smile as you hold the door open, already half-relieved just watching him walk out. It's not that pretending to love Jake is hard—you do love him. It’s the reminder that all the lingering touches, the soft smiles, the stolen glances—they’re just an act. That’s what’s draining you. 

The second the door clicks shut, you let out a long, theatrical sigh, like you’ve been holding your breath for the full two hours. “Oh, thank God. I don’t know how I’m going to survive a whole day tomorrow.” 

Jake chuckles, but there’s something tight about it—like he’s forcing it out through gritted teeth. “Am I that hard to love?” he asks, and though his tone is teasing, something flickers behind his eyes that doesn’t feel like a joke. 

Your brows knit. “No, it’s not that. It’s just...” 

He steps closer, invading your space like he’s done all day—and you hate how much you don’t mind it anymore. In fact, you kind of want him to stay right there. 

“What is it?” he murmurs, voice low and rough enough to make your skin prickle. 

You swallow hard, suddenly aware of how close he is, how good he smells, and how charged the air between you feels. “It’s just Spencer, you know? Having him around is... exhausting.” 

Jake’s lip quirks, but his eyes are sharp, studying you. “Oh? So you’re not struggling with this fake relationship thing at all? Not even a little confused? Frustrated? Having trouble remembering it’s not real?” 

You blink, stunned silent. You’re not sure how, but you’re starting to believe Jake Seresin might actually be a mind reader. 

“I-” The words catch in your throat, strangled by the weight of his stare. His piercing green eyes pin you in place, make you forget how to speak, how to breathe. 

Then, just when it feels like you might combust, his smirk cracks into a grin and he takes a step back, letting the tension snap like a rubber band. “Alright then,” he says, clapping his hands together, “what’s for dinner, gorgeous?” 

You inhale like you’ve just broken the surface of the water. Your lungs burn. Your head spins. This man is giving you whiplash. 

It takes almost a full minute to regain control of your body, and when you finally do, you walk straight into the kitchen without giving Jake an answer. You can’t even look at him right now—but he has no trouble looking at you. 

He watches you like he’s starving and you’re the feast. It makes focusing on dinner nearly impossible. 

You busy yourself preparing the meal you planned yesterday—Italian sausage spaghetti with a pull-apart garlic loaf. You don’t usually go all out for dinner, but you’re using Jake’s presence as an excuse to cook something hearty and delicious. Maybe after eating, you’ll both be too full to maintain this unbearable sexual tension. He can crash on the couch, and you’ll curl up in bed. Or maybe you’ll take a long, steamy shower and do what you need to do to unknot the tension pulsing behind your hipbones. 

Dinner comes together quickly, and after a few casual questions from Jake about the food, he drifts back to the couch, half-watching whatever show has been playing in the background for past few hours. You set the dining table just the way he asked—candles, wine, and soft music humming from the speaker on your bookshelf. 

Finally, you place two full bowls of pasta on the table—opposite each other. Because you’re not really dating, so why would you sit beside him? To feel his warmth? Let him rest a hand on your thigh? 

The thought alone sends a shiver down your spine. 

You try to shake it off and glance at Jake—only to find him already watching you. 

You clear your throat. “Lieutenant Jake Seresin, your dinner is served.” 

He grins like a kid in a candy store, pushing off the couch and sniffing the air like a Loony Tunes character. “Damn, I think Phoenix might’ve been right. This is a full-on domestic fantasy.” 

You roll your eyes and duck your head, hoping he doesn’t see the heat rising in your cheeks. “Just sit down and eat, Hangman. I’m tired and hungry.” 

You flick off the kitchen lights, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of the candles. The atmosphere feels far more romantic than you intended. Is this what Jake wanted? 

You don’t give yourself time to overthink it—because the food smells amazing, and there’s a very attractive naval aviator sitting across from you, looking like he was plucked straight from a dream. 

You spend the first few minutes eating in silence, both too busy shovelling pasta into your mouths and tearing into buttery garlic bread to speak. Somehow, Jake even manages to make slurping spaghetti look hot—and you hate when people make noise while they eat. 

“So,” you say, slowing your pace and setting your fork down, “did you want to stay here tonight or head back to your place?” 

He keeps his eyes on his plate, as if avoiding yours will mask whatever he’s really thinking. “Up to you, darlin’. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

“Well, Spencer did seem pretty suspicious about the whole thing… so I think it’s safer if you stay.” 

His head snaps up, and that signature smirk spreads across his lips. “Is that so?” 

“Yeah,” you say, fighting the heat rising to your cheeks, “he might sniff around tomorrow. Like, literally. He might be a creep and notice your towel’s untouched, or that your side of the bed hasn’t been slept in, and-” 

“You want to share the bed?” he asks, looking far too pleased with the idea. 

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “We’ve shared a bed before.” 

“Yeah,” he says, a low chuckle slipping out, “blind drunk.” 

His eyes are too pretty, too intense, and your chest feels tight under their weight. You look away, eyes darting around the table until they land on the wine bottle. 

“Well then,” you say, picking it up and refilling his glass, “drink up, Seresin.” 

Two bottles of wine later, you’re both loose-limbed and laughing—less awkward about the day’s chaos, and a lot less anxious about sharing a bed tonight. 

You giggle at one of Jake’s ridiculous jokes while clearing the table, and when he insists on helping clean up, you swat him away, telling him it’s all part of his domestic fantasy. He rolls his eyes but still hovers, drying dishes and pretending not to notice the way you keep throwing him side-eye glances every time he guesses wrong about where something goes. 

“Do you want to shower?” you ask as you finish wiping down the stovetop. 

His green eyes go wide, that crooked grin slipping across his face like sin itself. “Is this you offering?” 

Your stomach flips, heat crawling up your chest. “I meant—do you want to shower first?” 

“Oh,” he chuckles, almost disappointed. “Yeah, sure. If you don’t mind?” 

“Wouldn’t have asked if I did,” you mutter, turning back toward the lounge. 

You listen to his footsteps fade toward the bathroom, then collapse onto the couch, burying your face in a pillow that smells maddeningly like him. 

What the fuck are you doing? 

Yes, you’ve always had a little crush on Jake, but you’re not delusional. He’s out of your league. You’ve made peace with that. You’ve always been happy just being his friend. So why does all of this feel so good? Why is it getting harder to remember that he doesn’t see you the same way? 

He’s thrown himself into this charade like it’s more than just pretending, and it’s messing with your head. Does he want something more? Something casual? A few nights, maybe? Or... does he want you—the whole messy package? 

The shower starts, and you groan into the pillow. You’re confused. You’re also so fucking horny. Red wine was a terrible idea. 

Ten minutes later, the bathroom door creaks open. “All yours,” Jake calls, his voice smooth and casual as he walks toward the bedroom where he left his duffel bag. 

You drag yourself upright, every step toward the bathroom a battle against the mental slideshow of naked, wet Jake. You shut the door, strip down, and step into the shower, letting the hot water calm your skin and chase away the ache blooming low in your belly. 

You don’t have the guts to do what you really need to make that ache go away—not with Jake just a paper-thin wall away. The thought creeps in, bold and reckless, whispering what if you just called him in here? But then you laugh softly under your breath and shake it off. As if. The idea of Jake rejecting you would be a level of humiliation you’re not prepared to face tonight. Or ever. 

You shut off the water, swipe a towel from the rack, and give yourself a quick dry before wrapping it snugly around your body. The bathroom is thick with steam, your skin flushed and dewy, your pulse still thudding from thoughts you shouldn't be entertaining. 

You open the door to let in some air—only to nearly collide with Jake. 

He’s right there. Shirtless. Grey sweatpants slung low, a towel around his neck, and an annoyingly cocky smirk on his lips. 

“Damn,” he says, leaning one arm against the doorframe, eyes roaming blatantly. “I was coming to see if you drowned, but now I’m thinking maybe I should’ve brought more wine.” 

You try to step back, but he follows, slipping inside like he belongs here. You grip your towel tighter. 

“Jake,” you warn, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing?” 

“Just enjoying the view,” he says casually, his eyes far too warm for comfort. “This your idea of torture? Walk out here looking like a damn dream and expect me to just keep pretending?” 

You’re not sure what’s pretending and what isn’t anymore, and you have no idea what his words mean. Is he just messing with you? He has to be. 

“I didn’t ask you to come in.” 

“And yet,” he says, grinning, “here I am.” 

The heat in the room is stifling—and it's not just the steam. Jake moves in closer, crowding your space, eyes flicking from your lips to your towel and back. His fingers reach up, slow and deliberate, and tug lightly at the edge of the fabric resting on your collarbone. 

“Think this is regulation towel length?” he teases. 

“Do you want me to report you to HR?” you ask, trying not to smile. Your voice wobbles on the last word when his fingers brush across the swell of your breast. 

“Only if HR gives out spankings,” he says with a wink. 

You laugh, then immediately regret it, because the movement loosens the towel just slightly—and his gaze drops. The air between you crackles. 

“Jake,” you murmur, breath hitching. 

He leans in, his lips brushing your temple like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. “Say the word,” he whispers, voice lower than a dare. 

You turn your face toward him, your lips just inches from his—and then: 

BZZZZZZZZZZZT. 

The intercom buzzes loudly from the living room, startling you both. You jump, and Jake curses under his breath. 

“Saved by the buzzer,” you mutter, half annoyed, half relieved. 

He takes a step back, eyes still dark with want, running a hand through his hair. “Or maybe cursed by it.” 

You give him a pointed look. “Shut the door on your way out, Hangman.” 

He backs out slowly, smirking the whole way. “You know I’m not going to forget this, right?” 

You roll your eyes and wait for him to close the door before locking it for good measure. After drying off, you go through your usual skincare and haircare routines, trying not to think about whatever the hell just happened between the two of you. But one glance down the hall as you exit the bathroom makes your heart plummet. 

Spencer is standing by the front door. And Jake—still very much shirtless—is looking smug as hell. 

“Hey, darlin’,” Jake drawls, turning to Spencer with a wink. “We just finished up in the shower, if you know what I mean.” 

You freeze like a deer in headlights, towel clutched to your chest. You feel like a naked model caught mid-pose in front of a life drawing class—except your ex is the one holding the sketchpad, and Jake is… well, Jake. 

“Spencer,” you bite out, “what the fuck are you doing here?” 

“I-I forgot my sweater.” He holds up the creamy cashmere one he’d left by the door, eyes darting anywhere but your body. 

You raise a brow. “And that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” 

He opens his mouth, then shuts it again—clearly trying not to ogle you while very aware of the broad, half-naked man beside him who is allegedly your boyfriend. Jake’s green eyes darken the longer Spencer’s gaze lingers. 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters. “I guess I didn’t think-” 

“Yeah, thinking’s never really been your thing, huh, pal?” Jake cuts in, clapping a firm hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Now if you don’t mind fucking off, I’d like to get back to round two with my very satisfied girlfriend. And just so we’re clear—if you show up before 9AM tomorrow, all you’re gonna hear is her screaming my name in ecstasy.” 

Your body lights up like a struck match. You don’t even look at Spencer as Jake all but escorts him out the door. Your focus is entirely on the shirtless man—the ridiculously hot, dangerously cocky, fake boyfriend who just made you feel completely and utterly claimed. 

You’re not sure if it’s the wine or the caveman behaviour, but suddenly, the idea of crossing that line doesn’t seem so dangerous anymore. In fact, it sounds like the best idea you’ve had in years. 

Jake shuts the door and flicks the deadbolt before turning those dark green eyes on you. “Keep lookin’ at me like that, darlin’, and you’re gonna make my dreams—and Spencer’s nightmares—come true.” 

His dreams? 

Your breath catches in your throat. Then, like a startled chicken, you turn and bolt to your bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you. Your head spins as you scramble to grab the pyjamas stashed under your pillow. Every inch of your skin feels hypersensitive, like Jake’s gaze alone has lit up your nerve endings one by one. 

Once you’re dressed and your face isn’t quite so scarlet red, you head for the bathroom. You hang up your towel—deliberately ignoring the sight of Jake’s hanging next to it—and start brushing your teeth. But the flutter in your stomach is relentless. 

Jake appears a moment later and joins you silently, his eyes finding yours in the mirror. You try to avoid them, but your gaze keeps drifting back, always checking, always wondering. And every time, he’s still watching. 

You rinse and spit, then flee the bathroom before your knees give out. You don’t bother with the rest of your night routine—you need sleep, or space, or maybe a total reset of your entire hormonal system. 

You crawl into bed and flick on the TV perched atop your dresser, the hum of background noise a small comfort. But it does nothing to quiet the static under your skin when Jake steps into the room. 

He flicks off the main light, shuts the door with a soft click, and then sits on the bed beside you. The mattress dips under his weight, and it feels like the whole room tilts with him. 

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just sits beside you in the dim glow of the TV, his body so close you can feel the heat radiating off his bare skin. 

You pretend to be engrossed in whatever’s on the screen, but your heart is thundering, and you can feel his gaze on you like a brand. 

Then his voice, low and rough, slices through the quiet. “You always wear shirts like that to bed, or is this part of the fantasy?” 

You try to scoff, but it comes out a little breathless. “You think everything’s about you.” 

Jake chuckles. “You’re sitting here braless in a tissue-thin shirt, biting your lip like you want me to devour you—and I’m the one with the ego?” 

You turn your head, ready to throw back some snark, but he’s already watching you with that look. That look that makes your insides clench and your breath catch. Like he’s starving. Like you’re the first real meal he’s had in days. 

“Jake…” 

His gaze drops to your lips, and his voice is rough around the edges when he says, “I’m not gonna make it through this night if you keep lookin’ at me like that.” 

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” you whisper, but even you don’t believe that. 

Jake leans closer. “No? Then why’s your chest rising like that? Why are your pupils blown wide? Why is every part of you screaming touch me?” 

You don’t answer. You can’t. 

He shifts toward you slowly, like a predator moving in, until his thigh brushes yours and his hand finds your jaw. His thumb drags lightly along your cheek, then down to your bottom lip, tugging at it just enough to make your breath stutter. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “Just say the word.” 

You stay frozen, heart galloping in your chest. 

“Because if you don’t…” he leans in, voice barely audible now, “…I’m gonna lose every ounce of self-control I have left.” 

Still, you say nothing. Can’t say anything. 

Jake’s eyes search yours for a second longer. Then— 

“Fuck it.” 

He crashes into you like a storm. His mouth slants over yours, hot and possessive and desperate, like he’s finally giving in to something he’s been denying for far too long. His hands cup your face, then slide down, over your neck, your shoulders, gripping your waist like he needs to ground himself. 

You gasp into his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping in to taste you. It’s not gentle. It’s fire and tension and not just one day, but years of pretending finally snapping all at once. 

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging, pulling him closer. He groans against your lips and pushes you back into the mattress just slightly, moving over you, his body caging yours in without touching more than he has to. 

You arch up into him, chasing his heat, his weight. And when his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, resting just above your waistband, your breath catches in your throat. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you—his pupils dark, his lips kiss-bruised. “Still pretending?” he breathes. 

You shake your head, dazed. “Not even a little bit.” 

- 

You wake up warm. Too warm. 

Jake Seresin is sprawled across half your bed, one leg tangled over yours and an arm wrapped around your waist like you’re his personal body pillow. His bare chest is pressed to your back and his breath ghosts hot across your neck with every slow, sleepy exhale. 

You’re painfully aware of two things: one, you’re very, very naked. And two, so is he. 

And then... you remember everything. 

The kissing. The touching. The downright Olympic-level sex. The way he looked at you like you were something he’d been starving for. 

Your body aches in the best way, but your brain is in full meltdown mode. You try to untangle yourself without waking him. Emphasis on try. Because the second you shift, Jake groans and tightens his arm around you. 

“Nuh-uh,” he mumbles, voice still rough with sleep. “You’re not goin’ anywhere.” 

You huff, trying to wriggle free. “I have to pee.” 

“Fine,” he says, releasing you with an exaggerated sigh. “But don’t even think about climbing out the window. You’re mine now.” 

You roll your eyes as you slip out of bed, grabbing the closest shirt—his shirt—and tossing it over your head. It hangs low on your thighs, smelling like him and sex and very bad decisions. 

By the time you return from the bathroom, Jake’s propped up on one elbow, watching you with the same hunger in his eyes as last night “Damn, you look better in my shirt than I do.” 

You scoff and head for your dresser. “Don’t you get tired of hearing yourself talk?” 

“Not when I’m this right.” 

You grab a pair of shorts, but before you can pull them on, Jake is already moving. He slides off the bed, all muscles and tan skin, and corners you against the dresser. 

“You know,” he murmurs, eyes dark and wicked as his fingers slip under the hem of his own shirt you're wearing, “you didn’t officially wake me up yet.” 

Your heart kicks up a notch. “Is that a thing now?” 

“Absolutely.” He leans in, brushing his nose along your jaw. “You gotta wake me up right, darlin’. Or I’m gonna be all cranky.” 

You arch a brow. “Define right.” 

He grins, lips brushing yours. “Tongue. Teeth optional.” 

You laugh into the kiss he gives you—hot, deep, and toe-curling. His hands roam down your back, tugging you flush against him. You can feel he’s already half hard again, the cocky bastard. 

But before things can spiral into round two, your phone buzzes loudly from the nightstand. 

Jake pulls back with a dramatic sigh. “If that’s Spencer again, I swear to God-” 

You smirk. “Jealous?” 

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Jealous? Sweetheart, I just spent the night making you scream my name.” 

You roll your eyes, fighting a smile, and he grins like he just won the damn lottery. 

To Jake’s great disappointment, it is Spencer. He’s on his way over, and the motel he’s staying at is only five minutes away. You both overslept—but can you really be blamed? No way. You were up most of the night tangled together, doing something that definitely didn’t feel pretend. 

“Come on, Romeo,” you say, tossing Jake his shirt. “Get dressed before Tybalt gets here.” 

Jake pauses, one brow arched as he tries not to stare at your naked chest. “Did you just imply that you used to date your cousin?” 

A light laugh bubbles out of you. “Not intentionally, but I’m surprised you know Shakespeare.” 

He grins, smug. “A little knowledge never hurt anyone. Helps win the ladies over, too.” 

He’s joking, you know he is—but the way he says ladies—plural—hits you like punch to the gut. That’s what Jake is: a ladies’ man. It was stupid to think this could be anything more than a bit of fun. Some stress relief between two friends who spent all day teasing each other until they snapped. 

If anyone can do casual sex, it’s Jake Seresin. It doesn’t matter how many pretty words he said last night—you can’t let yourself believe he actually meant them. 

“Hey,” he says gently, catching the shift in your energy. “You okay?” 

You nod a little too quickly, offering a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. Your nose starts to sting, and you blink fast, trying to will the emotion away. Who the hell cries after the best sex of their life? 

You gather your clothes and retreat to the bathroom, needing a buffer between you and Jake’s curious, overly perceptive eyes. You dress quickly, trying not to think about how good his shirt felt against your skin. 

It isn’t long before Spencer buzzes the intercom again, and you’re almost grateful. Jake doesn’t get the chance to press you, to ask about the look on your face that feels like it could crumble into a sob at any second. 

You’ve really fucked up now—because you let yourself believe it might’ve meant something. 

The two men spend the morning in the spare room, exchanging nothing more than grunts and sidelong glances while packing Spencer’s things into boxes. You don’t bother checking on them—you're not sure you can look at Jake right now anyway. So, you remain firmly planted on the couch, stuck in a spiral of your own damning thoughts. 

Around midday, you consider offering them lunch, but then you remember the mischievous glint in Jake’s eyes when he said that “it helps win the ladies over,” and you quickly decide against it. Instead, you grab your keys, tuck your phone into your back pocket, and head toward the door. 

“I’m heading out for a bit. Won’t be long,” you call out, not waiting for a reply before stepping out. 

“Wait,” Jake’s voice calls after you as the door swings shut. But you pretend not to hear. 

You stride toward the elevator, pressing the button more forcefully than necessary, but it doesn’t arrive fast enough. By the time the doors finally slide open, Jake is already in the hallway, his brows furrowed in concern. 

“Hang on a second,” he says, stopping right beside you, raising a hand to hold your jaw gently. 

When you step back, his face falls, confusion and dread flickering across his features. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” you answer, stepping into the elevator. 

But he follows you in, jaw ticking with tension. “Darlin’, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking I broke you.” 

You shake your head. “I’m not broken.” 

“Then what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, hm?” His voice softens, but the underlying concern is still very present. 

You take a deep breath, averting your eyes to the floor of the elevator as you try to carefully assemble your thoughts. You don’t want to hurt him, but you also can’t ignore how wrong everything feels in your gut. 

“I just... I can’t do this, Jake,” you say, your voice almost cracking. 

He looks absolutely gutted, like you’ve just sucker-punched him. 

“I know it shouldn’t be a big deal. Plenty of people do it without any consequences,” you ramble on. “But I think there could be some huge consequences if we keep doing this. There’s just too much on the line. And while the sex was—God, it was mind-blowing—I just don’t think I can handle you doing it with other people while I’m over here trying to... figure out what this is.” 

The hurt on his face quickly morphs into utter confusion. “What the hell are you talking about, sweetheart?” 

“This,” you gesture between the two of you. “Last night. Us having sex and the whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing.” 

Now, he looks genuinely offended. His eyes widen, green irises flashing with disbelief. “You think that’s what this is?” 

Your heart races, the pulse in your throat thrumming. “Isn’t that what you want?” 

Jake lets out a short, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair. He glances briefly at the elevator doors before locking his gaze on you, intense and unyielding. 

“Is that what you think?” he asks, his tone a low warning. 

Suddenly, you feel very small—not in a sad way, but in a vulnerable, exposed way. He steps closer, stalking toward you with predatory intent, and you instinctively back up against the elevator wall. His presence fills the small space, and the hunger in his eyes is unmistakable. 

You swallow thickly and nod. Just a small movement, but it’s enough to make him pounce. He presses his body to yours, trapping you between him and the wall, the metal rail digging into your lower back as he cages you in. 

“I thought I made it pretty fucking clear last night, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice low and almost dangerous. “But if I didn’t, then let me say it now.” 

He pauses, eyes burning into yours as you breathe in each other’s air, hearts racing in sync. 

“I want you. Only you. All of you,” he growls. “I’ve been waiting years to do what I did last night. And now that I’ve had a taste?” He lets out a deep, throaty chuckle. “I’m never letting you go. You’re mine.” 

Your mind goes blank. Your mouth is dry, and your heart’s thundering in your chest as his words hit you like a freight train. 

“Say it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours as he pulls you closer. “Tell me you understand.” 

“I’m yours.” The words fall from your mouth before you can stop them, but they feel right. Like they were meant to be said. 

Jake smirks, a wicked, cocky grin that makes his eyes sparkle with unspoken mischief. “Good.” 

And just like that, his lips crash into yours—urgent, fiery, and full of need. The kiss is wild and untamed, teeth clashing, tongues battling for dominance. His hands drop to the curve of your ass, lifting you effortlessly, forcing your legs around his waist as he presses you harder against the elevator wall. 

Every inch of your skin hums, the heat between you two scorching. You can’t get enough of him, his touch, the rawness of this moment. You claw at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours, and before you can even think, you're already lost in him, all logic and restraint flying out the window. 

But then, right on cue, your personal cockblock arrives. The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Spencer stands there, completely flustered, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Neither of you had pressed a button when you entered, but the look on Jake’s face suggests that it might have been intentional. 

“Sorry, pal,” Jake grins, his lips bruised and swollen. “I just can’t get enough, you know what it’s like.” 

Spencer’s mouth moves, but no words come out. 

Jake casually takes the box from Spencer’s arms. “Let me help you with that. Go grab another one. Let’s get you out of here before you see more than you’re willing to, hm?” 

Spencer nods woodenly, still staring in complete shock. 

You can’t help the giggles that escape you as you slip past Spencer and out of the elevator, back toward your apartment. 

There’s nothing fake about you and Jake anymore—not that there ever really was. And now, you can confidently say that Jake’s ego is as well-proportioned as the monster between his legs. 

END.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

One of the mind-only fics I’ve had rolling around in my head is kinda similar to the Strays AU, but whatever, might as well.

Reader is Akainu’s kid and by some series of misadventures ends up being collected by Whitebeard. Kinda shifts between whether the Reader is a marine like their dad wants them to be, or if they ran away because they don’t like their dad. I typically imagine them as an older teenager, but I guess it doesn’t matter.

Maybe a bit much on detail, but if they ran away, Akainu reports them as missing, either because he won’t publicly admit that his child ran away, or he’s delusional and doesn’t realize how much they hate him, so marines are actively searching for them and when they show up with Whitebeard people think that the pirates kidnapped them, (which may or may not be true, not like the old man wouldn’t).

Breaking Point

Whitebeard Pirates x Teen GN Reader

3.6k words

Summary: An espionage mission gives you the perfect cover to get away from your Admiral father and the life he forced you into. Everything seems to be going according to plan until some pirates corner you.

Warnings: unhealthy parent-child relationship, akainu being akainu, reader being in a terrible mental state, hopelessness, suicide attempt, blood, drugging

I did tweak the prompt a little bit, so I hope you don't mind. I also hope you aren't opposed to darker themes. If it bothers you, I'll write an alternate version of the scene where the reader snaps.

Clothes? Check. First aid kit? Check. Matches and firestarter? Check. Food and water? Check. Hygiene supplies? Check. Emergency shelter? Check. Money? Check.

Looks like you’re all set. Time to head out.

With your backpack slung over your shoulder, you march out of the barracks so you can begin your mission. At least, that’s what everyone thinks you’re doing. You’ll let them keep believing that.

A sharp call of your name brings you to a halt, and you instinctively stand at attention. The empty halls allow for the sound of his footsteps to echo all around you. It’s debatable which is louder. The Admiral’s footsteps, or your own heartbeat. 

Akainu comes to a stop in front of you, glowering down at your form. His piercing eyes scrutinize your appearance. Instead of your usual uniform, you’re in civilian clothing for the mission. Spying in a Marine’s uniform would obviously not go well.

“At ease.” You relax your posture at his command. “I trust that you don’t need any further briefing on your mission?”

“No, sir.” Despite the man in front of you being your biological father, this is the only way you referred to him. Both in and out of work. “I understand the assignment in full.”

“As you should. I expect you to come back with results.”

“I will, sir.”

The Admiral stares at you a moment longer, then nods sharply, “You are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.” With that, you take your leave, stepping down the halls of the base to leave. Just as you’re about to pass the threshold, you hear your name spoken again.

Akainu’s expression is as terse as ever as he stares a hole into you. He then sighs and turns away, “Don’t disappoint me.”

Of course those are his last words to you. Resentment twists inside you like a knife. Fuck this. You can’t wait to never have to see this bastard’s face again. You don’t respond to him, and you know that he doesn’t expect you to.

You march out of the base and toward the docks where a privateer vessel is waiting for you. It was a small, inboard paddlewheeler with an enclosed helm that doubled as a sleeping quarters. A nice ship. Shame you’re going to have to ditch it soon.

“(Y/N)!” There was a call of your name yet again, but this time it didn’t leave you in a worse mood for it. Koby sets down a couple of boxes of provisions on the boat, then leaps onto the docks, “We’ve got her all ready to go!”

A wisp of a smile graces your typically stern features, “Thanks, Koby. I appreciate it.”

“Hey!” Helmeppo jumps from the ship to the docks as well, landing with noticeably less grace than the former, “I- whoa- I helped too, don’t give him all the credit!”

His moody outburst makes you chuckle. Almost no one dared to speak to you in such a way given who your “father” is. You’ll miss these two. “Sorry, sorry. Thank you, Helmeppo. The Marines would be lost without you.” The new recruit beamed with pride, seemingly not picking up on the sarcasm. 

Koby was looking at you with awe. He’d never once tried to hide his admiration for your strength and rank, and he wasn’t about to start now. “It’s amazing that you get to go on a solo mission! I can’t wait until we get to do something like this!”

Helmeppo has a whole body reaction to the statement, recoiling away from his comrade as if the very words would harm him, “Speak for yourself! Did you miss the part about them having to spy on Red Haired Shanks?!”

“I know! Imagine being entrusted to go after an Emperor!” Koby’s eyes had turned to stars as he fantasized about his own missions some day resembling yours. 

“I’d rather imagine literally anything else.” Helmeppo shudders at the thought, “I mean, really? Why are they sending some kid to do this? Shouldn’t an Admiral like your dad be taking on missions of this caliber?”

Hearing Akainu getting referred to in such a cozy term of endearment makes you want to punch Helmeppo in the face, but you refrain. Barely. Hoping that your schooled expression doesn’t bely your true emotions, you answer him curtly, “Because they need to send someone that won’t be instantly identifiable. Do you think there’s a single pirate in the world that wouldn’t recognize an Admiral immediately?”

“I guess that’s true, but it’s still kinda messed up to be sending a kid. There are plenty of no-name Marines that are actually adults. I don’t see why they’re sacrificing you.”

Okay, the twenty questions game was starting to get old. You wanted to get out of here, not linger and explain your mission in excessive detail to a newbie. If you don’t leave soon, you run the risk of Akainu coming over here and asking what the delay is. You shoulder past the two recruits and leap onto the boat, “I’m not a sacrifice. The rank of Commodore wasn’t handed to me, I earned it. I’ve been trained for this for as long as I can remember.”

Koby ducked down to untie your boat with haste, then tossed the rope to you. He’s still starry eyed, and waves excitedly at you as your boat begins to drift away, “Good luck! I can’t wait to hear about everything when you’re back!”

Instead of answering, you just hit him with the good old smile and nod maneuver, then slip inside the cabin. You won’t be back. Never. You’d rather die than ever set foot on a Marine base again.

—

Several weeks have passed since your departure and covert runaway. At this point, they still believe you to be on assignment, and if everything continues as planned, it should be several months until your absence becomes known. Due to the high risk nature of spying on an Emperor, there would be zero communications until you got back. Sengoku wasn’t willing to risk you being found out if the Red Haired Pirates had a black transponder snail on them. Not only would it jeopardize your safety seeing as that you were alone and didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell against an Emperor’s crew, but the discovery would likely make them much harder to tail going forward since they would now know to be wary of this tactic.

Of course, you were nowhere near where that crew had been sighted lurking about. Your end goal was to get out of the Grand Line entirely and start life anew on some remote island where no one would ever think to look for you. Ideally, you would be assumed dead. Killed in action while stalking a predator you had no hopes against. 

If anyone knew you were still alive and just deserted the marines… Well, you’ve seen what Akainu does to people like that, and you aren’t naive enough to think that you’ll get special treatment because you’re his child. If anything, that would incentivize him more to make an example out of you. To prove that he would never go easy on anyone.

All in the name of his precious Absolute Justice. 

Currently, your biggest hurdle was the calm belt. Even if you hadn’t ditched- and burned- your original vessel, it would have done little to help you cross it. Sure, the absence of wind and ocean currents wouldn’t have slowed it down, but its wooden structure never would have stood a chance against the dense population of sea kings lurking in the depths of that part of the sea.

What you needed was something sturdy and fast. A high powered engine in a preferably metal boat that could take a few hits if need be. On top of that, you needed some weapons to assist you in fending off the beasts. As powerful as you were, even you could only do so much against the likes of such a creature.

Despite all of the risks, you feel relatively confident in your plan. All that you need to do is make it at least halfway through. After that, you think you’ll be able to fly the rest of the way out or at least island hop to the North Blue. Of course, you being a zoan devil fruit user came with risks, but hopefully the fear of drowning if your wings grow too tired will motivate you to persevere through exhaustion.

As long as you can pull this off, and do so without calling attention to yourself, you’ll finally have the freedom you’ve yearned after for so long. It’s so close that you can taste it.

“Commodore (Y/N)! Fancy seeing you here.”

W h a t ?

Once hot blood runs cold as ice through your veins. Who the fuck said that? You slowly turn your head to look over your shoulder to see who just recognized you. This could ruin everything. You can’t risk a sighting. You’ll have to kill whoever saw you.

“Whoa! If looks could kill, I don’t think I’d survive that one!” The man laughs and jumps down from the rooftop he’d been perched upon. Oh, fuck. That’s Fire Fist Ace. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

Another person drops down in front of you, prompting you to whip your head back around only to see Marco the Phoenix blocking the other exit to this alleyway. Oh, this couldn’t get any worse! What’s next?! Is fucking Whitebeard himself going to appear, too?!

More Whitebeard Pirates filter into the alley, but Ace and Marco appear to be the only big name members here. Your hands clench into fists at your sides, “What the fuck do you want from me?”

Marco holds up his hands in a placating manner, though it’s anything but. “Nothing much,” he steps closer, “I promise that none of us want to hurt you, but we’re in a bit of a bind.”

“And? How’s that my problem?”

“We need to pick up some medicine for pops, but the only island that has enough of it right now has a Marine base on it. This medicine is really important, we can’t risk it getting destroyed in an attack, so that’s where you come in. In order to guarantee its safety, we’ll let them know that we have an Admiral’s kid in our custody, and that you won’t be released unless we get what we need.” Marco smirks, “Now are you going to make this easy or difficult? Because I can promise you, you’re coming with us whether you like it or not.”

No. No, no, no, no, no, no! This isn’t happening! This can’t be fucking happening! You were so close, and now everything is going to be ruined because of some fucking pirates! Your hands are shaking- no, your whole body is! Your heart is pounding, adrenaline is spiking, your nerves are on fire. No. You aren’t about to give up and let them take you and ruin your life.

“No… you can’t do this to me.” You shake your head and meet Marco’s lax eyes, “I won’t let you!”

In a split second, your arms transform into wings, and you shoot yourself up into the air. Your legs turn next, shifting into clawed talons that you use to send an attack at Fire Fist and the people clustered around him. Everyone but him dives out of the way as the strike slashes through the cobblestones and walls. Ace tanks the hit directly, but all it does is go right through the logia devil fruit user.

“Not bad, but you’re going to need to do better than that to actually hurt me!” Ace erupts into a column of flames and directs it right at you. Just what you wanted. You flap your wings hard, blasting the fire right back at him- but more importantly- the people around him. They all scream as their clothes catch to fire, making Ace immediately panic and focus on them rather than you.

Not wanting to waste a single precious second, you take off, cutting through the air with remarkable speed. That much is to be expected of someone with the Tori Tori no Mi Model: Peregrine Falcon. As one of the fastest animals on the planet, your speed was generally unmatched. Kizaru was the only person that could ever really challenge you in terms of speed. Escaping these pirates should be a breeze.

“You’re pretty good! I wouldn’t expect anything less from an Admiral’s kid!” The voice of Marco comes from above.

You look up just in time to dodge him swooping down to try and grab you. Fuck, he’s fast! It’s time to engage in some real evasive maneuvers. You rip off your backpack and chuck it at him, then shift into your full beast form.

With your body shrunk down to the size of the bird your devil fruit is modeled after, taking the backpack with you would be impossible. You’ll have to come back for it later, or maybe not at all depending on how poorly this goes. 

In your true form, you’re able to take full advantage of the speed the peregrine falcon is known for. Buildings all meld into a blur as you rocket through and around them. A family shrieks as you speed through one open window and out the other, then you’re weaving through lines upon lines of laundry, and next you’re in an open market.

As quickly as you shot off, you stop and slip under a table, the cloth on it easily concealing your presence. Your heart is pounding and you’re panting hard as you wait in silence. The tablecloth doesn’t get ripped off by your pursuer or anyone else, so you’re cautiously optimistic that you succeeded in losing him. Now you just had to figure out how to get out of here without being spotted again. All of those pirates saw what you look like in all of your forms, which was going to be a major problem. The second you leave this sanctuary, you’re going to be at risk.

There isn’t a clear, easy option. You’re just going to have to take a gamble and hope that your beast form will be unassuming enough to not catch their eyes again. You peek under the tablecloth to see if any of the Whitebeard Pirates are lurking nearby. It doesn’t look like any of them are here.

Okay, here goes nothing. You fly out from your hiding spot and high into the air at what should look like a normal speed for a bird. Flying as fast as you can would just draw attention to you. So long as you look like a normal bird at a glance, you should be able to get away unnoticed.

“There you are.”

Before you can even blink, a taloned foot closes around your small form. You squawk in surprise, then immediately shift into a half-bird form to try and break Marco’s hold. Something cold snaps around your wrist, and all of your energy is sapped away in an instant, right along with your powers.

Sea stone cuffs. They came prepared. You fall through the air, but only briefly before Marco catches you. He lands hard on a rooftop, but remains upright and doesn’t drop you. He grins, but his eyes have an odd gleam to them that you don’t recognize, “You’re good. I didn’t think they still made Marines like you anymore.” Why is he complimenting you? Weird.

You start to struggle in his hold, but he’s faster than you and locks the other cuff around your free hand. Now you’re completely at their mercy. This is awful. This is a worst case scenario.

“Now then, let’s get you back to the ship.”

—

The journey from the small seaside town to the Whitebeards’ ship was lost on you. You weren’t processing any of it. As soon as reality sank in, you went completely numb. Every word said by the pirates around you bounced right off you.

They were going to know. You’re nowhere near where Shanks and his crew are. They’re going to know you deserted. He’s going to know you deserted. It’s over. Your life is over. These pirates signed your death certificate as soon as they locked those cuffs on you.

Distantly, you glance at your surroundings. You’re chained to a cot in what looks to be the ship’s infirmary. Only one of your hands is cuffed, the other is free again. They aren’t concerned about a devil fruit user being dangerous while sea stone cuffs are eating away at your strength. What a disaster. Years of training, and this is how it ends.

Fingers snap in front of your face, and you look up sluggishly at the person disturbing you. Twin Blade Thatch is at your bedside, looking… confused? Sad? This is another expression that you don’t recognize.

He smiles slightly, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, “You okay there, kid?” When you don’t answer, he looks over his shoulder, “Did you give them something?”

“No,” the voice belongs to Marco. “They’ve been out of it since we caught them. They’re… really upset about getting captured, it seems.”

Thatch lightly claps you on the shoulder, “Don’t beat yourself up about it, kid. It’s not like you got caught by a weak crew. There are plenty of Marines well above your rank that wouldn’t have won this fight either.”

“Yeah, you actually gave us some real trouble there at the start.” Ace was in here too, apparently. “Not many people are able to use my own powers against me, that was pretty smart.”

“Before I forget to ask, do you have any allergies? I don’t want to accidentally kill you with my cooking.” Thatch stares at you expectantly, but his smile fades as you neglect to answer his question. “Is that a… no? Come on, I’m just trying to help you out here, you don’t need to be so guarded. I can even make you your favorite meal to make up for the situation we put you in.”

“It doesn’t matter…” Nothing does.

“Don’t say that. We’ve gotta feed you, kid.” That weird expression is on his face again. You wish he’d stop making it. “It won’t take long to get the medicine we need. You’ll be back with your old man before you know it.”

No! “I won’t go back!” Hot tears start to drip down your face, then pour as the last thread of sanity within you snaps, “I’m not going back! You can’t make me go back there! I won’t let you!”

Ace is standing close enough that you’re able to lunge at him and rip the dagger from his belt with your free hand. He tries to snatch it back, but your frantic state gives you the speed you usually only have with your devil fruit’s help. You aren’t going back, you’ll make sure of it! Marco might be able to heal, but he isn’t a necromancer. Even he won’t be able to do anything about a corpse. Dying by your own hands will be better than being burnt alive by the magma Akainu will use on you.

You raise the knife high, then plunge it down at your stomach. Blood splatters all over your torso… but you don’t feel any pain. You blink once, then twice. Your eyes finally focus on the sight in front of you. The knife is stabbed into a hand. It then closes around the hilt and snatches the weapon from your hands. Ace lets out a string of curses as he rips his own dagger from his hand.

All you can do is stare at him. W… What? Why did he do that? That shouldn’t have hurt him. Why would a logia devil fruit user let themselves get hurt like that?

Nurses rush toward him, but also you. All of your limbs are pinned down by them. Not that there was any need. The fight had left your body as your mind grew hazy again. You didn’t get it. You couldn’t comprehend what just happened or why.

A prick to your neck snaps you out of it. Your head was being held down, but your eyes flit to the side and see that Marco had a needle pressed into your neck and was injecting you with something. In an instant, a warmth spreads through you, and your body goes completely slack.

Marco heaves a sigh and sets the syringe aside. His hand gently strokes your hair for reasons you couldn’t understand. He speaks softly, “There we go, just calm down. You don’t have to go back if you don’t want to. It’s okay.”

On the other side of the room, Nurses are fretting over Ace’s wound. One even goes so far as to scold him, “What were you thinking? You have logia powers! Why would you let yourself get hurt like this?” Even in your sluggish state, your ears perk at the interrogation. You wanted to know this, too.

Ace looked almost offended by the question. “What do you mean “why”? If I’d let that go through me, it would have gone through them instead. Better my hand, than their guts.”

His answer did nothing but spawn more questions. What did he mean by that? Why would it be better for him to get hurt than for you to die? Your life was of no real significance to him. All that you were was a bargaining chip, and you didn’t even need to be alive for that. They just had to make the Marines believe that you were.

None of this makes sense. What is wrong with these people? You’re an enemy. Your death should be celebrated, not prevented. You don’t get it, and your mind growing more and more foggy by the second isn’t helping.

Your eyes are so heavy. Sleep… Sleep sounds good. Just for a little bit. You’ll figure this out after. It’s not like you’re going anywhere.

[raudart]

wrote something to go with this!

The incessant pings were going to drive Knock Out up the wall if he didn't do something about them. It was the middle of the night cycle, and he had just received the twentieth ping in a row from Starscream with zero explanation. They were being sent rapid fire through his comm link like the blaring of an emergency alarm. It was only once he sent a demanding ping of his own that any response was given. 

SS: Come quickly. Something is wrong.

That had him more than a little on edge. Ever since the discovery that Starscream was somehow still online without a drop of energon in his lines, anything related to his frame and its subsequent changes was unknown territory. He needed to check on him. At this rate, the seeker could be growing an extra helm and the medic wouldn't be surprised.

He walked at a brisk pace, moving as quickly as he could without causing a stir. It was very late, and the last thing he wanted was to alert the other occupants of the ship to the anomaly in their midst. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them… Hopefully.

Starscream was probably just overreacting, he assured himself, doing his best to settle his nerves. Even still, he sped up his pace as another round of pinging started up on his HUD.

He entered the override code onto the keypad outside the seeker’s quarters, and the doors parted with a smooth hiss. Peering inside the dark space, he spotted those familiar violet optics and the soft glow of biolights in the far corner beside the berth, tucked partially behind it. 

“What's going on? What’s with all the pinging?” he asked, stepping into the room with extreme caution. He let the doors slide halfway closed behind him, but no further.

The seeker was curled up on the floor, knees pulled close to his chest. Both servos were pressed to the lower half of his faceplate. He was jittery, optics blown wide with panic. “I-I don't know. I woke up feeling strange, and then my internals shifted, all of a sudden.”

“Shifted how?” the medic questioned, “Like a transformation sequence?”

“Yes, something like that. But that's not all…”

Knock Out reached over and flipped on the light switch. The room was illuminated in bright white, revealing the berth sheets tangled on the floor and the seeker huddled in the corner.

“Agh, Primus! My optics!” Starscream hissed out dramatically, shutting his optics and curling further in on himself. “Turn them off!” he shrieked. 

He was growing tired of these theatrics. “Well, how else am I supposed to see what's wrong with you?!” he argued.

“You can still scan me in the dark, can't you?!” the seeker countered.

“Okay, fine then.” The lights were turned back off, and a mischievous smile spread across his faceplate. “We’ll do this my way.” 

Having barely relaxed back into the darkness and uncovered his optics, Starscream was once again assaulted by blinding lights, this time in the form of the medic’s high beams switching on. “Ah! Frag you!” he screeched. 

“Not all of us have infrared vision, Screamer,” the medic chastised, only now daring to approach the incapacitated jet. He took a knee before him, preparing his scanners to examine the seeker’s internals. “Now, what seems to be the problem?”

Without uncovering his optics, the sparkeater raised his helm. He slid his servo up to expose the lower half of his faceplate. Without warning, his mandible split open and a fanged, pharyngeal jaw shot out of his mouth to snap at the medic, just barely missing his outstretched servo. 

“Oh, sweet Primus!” 

get beamed on idiot!!!

[revelboo]

This is a sandbox storyline- basically a story starter anyone can play off of. No set Transformers universe here so any partner or partners goes- you want to romance BW Wapinator, IDW Megatron, and TFP Ratchet? Go for it. The premise? Cybertronians trying to find a human who's a compatible match to their sparks and biofields (bit different than my normal stuff, where here, a match needs to be made to be able to bond). Due to how severely endangered their species is, the factions are cooperating even if there still is palpable tension. The agreement is to lure potential matches onto a massive cruise ship where they can interact as their holomatter avatars with their real forms stashed in the hold. Flirting, chatting up, and romancing humans they're drawn to with the intent to reveal their true forms when the cruise stops at its first and only port of call. An isolated island.

If you want to play: no minors in any context, smut is fine, dub-con/forced seduction is okay, but anything beyond that is a nope. Pick whatever characters you want from any TF continuity and carry on the storyline. You can do next/previous like I do and reference this starter if you want, but you don't have to. It's free real estate since it's a very old fic I haven't touched in forever and it probably wasn't getting touched again ever otherwise, so have fun.

Cruise ship concept inspired by Swim Away by themaskismyface on Ao3

Cybertronian Cruiselines

Squinting up at the massive ship as the sun bakes you, people move around you up the walkway alone or in small groups. And some of your doubts ease a bit seeing the ship up close, because you'd honestly assumed it was a scam of some sort. The brochure that had come with your ticket had indicated it was a fantasy cruise. That you could roleplay and romance crew members as funny as it sounds.

Rounding a corner, you run into a queue of people and the cause? The two tallest men you've ever seen. One's mostly silver hair is swept back from an almost sinister, scarred face and red eyes that have to be contacts sweep over the crowd. The other one's hair so dark a black it almost looks blue in the sunlight, his eyes startlingly bright. Yeah. You absolutely understand the backlog now. Everyone gawking at the eye candy on display. That one with the contacts, his eyes almost glow with a feral light, lips twisting in annoyance. And that duster he's wearing looks too hot for the heat, his shirt halfway unbuttoned to show an expanse of tawny skin and tucked into tight fitting jeans. His buddy's shirt stretched tight over a broad chest as he smiles and reaches to hook a finger against his tie, tugging slightly.

"Welcome to the Iacon. I'm Optimus and this is my co-captain Megatron," blue eyes says, his deep voice easily carrying over the whispers. "Please get settled so we can set sail without delay." And he's sweeping an arm to get people moving in the right direction.

Glancing at the two hunks, you follow the crowd, pulling your luggage with you. If the entire crew is that lovely? You're going to have some fun. The ramp enters into an expansive main area, and your neck cranes to try and figure out how many levels there are above you. Never seen a ship this big before. Everything gleaming gold, cream, and glass. Looking far too bourgeoise for you to set foot in or touch. And it looks like the entire cruise line crew is right here, mingling and drifting among the guests. Men and women both and there doesn't seem to be any real dress code going on that you can tell. The only way to tell the crew from the guests is the lack of luggage and the little pins they're wearing. Little colored badges that look like funny faces. And there's multiple versions it looks like. Showing what their duty is, maybe?

"I can't believe that the future of our race lies with these pathetic creatures," Megatron growls, watching the humans wander up the ramp to the ship, fingers flexing in irritation at this indignancy.

Shooting him a censoring look, Optimus watches the humans go. "The strong should protect the weak. Though, these forms do take some getting used to." Rolling his shoulders, he rubs his fingers together, playing with the sensory net and the sensations that feel as real as if it was his own servos touching.

"It's a miracle humans have survived as long as they have," Megatron mutters. No claws, no fangs. Disturbingly squishy and weak, and still very determined to murder each other from what he can tell. Shuddering slightly, he growls as more of them head their way. To come gawk at him. But after centuries of failed attempts to create a hybrid or artificial spark? Their numbers are dwindling. This is the last, best option and he despises it. And as carefully as they selected humans to invite, he can't deny the dread that maybe it won't work. That the medics and scientists got it wrong and this is all a waste of time. That Cybertronians can't be saved. Head turning, he sees Autobot and Decepticon avatars crowding the railing, leaning to watch the humans that might be their salvation with open curiosity.

Annoyed when he sees several head into the ship to greet the humans. And to get close enough to see if any of them trigger reactions to their biofields. Oblivious little organics smiling and gawking at them as they're fussed over on the pretense of getting closer. Because that's the game here. A fantasy cruise where the crew, his people, cater to the human guests' whims, trying to find a compatible partner. It's horrifying that they've sunk this low.

[demonic0angel]

Would the in-laws get along? Like the bats and the phantoms seem to get along but what about the supers? Cuz I don't see any of the fentons getting along with Clark. (I happen to think that Danny just glares at Clark every time he sees him.)

This lowkey became a rant, but I feel like I have to talk about it. People dog on Clark wayyyy too much about this.

A lot of the negative and almost abusive parts of their relationship was changed in the new comics (I think Rebirth 52 but idk for sure).

In the original comics, Clark was more like a neglectful father who had no idea what to do about Kon, BUT was willing to care for him when needed. In the original comics, Kon was also created after Clark's death by a company, so it wasn't like he was even there for Kon's "birth".

Also, how violating do you think Clark feels that his DNA is being stolen and experimented on? That he's one of the last of his kind and people are constantly trying to recreate him to use his powers against others? It's not surprising that Clark could be incredibly resentful about it. However, in the original comics, Clark was never a bad person.

In Rebirth (I think), they changed Kon's backstory to be one where Lex Luthor created Kon and that Clark hated him, naming him "Kon-el" for "abomination in the House of el". It's a tad strange due to the fact that Kon was SO happy when he first got his name, even crying and cheering, but while it doesn't make sense for the name meaning, it DOES make sense that Clark could have negative feelings for Kon (even if the writers have a very strange and nasty habit of making Clark dark and edgy for some goddamn reason).

So, in essence, no, I think they get along fine.

I feel like Danny would, in a way, understand why Clark feels like this. It's terrifying to imagine that someone has your DNA and is messing around with it. Clark has every right to feel the way he does, bc Kon isn't his kid. Danny is an example of someone who could love his clone, but he is LITERALLY a rarity bc this trope has been done a thousand times.

The only person I can see being mad at Clark is Dani, but only bc Dani is a clone as well and I feel like she could sympathize with Kon's feelings of being neglected and ignored. (Not to mention that I ship them together, so that could also be Dani being protective over her bf.) Jazz would probably understand both sides (but be more willing to protect Kon), while Dan dgaf and would kill himself without asking (cough cough Danny lmao) so his opinion doesn't count XD

You can look at this ask to kinda get how I'm feeling if you'd rather see it in a short story lmao.

[with-my-murder-flute]

Oh yes, definitely. I also have Kiwi history thoughts that might be nothing, or might have merit.

It sounds like they were shooting kind of at random, hoping to find a habitable planet somewhere, which like, lol good luck. You need as much as you can get.

I'm Canadian and have basically no cultural fluency in Māori history and mythology. It's one of many rabbit holes I have had to restrain myself from leaping down because my time and energy are pretty limited. I think a more informed analysis from a Māori perspective might be useful and illuminating on this topic, but I am 1000% not the person able to present it. Here I'm trying to keep to the subjects I feel like I have a passable understanding of. I don't want to be disrespectful; if I am, I apologize and am open to correction.

I'm looking at this from a certain angle mostly because I learned how to sail when I was a kid and am curious about the history of maritime navigation and ocean currents. So I don't know if I'm seeing something that's not there, but I feel like there are interesting parallels with how wind-powered ships have to travel in the ocean around Aotearoa/New Zealand.

Ocean currents are huge shapers of wind patterns, and it's much easier to sail with the wind than against it. So ocean currents are kind of like the subway map of a city. Point A and Point B might be very close together physically, but if they're accessed through completely different train lines and you need to go half an hour out to switch trains before coming half an hour back, that could be an untenably large trip.

(It's so much easier to walk, but in this metaphor, "walking" requires a ship that can propel itself and travel in any direction with little concern for what the wind or currents are doing, and those weren't invented until the 19th century. Or like, galleys and other oared vessels existed, but they were not good matches for this kind of long voyage on the open ocean.)

And basically... NZ is the last big stop on the line before you reach the cold ferocious circumpolar vortex that surrounds Antarctica. To get there, you have to go aalllllll the way out from little island to little island, until you're 4,000 km northwest, and then turn to follow this absolute asshole of a current for four thousand kilometres before you find this place.

(map 2 source)

Then: What's that? You want to leave? You say you're "only 1,000 kilometres from Australia" and "You got here from Tahiti and you want to go back" and "it shouldn't be that hard"? HAVE FUN IN ANTARCTICA, BITCH.

At least, that's what I'm seeing from the data on the currents and reconstructed migration patterns. From what I can tell, it's extremely likely Polynesians made it to South America, but... probably not from New Zealand. There are extremely few signs of humans successfully making it much further south than that.

So, like... that long shot mission, that jump into the void, carrying what you need with you because there's a definite risk that once you leave you're on your own and gone for good, that feeling of being stuck on your own piece of dirt wondering if you'll ever get back to anywhere else in the universe, the sudden ability to travel across impossible distances because you can sail against the wind and keep food fresh for years at a time... I keep looking at the two pictures and finding similarities.

It compels me. What can I say? It compels me.

TLT theory: Aim, Jod, and the second part of the message

My brain is fevered. I feel like I've constructed an elaborate Pepe Silvia corkboard in my mind, and it feels like it makes sense of everything, but I honestly have no clue if that certainty will last very long.

I think I know what the Messenger is carrying. I think I know why John has waited ten thousand years.

Spooky preview quote from HtN chapter 2:

I mastered Death, Harrowhark; I wish I’d done the smarter thing and mastered Time.

Spoilers for Gideon, Harrow, and Nona the Ninth.

BoE's chronology has always been kind of weird to me: Five thousand years after the Resurrection happens, they pop up with intense and detailed knowledge of the 21st century! Jod destroys languages and cultures and societies, but BoE keeps popping up! How.

Originally I thought the continuous thread over the years was a Lyctor who helped them (and the necromantic implant does seem to point that way) but I also think part of it is that the ships that escaped just before Earth's devastation have been showing up one by one, over a huge span of time. That's why Wake says "My long-dead natal sun" and can quote Eminem at length; she spent ten thousand years suspended in time, before re-entering it.

NtN, John 19:18:

They said they’d managed to find some poor dipshit geek who’d fixed the FTL problem of getting locked in the chrono well, you know, moving so fast you were stuck doing quantum wheelies. They’d come up with something where you could oscillate out so long as the ship was attuned to a prearranged spectrum outside. I still don’t understand the maths. It’s going to take me ten thousand years to understand it. I couldn’t follow, but A— could. He said immediately, What is the point if you still have no fucking clue where your ship is going to end up when you shake out of FTL. They said, Aha, but we can track it once it’s out. A— said, It could be halfway across the universe or phasing through a planet. They kept arguing that probably wouldn’t happen [...] They said it was expensive, so twelve ships would go first, with one guiding them out with the beacon frequencies like a tugboat leading a cruise liner, triangulate for Tau Ceti, dump the population, and come back.

I think that AIM's message is the beacon that will call the last of the FTL fleet out of the chrono well. They are "we", they are the first of two parts, because their identity is the person they were before coming the Messenger, and the ships that still haven't oscillated back into three-dimensional space yet, because they are under AIM's personal guardianship/intimately tied to possession of her body.

NtN, John 5:4

I think the only reason I haven’t done it already is that I can’t bear the idea that I wouldn’t be able to touch them—that they’d still be out there …

I think Jod has been at this for so long because he is waiting for an event that could literally take an infinite amount of time to occur. He hasn't killed the entire colonized population yet because he wants something out of them, and it doesn't seem to be labour or devotion or even thanergy.

I think he's looking for the fleet's beacon, in a way that's like lighting a grassfire to flush animals out of hiding and deprive them of shelter. I think he's constantly killing planets and relocating and resettling populations before funnelling them together again, like a distillery trying to heat and separate different liquids as they move from flask to flask, because he wants to finally decant the key to the last ships that escaped him.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can you do a part 2 of your Devil May cry white rabbit with the reasonable demon hunter? (The first one got me really shipping them!) Or maybe another idea of a good demon hunter who’s secretly really rich. Like a political or royal family. They actually have property in the country side and some of the demons they save live there away from everyone. The white rabbit finds out about a rumor of a “sanctuary”.

i'm going to combined the two becuase why not, and its easier.

it had been a while since you and rabbit had been aware of one another, exchanging pleasentries with one another whenever you so happened to be within the same area, which had gone from short sentences to somewhat flirty compliments.

however there was something that you had kept hidden from even him, the fact that you had come from a well off family, a family that had unfortunetly passed on and had left everything to you in their will.

this included a massive house within the countryside, far away from the conflict and far off the gride for DARKCOM to bother looking into. it had enough rooms big enough to accomidate several familes that it felt too lonely for you to have all to yourself.

so while you trained to be a demon hunter, you vowed to make good use of the house and made it into a safe haven for demons who only wanted peace, a place to raise their own without fear, and you made good on that promise by using your contacts to others who were more then willing to help demons pass through to the countryside house safetly.

the idea was still very much new, but it had seemed to work a treat for you as whenever you went to the house, you were greeted by familes of demons who were happy to be away from conflict and appreciating the large open backyard, one that had blossom trees and weeping willows amongst blooming bushes of wildflowers that gave the air a sweet, welcoming smell.

you waved off their thanks and said. 'i only want to help, and i'm thankful for having the resources to do that and exacute it, so please the last thing i want is to be thanked. besides this hosue deserves life within it's walls then one lonely one.' before leaving them to continue your work in helping demons journey to what was now called the safe haven.

but soon enough word began to spread within the realm of demons of the safe haven, and soon it had caught rabbit's ears as they eaglerly talked about a place where demons could live without DARKCOM breathing down their necks.

so naturally rabbit went to the only person whom he knew could offer some light in this situation: you.

'hello handsome,' you said as you caught sight of the well dressed gentleman, 'what brings you here?'

rabbit smiles, taking a sip from the tea he had made for you both as you now sat across the table from one another. 'i've heard rumours of a saccred house within the countryside, a safe haven for demons away from DARKCOM and any other hostile demons, heard anything about it?'

you sighed as you put down your teacup, smiling softly, 'and what if i have?'

'i merely wish to know if such a thing exists, i don't want to give my people hope in a fairytale should it not be true.' rabbit says as he reaches out to hold your hand, strocking the back of it as you squeezed it reasuringly.

'well you're in luck my handsome man because the safe haven, the house that has been the talk of all demons? it's real and i've seen it.' you leaned forward, smiling wider as you looked into his eyes as they widened ever so slightly, his breath hitching in his throat.

'you have?' you hummed. 'where? when? how?' he asks, finding himself needing even more confirmation from you, never having felt this much hope in his enitre life as he realised that he would blindingly trust your words: a recent discovery that had him a little taken aback before growing comfortable with letting you into his heart.

'well, it's a house that had been passed down to me from my family a while back,' you began as you kept your eyes on rabbit to read his expressions,'at first i didn't know what to do with it so it was left abandoned. Then everything happed and suddenly i knew what i must do and made it into a shelter, a safe haven for demons who want life away from violence.' you finshed off and as soon as you were, you were swept into a tight embrace as rabbit burrows his head into your neck.

'you never fail to surpise me my dear.' he whispered as he felt himself admireing you more, he didn't care that he wasn't privy to the fact that you had come from a well off family, he knew you had your reasons. yet it was the fact that you didn't let that gift go to waste and actively use it for good, unlike most powerful people.

it had only made it more undeniable that rabbit knew there was more to what he felt towards you, he just was skeptical until he gotten to the point where he knew you had no reason to lie or withold anything, unless it was absolutely necessary.

'just trying to help.' you replied, holding him just as tightly back.

'you're incredible my dear, absolutely incredible.' rabbit whispered, content and happy in knowing there was a future for his kind, and it was in thanks to you. 'thank you.' he felt you shrug in his embrace.

'i didn't do it to be thanked, i did it becuase it was the right thing to do.' yo told him as he kissed your forhead, something new that had completely taken you offgaurd for a second, before melting back into his embrace like you were meant to be there.

'i can't let my favourite hunter go without their efforts being acknowledged, be selfish my dear for this moment id yours.' rabbit said.

'then does that mean i can be selfish with you and call you mine all the time then?' you asked in a moment of vulnerability, holding in a breath as you awaited his response, only to feel him rest his forhead against yours as he smiles.

'my dear you can be as selfish with me as you like, for the future is ours to take back, not theirs.' he reassures you.

'it was never theirs to begin with.' you rebuttled. 'never theres to take from demons who didn't participate in the violence and chaos, they deserve a home.'

'and a home is what we will make them.' rabbit replied, looking deep into your eyes, only to see the same determination to make that dream a reality. 'together.' he adds.

'together.' you echoed as you both held your gazes for a prolonged time.

[lightningant]

Any recommendations that have similar vibes to Venom or Valor?

About to humiliate my self because I'm about to list a very limited range of fics that are significantly better than mine with very different styles from mine. But you need this information

I started writing Venom or Valor specifically because of:

Bookbinding by Asenora/ @saintsenara, tom/myrtle - at the time I was only just barely sketching out why I was so fascinated with Tom and piecing together how his grandiosity and drama and mood swings spoke to a primal longing within him and this fic didn't press my buttons so much as smack me up the skull with a 2x4.

A Learning Experience by Laeveteinn, mostly gen - incredible character study of Tom's 10 years at Borgin and Burkes. Ending made my toes curl.

yes I realize the humour that neither of these are tomarry. Sorry I only ship it because I think Harry would make Tom happy like I'm indulging my favourite child

Some other stuff I think contributed:

Strings of Fate, by dizzydreamer, Tomarry - Every chapter has me absolutely screaming in laughter because Tom doesn't know how to act. Just an INCREDIBLE parade of deranged behaviour, really unfolding his worst tendencies like a beautiful flower. Babe you gotta stop licking the book

Consumption by Laeveteinn, Tomarry - quite possibly my favourite tomarry fanfic in the whole wide world. I want to hand-feed this to squeamish newcomers. If you like my Tom Laeveteinn is basically mandatory reading

Innocent (until proven guilty) by Laeveteinn, Tom/Grindelwald - pointing this one out specifically because this fic is activating villain apologia of the likes never before seen within me. Dumbledore bashers don't have the range to write this specific texture of child neglect. I feel like I am witnessing actual family drama. Grindelwald genuinely anguished and trying to find direction in his life grooming Tom is like something my mom would tell me about my cousin. I feel like I got to drive out to see him. I got to drive out across Canada to see Tom and tell him. I got to tell him that he should probably find himself before shacking up with a 60-year-old man famous for manipulating his way out of anything. My baby cousin Tom

Lover's Spit by amelinda and k3u, Tomarry - I keep calling this unrecommendable and then keep recommending it. Cannot repeat enough times that it is about Tom Riddle being inadvertently groomed by 4chan to be an edgelord stalking and threatening to rape the boy he has a crush on in a manner so grotesque he becomes a media sensation as a figurehead of horrifying internet depravity corrupting our children. That all being said. I've never read a fic with such loving worldbuilding it makes me think "should I stop reading fanfic and get back into literary fiction". I absolutely love the cadence of Tom's thoughts and the way he code-switches to slur-regurgitating 4channer. Most importantly: good face-tearing slowburn

dum spiro spero by Asenora/Saintsenara, Tom/Rookwood - Another pseudo-hanahaki, really concretely cemented my desire to ship Tom with anyone who can make him happy. The way Rookwood talks about Tom is truly incredible. The humour is impeccable. The monologue. You know the fic is good when it makes you wail IRL. Asenora a fantastic author, not just for Tom but for character studies in general. 10/10 Merope fics

Sorry this is almost entirely two authors. As always, I am a slow reader of the likes never before seen AND I'm picky. Nothing else has contributed to how VoV reads. It really is just these fics and Thor Ragnarok.

[issybee06]

Can i request about General Kregg? There are only like 2 or 3 writings about him and he needs more attention, maybe a writing where reader gives birth to triplets in her first pregnancy and how the other Viltrumites react, I know they would keep an eye on reader (especially Conquest and Thragg) knowing that a general (who doesn't have as much power as them) has triplets, I know Thragg would be wanting to have reader as one of his, I don't know, concubines? To see if he can have triplets too. Imagine being a human who was taken against your will to bear children but given to a general and on your FIRST (because yes, this will not be your only) pregnancy you give birth to triplets and suddenly everyone sees you differently (you can choose, no problem) because there have literally been no twin pregnancies or multiple pregnancies and now you are simply seen as a divine being and you go down in the history books of these people who took you against your will and now treat you with little respect.

Saving Grace

AHHHHHH THIS IS PERFECT!

Omg I love Kregg he's so silly I wish he was more appreciated but his time will come! Trust🙏

I hope you like!

Omgomgomg yesssssss

……………….……………….……………….……………….…………

You were among many women brought to the Viltrumite ship to be auctioned off to the highest bidder, sold like cattle to be bred with. You weren't presented to be special, to be desired, you were put in a line with women your age and picked and prodded at until someone wanted you.

The Viltrumite just so happened to be the General Kregg, right hand of the Grand Regent.

He was…okay.

He didn't treat you or his other mates unkindly, drowning all of you in gifts and enough food to feed a small planet. He was away most of the time, leaving the wives to run the house.

He ran the house on a schedule, giving separate time to each wife. An afternoon there, a night here, an event coming and going.

He didn't flaunt you all off, he found that embarrassing. Many Viltrumite men had grown accustomed to “showing” their wives off, stripping them into barely-there clothes and having them show up at events like that.

Kregg had once scoffed at a display, hand on your lower back as he spoke lowly.

“Be lucky I'm not cruel enough to embarrass you all like that.”

He wasn't the most loving, but he wasn't unkind, he was just…rough.

He took you a total of 3 times before it stuck, and when the announcement was made he was neutral faced.

He nodded, hands clasped behind him, “good.”

And left.

When the pregnancies began…it was obvious that yours was different.

You were sick more often, laying in you room for days while the other women worried and fussed over you.

It was when you began growing larger then the others, stomach round and stretching your skin, was when Kregg brought you to see a doctor.

The doctor had actually fainted when the three heartbeats appeared on the screen, shocked that a human of all creatures could produce 3 Viltrumite children.

Kregg gripped your hand, it was the first time he actually showed any emotion, his good eye wide and fixed on the three blobs on the screen.

“Three…”

After the news, he shifted.

He grew to be…warmer to you. He dismissed time with the other wives, slept in your room, made more time out of his day for you.

He was extremely protective now, wouldn’t let anyone touch you now. He’d threaten servants, glare at doctors, actually snapped a guards neck for speaking to you.

He was everywhere now, you were never alone.

It wasn’t too bad, he wasn’t the worst company.

It was when the news spread was it difficult…

The announcement of your triplets spread like wildfire. Kregg didn’t say a word of your condition, wanting to keep your blessing a secret for now but the doctor had told a nurse, a nurse told her friend and so on and so on until it went all the way to the big top.

Thragg had come to Kreggs living quarters after the birth, eyes narrowed at the triplets.

Two boys and a girl, all perfect specimens of Viltrumite genetics. They were already showing promise, moving around and gripping and humming toys. 

You were exhausted, the labor had taken two days, but sat awake with Kregg as he stood stiffly. He didn’t look at Thragg, eyes on his children.

“…we hope our children will grow to serve the Empire, sire…” Kregg spoke, swallowing and his grip on your shoulder tighten slightly.

Thragg hummed, dark eyes turned to you now and you tensed under his gaze.

“…Kregg…you will be relieved of you wife, she will come with me.”

Kregg stepped slightly ahead of you, eye dark, “…sir…you can’t be serious…”

Thragg stood fully, height menacing, “are you…denying my order, General?”

Kregg swallowed, “…no sir.”

You exhaled shakily, expecting him to give you up just like that. You didn’t love him, no, but you’d rather be with Kregg than Thragg…

“I will relinquish all my other wives…just let me keep her.”

That surprised you, wide eyes staring at Kregg as he stood his ground, “…I have grown to care for her…I don’t think I could live without her.”

Thragg glared, “I don’t need more wives, just the one who can birth three healthy and strong Viltrumite children-“

“Sire…I have never asked for anything…I ask for this…For her…I need her to breath-“

Thrash silenced him, irritated by his Generals blabbing.

Thragg could kill him, take you, breed you and be content…

But killing Kregg, his best fighter and greatest General, for a human wife that he couldn’t be 100% would birth triplets again…he couldn’t wager with that.

“If she birth triplets again…I’ll be back for her. Keep your pet for now then.”



Love pathetic little meow meow men ugh cream

[atangledfate]

The General didn't seem to budge from his stoic pose with his hands behind his back. That single eye locked on Rowan as accusations were thrown at him. It was an impossibly steel gaze that revealed nothing of his current emotional state. Like staring into the eyes of a statue he revealed nothing to Rowan as he was accused of with holding information. Yet when Lupus spoke it was filled with authority, and years of hard earned experience. He had an Air about him, that was both awe inspiring and terrifying at the same time.

" I assure you that we were not waiting for a situation like this to arise. We simply required Mimic to make a move before we could move in and deal with him. Imagine the political fallout if we burst on base and arrested the wrong person... Trust me when i say, the fate that awaits Mimic is far worse then anything he could hope to bring upon your family... "

His eyes turned to Mimic as his tail swished behind him and he locked eyes with Mimic. Yet the Eyes of Mimic told a story the likes of which few could. Fear, pure and untainted was resting in those eyes of the would be killer. For the first time since Rowan had seen Mimic and in all he battles he fought--- there was no mistaking that look. Mimic knew he was cooked and, he was practically begging Rowan not to leave him there.

Yet that desperate call would go unanswered as the last thing Mimic would see was Rowan's gaze meeting his---and then, he was gone. The Wolf turned back to stare at where that portal had been almost as if he could perceive something the others couldn't.

" Take the Prisoner to the brig... and Sedate him, i have no doubts he'd come up with some way to weasel his way out... so have the Medics put him under until further notice..."

Well one piece of the puzzle was captured, now if they could just get there hands on the cyborg and the Badnik girl they'd have all the pieces of the puzzle.

==============================================

Sonic Smiled at belle and rubbed a finger under his nose as she asked him not to get himself in trouble for her. He simply pushed himself from the wall and walk past her waggling a finger in a classic sonic way he was practically famous for now!

" Ah don't worry Belle! i'm already on GUN's shit list at this point. Its not the first time i've crossed swords with those punks! and besides! i'll always be there for my friends! no matter how dire things look... that goes for you to Surgie! even if you'd rather strangle me dead! hah! "

He smiled back at Surge as she came out of the office

" How about we go top side and glare menacingly at the command ship! that'll give your little bro time to do his thing! and put the fear of Gaia into those soldier boys! hold the fort down for us while we are gone alright Belle! "

Miles finally free of the office came to sit next to Belle watching as Sonic disappeared out the door. The Fox only smiled and leaned back in the chair with a shake of his head. Some things never changed and no matter how much he grew Sonic was always going to put his neck on the line for those he cared for. The fact h worked past his distaste for who and what Belle was when they first met. To now swearing to protect her even if GUN attacked them was a big leap.

" You doing ok Belle? what was that about? "

He didn't know the context of the discussion though he assumed maybe this was all a bit much for Belle.

" If ya need anything just say the word..."

================================================

Jewel entered her office and closed the door taking a second to take a deep breath. Alot was riding on this and frankly she was nervous beyond words. She buzzed her way over to her office Phone hoping it was still operational. It gave her a direct line to the UFN among other places. It still didn't make this any less nerve racking. She wasn't a diplomat, nor any kind of leader really. She was just a girl from a small town who knew about rocks and liked to organize things!

Honestly she almost wished she had a some bourbon on hand for a quick shot of liquid courage! but then she probably should be at her best for this one! She sat down at her desk, and picked up the phone holding it in her hands.

" Here goes... i hope Blaze is able to keep the general occupied... at least until i have the president on the phone..."

================================================

The general's body shifted when he saw the Com channel open to Restoration. He tilted his head in a curious manner as it was still early. They had time, even 20 minutes was alot when you were working out a plan of action. This was curious, and he wondered if they were simply caving to there demands or was there some other plan at work? No that princess wouldn't just give up like that and he doubted Sonic would either. He'd been alive long enough to know

Things were about to get interesting...

" Open Coms, and keep a close monitor on restoration activities... "

He stood on the center platform and crossed his arms as Blaze's face appeared on the screen.

" Princess... Its a pleasure to see you again, have you and your people made a decision? Or perhaps is this some effort to gain more time..."

Sonic knew deep down that Belle was doing this for all the right reasons. She had this lofty goal of seeing the badniks made into something good and just. To see them freed and given a chance to be there own bot. He also had a feeling that down the road this could lead to something good---but also bad. The people of mobius wouldn't be so ready to open there hearts to machines as Tails and himself were. Hell even he lashed out at Belle at first and yet... he still wished her all the luck in the world!

" I think deep down you already knew you were going to leave ... it's fine though! i'm sure they'll miss you, but i think your cause is a noble one! i hope you find what you are looking for out there and if you ever need a hand! don't be afraid to call... i'll be there in a flash to lend a paw! "

He gave her a thumbs up and a warm smile

" I do think its good of you to stick by a bit just till things cool down as for GUN. Don't worry about those losers--- If they ever lay a finger on you ill personally give them a beat down! "

===============================================

" That's a sound idea ... the more high level threats the less likely gun will do something foolish. But it sounds like we have a plan of action! i'll head to my office to contact this president fellow... and when everything is in place we'll make our move! time to shine people! lets go! "

Jewel wasn't even sure if her plan would work but she had to have confidence in herself and her team. She buzzed her wings and dashed through the halls to her office to engage with the president, which left Blaze to deal with the general.

" I'll round up our heavy hitters... Lanolin you should stick with Blaze, you know our people better then she does. She might need you for intell... be careful Blaze. That old codger seems more cunning then he lets on... honestly i hope Jewel can handle that president... "

Miles headed out into the main room and whistled at Sonic and headed over to him and Belle. He jogged a bit to make the distance as quick as he could and paused as he watched Blaze closely a moment before his eyes went back to sonic.

" Jewel wants our heavy hitters out in the open where GUN can see them. A deterrent of sorts... so you and Surge mostly... Jewel and blaze are about to contact that general and the president so things will pop off soon... so we should all be ready for a worst case scenario... but hope it doesn't come to it..."

" Gotcha... so if GUN is dumb Surge and i go ham... i think she'll be cool with that. I'll head top side i've been standing still to long anyway! Belle you think you can tell Surge? You know if i do it she'll just glare and snap at me... even if she is kinda cute when she does it! haha! "

===============================================

He felt it long before he saw it. That tingling sensation in the tips of his ears. For all his upgrades, implants and nanotech he had shoved in his body. He was still so reliant on his gift to warn him of impending doom. After all how does one live as long as he had with out some edge. Above and to the left he let his eyes turn slowly as if time itself had slowed down for just a moment. as he sensed the change in the air itself.

Yet he did not move or act despite the sensation. Sonic and his people aren't that foolish, and yet Rowan saw the Wolfs one good eye meet his a moment before he stepped through that shadowy portal as if he could see him despite that being impossible.

" You are a brave man walking into the Wolfs Den without so much as a care in the world. Men of such courage are so rare today... i commend your courage... "

He looked up to the dangling Octopus and tilted his head.

" Mimic is a loose end i've tried to clean up on many occasions. I taught him better then this... taught him better then to run off on some personal vendetta... but here we are. "

He finally turned to Rowan and approached him with arms behind his back in a very non-threatening manner.

" I had a suspicion he was on base but if your implying he was working for us. That's a solid negative, but he was once one of mine, and i do take some responsibility for the chaos he's created. I thank you for his return... i'll make sure he's locked away where he'll never be a problem again. Now if you'll kindly depart my ship... I think our business is done here "

[boyfriendsmalec]

Why I believe Stranger Things is NOT Queerbaiting Byler

In Stranger Things Will and Robin's queerness is taken seriously. To me a major hallmark of queerbaiting is teasing at a queer relationship by treating the idea as a joke.

But when has Will's love for Mike ever been played for laughs on the show? Never. Mike and Will's relationship is treated with genuineness and sincerity. Actually Mike and Will's relationship is treated more seriously than Mike's canonical romantic relationship! In S3 Mike and El's relationship is largely played for laughs, the breakup itself is comical and light-hearted. Whereas Mike and Will's argument is treated seriously and is given a stormy backdrop to match the melancholy mood.

Robin coming out isn't treated as joke by Steve. To lighten the mood he questions Robin's taste in women saying Tammy Thompson is a terrible singer, but these jokes between Steve and Robin is only done after Robin is out and these jokes are not at her expense, but is instead Steve normalizing her queerness and not treating her any different than he would a straight friend.

Also Will being canonically gay and in love with Mike is massive. How many queerbaited ships have one half of the pairing become canonically in love with the other? Almost none that I can think of.

People for the longest time thought Will himself was being queerbaited (especially after S3 with the line "It's not my fault you don't like girls"). Noah at the time said Will's sexuality was open for interpretation, but later after S4 aired Noah confirmed that he made these comments to hide the reveal of Will's sexuality and him being in love with Mike.

Revealing Will's romantic feelings toward Mike in the penultimate season is huge. Plus Finn saying the painting lie will "pay off in the end" means that Will's feelings will have to be revealed to Mike. Mike is going to figure out Will is in love with him in Season 5, there's no question about that. And we already know they're teamed up next season, while it seems El's storyline is almost entirely separate from Mike's. Why would they commit this much screen time to the build-up of Byler only for Will's feelings to go unreciprocated? Multi-season rejection arcs just don’t happen. Byler is being built-up for a reason.

I understand some may feel burned from being queerbaited by shows in the past, but again Stranger Things is not presenting to me any of the typical queerbaiting red flags. It's treated seriously in the show and by the cast and crew. Will in S4 is revealed to be in love with Mike, making the ship already semi-canon.

And just think about it: If Byler wasn't going to be canon, why all the secrecy? What could they possibly be hiding? I'm sure the Duffers and the cast (especially Noah as a gay man) are well-aware of the queerbaiting allegations and would've stifled the Byler talk if they weren’t happening in Season 5.

At this point I'm pretty much convinced Byler is happening (what I worry more is about the execution of their relationship, but that's for another post). But my being convinced about a Byler endgame goes far beyond color theory and lighting and set design and blocking. It's woven into the narrative of the show.

As the famous Byler Lawyer said: El is learning to not need Mike anymore, Mike wants to be needed, and Will will always need Mike.

Byler not happening will go against all three characters arcs, and would go away from the messaging of the show of embracing nonconformity and having the outcasts win for once.

[velmalav]

The Giver - Frank Langdon pt. III

masterlist

day one // night one

day two - f.l.

synopsis: being the selfless person you are, you agree to travel to a 3-day conference with your biggest competition - dr. langdon. part 3 of I don't know how many yet :-)

warnings: cursing, oops there's only one bed, enemies to lovers, angst

The first thing I notice the next morning is the intense ache in my back. I moan into my pillow only for it to slide onto the floor. Eyes flash open to see a disaster. Our makeshift pillow barrier is everywhere, on the floor, on top of each of us, underneath one of Langdon’s arms. He’s completely out. At least he looks comfortable.

For a moment, I watch him, and – to my dismay – notice he is much more attractive when he’s not conscious. Typically, he sports just a single strand of hair in his face (one of the only tolerable things about him), but now his forehead is completely covered in dark hair. If I could just reach over and brush it out of the way-

Stop. This is what he wants, and you’re not going to let him have this one.

I rub circles in my eyes with my palms, cracking my shoulders as I sit up. Langdon has a knee placed into my back, other leg straight as a board. Of course, of course it was him who caused my backache. Another example of why these intrusive thoughts need to die.  I abandon the ship and tiptoe into the bathroom, excited to at least have first dibs. I get ready for the second day conference swiftly and without sound. The first day is typically just introductions and with our flight being delayed, we thankfully had no choice but to skip it. I wonder how Gloria will feel about that.

I check my messages and notice several from my other coworkers. Robby checking to make sure we made it and to be vigilant about the schedule, Collins sending a quick prayer for me, and Mel asking me to send any notes I take during sessions. I’m responding to the last one when Langdon shifts in bed. His eyes flutter open, confusion about the bed situation settling in.

“What time is it?” he grumbles, rolling onto his stomach to shove his face into a pillow.

“Fifteen until our first session,” I say nonchalantly, sliding my phone in the back pocket of my dress pants.

Langdon’s eyes fly open, a blur of dark hair and tanned skin suddenly moving around the room. In the midst of his panic, he finds time to shoot daggers at me, “Were you even going to fucking wake me?”

“I tried,” I shrug, trying to convince myself that being a bitch is the only way to avoid all the adjectives I’m thinking to describe him. This is foreign, all of it. My usual first thought seeing him flustered would be pride, like a warrior watching a dragon stumble before its untimely death, but now all I can focus on is his hair and his hands and the way his shirt is laying on him to reveal just a small sliver of his stomach.

I have to give it to him, he’s pretty good at slinging together curse words in a way I’ve never heard. I take a gentle seat on the edge of the bed while I watch him stumble into dress clothes. He spends significantly less time in the bathroom than he did last night and within five minutes is tugging on his dress shoes.

“Why do I get the feeling you didn’t try at all?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for the answer, just rushes through the door without looking back. I sigh, grab the key card off the TV stand, and saunter out after him.

.

Upon arrival at the conference building, it’s clear Langdon wants nothing to do with me. He’s still bitter about how late we are, and I find myself feeling guilty about it. His career is technically riding on this, the least I could do is not sabotage that any further. He’s not incompetent at his job, and like I said earlier, he’s – as much as I hate to continue to admit this – one of the reasons I’ve excelled in the way I have.

I flip through the variety of sessions laid out for the day, realizing some of them are congruent with each other. Langdon is hanging around the lobby, watching others check in. He seems anxious, and I can’t tell if it’s the adrenaline or something else.

“There’s a lecture in ten on pharmacology in Room 112 and another on Speed Mentoring at the same time in 207,” I read out, attempting to soften his edges by making this easier on him.

Langdon does a quick raise of his eyebrows, frowns, and without looking at me, walks off to the staircase. He mutters. “Meet you back at the hotel,” right before he’s out of earshot.

As I watch him go, the guilt in my stomach triples. I sigh, using my free hand to rub my eyebrow. I fucked up big time, and I deserve it. For someone who is always putting other people before myself, I finally remember what it feels like to be selfish.

.

Langdon

At 5:20 on the dot, Langdon’s murmuring quick excuses through the crowd of medical professionals, not even stopping to take a breath until he’s outside of the conference building. He can’t help but to catastrophize everything right now. Every glance his way is a dirty look, every poster and pamphlet about ‘patient care’ is a warning. And he just can’t believe he gets to spend the next few months doing this over and over, being faced with consequences any of his other coworkers could’ve faced had they been as unlucky.

Everyone has their days, and everyone absolutely has a moment where they break in front of patients. They say it’s never supposed to happen, but it happens all the time. And most times, there’s never a warning, it just happens. Like in the cartoons where a piano crushes an unsuspecting passerby.

The day he nearly got fired, there were no signs. One minute he was calm, drowning out the patient’s family as they shouted, knowing it would only rattle his concentration. And the next he pivoted to directly face them and said – more like spat - every single word rushing through his mind. It was like a tsunami, like a livewire snapped inside him. Looking back, he can’t even remember what the last straw was, it just was.

What he did remember was Robby grasping the back of his scrub top and hauling him out of the room, barking orders at Mohan to take over. And in most tense situations, he wasn’t one to back down, but the words he said to that family – it was inexcusable. There was no salvaging the situation at that moment so he ran off, as if running from it would make it stop. Make it cease to exist.

And he found himself doing that now. Because the guilt of his words, of the consequences that followed, were eating him alive. He felt like he’d been punished enough by the sheer embarrassment, so these patient care seminars only revived those feelings and stifled his ability to give a shit about what the speakers were teaching him.

But he could breathe now. Take a quick shower and crawl into bed. Forget everything about this day. Especially Y/N and the stunt she pulled this morning.

But alas, the world is against him. Because the goddamn hotel double booked Y/N’s room, they were forced to share his room and were only given one fucking keycard. Which she had. So Langdon found himself staring at his hotel door, realization dawning on him that the night was, in fact, not over.

Thankfully he knew where she was, because despite his very obvious efforts to avoid her, she texted to let him know she was going to the mixer after the conference. A place that to him felt like the ninth level of hell in the state he was currently in. But she wasn’t responding to his pleas to bring the key, and he wasn’t about to wait in the hall all night. He needed something to do, something to avoid the pounding thoughts in his head.

Langdon solemnly enters the hotel bar across the street, where the mixer was in full swing. He expected something classier, much like the conference itself, only to walk headfirst into a full-on party. Loud music, open bar, dancing bodies. Even a fucking disco ball was fastened to the ceiling.

In any other headspace, Langdon would’ve dived full force into a scene like this. Any excuse to lose himself for a while. But he was tired, frustrated, ready to bash that goddamn disco ball into shards, and feeling as sorry for himself as he ever has.

It takes plenty of sifting through the crowd to find her. She’s standing at a table near the dance floor, glass in hand, leaning into some guy while he talks in her ear. They seem like they’re getting along, and she looks like her usual self. The self he never gets to see because she hides that version from him. Wearing a genuine smile, eyes wistful, full of unbridled happiness. Though he’s still pissed at her, he catches himself thinking about how pretty she looks. Deep inside, he wishes she would look at him with those wistful eyes, wish that smile was aimed at him. And not laced with the usual disdain she throws his way at work.

Langdon gets so stuck on studying them he forgets the entire reason he even came. He slides into a quiet part of the bar where he can still see her. His fingers tap against his lips, eyebrows furrowed.

Y/N and the man chat for a few more minutes and then he leans into her. Langdon can’t help but imagine what he must be saying. Flirting? Making fun of him? Inviting her to his hotel room? In the midst of his bitter inner dialogue, he almost misses the man take Y/N’s hand and lead her to the dance floor. Blending into the hoards of people, Langdon can just barely make out her arms snaking around the man’s shoulders. It’s enough for him. The last straw.

Fuck the keycard.

He takes one last look at them before they disappear into bodies, and he feels a twinge of something he can’t place in his chest. It’s knife-like, violent.

And then he does the one thing he’s best at when things get hard, he leaves.

night two

[figurecollection]

Hey, hey!

Not sure if you've answered this before, but I'm looking to get into garage kits as a long time Warhammer / Figure painting hobbyist. But from all I've been able to find (and translate using google), they seem to be reduced to doujin conventions in Japan and not so much up for sale in retail or the like? Where do you get yours? Any reccomendations?

Hey! You're right, so most garage kits are usually sold at japanese conventions. IP protection is really strong in Japan, so for indie artists to be able to sell kits of copyrighted characters, companies allow a one day licence people can apply for in which they can sell their figures only for the day of a convention. Some more popular circles can get longer licencing, and some companies are less strict, but this is generally why it's hard to find garage kits online.

One good place to buy garage kits is Booth (NSFW warning although the worst of it is filtered). There are a lot of great circles on here like Whoopie Pie, Pink Kitty, GYF-107 and Kougouseisou. Just carefully look at anything you buy because there's a lot of people selling parts for model kits like Megami Device that can look like full figures.

If you're looking for something thats been sold before at an event or something that might be a bit cheaper, your best bet is getting them second hand. Honestly all kits I've gotten second hand have been in great condition, and I have some kits that are more than 20 years old that arrived great. Search on Japanese sites like JDirect Auctions using a proxy like FromJapan, Suruga-ya's english site (no proxy needed and usually had free shipping), or Mandarake (also needs no proxy).

I have also gotten garage kits of Ebay before, but just be careful about buying anything labeled E2046 since they're from a recast site. I'm not going to get into the issues with recasts but they generally tend to be lower quality and harder to work with.

If you have any more questions let me know, I don't have much painting experience (not in a good place for it currently) but i do have lots of buying and looking at stuff on the Internet experience !!

[highfantasy-soul]

I think a very good theme to explore with Andor would be about losing allies because you have to make 'battlefield decisions' about who you can trust, who you can pull back into the fold, and who needs to be taken out.

I don't think it's a wise thing to shoot first, ask questions later like I know the knee-jerk reaction often is. Rebellions are, by nature, usually massively behind in resources (both supplies and people) compared to those they're fighting against. Killing potential allies isn't really helpful with that if you deem them 'not pure' enough in their politics or decision making.

I know it's a VERY popular thing to see someone like Tay getting antsy and have the knee-jerk reaction 'KILL HIM!' which, I'm betting, is exactly what Luthen did. But just going around killing anyone you suspect isn't on your side isn't exactly a great gameplan to unite the galaxy.

After all, imagine if the Maya Pei rebels saw Cassian dressed as an Imperial pilot, flying a tie fighter, seeking out someone who had previously shot at them when they arrived, and decided to kill Cassian on the spot.

Gotta find a new main character!

But that's exactly the call someone who didn't have the meta knowledge that Cassian was a rebel might have made. That seems to be the call Porco made when he saw the Maya Pei refugees - shoot first (because he's on a mission), ask questions later - and now he's dead and has made Cassian much harder to trust.

Why SHOULD the Maya Pei brigade trust Cassian isn't an Imp?

What's their current mission? Survive.

They have no food, no water, no way off-planet. Here's a nice ship they could use to save themselves.

But what's Cassian's mission? Fuck these rebels, get this ship to it's destination.

If they let Cassian go, they could be signing their death warrants even if he isn't the Empire. He's not going to help them in any way because 'his mission is more important'. We don't see him alerting anyone that those rebels are stranded and need help - we only see him looking out for himself, his friends, and lastly, his mission.

I hope in our 'one year later' we get so see some of the ramifications of this and maybe also see a benefit of people giving a little grace to others even in such dangerous times. Every time you give grace, you aren't going to get burned - sometimes you gain a staunch ally.

I hope Andor doesn't go the route that any act of kindness will condemn you to failure/death. It's important to show that using the tactics of the enemy isn't what we should be striving for. Kindness is the point of rebellions against fascism and it's ok to explore that working sometimes and not working others.

Being cruel and cut-throat doesn't automatically lead to the desired outcomes - sometimes it actually hurts.

[sailorblossoms-rankane]

I've been seeing Nabiki x Ranma fanfics, and they make me curious on what is your analysis about them?

For me, they have this sibling energy—like older sister slaving their younger brother lmaoo, and it's odd that there are people shipped them.

I always love your analysis!

yeah that's pretty much how I see them. Their whole deal in the arc where Nabiki becomes his fiancee is that Ranma is uncomfortable and scared shitless by Nabiki's (unserious) advances and just wants to get back with Akane. In a nutshell

Meawhile, Nabiki likes to torture the sucker and make money at his expense. The mere idea that she could even gaze upon that bum with something resembling love or desire is simply slanderous to my evil queen. One of the funniest chapters is when Ranma stays home alone with a Nabiki (who's motivated by revenge, but would do shit like this for the love of the game) and well

the way I see shipping in these situations (or any non rankane ship involving ranma or akane. respectfully: they have nothing serious to work with) people might like ideas they can associate with certain characters (or ideas certain characters give them) more than the actual characters and/or their actual dynamics. If you need to change them so much they stop being themselves to get them together, that might be what's happening. Then again, I can't really explain the joys of non-canon shipping, I'm not a non-canon shipper myself, so it's not my lane. I either like the romance you show me and lock in or I don't.