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#Yes she has a gap tooth

poisonlove · 5 months

Note

Do you think you can do Jenna x fem!reader where reader as just moved into the neighbourhood and Jenna’s family and readers family are really good friends and every time reader goes over Jenna’s family’s house Jenna would always make an excuse to touch reader or be next to her then it ends with some dirty amazing pussy wetting smut please 🙏

(Maybe Jenna’s younger sister aliyah ships Jenna and reader 🤭)

I tried to make it as realistic as possible, and it took me a while… but I hope you like it and that it was worth the wait.

Is Emily here? | j.o

Content Warning: Explicit Scenes, +18

I step out of the car, sighing tiredly after the long journey. The move from our beloved Italy to California, in Indio, has been a rollercoaster of emotions and the challenges of relocation. My only aspiration right now is to collapse onto the bed and close my eyes, erasing the fatigue accumulated during the trip.

"Mum! I'm bored!" exclaims my little sister, closing the car door.

I roll my eyes at her comment.

"Sweetheart, why don't you go play?" my mother says, sighing tiredly, holding a cardboard box labeled FRAGILE.

Emily, my adorable sister, smiles widely, showing the gap where her recently lost tooth used to be.

"Really?" Emily says, giggling softly, looking around with curiosity.

My eyes watch in confusion as my sister walks towards a girl playing in the driveway next to ours. The two girls exchange greetings and start playing.

"Wow... she makes friends quickly," I mutter absentmindedly, smiling to myself.

I grab a box from the trunk, and as I close it, my attention is drawn to the sound of a car parking near our driveway. A girl steps out of the car, adjusting her sunglasses and shaking her head to fix her hair.

The girl exudes an irresistibly beautiful aura. Her long dark hair gracefully falls over her shoulders, and the sunglasses accentuate her magnetic gaze. With confident steps and an intriguing smile, she approaches with an elegance that captures everyone's attention.

My jaw literally drops.

The girl walks, lowering her sunglasses, winking at me.

"Y/N," my mother calls from inside the house, wanting to get my attention. "Coming!" I shout in response, tearing my gaze away from the goddess.

"Can you call your sister?" my mother asks later as we unpack plates and glasses from the cardboard box. "She needs to help us," she mutters faintly, wiping a strand of hair from her forehead.

"She's six years old... what does she have to do?" I say rhetorically, putting the box on the floor. "Dispose of the boxes... I don't know, just call her," she says, rolling her eyes.

I go outside again and walk towards the driveway next to ours, immediately noticing Emily's absence. I furrow my brows and approach the door.

I raise my hand and knock on the wood.

"Jenna, go answer," someone inside shouts, a male voice. "Yes, Dad," the girl replies. I smile timidly, hearing footsteps approaching, and at the same time, a strange nervousness pervades me.

The door opens, and the girl I saw earlier looks at me with a charming smile on her lips. My eyes travel from top to bottom of her figure, noting her toned legs accentuated by shorts and the top revealing her midriff.

"Hi, how can I help you?" she asks timidly, leaning against the door. Although her question sounds innocent, her eyes look at me with fire.

"Is Emily here?" I ask timidly. "I saw her playing with a girl here," I say, smiling nervously, scared at the thought that my sister might not be here.

"Oh, yeah, she was playing with my little sister," she says, smiling broadly.

A dazzling smile highlighted by dimples.

"Aliyah," Jenna turns inside her house, shouting her sister's name. Small steps approach, and I smile seeing my sister in the company of Aliyah. The girls were playing with dolls.

"Emily," I say timidly. "We need to go," I say, glancing at Jenna. "No, y/n/n," the little brunette says with an adorable pout. "Can't she stay for 10 more minutes?" Aliyah innocently asks. "No, honey... maybe another time," I say, feeling guilty for ruining their afternoon play.

"You can come here tonight!" Aliyah suggests with a dazzling smile, and I blink in surprise.

At that moment, a woman approaches us.

"Actually, it wouldn't be a bad idea," the lady says. "You can ask your parents to come to dinner at our place, call it a welcome dinner," she suggests with a bright smile.

"Oh... I'll tell my mother, thank you, Mrs...," I start hesitating, not knowing what to call her. "Natalie," the lady says with a small smile.

"Well, thank you, Natalie," I smile cordially to everyone and reach out to take my sister's hand, intertwining our fingers. "Goodbye," my sister says innocently, waving to Jenna.

Jenna reciprocates with a smile on her lips.

(...)

"Everything is delicious," I exclaim with a small smile.

It's 9:00 PM, and we're at our neighbors' house: the Ortega family. Initially, my mother didn't take the invitation well, but after various pleas from Emily, we showed up at their doorstep.

"All right, dear..." Natalie says, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "Why don't you and Jen go upstairs to get to know each other better?" she suggests with a smile.

I smile timidly, feeling a strange nervousness in my body, and direct my attention to Jenna, who smiles while wiping her mouth with a napkin. Throughout the evening, little Ortega looked at me with curiosity and desire, brushing her foot against mine several times.

Jenna gets up from the chair and gives me a mischievous smile before going up the stairs. "Thank you for the delicious dinner," I say, smiling with embarrassment before following the brunette upstairs.

With my heart pounding, I enter the room through the partially open door. My eyes curiously scan the surrounding environment, smiling at the sight of photos and some stuffed animals on the furniture.

The door behind me closes.

I turn towards Jenna and see her walking towards me with curious sparkling eyes. Her hands rest around my neck, and she looks at me with her lower lip trapped between her teeth. "I think it's obvious that I'm interested," she says absentmindedly, stroking my neck with the tips of her fingers.

I swallow nervously.

"Mmmh," I mumble in response, and Jenna genuinely smiles. "I'll take that as a yes," the brunette leans in more but does it slowly in case I don't want her to kiss me. Not seeing any sign of refusal in my eyes, she joins our lips in a slow and passionate kiss.

My mind clouds, my protest dying in my throat, and I reciprocate this kiss.

Jenna timidly bites my lower lip, making me shiver with the intensity of the kiss. "Wait," I assert after separating our lips with a loud smack. "Doesn't it seem strange to you? We just met today," I say curiously, breathing irregularly, trying to regulate my breathing.

Jenna looks at me through her long black lashes, dilated pupils.

"Don't think about it," Jenna whispers faintly, running her hand along my jaw. "Just enjoy the moment," she murmurs in a low voice, leaning towards my neck.

I sigh loudly, feeling her open-mouthed kisses on my neck, making me shiver with pleasure. "Let go" she murmurs against my skin, timidly biting the pulse on my neck, making me moan.

I knew the situation was very strange... but while part of me wanted to run away because I didn't even know Jenna's age... the other part of me desperately wanted to take her clothes off.

My fingertips trail along the sinuous curve of Jenna's body, stopping with a gentle caress in the valley of her ass. Her lips, now pulled into a victorious smile, press against my neck with a sweetness full of desire.

Jenna pulls back, our noses millimeters apart. I could hear her ragged breathing hit my lips. My eyes gazed determinedly at her mouth, feeling excited at how perfect and soft her lips seemed to me, delicious to the touch. I leaned in further and removed this annoying distance, kissing her forcefully, almost making our teeth clash.

Jenna's hands end up under my shirt, her fingertips trying to reach inside my sweatpants.

I smile weakly into the kiss and tilt my head more, flicking my tongue over her bottom lip. Jenna shyly parted her lips and put my tongue inside her mouth, sighing immediately upon feeling hers. The brunette squeezes my hips tightly, melting into the passionate kiss.

The sensation almost makes my legs wobble, and my grip on her ass loosens momentarily. One hand slides to her hip, while the other gently rests on her cheek, breaking the passionate kiss.

we look at each other with agitated breathing, pupils showing our excitement.

"Undress" the brunette murmurs with agitated breathing.

My eyes watched mischievously as Jenna pulled her shirt over her head, ruffling her hair during the sensual gesture. I lick my lips noticing how Jenna's pants fall to the floor, kicked off and left there because they were in the way.

I took off my gray sweatshirt and took off my sweatpants, remaining in my underwear.

Jenna analyzes me from head to toe, biting her lower lip maliciously. The brunette advances and joins our lips again in a fiery kiss, making me sigh again.

Jenna guides me to her bed and I sigh as I feel the softness of the mattress under my back.

Jenna's lips move away from my mouth, focusing on my neck. The way she kissed my neck literally made me feel like I was in heaven, I couldn't believe she could make me wet for so little. "You're beautiful" she murmurs as she leaves a trail of kisses from my neck to the valley of my breasts.

Jenna bites her lower lip and takes off her bra, leaving me completely idiotic in front of the perfection of her breasts.

A blazing fire presents itself to my chest, moving down and giving itself to the bundle of nerves between my legs. I released a grunt and quickly changed positions, placing my arms on either side of her head.

“Someone is finally letting go,” she murmurs with amusement and I rolled my eyes at her comment. I leaned over and simply wrapped my lips around her nipple, immediately sighing at how soft it was.

Jenna sighs loudly.

I knew we didn't have much time and at any moment someone would come up to call me... but despite this I was excited by the idea of risking being caught in the act.

My hand deftly travels down her body, placing my fingers inside her panties, sighing at how wet she was. “You're soaked,” I say smugly and Jenna smiles genuinely, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and excitement.

"I can...?" I start shyly, brushing her clit with my thumb, playing with my fingers around her entrance.

“Misery, fuck me,” Jenna murmurs in exasperation, looking at me with heavy breathing.

I smiled and put two fingers inside her, making her moan in surprise. My wetness grows as I feel how tight and welcoming her walls are around my fingers. I start to move in and out of her, trying to get used to the pleasant sensation.

Jenna hooks her arms around my neck, opening her legs wider.

“Faster,” she murmurs breathlessly, biting her lower lip trying to hold back her moans. "As you wish" I say amused. My lips rest against her neck and my hand begins to penetrate her faster and deeper, literally fucking her like a whore.

“My god,” she murmurs weakly, placing her lips around my neck and clamping her teeth against my skin to muffle the moans.

I stroke her clit with my thumb, increasing the grip of her teeth against my skin. “Fuck yes!” she groans under her breath as she rests her head against the pillow, arching her back.

My mouth opens in surprise feeling Jenna's hand inside my panties, looking for space to enter and feel my arousal. “Yes you are so wet” Jenna says as she enters me, making me sigh. I lean into her neck and moan against her skin.

"Let's come together" she moans quickly feeling that I was moving my fingers again, resuming the initial rhythm. I nod against her neck, squeezing my nose, feeling a few strands of Jenna's hair tickling me and continuing to penetrate her.

"Jen" I moan almost crying with pleasure, feeling myself reaching my climax. Jenna increases her speed and whimpers into her neck, moving her arm rapidly.

Jenna's walls tighten around my fingers.

“Shit I’m…” I blather before feeling my abdomen clench and i come. My fingers welcomed Jenna's orgasm and I tried to prolong the wave of pleasure as much as possible.

Jenna relaxed against my neck and I raised my head to look at her. Her eyes sparkled and a beautiful smile was plastered on her lips, various freckles scattered across her face and her hair disheveled on the pillow.

Footsteps are heard on the stairs.

Jenna and I look at each other with concern and immediately get out of bed, looking for the clothes scattered on the floor. When I finished putting on my shoes the bedroom door opened and I smiled nervously seeing my sister looking at us curiously. Jenna stood across the room looking at herself in the mirror.

“Y/n” Emily smiled sweetly at me “we need to go home...” she states pouting slightly.

I get out of bed and walk towards my sister, crouching down to her height "did you have fun?" I ask with a small smile on my lips. Emily nods several times "you?" she asked innocently and out of the corner of my eye I saw Jenna smile mockingly.

“Yes,” I answer honestly and Emily giggles. Jenna turns and sits on her bed, looking at me curiously.

"So you'll go back to playing Aliyah" I say and Emily smiles genuinely, eyes sparkling with happiness "really?" she says squeezing my arm. “Yes.. obviously if Jen agrees” I say with a sheepish smile and the brunette rolls her eyes at the question.

“Obviously Emily” Jenna gets up and walks towards my sister, crouching down next to me. “You will always be welcome here,” she murmurs with a bright smile. "You will play with my sister in the garden or in the living room" says the brunette sweetly.

One of her hands rests in my sister's hair "and I will play with your sister in my room" the brunette says innocently, making me blush at the clear sexual message.

Emily smiled and I shiver feeling Jenna's gaze on me, analyzing me like a predator.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega smut #jenna ortega imagine #the neighbourhood

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loveinhawkins · 11 months

Text

The Reid family live in the trailer opposite Eddie and Wayne’s. They’re a pleasant bunch, sure, but more importantly, they always give Eddie a freshly cooked burger on the Fourth of July, which he readily accepts—why would he waste his time on overpriced fair food when he could get it on his own doorstep for free?

Tonight’s burger is more than a little on the charred side.

It’s no big deal to Eddie (that’s how he prefers it, really), and he gets that you really have to keep an eye on some of those portable grills—otherwise you’ll end up with incinerated chunks of meat in the blink of an eye. But even so, it’s not like Matthew Reid to be so distracted.

“Wayne got the night off?” Matthew asks.

He keeps glancing over his shoulder towards his home, almost misses Eddie nodding. He puts another singed burger on a bun, then places it on Eddie’s plate.

“Thanks,” Eddie says. “Uh, I’ve got some sparklers kicking around, y’know, if the kid wants to…”

He makes it sound more of a happenstance than it had been: yes, he’s had a decent run of orders from seniors and recent graduates, all wanting to let off some steam at the county fair; money is a damn sight better than it had been.

But the truth is that Eddie had been saving up anyway, would’ve bought the sparklers even if funds were tight.

It’s become a little tradition at this point: making his own annual ‘firework show’ with the Reid’s son.

Eddie’s known Daniel since the kid was six years old—he’s fourteen now, still has a bright-eyed naivety that Eddie hopes Hawkins High doesn’t completely stamp out.

He’s got a shock of blonde curls and a gap tooth, loves swimming so much there’s a running joke in the town that he’s part dolphin, what with the amount of time he spends at the community pool.

When his parents had heard that Eddie was repeating senior year yet again, instead of going for the usual commiserations or ‘helpful advice’ angle, they just quipped that it would be good for their son to see a familiar face at high school.

To be honest, Eddie can’t see Daniel needing a familiar face all that much; he imagines that after the typical first year nerves have come and gone, the kid will settle in quite comfortably, that he’ll be on the swim team by October.

At the mention of sparklers, Matthew’s face falls. He looks back to his trailer again and says, “Ah, m’sorry Eddie, couldn’t get him outta bed. Maybe later?”

“Sure, no problem.”

Eddie leaves him to it—if they were closer, perhaps he could’ve encouraged Daniel outside, made a difference somehow. But he just knows the family with a distant kind of friendliness—a shouted, “Morning!” when he’s running late, or a wave at the end of a long school day, their lives only overlapping briefly.

He goes inside to give Wayne his burger, so when it happens, he almost misses it.

He’s pouring himself a glass of water when he hears Louise Reid shouting indistinctly. She’s not usually one to argue, although Eddie’s noticed that she’s seemed tetchy lately—only yesterday, he’d been woken up by the sound of an almighty row that, as far as he could tell, was just about misplacing a bottle of bleach.

By the time he’s out on his porch, he’s just in time to see the back of Daniel as he heads out of the trailer park. It doesn’t exactly look like he’ll stop for anyone.

Louise is watching him go, her lips a thin line.

“Just let him cool off, darlin’,” Matthew says.

She shakes her head. “I don’t know what to do with him. That’s—that’s not normal, I don’t know what the hell’s going on in his head—”

”He’s a kid, Lou, he’s just acting up, that’s all. He’ll grow out of it.”

Louise sighs exasperatedly. When she shuts the front door, she does it with such force that it just bounces back open again. Neither she nor her husband fix it.

Eddie reckons that he’ll time it: fifteen minutes, give or take, and Daniel will be back. Ten minutes more, and he’ll have made up with his mom, before sheepishly asking Eddie for a sparkler.

Eddie’s left counting for much longer than fifteen minutes.

Matthew walks down the road leading up to the park’s entrance, over and over again. Comes back and shouts into his trailer, maybe a little frantically, that he can’t find Daniel, that maybe he’s gone to one of his friend’s places.

Eddie hears Louise start up a round of phone calls. A knot forms in his stomach as each one ends the same way. Call me if you hear anything.

It gets darker. Wayne heads out to the woods with Matthew, flashlights in hand, and it reminds Eddie of when they’d done the same not all that long ago, when Will Byers went missing.

The knot in his stomach grows. Tightens.

Wayne returns with a shake of the head. Eddie makes coffee just for something to do.

“They reckon he hitched a ride somewhere.”

Eddie scoffs. “Where the hell’s he gonna go, Wayne? Chicago?”

They drink their coffee on the porch. The Reid’s door is still left open, so when the phone rings again, it sounds as loud as a gunshot.

Someone picks up.

A scream.

“Wayne,” Eddie whispers. He feels suddenly desperate.

Wayne’s face is white. “Stay here, Ed.”

And then he’s running over to the Reid’s.

Eddie shouldn’t get closer. Shouldn’t look. But he does.

He tiptoes across the grass, just close enough so he can see…

Louise is on the floor. She’s clinging onto the wall phone, the cord stretched to breaking point, and Wayne’s talking to her, too softly for Eddie to make out; he gets down on his knees and puts an arm around her.

Her scream turns into wailing, then guttural sobs.

Eddie staggers backwards.

A flashlight being dropped on concrete. Matthew running inside.

“Lou? Lou! Jesus, what’s—”

Eddie looks away.

He goes back home, tries to shut out the noise. No matter how loudly he plays music, he can still hear them.

Eventually Wayne returns; he doesn’t say anything, just switches Eddie’s music off and puts on the radio.

There’s names being read out. Daniel is one of them.

Eddie sits out on the roof that night. He lights a sparkler, thinks about writing Daniel’s name in the sky, and then is immediately furious at himself for the thought. The kid should be here to do it himself.

When he eventually falls asleep, it’s to the memory of a sparkler burning the back of his eyelids.

A few days pass in what feels like one slow blink.

Eddie doesn’t know what to do with himself. He ends up just wandering down town—it’s ghostly quiet here, has been so ever since the mall opened.

It’s overcast, as if the tragedy has made summer die quicker. That doesn’t stop Eddie’s skin from itching.

There’s a small diner near where Radio Shack once existed; it’s a hole in the wall, still somehow in business.

Eddie doesn’t know why he goes in. He hasn’t even brought his wallet.

All he knows is that he’s suddenly inside, and the place is absolutely dead, and the only person sat at a booth is—

“Jesus,” Eddie breathes. “What happened to your face?”

Steve Harrington stares back at him, looks decidedly unimpressed. There’s a basket of fries in front of him, and he’s presumably going for the ‘stoic silence’ route, because he picks up a fry, goes to eat it, and immediately winces. No fucking wonder, too; it’s a miracle he can even try and eat anything through that busted lip.

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, doubt something hot with salt was the best choice, Harrington, considering uh,” he waves a hand in front of his face, “everything.”

Steve frowns. “I just wanted them,” he says, on the edge of petulant, and Eddie wonders if he also ended up here by chance; if his skin is itching, too.

“Hang on,” Eddie says.

At least he has something to do now.

He asks for a cup of ice at the counter, wraps up some cubes inside a bunch of paper towels. He brings it back to Steve, who’s watching him in faint surprise.

“Uh. Thanks, Munson.”

Eddie shrugs.

Steve takes the bundle of towels, pressing them to his lips with a small hiss. He nods for Eddie to sit opposite him.

It’s a whole lot, up close: one of Steve’s eyes is heavily swollen, and along with the busted lip, his face is a mess of fresh bruises that must ache something fierce.

“You can ask,” Steve says, mumbled from talking behind the ice. He sounds resigned, like he’s one step away from adding everyone else does.

“All right.” Eddie crosses his arms. “What happened?”

“I worked at the mall. Broken down elevator.” Steve slams his hand down on the table. “It dropped.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie mutters.

But his mind is already elsewhere.

Steve’s unaffected eye narrows. Shit. He’s on to him.

“What’s eating you, Munson?”

“It’s just…” Eddie sighs, leans forward. “So a fire broke out. Like, after closing? But people were still inside.”

Steve doesn’t blink. “You ever worked in retail? People just hang around for no reason.”

“Sure, but—but—” Eddie feels a sudden urge to tug on his hair in frustration. “But he wouldn’t do that, he’d…”

Steve sets down the paper towels. “Who wouldn’t?” he says quietly.

Eddie tells him.

Steve listens in silence. He shifts in his seat when Eddie’s done and says, almost gently, “It sounds like he went to—”

“No, he hated the mall,” Eddie says vehemently. “Dragged his feet when his folks took him to the opening. He wouldn’t—he’d—I don’t know! All of it, it’s—”

“Crazy,” Steve finishes. He looks down. “Yeah. I know.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it, man. And, like, that family never fought, but the day before it—his mom was biting his head off over, like, losing some bleach or something stupid like—woah, Jesus, you okay?”

Because Steve suddenly looks like he might be sick. He swallows, breathes in and out cautiously.

“I’m fine.”

Eddie pauses. “Okay,” he says, uncertain. When Steve looks a little less pale, he goes on; he can’t stop himself. “I just—what if—did you, um. Did you see him?”

“No,” Steve says slowly. “But Eddie,” he says, and for some reason, he almost sounds like he’s pleading, “he was there.”

“How do you know? How does anyone—you know, like Will Byers, everyone thought… And then he…”

“It’s not always like that,” Steve says, sounds both sad and bitter. “Some people just stay dead.”

It’s a lousy rebuttal, in Eddie’s opinion, but for some reason it hits him anyway, leaves him abruptly exhausted. He runs a hand over his face.

“Yeah.” He steps out of the booth. “See you around, Harrington.”

“Wait.” Steve gets up too, with slow ginger movements. His fries remain untouched. “If I brought my car, I’d have given you a ride home, but…”

“Don’t think you’re in any condition to be driving,” Eddie says.

Steve gives a tiny shrug with one shoulder. “You wanna get the bus?”

“I didn’t bring any money.”

“It’s fine, I’ll get your ticket. I’m just gonna ride all the stops anyway.”

And it’s an unexpectedly comforting thought, that Steve is also at a loss for what to do.

They go to the back of the bus, sit in silence for the first couple of stops. Steve turns from where he’s been looking out the window and says, “Are you still, y’know, doing your thing?”

Eddie’s used to that being a euphemism for “Are you still selling?” But then he sees that Steve is miming a dice being thrown, and he’s momentarily surprised into a half-smile.

“Yeah. Will be, when school starts up again.”

He’d typically be using the summer as time to work on a new campaign, but that had gone out of his head with… everything.

They’re nearly at Forest Hills when Steve speaks again.

“I… I knew him. Not like you did, but I—I used to be a lifeguard, and his butterfly was phenomenal, I’d get the stopwatch out sometimes. There was a group of us, we worked on rotation, we’d call him part—”

“Dolphin,” Eddie says. “Yeah. That’s right.”

He feels his bottom lip threaten to go. Stupid. He rubs the feeling out with the tips of his fingers, digging in harshly.

It’ll be his stop soon. He stands up to make his way to the front, doesn’t expect Steve to rise with him, but he does. His breathing is suspiciously light; Eddie suspects he’s got some broken ribs to go with the pummelled face.

“Eddie,” he says, and even though he’s keeping his balance perfectly well, his hand brushes Eddie’s wrist anyway.

It’s not enough to chase away the itch in Eddie’s skin. But for a fleeting second, it helps. It helps.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “It sucks to lose someone.”

It’s a platitude, but there’s feeling behind it. Weight.

Eddie wants to say that he didn’t lose anyone, that the thought would be a disservice to Daniel’s parents, but…

It’s like Steve’s words give him permission to feel it. Just for now.

“Thanks,” he says tightly. On the last step before he exits, he turns and says, “Rest up, Harrington.”

“Oh yeah,” Steve says. “I’ll be here for hours.”

It’s said like it’s a joke, but Eddie thinks he means it.

Steve’s halfway back to his seat when the bus turns back onto the road, but he manages to wave just before he disappears from view.

Eddie starts the short walk home.

The Reid’s trailer is dark, a For Sale sign placed in front of it. Eddie hadn’t even known they were leaving, must have missed it in the haze of the last few days.

He gets it; if he were in their shoes, he doesn’t know if he could have stayed either. Everything would be a reminder of their son—the places he’d go, where he should be.

But he almost wishes that they were still here, so he could try and stumble his way through telling them Steve Harrington knew your son. He’ll remember him, too.

He doesn’t know if that would’ve been a comfort or not. He doesn’t know.

People come and go. Steve won’t be on that bus forever—he’ll go home eventually. July will become August will become…

Eddie lets himself in and collapses onto his bed. There’s still a prickle of wrongness in his skin, but he can’t untangle it. There’s nothing to make sense of.

He finds one of his journals. There’s some notes he made for a future campaign only last month. Feels like a lifetime ago.

He ignores the remaining unlit sparklers left in a corner of his room. Starts to write.

He can control this world, at least.

#eddie being just on the periphery of s3 events #eddie munson fic #eddie and wayne munson #pre s4 meetings how I love you #pre steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie

998 notes · View notes

luveline · 8 months

Note

an eddie/roan/reader request <3

roan loses a tooth and reader is freaking out asking if it hurt, if she’s okay, and roan is just excited bc that means the tooth fairy is gonna pat her a visit!!!

ty for your request ♡ eddie and roan. step mom!reader. 1.1k

Eddie's trying to prove to you that he can play Master of Puppets on the guitar, but it's been a long time since he was twenty. "Ah, fuck," he says, stumbling over another chord. "What the fuck. I thought muscle memory was supposed to remember things for me."

"I think you need to prompt your muscles into remembering," you say, cross-legged on the armchair with a pint of vanilla ice cream in your lap. "Can you play my favourite again?"

"Depends. What's in it for me?"

"So much. I'll scratch your back all the way through Princess Polly tonight."

He immediately sets his fingers against the first chord of your favourite song and begins to play. Your back scratching literally haunts him. He can be on a rolling board under a truck that stinks of dirt and old oil and he'll be dreaming of your fingernails and their gentle up and down, his face on your shoulder, in your neck, buried in your thigh, whichever way he lays down. A song for an hour of your touch is easy work.

He suspects you like doing it as much as he likes getting it. You love taking care of him. You're good beyond words.

Eddie watches you nod along to his playing happily, a spoon between your lips, a dot of melted cream on your chin, and he knows what he has to do. "I'd ask you to marry me if I hadn't already done it," he says.

You cut into your ice cream with a delighted jaunt. "I'd say yes for sure. You can ask me again, if you like. After the song."

"I'll ask you as many times as you want. I'll even throw in a free song—"

The air rips apart with a signature Roan Munson scream, which is to say, it's impossible to tell if Roan is in immense pain or having the most fun of her life.

Eddie almost chokes putting down his guitar as you ditch your ice cream on the arm, half a second behind him as he races upstairs.

"What's wrong?" Eddie shouts as he goes. "What? What?"

"Daddy!" she shouts as Eddie throws open her bedroom door, sitting on the heart-shaped rug beside her dollhouse. "Lookit!"

You move his elbow aside to squeeze through the doorway. "Is that a tooth?"

"It's my tooth!"

"Oh my gosh, princess!" you yelp, kneeling down in the plush rug in front of her, your thumb on her pale chin. "You're bleeding! Aw, sweetheart, let me see."

Eddie blinks dazedly, bending down to take the tooth Roan offers. It's tiny and white with a hole at the bottom that's darker on the inside. He rolls it around in his palm. Is she really that age? he asks himself, looking unsurely between his hand and Roan where she beams on the floor.

"There's blood on your dress, too," you say, fingers held delicately against her cheek.

Eddie doesn't have ugly hands, but it's different to see you touch her. You're a sweet, careful woman when it comes to mothering, a soft touch through and through. "Can I see?"

Roan tips her head back and opens her mouth. Clear as day is the gap in her pearly white teeth, a bottom tooth now gone.

"What did you do?" Eddie asks knowingly.

"Nothing! It felt wobbly so I just bit on my Prince Dylan until it felled out."

"Baby," you murmur, wiping the bloody spit off of her lips, "you hurt yourself?"

"It didn't hurt that much."

"Maybe let's not force them, Ro. Teeth come out when they're ready. If you start pulling them out before they're ready you might have wonky ones. And you shouldn't hurt yourself," Eddie says, kneeling down next to you for the united front effect.

Roan looks at least somewhat chastised. "Okay. I won't pull them out until they're ready. But now the fairy comes, right? The tooth fairy?"

Eddie grins, endeared by his devious little monster. You curl your sleeve down to press the clean edge to her gum, a frown creasing your face. Roan winces and you flinch, tucking her hair behind her ears in apology.

"Sorry, lovely girl."

"It's fine!" she says, flashing her first gap-toothed smile. "Don't worry, mom, it's just a small ow."

You soften at the name and drop your hand to hers. "Okay. I won't worry… you know your first tooth fairy and your last are the special ones, right?"

You and Eddie take to whispering as the bath runs that night, a debate of the ages. You think losing your first tooth deserves a new bike, or at the very least a new custom princess dress from the boutique in Indianapolis. Eddie thinks it deserves a kiss and a crisp twenty dollar bill.

Roan splashes suds at your socks and tells you to stop whispering so much.

That night, after Eddie forfeits half of his back scratching time to let you cuddle Roan, he sneaks into Roan's room with twenty dollars and a note.

"Can we take another picture?" you whisper from behind hjm.

"I think the flash might wake her up," he whispers back, the two of you standing still at the foot of her bed. She's clutching Teddy to her chest, curls splayed over her pink pillow, one of her feet sticking out of the sheets. "The first picture was really cute, we'll be fine."

Roan smiled to show off her gap with her small tooth held up to lense. Eddie's gonna get it printed and maybe framed. She looks like a kid in the clothes catalogues.

Together, you and Eddie tiptoe to her pillow to retrieve the lost tooth and replace it with her boon. Inspired by her statue-like stillness, Eddie leans down to press a kiss into her hairline, trying hard not to wake her up.

Roan affords him no such luxury in the morning. "Dad!" she shouts, straight into his ear canal. He chokes awake. "The tooth fairy said you'd buy me a scooter! Is that true?"

"Only if you stop yelling," he whines, burying his head under the pillow.

Roan climbs onto the bed and over his back. He groans as his back clicks, settles when you put a hand on his shoulders sympathetically.

"Your fault," he says. You're the one who campaigned for a new scooter.

"Sorry, handsome," you say.

Eddie will feel much more forgiving in a couple of hours.

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antoncyng · 17 days

Text

౨ৎ the one he loves — p.sh

synopsis - after spending a day with your bestfriend at the beach, you realize he really is the one you love.

warnings - tooth rotting fluff, bestfriends to lovers, maybe a few kys jokes??, kissing, cursing, fem!reader, reader can’t swim lol | wc - 500+

release date - 04/13/24

notes - first fic with the new theme.. what do we think (*´∀｀*)

friday, april 12th, 2:47 was the day and time you found out you were in love with your bestfriend.

how did this happen? you two were just at a beach, and now you two were back at sunghoon’s house, in each others arms watching a movie.

——— 4 DAYS AGO

“yn, you know sunghoon has the biggest crush on you, right? how could you not see it?” one of your bestfriends, ningning, argues back to you. it was almost the end of lunch break, you and your bestfriends were in a group around you and giselle’s desks.

“he doesn’t like me, we’ve been bestfriends forever.” you argue back, gently hitting chaeryeong’s arm when she shakes her head and sighs in defeat.

“looks like you’ll just have to wait and see if he confesses..” she mumbles after hearing the bell, all your friends making their ways back to their own desks.

- DING -

you heard and felt your phone vibrate on your desk from the notification, picking it up and seeing 3 texts from sunghoon.

hoon (dni..) : ynynynynyn

hoon (dni..) : can we go to da beach dis weekend

hoon (dni..) : answer my texts woman

you just chuckled at his texts before unlocking your phone and tapping your keyboard to respond.

you : yes we can go

you : sorry i was talking to my friends

hoon (dni..) : u have other friends than me??!

you : kys

you laughed quietly again before shutting off your phone and putting it away, picking up your pencil while your teacher walks back into the class, perfect timing.

——— PRESENT DAY, APRIL 12TH, 12:35 PM.

lying on your stomach while resting your head on your arm, in a bikini, while sunghoon sat up with his hands behind his back for support. “isn’t that boring to you? why don’t we go into the water like real fun!” sunghoon whined once again, only having around 10-15 minutes between each complaint.

“it’s called tanning, it makes me look better! we can go in the water in.. 5 minutes..” you bit back at him, earning a groan from the boy next to you. “you look pretty tanned or not..” he mumbled, turning his head so you couldn’t hear what he said clearly.

5 MINUTES LATER

still tanning, you soon felt arms lifting you, making you flinch. “sunghoon! put me down right now!!” you exclaimed, squirming in his arms while smacking his shoulder, only gaining laughs from your bestfriend.

“it’s been 5 minutes!!!” he fought back, finally reaching the water and sinking the both of you into the cold, clear ocean, finally putting you on your feet. both of you hissed at the cold, stepping backwards and still facing him, you went deeper into the water.

but you felt a rock hit the back of your ankle, tripping over and almost falling, but you felt sunghoon’s arms catch you by your waist before you hit the cold water with the top half of your body.

you opened your shut tight eyes, seeing sunghoon’s face closer to yours than you expected, making the both of your faces flush a shade of light red.

“sorry.. i know you can’t swim so i didn’t want you to fal-“ he started to ramble after stabling the two of you, being shut up by your lips on his. he stood frozen for a few seconds, before slowly wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing back.

pulling back from the kiss, you both smiled at each other. your arms still around his neck and his around your waist, you could just close the gap between you two and hug him tightly.

“you talk too much when you’re nervous, hoon.” you mumbled into his shoulder.

maybe ningning was right, you really were the one he loves.

tags ; @ilovetaroo @wonifullove @lilacnini @naespas @copyhanni

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL OR REPOST

thank you for reading ✌︎('ω'✌︎ )

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nfr-girly · 3 months

Text

Little Hope - Bradley Bradshaw x reader (Part 1)

Bradley’s priority’s have always been the navy and his daughter, hope, but what happens when his daughter’s teacher comes into the mix?

a/n: literally never wrote a fic before let me know if it’s good

Ever since Bradley and his ex had split up, he had been his daughter’s main guardian. He doesn’t really speak to his ex, and he doesn’t want to. Balancing being a dad and the navy wasn’t easy, so when the time came for Hope to go to pre-school, he couldn’t complain.

“Hey have you got your bag?” Brad asked

“Yes!!”

“And did you brush your teeth?”

“Of course I’m not like you” she rolled her eyes jokingly, to which he smiled at

He strapped her in her seat and pulled out of the drive. Brad was feeling all types of emotions, relief that he could spend some more time in the navy while she learns, sad that she’s growing up, also happy for her to make friends. He didn’t like feeling emotions. He never thought it ended well, and in his case it never had.

Pulling into the car park of the school, he stops for a minute. The school is a good size; he sees kids running around, parents talking to each other. He feels a sense of hope that she’ll be okay, but the other half is telling him to take her back home.

“Daddy are we going in??” Hope asks, the gap where her tooth was showing clear, she sits cuddling her bear.

“Oh yeah honey sorry” he gets out and unstraps her out her seat; they walk hand in hand towards the school.

Walking along he feels some eyes on him, at first he thinks maybe they’re judging him, or worst, hope. But as he glances he realises some of the mums are checking him out. He looks away quickly, he had decided to wear a very tight shirt today.

He walked into classroom 2b, which was what classroom hope was apparently in. He looks around and sees the back of who he guesses is the teacher. He waits till she’s done talking to a student.

But as soon as she turned around, Bradley had completely zoned out everything around him but you. As you notice him, you give him a smile and start walking towards him. If he didn’t feel nervous already, he absolutely did now.

“Hi!! Im Miss L/N!! I assume you are hope?” You kneel down to match hopes height, while Bradley’s eyes are still on you. He would’ve thought he had landed in heaven seeing you.

“Yes!! This is my daddy!!!” Hope says, tugging at Bradley’s shirt. He snaps out of his trance as you get up again, trying to understand what just happened

your POV

Being in the presence of Hopes father could be classed as its own national holiday, because being able to meet a man that gorgeous should be celebrated.

“Hi! My names Miss L/N, but you can just call me Y/N” I whisper the last part

“Hi.. Im uh- im hopes dad, but my names Bradley” he says as he shakes my hand. I don’t even know if I can think the things I’m thinking about a students dad, but who gives a shit.

“Nice to meet you Bradley, I just know hope will have a great time here!” I smile at him, which he grins back at.

“Yeah I hope. She’s feeling excited so it should be alright. so uh I gotta get going now, but pick ups at 3:15 right?”

“Yeah!” I reply; feeling sudden disappointment from him having to leave

“Hey honey I’ll be back soon okay?” He has a little conversation with his daughter, I notice a lot of features they share, same nose, same eyes. It makes my heart fill with warmth even more

He gives her a peck on the cheek before getting up.

“Well I’ll uh, pick her up at 3:15 then” he says

“Yeah um see you then” I smile

He smiles back before turning around and heading out the door.

“So hope let’s get you to your desk and meet your classmates okay!” I say

“Okay!” She smiles as we walk towards the classroom. She talks about her teddy bear, and how she named him Rooster, I assume maybe she likes roosters? Half of the conversation I may have been thinking back to her dad. God, why is 3:15 so far away?

————————————————————————

#rooster top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #Bradley Bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster x reader #top gun maverick

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cripplecharacters · 3 days

Note

Hi, I have some questions regarding confusion over a certain topic. First off, I have a character with a severe scarring on the upper right side of their body. I've heard in some tumblr ppsts that such appearance shouldn't be fetished. Then I stumbled across some posts, mentioning how the character can be described as 'pretty with it'.

For sure, I'm trying my best to normalize the looks. Because I have a love interest set up for them and while they don't mind the looks, I feel confused on how to convey their appreciation for the character's looks even with the scarring. They like the character as they are and stuff.

Sorry if this is a lot, I tend to get confused on how to handle such scenarios. And this sort of varying opinions is making me go '???'.

It's okay if you take your time to answer! Have a good day ahead of ya!

Hi!

"Fetishization of a disability" and "thinking that a disabled person is pretty" are two very different things. Despite the somewhat similar sound, they're not connected by much.

In the context of scars, fetishization would be what I would call the "Zuko situation" (yes, I love ATLA as much as the next guy, let me explain) - the scar isn't really a scar, it's more of a, I don't know, make-up? It's just the color that changes, it's all sharp edges and intricate shapes, the facial structure stays the exact same. There's no physical symptoms. Essentially, it's permanent body paint.

It fetishizes a disability by making it inaccurate, sometimes almost mystical. You don't see anyone fetishizing how real people with facial burns look like because they only like the idea of it. They don't care for us; they don't care for Face Equality or why we are offended by "villain with scar #32482". It's just a fun splotch of color to add to your OC when you're out of ideas.

Another aspect of fetishization is the "a scar is the worst thing in the whole world", the tragedy porn. It's using a disability for cheap drama. Again; it's inaccurate and exploitative. I don't see writers excited to depict my "coming to terms with my facial difference as a teenager, and eventually being proud of it" experience because where's the shock value and pity points? Fetishization, again, is about liking the idea of it, not the real thing.

Describing your character as beautiful, well, isn't any of that.

The point that I tried to make on that post was that a scar is often considered inherently ugly. That it's a stain on someone's beauty, that it would be better if it wasn't there.

"Brown beautiful eyes, thick facial hair, strong cheekbones - he managed to be irresistibly handsome even with that nasty scar going across his nose."

This, well, sucks. It's as if the character's beauty and their disability are contradictory forces that have to fight each other. But in reality, scars and any other visible disabilities are neutral. If the character is pretty, their scar is pretty too. It's a part of them, so how could it not be?

"She was a cute girl; her pastel pink, thinly braided hair framed her face, defying gravity by curling towards her mouth. The burned skin on her lips shifted as she smiled, revealing a tooth gap. She played with her equally pink 'white' cane, holding it between the two fingers she had on her right hand, bopping it against the ground to the rhythm of the song."

This, on the other hand, just states her disability as a part of her person. It's nothing weird or shocking, she's pretty, has a burn on her face, she's blind, she's missing some fingers, she's enjoying the music - it's almost boring when compared to the usual "scar introduction". There's no "even with her horribly burnt face", no "if only she wasn't scarred she would be beautiful", no "poor thing, lost her fingers in a horrific fire" - instead, she is beautiful, and she has scars, and she sure is having fun. That's it.

This is my best shot at explaining the difference between "fetishization" and "yeah they're pretty :-)" ft. my questionable writing - I hope this makes sense.

I definitely took my time to answer, sorry about that. Thank you for your ask!

mod Sasza

#mod sasza #anonymous #face difference #fetishization of disability

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sweetsbfreex · 2 years

Text

the super seller patch!

Warning: none

Pairings: dad!mafia/gang!steve rogers x wife!reader

“Mommy’s gonna make sure you get your patch!” You tell your five-year-old daughter, Elysia, while you fix her blue, decorated vest.

You’re kneeling in front of her small form, silently swooning at how adorable she looked in her uniform. Dressed in her blue beret, matching blue skirt, a white collared shirt, her favorite sneakers, and a white, polka’d fanny pack to store the cash.

She was excited and fidgety as you explained exactly what she would do. But she smiled up at you, her front tooth gone, as she listened to you intently.

“Okay, mommy!”

You stand up after kissing her full cheeks, guiding her to Steve’s office door. She looks back at you one more time, as her tiny fist stands parallel to the door. Eyebrows furrowed in uncertainty.

“Go ahead” you whisper, smiling.

She nods and smiles in return before her knuckles rasp against the wood door.

The room's attention is taken by the Jacobean stained door. Steve smirks knowing that knocking pattern anywhere. He couldn’t count on one hand how many times a day he’d hear it on his door. Followed by an “Are you almost free daddy?” while one of his favorite faces poked through the gap.

“Come in” Steve ushers in, a soft smile on his face when his little girl toddles in groaning softly at the weight of the door, but as always she steps in the room.

“Hi daddy!” She bobs on her tippy-toes, causing her pigtails to bounce as she waves her arm at her father (who sits at the head of the table.)

“Hi baby doll, how can I help you?”

“I’m— I’m trying to get my S-super seller patch.”

She tells him everything he needs to hear, smiling at how adorable she looked in her outfit.

“That’s great, baby, go ahead,” he tells her with an elbow set on the table while his bearded chin sits in his palm, watching the heir in her come out as she starts her rounds at the table.

“Hi!” She stops in front of a buff, grumpy man; his hair is pulled back in a bun and the sides shaved. “I’m Elysia, I’m selling cookies to earn my super seller patch, would you like to buy cookies?” She recites, and quickly after pops a smile so her dimples are displayed. She may only be five, but she knew exactly how to work her cuteness to her upper hand.

The man, Wong, holds up his hand and shakes his head softly, “No, thank—“

Steve clears his throat, eyes going flint-eyed towards the new recruit. He still had a lot to learn and this was one of them. Under his rule, Elysia was a princess; if she wanted a piggy back ride you’d agree, if she wanted a tea party you’d agree, and if she wanted you to buy some cookies you’d definitely agree.

“Actually,” he starts, smiling nervously at the Girl Scout and glancing at Mr. Rogers as he takes the clipboard and pen, “I’ll buy 15 trefoils.”

“Thanks!” She beams, taking the clipboard back once he’s finished and stashing the cash in her fanny pack.

She continues, no one has the guts to say no to her and she lights up inside when she’s handed big bill after big bill.

Mr. Laufeyson purchases twenty boxes of Savannah Smiles and three boxes of trefoils. This information causes the sound of snickering to flow in the room.

“What?” He snaps,when he turns his head everyone is quick to hide their smiles and laughter.

“I never would’ve pictured you as a Savannah Smiles guy,” chuckles Mr. Strange.

Mr. Kent purchases forty-five boxes of thin mints. Mr. Wade orders fifteen thin mints and fifteen do-si-dos.

She steps in front of her uncle

“Hi Uncle Sam!”

“Hi Princess, I see you’re selling cookies?”

“Yea, would y’wanna buy some?” She holds out the clipboard, a smile on her face.

“Are you kidding me, hand that over” he smiles, his gap on display. Without a second thought he writes the number 75 next to his name. It didn’t matter what he got, as long as he put a smile on his co-god daughter's face (yes, ‘co’ because Bucky and Sam wouldn’t stop arguing over who her Godfather would be, and you and Steve weren’t sure if you wanted any more kids.)

She takes the clipboard and the cash, eyes blowing wide at the double digit number, “seventy-five!! Thank you so much, Uncle Sam!” Throwing herself into his arms.

“No problem” he smiles, squeezes her, then kisses the top of her head.

She skips her way to her Uncle Bucky.

“Hi Uncle Bucky! I’m selling cookies to earn my super seller patch, would you like to buy cookies?”

“Of course, skipper, I couldn’t leave my goddaughter hanging like that could I?”

By his name he writes the number 80 and hands it and the cash to Elysia. Her eyes grow even wider at the number. There were a lot of things Elysia hadn’t learned at the ripe age of five, but one thing she did was that 80 is larger than 75.

“Eighty! Thank you so much!” She hugs her uncle tightly. Who smiles down at her and kisses her head also.

“Leysia, you mind if I see that clipboard,”

She looks up at him with concern in her eyes, before handing the clipboard over. Before she knows it, he’s handed it back to her. The number seventy-five is crossed out and its place is ninety-five. One thing each man could not stand was being upstaged by the other, especially in front of their goddaughter.

Bucky snatches the clipboard from his hands, taking a pen from the pocket in his suit jacket. Crossed off is the number eighty and its place one-hundred. Sam takes it back quickly writing another, and the cycle continues three more times before they finally call it a truce.

Elysia collects the money with pure giddy, at this rate she’d get way past the super seller patch!

Finally, she trots over to her father who lifts her onto his lap, kisses her cheek before tickling her a little bit as she squirms in her lap giggling.

“Let’s see how well you swindled these chumps,” he jokes, looking over the paper as he calculated the numbers in his head. “295 boxes! All right doll” he nudged her chin with his knuckle. “You’re well on your way past the super seller patch, you might even get the top cookie seller patch,” he grins.

“Really!”

“Really” he answers, “You head back to mom, okay, I’ll see you guys at home later.”

“Okay, see you, love you” she wraps an arm around his neck before kissing his bristly cheek.

“I love you too”

He just walked through their bedroom door right when she slipped on her navy, silk nightie.

“You” he points at her then crooks it back and forth.

She sauntered over to him with a meek smile on her face, throwing both arms around his waist.

“Yes,” she answers sweetly.

He had to keep his mind on track, but the smell of her lotion was doing things to him.

“You.” He takes her cheeks in his palms, pulling her in for one kiss, “You are diabolical, you know that?”

“Well” you hum, “You call it diabolical, I call it networking.” You shrug. “She was freaking out over the patch, how much did she end up getting.”

“Two-ninety-five” he grins.

“Awhh, was she happy?” You ask.

“She was ecstatic,” he motions with his hand.

“You’re such a good dad,” you hum, eyes going low as your finger trailed the side of his jaw then over his eyebrow.

“You’re a terrific mom” he responds, leaning so his lips locked with yours. He pulls back, “Is this night ending how I think it will”

“Maybe?” you answer, pecking his chin.

Before you know it, everything is upside down and a stinging pain on your ass.

#steve rogers #mafia steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #avengers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers drabble #steve rogers blurb #steve rogers x fem reader #steve rogers x you #chris evans x reader #marvel fanfiction #dad steve rogers #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america fluff #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers one shot

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nwjn-z · 8 months

Text

𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥 !

warning(s): nsfw, swearing

author’s note: A paralegal is a legal assistant who performs administrative and support tasks for attorneys.

you had been working for Gerald as a paralegal for around 6 months when you met Kyle

He was visiting his dad at his firm when his dad had introduced you two

“And this is my paralegal Y/n! Y/n this is my son Kyle.” Gerald said with much enthusiasm

“Hello Y/n” Kyle said with the most precious smile you had ever seen in your life.

“Hi!” you said coming out more high pitched than usual.

You had seen some baby and elementary school pictures of Kyle, but you hadn’t seen how much he’s grown since then

He had small oval glasses, almost perfectly straight teeth aside from the cute tooth gap, he was also tall and had the most beautiful red curls you had ever seen

Just looking at him made you nervous let alone talking to him

Little did you know he felt the same about you

Kyle tried his best to appear as confident as possible when talking to you but it was getting increasingly difficult

After you two met he started visiting his dad a lot more often

he really was just coming to see you ;)

you guys had a lot of tension between each other that came to a boiling point when your first kiss became a heated make out session that turned into you guys fucking on his dads desk while he was out the office

you did not get caught 🎉

but after he finished (still balls deep inside you) he asks you out and you, ofc, said yes

when you become official, everyone in the firm knows that you and your bosses son are dating

you and Kyle try not to make a big deal about it but Gerald is all to exited to make sure EVERYONE knows that his son has a gf

Despite not enjoying all the attention his dad puts on your guys relationship, he still visits the office often to see you

he brings you lunch, snacks, and even little gifts such as flowers

Kyle is the sweetest boyfriend, going above and beyond for you

He loves taking you out on fancy dates and getting to see you all dressed up (he’s so romantic uunngh)

Whenever you have classes on campus he insists on driving you and then picking you up

when to came to meeting the rest of his family you were a little nervous

You really wanted to be close with his family bc you knew how much it meant to him

You got along great with Ike, he really is like a little brother to you

Sheila on the other had was a little difficult

I mean it’s Sheila come on

She didn’t like the fact that you worked for Gerald bc she thought it meant you were only dating Kyle to advance in your job

So she was a little sour in the beginning

But she warmed up after a while once she realised you truly loved Kyle for him, and seeing how happy you make Kyle

After the growing pains of getting sheila to trust you, she would do anything for you just as she would her other kids

#🎬 — nwjn-z!#south park #south park x reader #kyle broflovski #kyle broflovski x reader #kyle x reader #kyle broflovski headcanons #south park headcanons #kyle broflovski x you #kyle broflovski x y/n

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obsidiancreates · 1 year

Text

Would a Body Swap Rise/2012 crossover be better with only The Boys being body swapped across dimensions, or would it be better if all characters were? Or just The Boys and Splinters?

Because on one hand, if it's just The Boys then I think 2012 Splinter would notice These Aren't My Sons' Souls right away and get things jumpstarted

On the other hand... it'd be really funny for 2012 Splinter to wake up short and round and Danny Devito Shaped while Rise Splints wakes up tall as shit

"HA-HA! I AM FINALLY TALLER THAN MY SONS AGAIN! LOOK AT ME, WOW RED YOU EXPERIENCE THIS ALWAYS?! HA-HA, YOU ARE SO TINY NOW!"

"My sons... please help me to reach the countertop. I have tried climbing onto a chair, yes. I could not make it up."

Anyway, 2012 Raph suddenly being the tallest would make him insufferable, and when he discovers this body has Mystic Powers to become even BIGGER he's just a menace. He does however keep hitting his head on everything and knocking stuff over because he's not used to such Width. Muscle memory shocks him when the body instinctually reacts with Hugs to his brothers having a bad time, and how it's clearly common because the body holds at just the right angle to none of the spikes or sharp edges of his shell jab his brother. It's kinda nice.

Meanwhile Rise Raph is trying to adjust to being a whole foot shorter and way less wide. He keeps reaching for things he should be able to grab easily and realizing he needs to lean way over to grab it. Leo keeps patting him on the head like he's a dog. he doesn't dislike it except for the smugness Leo does it with. Muscle Memory keeps affecting all of them and they first learn this when Raph by The Body's Instinct slaps one of them on the back of the head. He promptly bursts into tears about it.

Rise Donnie revels in being the tallest now and Is A Problem about it, but the tooth gap irritates him to no end, he can't stop running his tongue over it. He discovers tech is WAY harder to get in this universe as well and is horrified by how he must work with things like Manhole Covers and scraps, and even more horrified to find out how much Muscle Memory this body has in regards to navigating the military junkyard (not because he fees bad for 2012 but because this scrapyard isn't even that good but the muscle memory implies this is the best place to get tech here and it's all he has to work with and he hates it).

2012 Donnie is in candyland and fucking loves this giant lab with tech that The Kraang could only wish they had a d when he discovers the mystic tech powers? He passes out. He's probably having the best time of everyone (when they're not pressuring him to work faster on getting them back to their own bodies). He knows that since Memories have a physical makeup in brains they should technically be able to remember things these bodies have done and thought, but there's a spiritual block so they can't access any actual memories. He finds he stims a lot more in this body and actually rather enjoys it.

Rise Mikey is delighted by the muscle memory breakdancing he can get up to in the 2012 universe, yet horrified by the things this body seems to be used to eating. He almost eats a Trash Pizza Slice with ants on it, pauses, realizes, and throws up. He decides the best thing he can do for this Other Mikey is train the body how to cook well. Ice Cream Kitty knows it's not her Mikey so she's sad but she doesn't dislike Rise, she just misses her bestie. Rise is so relieved by the never-ending chains on the nunchucks, though definitely confused how they never end since this universe doesn't seem to have Mystic Powers.

2012 Mikey thinks the art on his shell is awesome and loves that he finds a closet with turtlenecks and art stuff. He steps into the kitchen one day and by sheer muscle memory cooks an artisanal meal and everyone is blown away. He thinks he got the best body out of everyone and he has fire powers now! Which is concerning to everyone and he does set things on fire regularly. Good thing the Donnie Body here seems to be prepped for that because the first time it happens The Battle Shell opens up and puts out the fire, which causes a new panic because DONNIE YOUR SHELL WHAT HAPPENED WHY IS IT METAL- oh good it's a covering AHHHHHHHHHHHHH WHY'S YOUR SHELL SOFT AHHHHHHHHHHH

Rise Leo doesn't like 2012's body one bit, especially the larger feet. He also hates not being able to teleport. And his muscle memory has him Naruto Running across buildings. He's having a bad time, he hates this. Space Heroes is cool though he likes Space Heroes. He's trying to get Donnie to figure out how to bring the show back to their dimension. He's also so surprised by how Meditation is one of the body's first instincts when in the dojo, and by how many super formal moves it knows. He does enjoy getting to brag about it and pretending to be Old and Wise to his brothers while running through the motions of these katas he doesn't even know the names of.

2012 Leo is just. So confused. He keeps posing. He keeps lounging. He sleeps in way more. This body walks with a more casual gait. Fascinating. And a little weird and uncomfortable and scary. He's trying to enjoy it but he's not sure how he feel about it. He loves the portals/teleportation, though when he discovers one of the main ways this body uses them is throwing one katana to teleport to it he knows he must keep this fact from Raph as long as possible because Raph has never let him live down the "A ninja never throws their weapon!" thing.

Anyway I don't think I'd swap April, Casey (who'd be swapped with Cassandra and not Casey Jr), or the villains because someone needs to notice The Boys are acting unlike themselves, and if The Splinters are swapped too that doesn't leave a ton of options. If I did, though, we all know 2012 Casey said he kinda enjoyed being a girl, so he'd be pretty happy with his situation, especially since with the muscle memory he's also a ninja now.

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2018 #tmnt 2k12 #rottmnt #tmnt crossover

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mediumgayitalian · 18 days

Text

fic rec friday 10

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

something borrowed by @rosyredlipstick

In the Solace Wedding Planning agenda, on the fifth page into their summer schedule, there are carefully scrawled out notes reading this: Bride and Groom - Hazel Levesque & Frank Zhang Best Man & Maid of Honor - Percy Jackson & Piper McLean Wedding Court - Annabeth Chase & Jason Grace Mellie & Gleeson Hedge Reyna Ramírez-Arellano & Leo Valdez Ring-bearer - Chuck Hedge Flower-boy - Nico di Angelo - Will plans wedding and now, apparently, Nico stars in one. Except...sometimes there's a bit more confusion on that last part. AKA the AU where Will plans weddings and thinks Hazel and Frank are going to have to cutest, gap-toothed ten year throwing flowers down the aisle, all while wondering why this 'Neeks' guy is always hanging around, and what business he has looking that good.

yes i am back on my rosyredlipstick (dude she's GOOD okay). however this one is my favourite i think. this is the kinda story you could use to explain to people what dramatic irony is bc LORD i wanted to SHAKE THEM 😭😭 will falling like deeply in love with nico and being intensely stressed about everything the whole time is so real and on brand. i love him and i love the fond exasperation that just bleeds from this fic its GREAT

2. Rental Love by @rosyredlipstick

*Read Terms & Conditions - Male/22/Long Island N.Y.C. Tired of showing up stag at holiday events? Want your family to stop thinking there’s something wrong with you? Just want some arm candy for a work event? Look no further. Your solution is here! I will attend holiday events with you as your paid date. Accepting all genders as applicants. Email [email protected] if interested. Interview & application will be set up there. - Nico di Angelo has been telling Hazel Levesque about his boyfriend for weeks. The bad part? Nico doesn’t have a boyfriend, the holidays are coming up, and not all of Jason’s ideas are horrible. They’re all a bit surprised about the last one.

THE LEVEL OF STUPID THAT THEY ARE...😭😭 kills me fr. like this whole fic is just a manifestation of truly one of the best tropes of all time…..like what if we took a hallmark movie and made it gay as all hell. iconique indeed

3. A Match in the Making by @coconutcranberries-blog

“You’re a morning person,” Nico muttered, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms. He ran a hand through his black hair, which stuck up in disarray, the same way it did every morning. He was a mess, and Will Solace looked annoyingly put together, and Nico didn’t even care, really, he didn’t.

friendship is the core of romance!! it is!! every time!!! and it's such a core in this fic....which is fucking??? ten years old??? im just realising?? jesus christ??? anyways. "Nico had the sudden, warm feeling that Will Solace had never bought his act." i YELLED

4. Perception by scorchedtrees

In which everyone thinks Nico and Will are together.

i love this trope i love it SO BAD. both ways. when your love is so obvious that no one misses it.....love to see it truly. and will can have one second of beingn smooth and not a dweeby loser. as a treat

5. the world is brighter than the sun now that you're here by @finalizer

It was hard, Nico eventually concluded, to maintain one’s air of spooky otherworldly detachment with a blinding ray of sunshine trailing one step behind him every minute of every day.

grouchy nico my beloved truly. honestly hes such a bitch i love him like "Seriously, give the guy a perm and a few cats and he’d be that weird aunt that everybody avoided around the holiday season." why does he ALWAYS have something vile to say 😭😭 hes a mood fr

thank you for joining me this saturday friday!! happy reading!!

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possibilistfanfiction · 3 months

Note

More surgeon suffering pls! Maybe bea learning more about Ava’s injury?

[definitely sooo gentle & no present-day suffering lol but here u go]

‘you can ask.’

beatrice’s gentle, callused, careful fingers still along your back, their patterns you can’t quite decipher gone quiet. ‘i would never do that.’

her voice is so soft and so relaxed, it’s not at all a reprimand; you can’t say it aloud, not yet, but you love her. you roll over so that you can see the gentle planes of her face through the silvery-blue light from the moon and the night outside her big windows, the blinds not yet drawn. she looks at you openly, patiently, like there’s nothing she wants to take from you; everything she wants to give. you know — in your heart and through your friends and your family and your therapist telling you over and over again — that you have so much to offer: you’re beautiful and funny and very smart, and you love the world more than anyone you know. you also know that beatrice is sometimes less sure of herself than she seems: she clams up every time her parents call, unable to tell them to, unequivocally if it was up to you, fuck off; she loves to be lazy and sleep in and wants no one to know; she still is in the habit of downplaying accomplishments, anything from a surgery she mastered (impressive in that you know how hard it is) to a new route she climbed at the gym (you have no idea but lilith was jealous and you can imagine it’s hot); she’s a horrible cook.

‘i know,’ you say, and you do. you let a finger drift down the bridge of her nose, count her freckles, feel the chapped bow of her lips beneath your thumb. she has a scar, small, through her left brow, and you trace it. ‘what’s this from?’

she smiles, always so quick to understand, always so generous. it makes you feel like you could light up the entire world sometimes. ‘i was five; my brothers were trying to teach me how to rollerblade.’

you think about it: beatrice’s gap-toothed grin and the delightfully terrible bob haircut she had for so much of her early childhood, the photos making you laugh when, unprompted, lilith showed you a few weeks ago when you’d all had dinner at a good oyster place near bea’s house. ‘can you rollerblade now?’

‘no, it frightened me. i never learned.’

‘putting that on the short list of things that scare you. good to know.’

she holds up her right arm so you can see the small scar on her elbow, the skin darker than before. ‘at university, i was drunk and my crush dared me to climb a tree.’

you can’t help the laugh it pulls out of you. ‘oh my.’

she nods. ‘yes, quite. needless to say, amelia and i went our separate ways fairly soon after.’

‘well, her loss. i’d have paid to see you fall out of a tree.’

‘i didn’t fall,’ she says. ‘i scraped my elbow on the way up, but i did continue.’

‘of course you did.’

she shrugs. you trace the scars across her chest, ones you love.

‘camila told me you tried to go back to classes a week after your surgery. like, the day after you got your drains out.’

bea laughs. ‘yes, and promptly fell fast asleep about three minutes in.’

‘front row?’

‘well, the second.’

‘knew it.’

‘i can keep going, if you like. i have a good story about a scraped knee during field hockey at boarding school.’

‘homoerotic, i hope.’

she rolls her eyes, but based on her silence you know you’re right.

she lets you sit in it, easily, and her house is beautiful and warm and, you’re beginning to think — to hope — it might be full of your things one day, too. it’s easier to be brave here, but your words, the worst of them, still get stuck in your throat. ‘well, what do my scars tell you?’

she weighs it. ‘you know i’m more interested in cardio.’

‘you’re the smartest person i’ve ever met.’

‘well, you favor your left hand when you’re practicing sutures, and i know your left foot gets numb often. you have trouble with temperature regulation and walking long distances, but an easier time standing for the most part; your neck aches, i think all the time.’ she pauses. ‘your handwriting is abysmal, although i suspect that has nothing to do with your injuries.’

you’re about to start crying, but she makes things lighter, even now.

‘all i care about, ava,’ she says, soft and sure, a hand tangled in your hair and then gentle on your cheek, ‘is that you get the care you need, that you tell someone — me or anyone else who can help. and you can tell me whatever you like, if ever you feel ready.’

‘i can’t — i want to.’

she kisses your forehead. ‘like i said. it’ll always be up to you. i’m here.’

you take a deep breath. ‘my mom had a garden,’ you say. ‘she died, uh —‘ you get a little caught, stuck on the way her eyes looked when she wasn’t alive anymore, when you couldn’t move, when you were stuck for so long, screaming and so, so scared — ‘she grew all kinds of vegetables.’ your voice shakes but beatrice only nods. ‘and flowers. we were going to —‘ you sniffle and beatrice just wipes your tears — ‘i think she wanted to keep bees. i don’t even know if that was possible; we had a little yard. but everything grew.’

‘that sounds wonderful.’

‘it was, even though i hated eating my vegetables.’

beatrice laughs softly, admonishing in a way that’s harmless, fond. ‘you’ve grown so much since then.’

‘hey, i’ll have you know just today i ate, like, seven bites of a salad.’

‘very impressive.’

‘can i — not right now, because i think i’ll just cry too much, but — can i tell you more about her? i wish you could’ve met her.’ i wish i could remember her more; i can’t forget.

‘i would love that. and, if she was anything like you, i’m sure she would’ve lit up an entire room. it would’ve been an honor.’

‘bea, i really don’t want to cry again,’ you whine.

‘you should know,’ she tells you, a little firm, so there’s no argument. ‘she would be so proud of you. i know it; who wouldn’t be?’

‘that’s —‘ you bury your face in her neck, just for a moment, soft and warm and safe.

‘would you like to plant a garden?’

‘in my tiny ass apartment?’

‘no,’ she says, and you can’t see her but you can practically feel her rolling her eyes. ‘here. i have the whole back yard and, frankly, no real interest in a lawn.’

‘i —‘ you back up so you can look at her, and her eyes are clear. ‘really?’

‘of course. i’m actually quite interested in self-sustaining agriculture, and the pacific northwest has great growing conditions for so much wonderful flora and fauna.’

‘wow. okay, but — it’s your house.’

she pauses. ‘ava.’

‘i just — you’re sure?’

‘i would really enjoy it, if you’d like. also, my friend marco, from the climbing gym, runs the community garden in their neighborhood and has been pestering me to meet you.’

‘you talk about me?’

‘of course.’

‘well, if marco will do all the heavy lifting, and preferably both of you not have shirts on, i’m so in.’

‘it’s february.’

you shrug. ‘you’re tough.’

beatrice laughs, and you sink into it, delight in it. you could light up the whole world, ava, she told you after two glasses of wine and half an edible the other night, entirely serious, crammed onto the small couch in your small apartment, your life expanding far beyond, past any walls you knew.

‘next weekend, when we’re both off,’ she says, ‘we can go to the nursery nearby and get started.’

‘you’re —‘ the love of my life sits right on the tip of your tongue, but you kiss her instead. ‘thank you.’

‘thank you for telling me about your garden, and your mother.’

all you can do is nod, and then hold her after she turns over and falls asleep.

#wn #wn fic #avatrice #avatrice fic #surgeons au #butch bea 🥺🫡#honestly i had no idea what was gonna come out of ava's mouth this entire fic #he was simply in charge! lmao

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first-edition · 30 days

Note

Can I pleeeeease 🙏 have a Duncan Vizla smut where he has a huge breeding kink and reader has a choking kink. So he's choking her while "breeding" her, and she completely blissed out when she orgasms. So she's like fucked dumb and Duncan gets worried. So he gives tooth rotting aftercare.

Your Wish is my command oh kind soul.

Chocking, pin v- unprotected, fem readerserious after care teehee

“elsker” danish word for love

SMUT SMUT SMUT AND NOTHING BUT! Minors do not fucking read this i will sue you

The way Duncan devours you. Every inch ever minute detail of your body. His grunts in your ear as he fucks your life away only making you clench around his cock tighter.

How did you get here? You dont even remember not with your lover shoved in between your thighs and fucking the lights outta your head. The last thing you do rembering is his hands on yours in the kitchen. Now your half way off you bed as he rails you into the mattress.

Your breasts voice as he thrusts himself up into you. Each conflict forcing a pornographic moan out of your mouth. Your eyes roll back in your head as he grips your thighs, one leg strung over his shoulder the other wrapped around his waist keeping him close to you. You were long passed gripping onto him now you gripped the pillow under you head screaming both out and into the plush material that keeps you from banging your skull against the headboard.

“F-fu-u.. d-Duncan.. ah!” You moan out dribbling words barely being able to form half of one. Your pulsing puffy pussy dripping from his and your shared cum. The amount of stamina this man has for you is otherworldly. Most people down in town always give you looks from the age gap between you and your man. Wondering the most private things about you too.

‘How long would he last with you?’

‘How does he get it up?’

If only they could see you both right now you would answer those questions with out even speaking.

You scream out toes curling as you experience another orgasam a number you lost count of so many ago. Duncan grunts as you grip you walls around him only prompting him to fuck you harder, faster, better. If better is even possible. Every time you have sex he fucks you like he’s missing something trying to save a peice of you for later every time, like the pie he orders in the diner almost every night.

His hand wraps around your neck not to kill you like he would a job, but to satisfy you more.

“Ahh f-fuu” you trail off mouth opening agape as the pure over stimulation causing your legs to shake.

“Fuck yeah.” He speaks. Duncan isn’t usually one for verbalizing his pleausre but when it comes to letting him raw dog you until youre a babbling mess he will not shut up.

“Im gonna fill this tight little pussy, you want that? You want me to budge the fuck outta you- argh.” He moans out holding your neck.

“Ngh…y-ye..yesss. Ah- ah- Ngh-“ your fucked out words barley make it passed your bitten lips.

“Fuck cum again, elsker.” When he changes to his native language, danish. You know you’ve got him pussy whipped. He goes on and on in Danish and several neighbor languages about how much he wants to fill you. Make you swollen with his. Put many babies inside you and have you waddle around the town so then everyone knows what hes capable of.

Your eyes cross up ward tounge handing out as he continues to annihilate your cunt. Perfectly fucked into another realm and just wanting for more. Your legs seize up when his thumb presses to your clit circling and flicking. It dosnt take long for the stimulation to take effect and a gush of arousal spews from your cunt making you babble out his name and other profanities associated with the pleasures he’s causing you.

“Fuck! Yes baby! Make a mess.” He groans as he forces his hips flush with yours. The head of his cock pushing against your cervix and possibly even deeper as he releases his last load, of what he can tell you can bare, into your cunt.

He lets go of your throat after a few more rough thrusts and kisses your face and jaw. Gazing his lips over your neck the marks for the hickies he left previously.

Your legs shake and you light twitch as the pur and utter sensitivity between your things courses through you. Duncan carefully pulls out of you making sure to be carful of your state.

“So fucking full my love.” He chuckles gathering the dripping cum and shoving it back. Into you with his fingers.

“You alright elsker?” He asks lovingly as he pulls his fingers out and looks to you. You dont answer as you feel numb your vision clouded with tears and little silver sparks flying through your eyes.

“Y/n? My love?” He asks again you dont reply once more only to smile and lick your lips.

“Shit..” Duncan moves up to your face cupping your cheeks in his hands.

“elsker, answer me.” He demands you giggle lightly eyes wandering.

He curses to him self out of relief and worry before getting up and walking to the bathroom. He turns the water on waiting for it to heat up. He quickly cleans himself off before dousing a wash cloth in the hot water and then taking it back to you once rung out a bit.

“Can i clean you up?” He asks leaning over you to look you in the face. You nod slightly.

“Good. You coming back to me then?” He chuckles. He runs the cloth down your body to your thighs clean the inner then moving back to your crotch being carful to softly clean you up as he knows just how sensitive you are at the current moment.

When hes done he places the cloth on the side table and slips on his boxers. He picks you up carefully and walks you both to the guest bedroom so he can take the sheets off your bed to clean later.

“Duncan.” You ask him as he carefully sets you onto the bed.

“There she is..fucked you too hard huh?” He asks you shake your head. You hold out your arms for his wrapping them around his neck before you both share a kiss the same undertone that got you in the pervious situation. He places his knee on the bed unaware that it’s between your leg causing his lower thigh to brush against your core.

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you pull back erking at the sensation. You curl up closing your legs an closing your eyes the sensitivity slowly disaperating from your nerves.

“Sorry.” He says. You shake your head signally it’s okay, not nessisarly his fault, it is.

“I’ll draw you a bath.” He says. Duncan get up and goes to the bathroom in the guest room and begins to fill up the tub once more waiting for the water to heat up. Once full he exits and goes back to you. Your nude frame sitting on the bed perfect to his veiw but he knows if he were to be tempted by your beauty once more you’d kill him.

“Come on.” He says helping you up. Your legs give out from under you only prompting him to easily pick you up in his arms and carry you the rest of the way.

He sets you gentally in the bath water exactly how you like it showering you in kisses and words of affirmation. He sits on the tiled floor running another cloth over your shoulders helping you.

Once done he helps you dry and dress before quickly leaving you to take a short shower dry and dress himself. He joins you in bed and pulls you close to him speaking to you about how much he loves you and how good you were for him. You eventually fall asleep holding him back. He watches you for a moment before sleep take him over as well.

I hope you liked this. Duncan vizla is daddy and will be the father of my children!! I swear to god. If anyone has any more requests feel free to leave them in the comment section or send a message like this one. I’ll write pretty much anything but i do have my boundaries.

#duncan x reader #duncan vizla x reader smut #duncan vizla x reader #duncan vizla #Duncan vizla smut #Duncan x reader msut #Duncan x reader smut #Duncan vizla x reader super smutty

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seasonsbloom · 2 years

Text

bad habit part iii (hangman)

part i, part ii

pairing ; hangman x female!reader

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

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

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

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

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

Hangman doesn’t lose.

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

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

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

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

This situation, then, is a complete novelty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all pretty unfair.

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

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

Man. He really needs a drink.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

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

Lord, give me strength, he thinks.

“Don’t quote Shakespeare at me.”

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

Before Jake can retort something, Maverick steps between them.

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

“Is what true?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gets the feeling now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something’s off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everywhere you looked, the world had grown teeth.

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

Penny doesn’t indulge you.

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

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

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

And you’re already broken enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s pathetic.

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

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

“Huh?” you ask eloquently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s something reassuring about remaining in the dark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

Hangman frowns. “Who’s Emma Woodhouse?”

That has you gaping at him.

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

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

You’re going to have an aneurism.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The embarrassment is going to eat you whole.

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

You freeze, fork halfway to your mouth.

“You… you know Clueless?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re developing a headache.

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

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

He takes a deep breath.

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

You feel like somebody punched you in the face.

“Friends?” you repeat softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Calling him Hangman seems wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

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

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

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

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

You frown. “Seriously?”

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

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

“Not at all?”

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

God, you must be an idiot.

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

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

“Do you still want that?” he asks.

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

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

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

Jake’s smile is brilliant in the night.

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And your heart beats faster. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His jaw moves as he grinds his teeth.

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

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

Your chest aches with it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Recognize what?”

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not enough. It’s way too much.

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

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

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

You can’t explain that.

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, you say, “My mother died.”

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

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

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

“And do you like it here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I buy you another?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This feels a lot like a precipice.

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

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

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

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

You know he would have.

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

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

“Oh no,” you say. “That’s not good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You banish the idea as soon as it crops up.

It was nothing.

If Jake were here, he would not care.

Jake is having an aneurism.

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

“Yo, Hangman!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everybody. Everybody, except Phoenix.

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

Discomfort makes him shift his weight in his seat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you like… sick?”

“Why?”

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

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

So, like… what the fuck?

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

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

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

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

“Hangman, are you having a stroke?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not yet, anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Between them, you’ve gone very still.

“Oh,” Jake says, “well…”

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

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

Jake’s triumph is short-lived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck, Hangman?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweetheart!” he calls.

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck are you doing?”

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

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

And wow. Okay. That one hurt.

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

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

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

“Yeah!”

“You don’t even know him.”

“You don’t either!”

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

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

“I was…” You shake your head suddenly, breaking off halfway through the sentence, changing course. “That’s none of your business!”

“Yeah, it is!” he protests, but he knows he’s in the wrong. Still, he can’t stop himself. “He’s not a good guy.”

“Oh my god!” You throw your hands into the air, and he’s never seen you so upset. Everything that came before now seems only like a crude imitation. This, though… this is true, genuine anger. “Stop it. He’s… he’s just a cocky pilot, you’re not that different….”

Somehow, the comparison has Jake clenching his teeth. He amends, “He’s not good for you, then.”

For a moment, your face goes slack, and he knows he’s just said the wrong thing.

“That is notyour decision,” you say, voice suddenly quiet and all the more dangerous for it. “That’s no one’s decision but my own.”

And God, if Jake doesn’t know that.

You’ll always make your own choices. He hasn’t had a shred of an illusion to the opposite even for a moment, hasn’t even wanted it any other way. You will always go your own way.

You’re so much stronger than you realize. Going on after losing your mother. Giving up a whole life. Starting over a million miles away without family, without friends, without anything but yourself.

It’s what he admires. It’s what drives him insane.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he says because it’s the truth. “You’re my friend.”

Something on your face shatters.

“Friend,” you whisper dispassionately. “Sure.”

You rub your hand over your face, and suddenly you look so tired. All he wants is to wrap you in his arms, tug you closer, take you home. Make sure you’re okay.

“Hangman,” you say softly, almost gently. “I think this was a mistake. I don’t think I can be your friend.”

And it’s fear coursing through him. Naked, unmistakable fear.

If he can’t see you again, what will he do? This new Jake, the one who’s unsure about everything unless he’s right next to you, that new Jake… what will he do?

How can he go back to how he used to be when it’s like slipping into a costume that doesn’t fit anymore?

“My name is Jake,” he says because he doesn’t know what else to do. Because he needs to hear you say it. “I want you to call me Jake.”

“Stop it!” Your voice is louder again, an edge of desperation creeping into it. “Everybody else calls you Hangman, who cares if I….”

“You’re not everybody else!” It just… slips out. And then it’s out in the open, and he can’t believe he said it, doesn’t know where it came from, only knows that it’s the truth. “Not to me.”

You’re staring at him. Chest rising and falling rapidly, fingers tangled in the straps of your bag.

And you’re so beautiful, even in this empty parking lot, even in the unflattering light of the street lamps. Even with the sweat pooling at your hairline and the anger in your eyes.

“Hangman,” you say, “don’t.”

But he’s shaking his head. He let you go once, but now… now he has to… he has to…

“You’re special,” he says, even as you’re shaking your head. “You are to me, sweetheart, you are, you….”

“You said it meant nothing,” you blurt out, then shut your mouth with an audible click of your teeth as if you wish you could clamp the words back in somehow.

Jake blinks. “What?”

He can see your throat move as you swallow.

You take a moment, teeth sinking into your lower lip, and then you say, “That night when I told you to leave me alone. You told Coyote that this… thing between us. That it was nothing.”

Jake inhales. Exhales. His mind is blank.

“I… I did?” he asks, words slow, sluggish, like he’s thrusting them forward through the mud.

Your face falls. You say, voice almost a whisper, “You don’t even remember, do you?”

He wants to say no, I do, of course, I do. He wants to protest.

But if there’s one thing he can’t do, it’s lie to you.

Truth is, he doesn’t know at all what he said. The moments after your confrontation in the bar are shrouded in a fog of confusion for him. He was just trying to make sense of what you’d said, untangle the mess of his mind. He was just trying to save face.

It’s not nothing, he should tell you. It was never nothing.

But then, if it’s not nothing… what is it? This thing between us, you’d called it.

Jake doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t even understand why he can’t just let you go the way he usually does. He could just turn around, go back inside, find some other pretty girl, but something keeps him rooted to the spot.

I think of you when I go to sleep and when I’m touching myself, and I can’t stop thinking about you. I carry you with me up into the plane, into the sky, into the clouds. I want to sit with you in bars and in restaurants and on beaches. I want to hold your hand. I want to kiss you. I want, I want, I want…

There’s pain on your face, something raw, something real.

Jake can’t breathe.

“I’m leaving,” you say, and then you just stand there for a moment, looking at him almost like you expect him to say something.

He seems to have lost all ability to speak. You purse your lips, your eyes waterlogged, and then you turn on your heel and walk to the car.

Jake stands in the gravel of the parking lot until the headlights of your car have faded into the dark of the night. Then he trots back into the bar blindly, finds their now mostly deserted table at the back, and slumps into a chair.

He feels empty.

Phoenix’s face appears in his vision after what could have been five minutes or five hours, almost comically large.

“I think I’m having a heart attack,” Jake says, but his voice sounds like a stranger’s.

Immediately, Phoenix squats down to look at him better. “What?”

He points at his chest, where it feels like a tiger is on a rampage. “It hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“My chest.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Phoenix, I think I fucked up. Like… big time.”

Her face goes from mildly annoyed to honestly worried. She asks, a tinge of panic edging into her voice, “Did you drink too much? Hangman?”

He shakes his head. “I think I hurt her. I don’t know, I… I think I fucked it up.”

She searches his face for a moment, and then she’s straightening up, taking Hangman by the arm and pulling him out of his chair. Her grip is like a vice around his wrist, and he yelps.

“Alright,” she says, “you’re coming with me. Now.”

Jake would have protested, but the look Phoenix gives him shuts him right up. If there’s anybody he’s ever met capable of coldblooded homicide, it’s Natasha Trace.

So he lets himself be tugged into the last corner not yet wholly occupied by people past the halfway point to intoxication.

Phoenix lets go of his wrist in favor of stemming her hands into her hips. He’s pretty sure he’ll find bruises on his skin come morning.

“Don’t,” she says.

“Don’t what?” Jake asks, even though he has a pretty sure idea where this is going.

“Don’t… meddle, okay. You had your chance, you blew it. Let her move on.”

“It’s not…” He struggles. “It’s not like that. We’re friends.”

“Friends,” Phoenix repeats. God, she really is capable of violence, he knows it, and she’s not far from resorting to it. “Are you stupid, Hangman?”

He opens his mouth, but she’s already plowing on.

“Friends don’t look at each other like they’re about to rip their clothes off and go at it in crowded bars, Jacob.”

Jacob. The last time somebody called him that was when his mom caught him trying to sneak out of the window at sixteen to go see a band with his first girlfriend. He got grounded for three weeks.

Somehow, he thinks Phoenix won’t be that merciful.

“Like… obviously you have some kind of feelings for her, but….”

He doesn’t even hear the rest of what she says. Her mouth keeps moving, but none of her words reach his ears. All he can hear is a high, whistling noise cutting clean through his eardrums.

“Hold on,” he interrupts, “I don’t have feelings for her.”

Phoenix pauses for a moment, staring at him like he’s trying to convince her the earth is flat.

“Jake,” she says - not Hangman, not Bagman, not even Jacob, and hoooh boy, he’s in for it now - slowly, “don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” he says.

Phoenix blinks. Takes a moment. Another. Then she says, almost carefully, “Jake, you can’t be that stupid. Please tell me you’re not that stupid.”

It’s not the first time she’s called him stupid, but it might be the first time she actually means it.

And Jake would protest, only he feels pretty stupid right about now, too.

“Please…” She touches her forehead like she has a headache and exhales loudly, slowly. “Please tell me you’re not honestly stupid enough not to know.”

“Know what?” Jake asks, and he’s never felt less like himself.

He’s in control of things. He takes risks gladly, but they’re always calculated. Things don’t just… fly under his radar.

But right now, he feels like he missed something profound.

Phoenix looks at him with what could be either pity or actual hatred.

“Jake,” she says, enunciating each word with perfect precision, “you’re in love with her.”

“I don’t know her,” he says, almost automatically, and he’s so dizzy.

Phoenix waves his words away with a quick jerk of her hand.

“There’s a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone, Jake,” she tells him. “When you’re with her, how do you feel?”

“I feel…” And he can’t believe he’s talking about this, but in a way, it makes sense. Maybe Phoenix is the only person he could ever tell this. Phoenix, who has always seen through him and all his bravado. “When I’m with her, it’s like… like I can just be myself, you know? And I want… I want to know her. Everything about her, even the bad things, but I want her to know me, too. Not just Hangman but… Jake. And I want to… I just want to be with her all the time. I want to tell her about, like, everything, even the little things that I’d never tell somebody else, and I…. When I’m with her, it doesn’t feel like I need to prove anything. It’s like I can just be. I’ve never… never felt that before.”

His voice trails off.

The irritation has bled out of Phoenix’s face, making way for something softer, smoother, something almost tender. She puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Bagman,” she says, voice halfway to affectionate, “you know what that means.”

For a few moments, he just breathes.

And yeah, he does. In a way, maybe he’s known for a while now, at least since the set-up, and he just didn’t want to admit it to himself. That it’s more than just wanting to fuck you. That it’s so much more than nothing. That it’s so much, it scares him.

It wasn’t quick, it wasn’t instantaneous. It crept up on him. You permeated his life in stages, and now you’re everywhere.

At first, he just thought you were pretty, thought he could get into your pants and out of your life in the span of a night. But you gave as good as you got, kept pushing back, and suddenly it was like a personal quest to get you to give in. You looked up at him on the beach behind the Hard Deck through eyes as scared as they were determined, and something shifted. Not profound yet, not significant, but the first domino to drop in a long, long, long line.

And somewhere, at some moment, he could no longer pinpoint, the game he’d played had ended, and he hadn’t even noticed. The last domino had toppled.

It was real now. Real and scary and over.

“I’m in love with her?” he says, almost a question with how his voice rises towards the tail-end of the sentence.

Phoenix nods, smiles gently at him.

“Oh God,” he says. “Then I… then I really fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix agrees through a breathless laugh. “Yeah, I think you really did.”

It’s the hottest day of the year, and the aircon at the gas station breaks down.

The heat is unbearable. You stripped off your employee vest hours ago, but it barely helps. The single fan you found in the back oscillates stale air through the room.

You’re counting down the minutes until the end of your shift, until you can drive aimless circles through town just to bask in the cool of your car. Until you can drown in your own self-pity and another family-size serving of pasta and the dark thoughts swirling around you like storm clouds.

Your boss has disappeared into the back room, and it’s only five more minutes until you’re off, so you trek towards the cold drinks section and wonder if you should spend the few extra dollars on an iced tea. When the bell rings, announcing the arrival of a customer, you’re still standing undecided in front of the opened fridge, letting cool air caress your face.

Phoenix is in civilian clothes, her hair released from its tight bun for the first time. It falls in glossy waves down to her shoulder blades as she smiles at you warmly.

“Hi.”

“Oh.” The sight of her makes something in your stomach clench uncomfortably. Couldn’t she have come in five minutes later? You’d have been gone by then. “Hi…”

“Penny said you’d be here.”

You blink. “You… were you looking for me?”

Phoenix nods and steps up to the register to look at the cheap sunglasses on display.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she says casually.

The fear of it all creeps up on you, and then it envelopes you. You’ve been trying and failing to push it to the very back corners of your mind for the past day, keeping your hands busy in hopes it would keep your head idle. Pretending you weren’t constantly replaying last night in your head - the bar, the parking lot, the anger, and the ridiculousness of it all. Jake saying you’re special, and then not even remembering the moment he’d broken your heart. Looking helpless in a way you’d never seen before.

In the rearview mirror, growing rapidly smaller and further until he disappeared completely, Jake looked almost like a little child.

“You and Hangman had a fight,” Phoenix says, and it’s not even a question. Just a statement.

“Yeah,” you agree because it doesn’t feel like there’s much sense in arguing. And no reason to, either.

Phoenix nods and watches as you round the counter. For some reason, you feel it’s not a bad idea to get some distance between you and her for this conversation. The counter is like a barrier.

“Hangman is…” Phoenix hesitates. “Hangman is an idiot.”

“No, he isn’t.” The words are out before you can stop them, and then frustration almost makes you bite your tongue. “He… he’s actually a pretty smart guy.”

Phoenix raises an eyebrow. “I’ve been told you hate him.”

You swallow, look away. Shrug your shoulders. “No, I… I don’t know.”

None of this matters. After last night, you’re never going to see him again.

For a long, long while, Phoenix is silent. And then she says, “He’s in love with you.”

And it should be earth-shattering, world-stops-spinning, music-stars-playing. But they’re just words.

Your heart is racing.

“He…” You shake your head. It’s a cliff, the plummet beneath you, your fingers gripping the edge for dear life. You want to believe her so very, very badly, but your common sense tells you it can’t be true. “He barely knows me.”

“That’s what he said,” she says, chuckling, then shakes her head. “I know, but… you have to understand… This is something special. I mean, this is Hangman we’re talking about… he doesn’t open up to people.”

You think about sitting side by side out on the beach. Sharing secrets before you let the waves carry them out to sea. Spilling your heart into his hands and trusting him with it. Realizing, suddenly, that he had done the same.

“I think…” Phoenix’s voice has gone very gentle. “I think you’re very similar. You and him.”

A week ago, you would have laughed at her. Just five minutes ago, you wouldn’t have believed her. And now…

You fall.

When you think about it, it’s not so far-fetched. Jake, up in those clouds. You, down on the ground. In the end, you’re both lonely. In the end, you’re both afraid.

“Anyway.” She smiles at you and pushes off the register. “I just thought you might want to say goodbye.”

Something inside you stumbles.

“Goodbye?” you repeat slowly.

“Yeah, we’re shipping out tomorrow morning.”

“Shipping…” Suddenly, it takes tremendous effort to breathe. “What?”

Phoenix pauses, furrows her eyebrows. “Didn’t Jake tell you? About the mission?”

“What mission?”

Phoenix groans, shaking her head. “See, I told you. He really is an idiot.”

Jake looks like he didn’t get a wink of sleep. The dark bags beneath his eyes have bloomed into purplish bruising overnight, and he blinks at you almost owlishly.

“Why weren’t you going to say goodbye?”

That’s the first thing you say to him, and it’s not at all what you were planning in the car on the way here. It slips out the moment you see him, and your voice isn’t firm or strong at all, it’s a small, fragile thing. A teacup teetering on the edge of a moving tray, about to shatter.

He looks at you like you’re an apparition. “How did you get here?”

“It… Phoenix gave me your address.”

Jake has rented a place on the second floor of a modern apartment complex off base. It’s so much nicer than the house you’re living in, with stairs that don’t creak, no mildew in the hallway, and locks that look like they actually work.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, and you sound out of breath. It’s not even because of the stairs you just took two steps at a time. “Why weren’t you?”

Jake exhales audibly, nods once, and opens the door wider. “You wanna come inside?”

Only now do you notice that he’s shirtless, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants slung almost as low as his swim trunks were that day on the beach. Hastily, you snap your eyes away, head already spinning.

You push past him and into the apartment, careful not to touch any of his skin. Who knows what other unhinged things that might drive you to do?

His apartment is neat, tidy, clean, but that doesn’t surprise you much. It’s also obviously a rental, lacking any personal touches except for a few shoes kicked off haphazardly by the door and his Top Gun diploma and plaque displayed on a dresser. Of course Jake travels with those, you think, almost grinning. He’d never miss out on a chance to show off.

There’s an aircon blasting somewhere, and you almost crumble to your feet with gratitude.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, heading towards what you suppose to be the kitchen. “I have… water? I’d offer to make you a Mojito, but I don’t think I have any limes. Or any rum. Or any mint, so…”

“Can you…” You falter and watch as he pauses in the doorway, one hand braced against the wood. “Can you just explain it to me?”

His shoulders lift and lower with his breaths. After a moment that feels endless, he turns to face you.

“Explain it to you?”

You nod. “Why you didn’t tell me. Why you weren’t going to say goodbye.”

He shrugs, unperturbed, but there’s something affective to the movement, something almost performative.

“After last night… I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You’re shaking your head, jaw clenching. “Why didn’t you tell me before then? That you’re about to go on some, some… stupid top-secret mission, that you might die, that….”

He interrupts you, “I didn’t tell you because it shouldn’t matter. I’m not…”

“Of course it matters!” Your voice is shaking. “It matters! It changes… everything.”

He squints at you. “How could it change anything?”

“It… it changes things because….” You stumble, try to find the words that elude you. “Because I thought we’d have more time.”

“More time?” Something about his voice is almost hopeful. “I thought you… I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.”

He’s right. You didn’t. At least you thought you didn’t. You thought the best thing you could possibly ever do for yourself, for him, was to stay as far away from Jake Seresin as possible. In a change-your-name-and-leave-the-country kind of way.

And then Phoenix walked into that gas station, and losing him had suddenly seemed so real, had gone from a distant fever dream to reality, and you didn’t have much choice anymore. All you wanted was to see him again. All you wanted was for him to call you sweetheart, smile and flirt and tease. Even if it drove you crazy. Even if it was the last time.

“Hangman…” You shake your head, correct yourself, “Jake, I… Do you like me?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since you knocked at his door, and something in his expression changes. Without hesitation, without a slither of doubt in his words, he says, “Of course. Of course, I like you.”

You have to sink your fingernails into your palms to keep yourself grounded, to keep yourself from jumping several paces ahead. In your chest, your heart speeds up.

“And not just…” you pause, the word carnally already on your tongue. “It’s not that you just want to fuck me?”

He’s shaking his head before you’ve finished speaking. “No. Not at all. Yeah, sure, that’s what it was about in the beginning, but then… I just… It started changing, and I’d never felt that, and I… I think I got scared.”

“You got scared?” you ask, not unaware of the note of disbelief in your voice. It’s hard to imagine someone like Jake could ever be scared. Someone so confident, so brilliant.

He raises an eyebrow, and it’s a glimpse of the Jake you know, the one who drives you to the brink of insanity, “I’ll take that shock as a compliment.”

It’s a white-hot relief to find that he can still joke with you. That not all of the relationship you’ve built has washed away in the torrent of the last few weeks.

“It’s just…” You look for a way to explain it. “I don’t know. You just always seemed like you had everything figured out.”

That makes him laugh, and you stare at his face scrunching up, his eyes shining. He says, “I’ve got nothing figured out. I haven’t even figured out what to eat for dinner tonight.”

You laugh. Even through all of it, he can still make you laugh. Even though nothing is resolved, even though you don’t understand any of it, he can always, always make you laugh. Even when you don’t want to. Even back when you still swore you hated him.

Jake settles down, and something darker crosses his expression. When he speaks next, his voice is almost hesitant.

“I’ve never… I’ve just never done something like this?”

“Like this?” you ask softly.

Neither of you has ever defined this thing between you. You’re scared now, scared he has a different idea about it. Maybe you don’t want to hear his answer, want to live just a moment longer in this fantasy where Phoenix is right, where he likes you, where he wants you the same way you want him.

Carnally, romantically, wholly. Just… all of him. The good, the bad, the worst. The parts that drive you insane with anger and the ones that drive you insane with lust. The way he can break you apart and put you back together.

If he calls you his friend again now, if he says it was nothing… You don’t know if you can handle it. You don’t know that you won’t just break apart.

“Like this,” Jake repeats. “Something real.”

And your heart soars.

“Real?” you whisper, voice so quiet you think he can’t possibly have heard it.

Jake nods. “Real.”

“So it…” You trail off, shake your head, try again, “So it wasn’t nothing?”

He lets out a breathy, quiet laugh. And there’s none of his bravado, none of his cockiness. The armor is discarded, the mask is off, and there’s just Jake beneath it, not some hotshot pilot who’s got it all figured out, but a man, one who’s a dumbass at times and broken in so many ways and just as scared as you are.

You’ve never felt the way you feel about him before. Not once in your life.

“No,” he says, “it was never nothing to me. I’m sorry I said that. I know I hurt you, and it’s not an excuse, but I just… I just said it because I got scared. Because you dumped me, and honestly, I was hurt, and I liked you so much, I didn’t know what to do with myself, and I had all of these doubts, and I didn’t understand it, but… It was never nothing, sweetheart. It was… everything.”

He shrugs, something on his face that tells you he’s embarrassed by his own earnestness, uncomfortable with it, but your ears are ringing with that word. You can’t stop the smile from spreading on your face - broad and genuine and a relief after all these days in that prison of your room. Like stepping into the light after all the darkness. Like setting foot into airconditioned climates after hours out in the Californian heat.

And Jake smiles back, like a reflex, like a magnet. If you move, I move.

He’s made a step, and now it’s your turn.

So gather all your courage, that slithery, dodgy thing that’s been eluding you for months, and you grab it by the neck and thrust it forward, say, “Jake, I think I’m in love with you.”

His face goes completely blank, and with a sudden, horrid lurch, you think that maybe you’ve miscalculated, maybe it’s too much, maybe…

You backpedal, “I know it’s way too early, and I don’t really know you, and maybe in a month I find out you don’t like peanut butter, and I can never speak to you again, but this has never happened to me before, Jake, and I’m terrified, I’m so scared, but I just know I wanna be with you, I wanna figure it out together, and I hope you feel the same way, because, because I… I think I…”

“I like peanut butter,” Jake interrupts you. When you blink at him through the haze your rambling has plunged you into, he’s grinning from ear to ear. The sort of grin you have never seen him give to anyone but you.

“You.. you do?”

“A lot,” he confirms.

“Well, that’s… good then.”

“In fact,” he says, moving closer to you, “I love peanut butter.”

“Yeah?”

Your voice is a little breathless.

He nods, hands going to cup your face.

“Sweetheart,” he says, as you tip your face up, as your heart pounds, as your vision blurs, “I think I might be in love with you, too.”

And you don’t want to start crying, but you can’t help it. They just well up, like all those emotions you’ve been swallowing down for months now, longer than you’ve known him really, have finally ballooned into something too big for your body to hold, looking for any way out.

Jake frowns, wiping at a teardrop from your cheek like he’s trying to get an annoying stain off his laptop screen. Only like… a little gentler.

“It’s not that horrible, is it?”

You laugh, a water, bubbling sound. “No, it’s… it’s not… it’s fine.”

“Fine?” he asks, looking down at you with his eyebrows raised way too high for it to be anything than exaggerated. “I confess my love, and you think it’s fine? Jesus, romance really is dead.”

“Oh, shut up and kiss me already, Bagman, or I’m gonna strangle you, I swear I will, I’m not….”

You don’t get to finish.

Kissing Jake isn’t at all like you imagined. He’s soft but firm, and yet you can tell, underneath it all, that he’s almost nervous. Unsure. Like he doesn’t know at all how to proceed now that it’s actually real. That it means something.

All that cockiness melted away.

It’s so strange, but suddenly you realize that maybe, just for a moment, you’re going to have to take over. So you wrap your arms around his waist, draw him closer, draw him in, open your mouth beneath his and sigh into it all.

Jake comes willingly, follows your pace easily, smoothly, casually. The way he does everything. Ready to take anything you throw his way.

Finally, something inside of you seems to whisper. There’s an ache, a yearning, something that swells inside of you, grows bigger and stronger by the minute. You’ve never wanted someone this bad. It’s finally happening.

All that waiting, all that wishing and hoping and dreaming… It was worth it, you think. All of it.

His hands are warm on your cheeks, and they feel large, in a way that makes you clench your thighs. His lips are a little chapped, but he tastes sweet as if he’s been eating chocolate. He angles your face back a little more, his tongue running along the seam of your mouth, his fingers clenching into your hair, and your heart seizes as you think, suddenly, how close you came to losing this, to never having it at all, to missing out on it, and it’s so… it’s so…

You pull back when the intrusive thought inserts itself into the moment, when the anxiety makes your bones itch, look at him and say in a voice that seems to come from miles, worlds, universes away, “You’re not going to die, are you?”

It’s all you can think about - your mother fading away, flowers raining on an open grave, and being alone, alone, alone…

But Jake just smiles, rubs his thumb once along the line of your cheekbone, and says, “And miss out on getting to kiss you, sweetheart? Not a chance.”

And you haven’t belonged anywhere in so long. Have been so lonely, so broken, for so long you thought you’d never feel any different again. But here, right now, with him solid before you, with the knowledge that it’s real, it’s true, it’s not a game, and it’s not in your head, it doesn’t feel so horrible.

Because Jake knows you. Not just the pretty parts, but the ugly ones too.

How you push people away. How your fear paralyzes you sometimes, makes you mean and closed-off, and makes you lie. To him, to yourself, to everyone.

Jake has seen it, and he’s wanted you regardless.

And maybe that’s just it… how he can calm that anxiety with a word. Not banish it, not erase it, but silence that nagging, gnawing, horrible voice you’ve carried with you for so long. Make it bearable.

You’re going to die if you don’t have him. And yeah, maybe that’s dramatic, but who cares? If the past few weeks have shown anything, it’s that you and Jake aren’t just good with the dramatics… you excel at them.

“I did it,” you blurt out, and then immediately regret the words, clamp your mouth shut and feel the blood rush up into your cheeks.

Jake draws back a little to get a better look at you. “Done what?”

And you could kiss him for taking it all in stride. For not pushing you, for letting you set the pace.

Actually, you could kiss him just for… well, existing. But his ego is big enough already; he really doesn’t need to know all that.

“Well, what… what you asked.”

Jake stares at you blankly.

“Care to be a little more specific, sweetheart?” he says gently. “I think we’ve established I don’t have the best memory.”

“I…” You hesitate, fingers going to trace a constellation of freckles on his shoulder, and there’s just so much of him, so much golden skin and so much muscle and so much confidence, and you’re going to fall apart, you know you are, you’re not going to survive this. “I touched myself. The way you asked.”

Your voice is barely more than a whisper, an exhale, but you know he heard you. Because the reaction is visceral - fingers tightening where they have slid from your face to your waist, chest undulating with the sharp intake of breath, shoulders stiffening.

Nerves make it impossible to look at him. What if he doesn’t like it, what if…

But, as always, somehow, Jake seems to know what you need. Seems to understand without ever having to say it that now, you want this to be something else.

“Sweetheart,” he says, fingers hooking beneath your chin and turning it upwards, “look at me.”

And you do. It’s not like you have a choice, your body reacting before your mind even registers the words.

Right now, you think, Jake could tell you to jump off a bridge, and you’d go find the nearest one for a dive.

Somehow, his eyes have gone darker, hodded, an intent shining in them that scares you as much as it excites you.

“You touched yourself?” he asks quietly.

You nod, too scared your voice might fail you to try and use it.

“So, are you ready to answer my question, then?”

You know what he means right away, which is just a testament to your memory being decidedly better than his.

Instantly, the words ghost through your mind again, wrap around you like vapor. Have you been a good girl?

“I don’t…” You clear your throat as Jake steps even closer, walks you backward until your back hits the wall, until his hips are inches from yours, until he’s crowding against you like he wants to climb into your skin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He’s so close now, and it’s different, the whole air is different. Charged now, darker. Hot even with the aircon running.

Maybe you’re going to faint. You feel like you’re going to faint.

“I think,” Jake says, voice lowered into a mumble, “you know exactly what I mean.”

He braces both hands on the wall by your head and cages you in. It’s so reminiscent of the night out behind the shack that you would have laughed if you hadn’t been scared to move even a muscle.

Not trusting your voice, you just shake your head. And it’s an act because by now, even you have understood that that’s half the fun in this game of power Jake and you have been playing from the very moment. But you also just want to hear him say it again, have been dreaming of those words on his lips for weeks now.

Jake hums, and his breath washes over your face. There’s barely an inch between the two of you now - you can’t even think anymore.

“I know you’re smarter than that, sweetheart.”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He smiles, just for a moment, and it’s sweet, a little dopey, and so decidedly out of place that you realize he knows just as well as you do that you’re pretending. That he appreciates it as much as you do.

“Alright,” he whispers finally, leans closer to run his mouth over the arch of your jaw, lips barely a whisper of a touch as you strain into it, breath catching in your throat. “Sweetheart… have you been a good girl for me?”

It’s the rasp in his voice and those words and the agonizing whisper of separation between your bodies. It’s the lack and the promise and that tight, hot coil of want that writhes in the pit of your stomach.

With a gasp, you clench your thighs together in search of relief.

“I don’t know,” you say because, truthfully, you don’t. You don’t even know your own name anymore.

Jake raises an eyebrow, and all your pretense shatters.

“Yes,” you say, immediately, voice almost a whine, head spinning, “yes, Jake, I’ve been a good girl for you.”

He acknowledges it with a nod, entirely unaffected, face blank as he moves to card a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What did you think about?”

He asks it almost casually like he’s asking about the weather or your shopping list and not just which sexual fantasies you got out of the spank bank the last time you got off.

“I…” And his hand begins tracing a long, long line from your cheekbone down to your mouth, dragging across your jaw and onto your jugular. And there, just once, he presses his thumb into your pulse point. It’s the barest hint of pressure, the illusion of the rest of his fingers wrapping around your throat, but your eyes almost roll into the back of your head.

It draws the truth right out of you.

“You,” you gasp, “I thought about you.”

Jake acknowledges it with a nod, but there’s something to be said about his eyes flicking to your mouth, about the hand still braced against the wall by your head clenching.

“What part of me?”

You want to answer, but he leans forward to press his lips to the side of your throat where his hand had been just a moment ago, and for a second, you lose all ability to speak.

“I… Your mouth?”

“My mouth?” Jake repeats, words muffled against your skin.

Pressed flat against the wall, unable to move, with your heart pounding a patter against your ribcage, you can do nothing but nod. “Yeah.”

Jake hums, and the sound vibrates through your body. By now, you must be soaking through the front of your shorts, you think.

“And where did I put it?” he asks softly, drawing back to look at you.

And there’s such… hunger on his face, his pupils blown wide, his mouth slack, and it’s going to kill you, death on impact, you’re not going to make it.

But that’s fine. What a way to go, anyway.

“On… on me,” you whisper.

Jake laughs, and it’s so… mean. You like it.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he drawls. “Be specific.”

“I don’t know.”

It’s all you can say. Who cares what you thought about that night? He’s here right now, so can’t you just do it for real instead of talking about your fantasy like this?

Jake clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“You can do better than that,” he says. “You’re not that dumb.”

And it could be crossing a line - should cross a line, maybe. You never would have thought it possible that you could be into something like this, but you are. It sets you off in a way you wouldn’t have expected, makes you weak in the knees and dizzy, and you want him on you, want him everywhere, want him more than you’ve ever wanted him before.

Besides… you feel pretty dumb right about now.

When it came down to the wire, you know you’re the one with the finger on the lever anyway. The moment you say no, stop, he’ll listen. So you’ve always been the one with the final decision.

Maybe that’s why this whole thing works.

“I…” You have to close your eyes, swallow against the lump in your throat. “You put it between my legs.”

He squints.

“Here?” he asks, and his hand lands on the inside of your thigh, about two inches off from where you want him.

It startles you enough that you jump, a sound of surprise falling from your mouth. And then he applies pressure, squeezes the meat of your thigh once, and you’re moaning, eyes widening with the sensation of it all.

Jake grins.

Bastard, you think, but then that thought goes out the window too, disappears in the fog that has descended on you.

“You imagined my mouth here?”

You shake your head, whimper, tip your face back and open your mouth like you can compel him to kiss you just like that.

“Be a good girl and tell me, yeah?” he whispers, but there’s something strained to his voice, something glazed to his eyes.

“No, I…” But you can’t say it. Not like this. It’s still too much, and it frustrates you, makes your eyes burn, makes your breath hitch into a gasp like you can’t get enough oxygen into your lungs. You whimper, “Jake.”

“Shh,” he whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. “I got you, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

And then finally, because in the end, he always does, Jake takes pity on you.

“Did I put it on your pussy?”

The sound that escapes you is pathetic, barely more than a whimper, and before you know it, you’re nodding as you slump against him.

“Tell me,” he says into your ear, hand still on your thigh, mouth still against your cheek, his breaths fast and loud, “I want her you say it.”

And if you weren’t sandwiched between him and the wall, if he weren’t holding you up, you know your legs would have given out.

“You…” You swallow and take a deep breath, stell yourself, say, “You put your mouth on my pussy.”

And he groans, a loud, sudden sound that seems to burst from him unbidden like he just couldn’t hold it back.

You’re almost stunned by it, by the discovery that he’s just as affected by all this as you are, that he wants you, too, and it does your head in, makes the world spin, makes you clutch at him a little tighter.

“You like that?” he asks, something almost frantic to his words now. “Having your pussy eaten? Does that get you off, having a tongue in your tight little cunt?”

You can’t help it. You mewl, drop your head into the crook of his neck, and wish you could stay there. And you’re so wet, can feel it pooling in your panties, feel it soaking through the fabric. Every move has the seam of your denim shorts pressing against your cunt, sends shocks of lightning through you, but it’s not enough, not enough, never enough.

Your heart is beating in your throat, and the embarrassment takes a moment to set in amidst the chaos of your sensations, but it comes. Eventually, the way it always does.

“I…” You falter, squeeze your eyes shut, push your face further into his neck, so grateful he can’t see you, and then you whisper, as if speaking it out loud could somehow make it more real, “I’ve never… you know… no one’s ever….”

Instantaneously, Jake’s fingers tighten against your thigh, and then they tangle in your hair, and he pulls your head back with enough force that you can feel it, that it travels in shock waves through your scalp, all the way down to your toes.

He’s looking at you like he wants to devour you.

“Honey,” he says, and there’s something serious to the word beneath all that desire.

And you have trouble concentrating because honey, he called me honey, and your chest is so full of that feeling you only get with him, the one that makes you feel that everything will be alright, that nothing will hurt you, that you’ll be just fine.

“Honey,” he repeats, “do you trust me?”

And you don’t pause. Don’t think about it. Not even for an instant.

“Yes,” you say, and mean it. Mean it like you’ve never meant anything.

And Jake smiles, smooths your hair back, rubs his nose against yours. And then he said, “Would you let me? Would you let me put my mouth on you, would you let me eat your pussy until your legs are shaking? Would you trust me with that, my gorgeous, gorgeous girl?”

You’re going to disintegrate. It can’t be possible for one person to want another so much. It just can’t be possible.

“Yes,” you exhale. “Okay. Jake.”

He makes a choked sound, and then he steps back suddenly, tugging you with him by your wrists, and you stumble against his chest, let him guide you through the apartment blindly. It’s a wonder your knees don’t give in as you stumble against him like a fawn, as he pulls you like a ragdoll.

“Where are we going?” you ask, head spinning in rapid circles. Like you just got off a merry-go-round.

“I’m not going to eat you out against a wall for the first time,” Jake says.

And it would be almost romantic if it weren’t so filthy, such a quick turn-around that it could give you whiplash.

“Oh.” You blink as he pulls you into his bedroom. “I thought the wall was sort of hot.”

He laughs. “Don’t I know it?”

But then he turns, lets go of your wrists, leans down to press a quick, soft kiss to your mouth that leaves you chasing after him.

Affectionately, he brushes his fingers over your cheek and says, “I’ll do it right, honey, I promise I’ll make it so good, you’ll wonder how you ever went without it. I’ll have you coming for days.”

The thing is… you don’t even doubt it.

Jake has always been able to back up all that talk. It’s one of the things you hate about him. It’s one of the things you love about him.

“Now,” he says, “take off your top.”

It’s so much harder when he makes you do things because that’s when the anxiety gets behind the wheel, when the doubt creeps in. But in the end, that strange instinct to listen to him, to trust him, always wins out.

You pull your shirt over your head, and you can’t look at him.

“Shorts, too,” he orders and then, almost like an afterthought, adds, “and your bra.”

Your hands are shaking so hard that you struggle with the clasp of the bra, the button on the shorts, but finally, you free yourself of both, and then you’re standing in the middle of his bedroom, naked except for a pair of panties so wet you think you’re probably gonna have to throw them out come morning, and you’re shaking even though you feel like you’re burning up, like a fever in your blood, like a yearning in your bones.

It’s exhilarating and terrifying, and you want to cover yourself, but you can’t move, can’t do anything but stand there as you feel his eyes on you like hot irons, as you stare at the cologne bottles on the dresser.

What if he doesn’t like me? you think, mouth dry. What if I’m ugly.

And then Jake says, “Sweetheart. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

You’re going to cry.

“Now get on the bed and spread your legs so I can get my mouth on that gorgeous cunt.”

You’re going to have a stroke, and then you’re going to cry.

You do as he says, scooting backward on the mattress until you’re far enough up the bed to put your head on one of the pillows. Jake’s sheets are a dark blue, soft cotton, and they smell like him, like his cologne. Cinnamon and spice. The scent wraps around you, envelopes you. You clench around nothing.

If this is what his smell alone does to you, how are you going to survive his mouth on you?

The mattress dips under his weight, but you can’t look at him, keep your head on the ceiling instead. It’s all too much. It’s not nearly enough.

And then his face appears above you, and his smile is almost goofy as he leans to kiss you once, twice, three times. They’re just soft pecks, but you open your mouth and pull him down to you until you’re chest to chest, until you can feel the weight of him.

He slides his tongue into your mouth with a groan, pulls you closer with a hand on your hip. And it’s skin to skin, his palm hot and heavy, and you want him all over you, want to cover yourself in him, every inch. It’s very wet, very warm, too much spit in both your mouths, but you don’t even care, not when his teeth nip at your lower lip, when he pants against you, when it makes you feel like you’re going to fall apart right here, right now.

Finally, you get your hands on him too, on all that skin, let them run across his chest because you’re so drunk on the feeling of it all you forget even to think if you’re allowed to do this. His heart is racing beneath your palm, just as quick as yours is, and that’s a reassuring thought, that he’s affected by it all too.

Jake does something with his tongue, something that has your insides twisting, clenching like a fist, and you moan into his mouth, wrap your legs around his waist and buck your hips up, desperate for some kind of friction, of relief, not above humping him if that’s what it takes.

You feel it immediately - Jake is rock hard against your center, against the quick but firm pressure of your cunt, and it makes you squeak the exact moment it makes him choke.

“Jesus,” he grunts, fingers wrapping around your wrists and pushing them back into the pillow, pulling you off him and forcing you down into the mattress with a force as gentle as it is firm. “Stop distracting me, sweetheart.”

He draws back until he kneels between your legs, looming above you. All the lamps are off, but the blinds aren’t drawn, and moonlight spills like liquid mercury across the bedroom floor, across his skin. Inevitably, you think of that night out on the beach behind the Hard Deck, the light tangled in his hair, a study in blue.

“I think I remember telling you to spread these,” he says casually, tapping a single finger against your kneecap.

You want to tease him, want to say something about how his memory seems to be working pretty well of a sudden, but your brain won’t cooperate.

Instead, you do as you’re told, even as you feel like it might kill you, and spread your legs further.

Immediately, Jake’s eyes go to what lies between them.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice gone husky, “you’re so wet, honey.”

If you look at him, you think your heart is going to fail, so you just keep your eyes on the ceiling. Unlike your own, it’s completely free of water stains, and that’s just about the last coherent thought you have.

Jake leans forward, maneuvering around until his chest is pressed to the mattress, one hand on your thigh, the other spread on the sheets, and then his mouth is on you.

And okay. No more teasing then. Straight to business.

Over the fabric of your panties, his tongue moves against your center, and you can’t do anything but close your eyes, open your mouth even as no sound escapes. He just mouths at you for a moment, inhales deeply like he’s trying to smell you, and the thought sets you off, has you clenching your teeth, curling your toes. Then he presses a kiss to your clit through your cotton, and you’re seeing stars.

“Oh,” you say, and he laughs, moves away to hook his fingers beneath the elastic of the panties, pulls them off unceremoniously, helps you lift your hips. They become another piece of fabric added to the pile of your clothes when he throws them over his shoulder without looking, eyes focused only on your center.

And then he leans forward, and you’re bracing yourself, steeling yourself, but nothing could ever have prepared you for the first stroke of his tongue through your folds. It has your hips rising, hed rearing back into the pillow, mouth shaping a word that never escapes it.

Jake’s fingers tighten on your thigh, and he moans once, and then he really goes for it. Burying his whole face in it, opening his mouth like he wants to devour you, tongue wet and wide and hot on your cunt, teeth just grazing your clit as he licks broad stripes from your hole up to the apex. He sets a leisured, moderate pace like he’s got all the time in the world, but you’re pretty sure yours is running out. Five more minutes of this, and you’re a goner, and it’s all too much but not enough, and you want to get away at the same time that you want him closer, and your head is spinning, your heart stuttering, your fingers tightening in the sheets.

He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, and you all but keen, fingers flying to his hair, his shoulders, your stomach. You can’t settle, can’t stop jerking, have no control over your own body anymore. All over the place, all over him, mind a mess and heart a mess and body a mess, and you can’t believe nobody’s ever done this to you before, and how have you ever lived without the feeling of Jake’s mouth on your pussy and you’re going to rip your own heart out and…

And then he catches your wrists in one hand, forcing you to look at him where he’s barely lifted his head from between your thighs. And you freeze, all the world narrowing down to nothing but his face, his voice, just him, right there with you.

He says, “I got you. I’m taking care of you, pretty girl.”

Above the sheets, by your hips, he laces his fingers through yours.

When his mouth meets your cunt again, there’s no restraint left. He fucks his tongue inside of you shallowly, your eyes rolling back, your legs straining to spread even further, to the point of pain when your muscles protest, but you need him closer, deeper, harder, and you’re so empty, aching with it. The only thing grounding you are his hands, the only point of you that seems connected to reality as the rest goes floating into space, reduced to nothing but a conduit for pleasure, for want, for yearning.

His tongue goes from your hole to your clit, one hand untangling from your death grip so he can slide a finger into you. He’s gentle about it, careful almost, but there’s no point, you’re so wet he goes without resistance, not an ounce of tension in any of your muscles. You couldn’t tense up if you tried, everything gone liquid and loose and lax.

And it’s good, so good, so…

Jake pulls off you for a moment, breath panting and hot against you, just to check, “Did you do this too? When you thought about me, did you fuck yourself on your fingers?”

And it takes you a moment because you can’t remember if you have a mouth, can’t remember how to use it, and when you finally do, anyways, your voice is like a foreign sound, something from a different planet.

“I… tried, but it… I can’t… angle’s all wrong, it doesn’t….” He crooks his finger, and you sob, moment of dubious coherency gone, and then there’s only one word left in you. “Jake.”

And he grins, always so cocky, always so sure, adds a second finger, and buries his face into your cunt again. You keen.

It’s so wet, all of it. Your pussy and his tongue and his fingers fucking through it, fucking in with squelching sounds that should be embarrassing but make you burn hotter instead, your bodies slick with sweat, and you’re pretty sure there’s saliva dripping from your mouth, but you can’t stop it, can’t help it, can’t do anything but hold on and take it. Everything he’s giving you.

And you remember your ex trying to finger you in that bedroom covered in Twilight posters, eons ago, nothing but discomfort and awkwardness, and god, if this is what it should have been like that you want a refund, you think you’re owed compensation from the universe because that’s not fair, people were feeling this while you were telling yourself five minutes of rutting against your own finger on your clit was enough to satisfy you?

“You taste so good,” Jake groans into your cunt, “could eat this pretty pussy all day. Could stay right here forever, with my tongue in my gorgeous girl.”

And it’s almost scary, the way it builds, how high it goes, how tight it winds you. The precipice gapes below you.

“Jake,” you whimper, gasp, thrash, “Jake, wait, I’m gonna….”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, pupils blown, cheeks flushed, voice vibrating down into the darkest parts of you. “I’m here, honey, you can let go now, come on, sweetheart, I wanna see, I wanna taste….”

And you’re crying, cheeks and chin and neck wet with the tears, and you feel pathetic, but you can’t help it, free hand going to tangle in his hair, holding where you want him as he moves his fingers just so, grazing something inside you, tongue circling around your clit with just enough speed, just enough pressure.

“Please,” you sob, terrified he’s going to change up, and it’s going to get away from you, terrified he’ll stop. “Please. Please.”

It becomes a mantra, a litany, and then he squeezes your hand and plunges his fingers deep, curls them, and you’re toppling over that edge, hurtling, spinning, falling.

It’s bone-deep. It curls around you, it breaks you apart. A rope snapping. A coil unraveling.

You feel it everywhere, in your core and your toes and your fingers. A tightening and then the breathless, heart-stopping release of it all racing through you. It has you arching off the mattress, fingers tightening in his hair, legs trembling with tremors you can’t control, howling his name.

It seems to go on forever, his fingers fucking you through it, his tongue stroking you through it, and there’s nothing in your head, nothing but that blinding, strung-out pleasure.

Jake just keeps going until you push his head away with force, overstimulated to the point that pain shoots up like tiny pinpricks. You try to close your legs, but he keeps them open.

“I don’t know who those guys who didn’t eat your pussy were, sweetheart,” he says from between your legs, mouth still slick with you, eyes still dark, voice still breathless, hands still on your thighs, “but they must have been the biggest idiots in the history of mankind to miss out on that.”

You can’t answer. You’re afraid you might never be able to speak ever again.

Jake crawls up the bed until he can stretch out beside you, and finally, you can close your legs, draw them up to almost to your stomach and angle them away. You’re still pulsing, clenching around nothing, more exhausted than you’ve ever been.

“You okay, honey?” he asks softly, leaning in to kiss you. You can’t even reciprocate, just stare at him.

“Uhm,” you say.

He laughs at you, and if you could move your arms, you’d hit him. As is, you just blink at him, dazed, confused, still caught up in the intensity of it.

“That good, huh?” He grins like the cat that got the cream and wraps an arm around you, pulls you against him. There’s something reassuring to the feel of him, the slight damp of his skin and the solid muscle against the mush of yourself.

And then, voice suddenly so much softer, he says, “You did so well, honey. My best girl.”

Maybe you shouldn’t like it so much, but you can’t help but beam, cling to him.

“Next time,” he says, voice back to the levity of his pride, “I think you should sit on my face.”

You can’t help it. You gape at him.

“Your… face?” you repeat, hesitantly, unsure if you’ve misheard.

Shameless, he nods.

“Don’t worry about suffocating me or any of that shit, it’d be an honorable way to go down.”

“Oh my god,” you say, and then you laugh, and he laughs with you, and it’s like somebody poured liquid sunlight into your chest.

But then you shift against him, trying to get comfortable, and suddenly you’re not just aware that you’re lying in a puddle of what is essentially your own slick and Jake’s spit, that you’re still completely naked, but even more pressingly that he’s still hard.

Almost immediately, something inside of you seizes up again.

“Oh,” you whisper.

Jake, who has stilled your movement with a hand on your hip, clears his throat. He has a look of pure concentration on his face.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just… go to the bathroom.”

And he means it, is about to get out of bed when you hold onto him, wrap yourself around him like an octopus, shove your face into his chest, so you don’t have to look at him as you say, “No, I… I want it.”

Jake freezes.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, “you don’t have to….”

“I want to,” you interrupt. And it’s clumsy rather than sexy, but you reach for his sweatpants, palm at him through the fabric, breath catching when you notice the dark stain of pre-cum on the front. “I want you inside of me.”

It’s so much more forward than you’ve ever been, so out of character, but it feels good to be honest, to tell the truth, to articulate what you’ve been dreaming of for months.

Jake groans loudly as you begin to rub at his length, drops back against the mattress without any protest.

“You want it?” he asks, searching your face as if he’s looking for any trace of a lie, of hesitancy.

Well, he won’t find any.

You smile and nod.

“I want it,” you confirm.

Jake clenches his eyes shut for a moment, exhales a shaky breath, and then he nods, leans over to open a drawer on his nightstand, and gets out a condom.

And he’s saying, you’re driving me crazy, sweetheart, but you barely hear him.

Because there it is, right on his nightstand. Front cover up, a gas station receipt shoved as a bookmark between the pages about a quarter into it.

Emma by Jane Austen.

“You… you’re reading it?” you say, interrupting whatever other filth was pouring from it, and Jake blinks, follows your gaze, pauses.

And then he has the audacity to blush.

“Well,” he says, “you said it was your favorite, and I wanted to… I don’t usually read much, so it’s… a lot, but I think I get it, why you like it I mean, and….”

You pull him into a kiss, and you pour all of yourself into it. All the gratitude and the longing and the love. Everything you feel for him, right there, condensed into the slide of your mouth over his.

When you pull away, his eyes have gone dark again.

“I like you,” he says, and it should be bumbling, awkward, but it’s beautiful instead. “So much.”

You giggle.

“I like you too,” you say.

From the first moment, Jake and you were planets circling each other. And now, finally, you’ve locked into orbit.

Jake rolls over you, kisses you again, only it’s even filthier this time, reminiscent of what he did between your legs, and within moments it’s gathering in your stomach again, growing once more, and you’re wet and wanting and pliant beneath him.

He pulls back to finally get rid of his sweatpants - how weird that he was still wearing them this whole time, you think - moves to roll on the condom, and you look down at his cock, open your mouth and… falter.

“Jake,” you say, “that’s not going to fit.”

And the moment you’ve said the words, you regret them. God, you sound like somebody hired you for an extremely low-budget porno, but you’re just honestly concerned.

Jake laughs, and you can’t believe you just fueled that ego even further.

“We’ll work with what he can. But sweetheart…” And he leans down, presses the tip of his cock first to your clit, then your entrance in a way that makes your vision blur, and his voice drops to a whisper, right in your ear, “Personally, I think you can take it.”

You can’t even answer, can’t do anything, because he starts pushing inside of you. And it’s excruciating, so slow it’s almost impossible, the stretch just the right side of unbearable. Jake braces a hand by your head, face scrunched up in pleasure, mouth hanging open, one hand guiding himself. And you just tip your head back and moan, a sound that rips free from the very core of you.

“I’d like to think I did a pretty damn good job at warming you up,” he grounds out, jaw clenched with concentration, “but- god, you feel so fucking good - we’ll take it slow, yeah? Just… tell me if you want to stop, honey.”

Stopping is the last thing on your mind. You just want him in you, want more, more, more, had it once, and already you’re so greedy.

The slide seems almost endless, stretching your walls further than you thought possible, and you can’t hear anything, not even Jake’s voice spilling endless praise in loops that make no sense, not your own heartbeat hammering away, only the rushing of your blood in your ears.

And then finally, when you think you can’t take it anymore, he bottoms out with a grunt and just stays there for a moment, pelvis pressed to yours, breathing in the same rhythm.

“How you feeling, sweetheart?” he asks gently, one hand moving to brush the hair matted to your face with sweat away from your forehead.

“I…” And you can’t think, doesn’t he know that you can’t think, why does he keep asking you questions when all of your brain is currently occupied with reminding you to keep breathing. “… Full.”

Jake’s face crumbles like he’s in pain, and then he drops his head against your chest, his breath hot where it hits your skin, and moans. Inside you, his cock twitches, and you gasp.

“Sweetheart,” he grits out, “can’t just go around saying shit like that. So I’m trying my best to hold on here, yeah?”

And it makes you crazy, thinking that you’ve made him like this, that he’s riding that edge because he buried his face in your pussy, and you can’t help it, hook an ankle over his thigh and tug him forward, force him to move.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You sure.”

And you nod, so far gone you don’t care anymore, can’t even remember to be embarrassed.

“Yeah. I want it, Jake, please, please.”

It really doesn’t take all that much. He immediately complies, moving back, drawing almost all the way out before plunging back in. And it’s more than you can take, and not enough, it’s too slow, and too fast, it’s too hard, it’s not hard enough, it’s everything at once, and above all else, it’s good, so good you can’t put it into words, can’t believe it’s real, can do nothing but hold onto him and hope you make it out at the other side.

Jake keeps it even, keeps it slow even as you can see the muscles in his stomach rippling with the effort of keeping still, even as his face is tight.

“Okay,” you whisper, looking him right in the eyes only to find he’s already looking back, “give it to me, Jake.”

It sets him off. He goes from measured, collected to focused, thrusting harder, reaching deeper, and your eyes roll back into your head. He’s fucking you with enough force that it rattles the headboard against the wall, that you feel it reverberate all along your bones.

“Jake,” you whimper, and he groans, grasps one of your thighs, and bends you nearly in half, and it should be uncomfortable, but like this, he reaches even deeper, grazes that spot that paints stars in your vision. You can’t describe the sound you make as anything but a strangled scream, and it should be embarrassing, maybe, but you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but the pleasure of it all.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your neck, “fuck, sweetheart, you’re so… fucking… wet….”

The sounds are obscene. His cock plunging into your wetness, the headboard slamming against the walls, your own whimpers, and Jake’s moans, all of it mixing into what could possibly result in a noise complaint from several neighbors. And you don’t care. Not one bit.

He leans down to kiss you, barely more than your mouths slotting together, breath on breath, then his hand wanders down toward your pussy, and the other clasps yours, fingers slotting together. He’s thumbing at your swollen, sensitive clit, and it throbs, and things get even wetter, and you make a sound like you’re going to die right now, wrap yourself around him, arch into him, tongue stroking against his, his moan slammed against your teeth.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, rubbing tight, concentrated, purposeful circles on your clit, “come for me, I wanna feel your pussy clench on me, you can give me that, yeah, honey, you can be a good girl for me, can’t you?”

It’s been pretty clear from the moment he slid inside that neither of you would last very long, but that undoes you.

You’re saying yeah yeah yeah please please please jake jake jake, and he sinks his teeth into the side of your neck, sends his tongue after to soothe, and then it barrels through you, more intense than the first because it’s closer to pain, fingernails digging into his back, his palm, mouth ripping open around a sound that would have been his name had you had the breath, that dies before it leaves your lips, world-shattering, ground falling out from under you, and if you didn’t know any better you’d swear you black our for a moment, everything fading away.

When you return to it, Jake is saying, “… fucking, I can’t, god, pussy so wet and tight, so pretty, my gorgeous girl, my best girl so good, and you’re so, you’re so….”

You never do find out what you are because he goes from focused to frantic, hips undulating wildly, fucking into you at a shallow, quick pace, and then suddenly he freezes, shudders, his cock jumps - and then he’s groaning, arching over you as he empties into the condom.

He tries to roll off you immediately, but you wrap both arms and legs around him and hold him to you, in you, stay like that with your hearts thundering against each other like they’re knocking up a storm against your ribcages in an effort to embrace. Even like this, you still wish you could get him closer.

If I could, you think, I’d live inside your chest.

That’s a stupid thought.

For a while, you just lie like that. You’ll have to get up and go pee in a minute, but you don’t want to think about it yet. For now, you just want to lie here.

After an eternity, Jake says, “When I leave tomorrow….”

There’s something like hesitancy in his voice. Worry.

Into your hair, Jake whispers, “Will you wait for me?”

And that’s the thing about Jake. He’s always, always given you a way out. The decision was always yours.

So you could still walk away. Turn your back on this and forget about it. Rebuilt those walls and go back to the routine of your life before him.

But his heartbeat is quick and uneven against your chest. His voice is familiar.

You think of that house with the blue door back in Seattle.

Maybe, you think, it was never so much about the house as what it stood for: Sitting with your mother on the couch and listening to the rain. Laughing in Penny’s kitchen with her and Amelia. Watching the waves roll in that night at the beach with Jake.

Home, you think and blink the tears away. I’ve finally come home.

“Yeah, I’ll wait for you,” you answer, tighten your arms around him, press your face into his chest. “In fact, I might never leave you again. You got air conditioning.”

+++

“Jake,” you say, “this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Wrong.” He turns the car left, and you hold onto the door handle for dear life. “The dumbest thing I’ve ever done was the time I almost let you go.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, “you’re getting so sappy.”

But when you stretch your hand palm-up over the middle console, and he takes it immediately, you’re smiling from ear to ear.

“Will you let me take this stupid blindfold off now?” you ask, the fingers of your free hand reaching up to trace along the line of the old bandana Jake tied over your eyes earlier before getting you into the car.

“Nope,” he says, sounding cheerful. “Don’t ruin the surprise, sweetheart.”

In reality, Jake isn’t the best at surprises. You’ve been together for four years now, and in all that time, you don’t think he’s managed to pull a single planned thing off. You knew about every surprise birthday party, every surprise anniversary dinner, every surprise homecoming.

It’s a testament to his love for you, though - you’re the first person he wants to share things with, even the ones he should be keeping from you.

(And you indulge him, every time. Pretend to be shocked. Pretend he pulled it off.

You’ll do it even when he finally decides to get out that ring box you found in his sock drawer last week. You know he’ll ask. Soon.

You’ll wait.)

Maybe this one will actually work, though, because really, you have no idea where the hell he’s taking you.

“We’re here,” Jake says, and you hear the rhythmic thumping of the turn signal.

Jake parks the car, and you wait in silence until he’s back to open your door and help you out, one hand holding yours and the other on the small of your back. Then, carefully, he maneuvers you around.

The feeling in your chest catches somewhere between excitement and trepidation. God, you hope he didn’t do anything stupid.

Then, his voice is low in your ear as he says, “Ready, sweetheart?”

You’re not exactly sure if you are, but you say, “Ready.”

When he takes the blindfold off, you blink into the bright sunlight.

There’s a house in front of you. A beautiful place, the kind you always point out to him when you’re taking strolls through your neighborhood. White wood paneling, a front porch that wraps around the whole ground floor. Balconies with wrought-iron railings for the second stories. Flowerboxes before every window.

From behind you, Jake says, “It’s ours.”

Your heart is in your throat. Your eyes burn.

“Ours?” you repeat, voice so soft it almost gets carried off by the breeze.

Jake nods, then swallows and scrambles to say, “I didn’t sign the contract yet, of course, I’m not crazy enough to do something that big without talking to you first, you know that. But if you want it, then… it’s ours.”

The tears are hot on your face. You feel like your ribcage is going to splinter apart. Behind it, your heart has grown to three times its previous size.

“Oh,” Jake says, spotting your tears, and the hands that were wringing the bandana suddenly fall along with his face, “you don’t like it. That’s okay, we’ll just….”

“Shut up, Bagman,” you say, laughing even through the tears, a bubbling sound, fragile as glass, fragile as you feel, “I love it. Of course, I love it.”

He grins, eyes all crinkly and luminous, and fuck, you’re so in love, so far gone, it feels like you could hug the whole world.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“God, I’m so whipped,” he says, laughing like he’s trying to rival the sun, reaching for you. “My gorgeous, brilliant girl.”

He pulls you against his chest, and you wrap your arms around him and press your smile into his neck, and it’s 84 degrees in the shade, but you don’t mind because you love him, and he sees you, and you’re home, you’re home, you’re home.

The door to your new house is painted a tender baby blue. Kind of like the ocean. Kind of like the Californian sky. Kind of like your dream.

#hangman fic #top gun maverick #hangman x reader #hangman #jake seresin #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x reader #mine #f: bh #goodbye

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damn-stark · 7 months

Text

Chapter 11 It almost worked

Chapter 11 of Sugar

A/N- PLEASE THEY JUST WANT TO BE A HAPPY FAMILY!!

Warning- Swearing, Sweet tooth rotting FLUFF, angst, pregnancy talk, spoilers, long chapter, intended sexual activities and just soft and small sexual scene

Pairing- Suguru Geto x Gojo!fem-reader, (future) Choso x fem!reader

Takes place during- Jjk 0 movie

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

“You’re late,” he whispers and hands you the book he carried in his hands.

You sigh deeply and glance at the door he walked out of before you look down at the tiger-like curse protecting the door as if some stranger is going to just waltz in and take what he’s protecting. You’ll have to thank Suguru for that, he didn’t want her to be left unprotected when the both of you weren't around; even if she's safe living in a community full of sorcerers, and is taken care of by a sorcerer.

Then again it’s not like it actually matters now; the tiger curse bonded with whom it was assigned to protect; the same way Toji was bonded with that worm that Suguru only got after his death.

“And you’re here,” you deadpan and walk past him to knock on the twin’s door. “Nanako, Mimiko, I’m home,” you announce in a softer tone than what you used with Suguru.

“Yeah, we heard!” Nanako shouts, and neither of them bothers to get up.

“Goodnight!” Mimiko shouts back. “Love you!”

You smile. “Me too! Good night!” You exclaim and then sigh as you turn to make a beeline towards your room without stopping by Suguru’s side.

“What did you do?” He asks calmly.

When you enter your room you put the book down on the shelf and instead grab your pajamas. “I went to a bar with Yuki,” you share. “Did you…end up going over there?”

You don’t need to be specific, he knows. So he answers. “Yes, but I didn’t get any of the action. I only saw the aftermath…the children were saved,” he reveals, making you stop just as you were getting other stuff, and turn to face him with a soft pleading look.

“Tell me Suguru that what you did had meaning,” you say quietly and put your clothes down to step closer to him. “Not everything else, but what you just did today.”

Suguru’s eyes soften and he closes the gap by grabbing your cheeks and pulling you closer to him. “Of course, there was, baby. And we are so much closer to our goal because of it,” he shares with growing excitement. “The curses that littered that school were excorized within seconds after Orimoto Rika was released. All of them, even the bigger one I let out. I didn’t get to see it, but the aftermath…” he trails off and smirks deeply. “It was truly promising. So yes, it has meaning.”

You let out a deep relieved breath and nod lightly. He nonetheless continues. “I’m so much closer to giving you and the girls the world I promised,” he whispers, causing your lips to tug to a smile. “We’re so much closer to ending this misery. I just need that curse and it will all be worth it.”

You hold his gaze and see only reassurance in his dark eyes. So that’s what you feel, comfort. There’s no ounce of doubt anymore, he never lies to you for you to have doubts, and he always accomplishes the promises he makes to you and the girls. So the guilt and hesitation you felt, melt away with his words, and with his fired-up excitement and loving gaze.

Others would see this, hear this, and call it madness perhaps, but all you hear is comfort and hope.

“Okay,” you whisper softly. “Okay, I’m sorry I got upset.”

Suguru shakes his head and caresses your cheeks. “It’s okay don’t apologize.”

You smile wider and grab his hands. “I’ll help you,” you let him know confidently. “We’ll get this curse together, whatever it takes.”

Suguru grins and nods. “Whatever it takes,” he repeats and brushes his thumb over your bottom lip before he begins to kiss you slowly as if teasing you.

You try to deepen the gesture, but he pulls back and begins to press a trail of kisses down to your neck.

“I need to take a shower,” you say breathlessly as you try to focus on anything else but his soft lips. “Suguru,” you muse.

Said man moves up and smashes his lips on yours, this time he’s quick and rougher, he shoves his tongue in you, making you gasp and go weak in the knees. Just as you’re about to stumble he slides one hand down to the back of your knee and slides your leg up to hook it around his waist, while he uses his other hand to grab your ass and lift you up to then throw you on the bed.

You laugh and before you know it, he’s taking his shirt off and flashing a smirk.

“Suguru,” you repeat again. “I’ve been out all day, I need to change out of these clothes at least.”

He snickers. “I’ll help you with that, after all you promised earlier didn’t you?”

You beam at him and welcome him with open arms. When he’s on top of you neither of you wastes any time to rip each other's clothes off and leave each other completely nude.

“Did you lock the door?” You ask him as you wrap your arms around his neck.

Suguru nods as his eyes roam your body. “Yeah, yeah,” he says breathlessly before he leans down and begins to press kisses on the collar of your neck and slowly moves his way down, making you ball the material of the bedsheet as your heart races, and your breathing gets heavier as he fills you with burning desire.

“Suguru,” you gasp breathlessly.

“Hm?” He hums and pulls his mouth away to grab your legs and pull them apart to plant kisses on your inner thigh, making you close your eyes and get lost in the sensation of his lips, of his breath unfurling over your skin, and his warmth over the part where you desire his touch the most.

“I asked for the pictures from your shoot today,” he says between kisses. “And darling, you looked absolutely breathtaking.” He pulls back and you groan in protest, making him snicker. He then moves up to hover over you again.

You would be impatient and flip him over, but instead, you look into his eyes and smile with awe. He mirrors your smile and leans in closer to you, causing his long hair to fall down like a gentle stream around your head, and shielding the single light you had left on in your room.

Neither of you say anything, you just watch each other, study each other's nude bodies basked by the dim light, and look up again. It’s been 11 years since you’ve been together and you still grow flustered under his gaze.

“I love you,” he muses endearly, “Mrs. Geto.”

You giggle and gently cup his cheek and tuck strands of his hair behind his ear. He leans into your touch and kisses your palm.

“I love you, Sugar,” you whisper with a beaming smile.

He grins and then nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck to begin kissing you again. “Mrs. Geto,” he whispers against your flesh.

——

*FIVE YEARS BACK*

You to Nanami: Can we talk, please?

You rapidly knock your knuckle on the table and wait. He might not respond right away, he might not even look at it at all. After all, it's been years since you’ve last talked and seen each other, but you have time to wait; the twins are at school, and Suguru is at his Religious group. You can wait.

Nevertheless, only a few minutes pass before a message comes in from Nanami.

Nanami: Yeah, where? When?

You sigh with relief and feel happy tears fill your eyes. You just thought he’d never want to talk to you again.

You: Right now? Uhm maybe your place? Or somewhere quiet?

Only seconds pass this time before you get a response.

Nanami: Okay, we can meet up at my place. Want me to get a car for you?

Oh? He’s changed, he doesn’t sound so moody anymore. He would’ve never offered to get you a ride before. He would’ve made you pay actually.

It’s a nice change.

You: No, I’m fine, I have my ride. Just send your address.

Nanami doesn’t fret to send his address, he doesn’t interrogate you any longer and just assures you that he’ll be right there. Albeit when you reach his apartment complex you end up waiting in the lobby for him.

You still have plenty of time before the girls are out of school so you don’t grow anxious, you read a book and ignore the wandering stares of the passersby who recognize you from magazines, billboards, and runways they've seen you in. You are a bit nervous to see Nanami again after 4 years of going without contact, but your current concern outbeats that so thankfully that’s not your top priority.

“Y/N?” You suddenly hear your name being called.

You close the book and stand up off the chair.

“Sorry I’m late,” you recognize your friend's voice. “There was traffic.”

You turn around and finally face him, noticing that he no longer has bangs, his hair is a lot shorter and more neatly styled. He looks a lot more muscular now too, or at least it seems that way, he used to be so skinny before. And he looks so formal in his suit. He honestly looks great! A little tired, but hey, who isn’t?

“Nanamin!” You exclaim and run over to him to throw your arms around him.

Regardless of the previous anxiety, and your current concern you still do feel excited to see him.

“Y/N,” he mutters as he gently taps your shoulder before he grows more stiff and pulls back slowly to look down at you. You follow his line of gaze and smirk before you step back and sigh. “I’m sorry, were you working?” You ask with guilt. “It looks like you came out of work. I’m sorry, you should’ve told me to wait—”

“No,” he cuts you off as he reaches for his blue tie to loosen it. “It’s fine, the day was boring anyway. Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He asks and meets your gaze, catching the difference in your eye color and blinking repeatedly with surprise. He doesn’t ask about it though and you don’t comment on it either, you just exhale deeply and feel your concern take priority once again.

“Uh, can we go to your house or something?” You ask.

“Yeah, sorry.” He quickly says and doesn’t waste any more time, he leads you to his apartment. And you have to admit the walk there is pretty awkward, neither of you knows what to really say, and you both have questions ready to ask, but neither of you makes the first move.

When you walk into his studio apartment that’s a different story though. It may not be big, but it’s still very neatly kept, and pretty fancy. The view is great too; you can see the city from his apartment.

“Wow, Nanami, this is very nice,” you muse as you take your coat off while you study his place. “Very organized too.” You smile and look for any sign of a partner just so you can be prepared if they walk in and think the worst.

“Are Geto and you still together?” He finally manages to ask.

You nod. “Mhm, we're married now,” you share with a nervous laugh. “We’re going on almost three years now.”

Nanami scoffs softly. “Sounds like him. Where is he?”

You put your coat on his rack by the entrance and continue to give him your back as you take your shoes off. “He’s at his facility. So working,” you share. “I wanted to talk to you alone.”

“Are you okay?” He asks again as he waits for you by his entrance.

You exhale deeply and share a breathless laugh. “Well, it depends,” you mutter and turn around to face him and catch him off guard.

“Uh,” he breathes out as he looks down at your belly.

“Big breakfast,” you tease as you see him continue to look at you with shock.

Nanami clears his throat awkwardly so you burst out laughing and tap your swollen belly. “I’m fucking with you,” you assure him. “Yeah, I’m knocked up. Don’t worry, it’s not yours.”

Nanami rolls his eyes. “Glad to see you haven’t changed,” he remarks.

You giggle and follow him as he guides you over to his couch. Before you can sit though, he props up pillows and pulls over his footrest like a nice gentleman.

“Nanamin,” you whisper and grab his arm. “It’s okay, I'm just pregnant not invalid. Thank you though.”

He doesn’t listen and tries to make your spot as comfortable as possible before you sit down. “What do you want to drink?” He asks as he steps back. “I have uh, day-old bread. Or crackers. I can make you something.”

You flash him a smile. “No, I just ate breakfast not so long ago. But some water is fine.”

He nods and walks off to his kitchen.

“Do you have a partner?” You probe. “I don’t want them to come home and freak out because they see me here. I’ll feel bad.”

“No,” he quickly answers as he grabs a glass cup. “No partner. You’ll be fine.”

You hum softly and gently fiddle with the edge of your skirt.

“How,” he interjects as he serves water in two cups. “How far along are you?”

You smile softly. “Five months,” you announce. “So halfway there.”

Nanami returns and places a cup of water in front of you before he places his cup down and sits down across from you. “Does…your brother know?” He asks, making you grow stiff and annoyed.

“No,” you deadpan. “He doesn’t know. I haven’t seen or talked to him in four years.” You sigh and take the cup of water to take a long sip, feeling every ounce of excitement, relief, and joy wash away.

“Look,” you change the subject with a more melancholy look on your face. “I’m sorry I made you get out of work, I just didn’t have anyone else to turn to. Tsukumo is away, and…Shoko…I haven’t talked to her in four years, plus, I don’t think she’d want to talk to me, so I thought of you. I hope that’s okay, and I know it’s bad that I call you just to come here and burden you with my problems, but I couldn't think of anyone else.”

“It’s okay,” Nanami assures you softly. “I know it’s been a while, but we’re still friends.”

Your eyes fill with tears and you can’t help but flash him a sad smile at the mention.

“So please don’t be afraid to share your burdens with me,” he adds.

You draw out a deep breath and place the glass down as you gather up how to express yourself without bursting into tears. He never rushes you, he waits until finally you find a way to share. “You know my stance with non-sorcerers. Suguru thinks the same way,” you interject softly. “Albeit he hates them a little more than me, he has no tolerance for them. He…killed his parents so as to not make an exception…” you trail off and draw in a shaky breath and take another sip of water as you grow nervous and scared.

“And,” you add. “I guess I'm scared. I mean, he loves the idea of having the baby. He’s so excited and protective, but what happens when the kid doesn’t have cursed energy?” You finally manage to express your concern. “What happens then? He’ll hate me and the baby. And I’m scared because of it. I mean I can deal with him hating me, but the kid?” You ask rhetorically and feel tears escape from your eyes. “And I know it’s way too soon to tell, but I’m still scared.”

“Why should you be though?” Nanami questions, making you sniffle and look over at him—“you come from a long line of strong sorcerers. Geto is a strong sorcerer. I’m sure your kid will be just as exceptional.”

You manage a faint smile, but that fades away quickly. “The Zen’in’s had Toji,” you explain. “He was born with no cursed energy. And I hear that they have another one who’s just the same. It’s not rare for kids from sorcerer families to be born like non-sorcerers.”

Nanami sighs and nods softly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says and then goes quiet for a moment. “But,” he then adds. “I don’t think that’ll be your case. Even if it was, that’d make Geto a deadbeat bastard if he’s willing to hate his kid because of something they couldn’t control.”

He might be right, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that you’d feel like it was your fault. And it doesn’t take away from the fact that you’d live with guilt for the rest of your life for your child because her father couldn’t love her.

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I guess you're right.”

“And if it happens you always have your brother,” he adds, making you grow stiff and annoyed.

“Please,” you mutter with that clear emotion. “I don’t want to talk about Satoru.”

“Y/N,” Nanami scolds you. “I can’t tell you to forget what happened, but he’s still your brother.”

You clench your jaw and shrug. “I don’t care. He left, so I’m leaving him behind. So please don’t bring him up anymore, and don’t tell him about anything. Don’t tell anyone.”

Nanami sighs and nods. “Okay.”

You hum and wipe away your tears.

“Look,” he continues to say. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’m sure your kid will turn out to be a sorcerer. I’m sure that they’ll be as strong as you…”

You smile softly.

“And if they don’t then…you always have a place here. You and your kid.”

You gasp softly and tears rush down your cheeks. “Thank you,” you murmur. “You’re nice. Nicer than before that’s for sure.”

Nanami scoffs and smiles softly at the ground. “I was a moody teenager then.”

“Weren't we all?” You agree. “Are you still a sorcerer?” You can’t help but ask since there’s really nothing either of you can do about your situation right now. You just needed to talk to someone and hear their advice.

“No,” Nanami reveals. “I quit that. I’m a working stiff now. You?”

“Well,” you sigh and sit back. “I hunt curses, yeah. I do odd jobs with Tsukumo, but right now I am on maternity leave.” You laugh softly.

“Besides that,” Nanami adds. “I see you’re doing well for yourself. I mean you're doing your dream job.”

You grin and nod. “Yeah, you remembered! Yeah,” you repeat. “Well after I dropped out, I worked to get stronger, but after that, I said what the heck, I’m going to try, and next thing I knew I’m walking down runways and shooting for magazine covers.”

Nanami smiles and nods softly. “Good for you. I'm glad you could follow that dream,” he shares. “I don’t think it would’ve been possible if you stayed at school.”

You hum in agreement and drink more water, and as you do, you feel the baby kick so you jolt up and rush over to your friend. “Oh my god, give me your hand,” you say quickly and grab his hand regardless. “She’s kicking, wanna feel?”

Nanami looks down at your belly and hesitates before he mutters his response slowly. “Okay?”

You beam at him and press his hand against the spot where you feel her kick. Rather than looking down you watch Nanami, and see his breath catch, and his eyes widen slightly as he feels her.

“Cool, huh?” You muse. “The twins love to lay on me and feel her move.”

“Twins?” Nanami asks as he pulls his hand away.

You nod. “Yeah, we adopted twin girls that Suguru rescued…Maybe we can hang out again and you can meet them. They’re my pride and joy.” You mention with a soft smile.

Nanami hums softly. “Yeah. That’d be nice,” he agrees.

You beam at him and then sit back in your seat to add something else about the baby. “Suguru and I wanted to name the baby Yu, if it was a boy, just like—”

“Haibara,” Nanami finishes for you as his lips tug to a soft smile.

You nod softly. “Yeah,” you whisper. “But it turns out we’re expecting a girl, so now, we’re clueless as to what we want to name her. Suki is up in the air, or Kiko, but we’re still debating. So if you have a suggestion that’d be great.”

Nanami chuckles. “I wouldn't have a clue,” he says.

“Well,” you sigh. “We still have four months left to decide, so.”

“Are you scared?” Nanami interjects. “To have your baby, I mean.”

“A little,” you admit. “But mostly I’m excited. I can’t wait, I want to meet her already.”

“You know out everyone I never expected you to have a kid,” Nanami shares softly, catching you a surprise. “I thought your brother would, but not you. Now that you’re expecting one, I’m happy for you, y/n. I’m happy that you found a way to live your life outside of our messed-up world. I know you'll make a great mother.”

Happy tears fill your eyes and your heart skips a beat. “Thank you, Nanami. Thank you for everything,” you tell him sweetly. “I hope we can continue to talk and hang out so you can meet her. So we can continue to be friends as well. I missed you, you know.”

“Yeah,” he whispers. “School was never the same after you left…I missed you too,” he admits, making you grin softly.

Your fear about your child’s future won’t go away, but you’re happy that you got your friend back in your life. You really missed him.

——

*NOW.*

“Hello! Can I come in?!”

“Oh, your child’s awake,” you whisper against Suguru’s chest as you’re snuggled up against him after you exhausted yourselves after last night's passionate activities.

“It was getting late,” he comments on the fact that your daughter always wakes up at the same time every morning and never fails to come to your room first—“Yes, Satori, you can come in,” he addresses the visitor as he caresses your back.

The door opens and the sound of stomping paws rush in and skid to a stop by the bed.

“What did I say about that curse in the room?” You question as you keep your head on Suguru’s chest.

“Mommy!” Satori ignores you before you feel her jump on the bed and crawl over to throw herself on you. “You’re finally home.”

You hum. “I got home late, sorry, Chipmunk.”

Little arms wrap around you and her long strands of hair fall over your face. “We missed you,” she muses.

You pull your arm out from under her and hug her tightly against you. “I missed you too.”

“Guess what?” She asks, making you open your eyes and meet her dark brown eyes looking at you already.

“What?” You whisper.

She leans close to your ear, causing her black hair to cover your eyes as it falls all over the place now. “Daddy said we’re going to buy your birthday present soon,” she whispers loudly.

“Excuse me?” Suguru cuts in. “That’s supposed to be a secret, Chipmunk.”

Satori giggles. “But daddy, I didn’t tell her what it was.”

You smirk and glance at Suguru. “You’ll tell me, huh?” You ask your daughter.

Satori pushes herself up and stabs her knee in your ribs as she does, making you groan.

“Well,” she mumbles. “No, because Nana said she’d take away my dolls if I did.”

You giggle. “Oh, don’t worry she won’t.”

“But last yesterday—”

“The other day,” Suguru corrects her.

“Oh…the other day, she hid my doll! And she didn’t want to give it back,” she whines and pouts. “She’ll do it again. Daddy, you have to tell her something,” she complains and throws herself on him, making sure to squeeze herself between him and you even though his other side is empty.

She always does this. She’s like…Satoru in that way, always wanting Suguru’s attention for themselves.

“I’ll talk to her,” Suguru assures his young daughter. “Okay?”

Satori nods and continues to push you back with her feet so Suguru can hug her instead. “Are you going to work today?” She asks him.

“No, I’m going to be home all day today,” he says with a smile, causing her to squeal—“what do you want to do today?” He asks. “Maybe we could go harvest some apples with your mommy and your sisters?”

“Apple pie?” She asks. “Uncle Larue makes the best.”

Suguru smiles brightly and nods. “Yeah, we can definitely ask him.”

“Yay!”

“What about me?” You complain as you’re left on the edge. “I’m cold over here.”

Satori and Suguru both look over at you at the same time, and their resemblance shows off as they’re side by side. She’s literally a mini him except for in personality, she probably takes after you in that. Or…he who shall not be named anymore.

“Well,” Satori mutters as she lays her head on Suguru’s neck. “I guess you can be with us.”

Suguru snickers, and you move yourself back to lay beside your daughter.

“You know,” you muse as you cover her with the blanket. “You used to sleep on your daddy’s chest all the time when you were a baby.”

Satori rolls her eyes. “Yes, Mommy I know, you tell me all the time.”

You smile brightly and drag yourself closer to Suguru. “And I used to lay right here and watch you guys sleep,” you add.

Satori can’t help but smile as she clutches onto Suguru as if he were going to disappear out of the blue. If she could, she’d go with him everywhere, she’d even go with him to his religious facility, but he says she’s still too young to be there so she stays home with Belinda, or you, or the twins instead. She’s attached to him though, and infatuated with the curses he can manipulate. She’s not scared of them like you were at her age. It makes you glad.

But regardless, this attachment is born out of how spoiled she is by Suguru, which is why she wants to go everywhere with him, he spoils all three of them. And you too. And you can’t say you don’t like it because you do, especially when he spoils the girls, it makes your heart flutter.

“Hey!”

You look over at the door and see Nanako walk in with her hand on her hip. “When is breakfast going to be ready? We’ve been waiting,” she complains.

“Maybe you and Mimiko can make breakfast?” You suggest teasingly as you sit up.

Nanako doesn’t like your joke though, and scoffs before she walks over and throws herself on the bed. “Hey we should catch that scary movie that came out last week,” she says, making Satori gasp.

“No! We’re going to pluck apples today!” She exclaims.

“We can do both,” Nanako argues.

You look at her with concern. “Maybe something not scary?” You suggest.

“You lost the bet,” Mimiko interjects as she slowly makes herself inside the room. “You promised one scary movie.”

Tsk.

You groan softly in protest. “This totally sucks, but I guess you’re right.”

“So what about it, Geto?” Nanako presses as she places her phone down.

Suguru looks up at the ceiling and speechlessly recoils over the fact that he’ll have to be stuck in a theater with non-sorcerers, but he doesn’t actually express his complaint, he sighs instead and nods. “Okay, that’s fine.”

Nanako grins and goes back on her phone, letting you glance over at Mimiko and smile at her as you pat the empty spot beside you.

She looks at the spot for a second before she slowly makes her way to your side to lie beside you.

“For now though,” Suguru adds. “Why don’t we go eat, hm? Satori why don’t you come help me?” He asks.

The little girl finally gets off him and claps joyfully. “Okay! Yay!” She exclaims and quickly climbs off the bed to run to the bathroom first. Suguru follows her and helps her brush her teeth, leaving you with the girls alone.

“So,” Mimiko interjects. “Are you guys closer to getting that special grade curse?”

You sigh and feel her head fall on your shoulder, letting you lay your head on hers as you explain the situation. “Well, not really. But we want to get her soon, Suguru just made his first move though, so we’ll wait a bit until we make our next move before we finally go for the win.”

And you did wait, a few months. You didn’t want to get caught before you could come up with a good strategy to take the curse, so you waited a few months before Suguru decided to make his next move to finally lure Okkotsu out to see the power Rika was blessed with for yourselves.

“Do you really think he’ll release her?” You doubt Suguru as he helps you up on the end of the beam that’s several feet over the abandoned shopping center.

“I’m sure he will,” Suguru assures you as he summons the worm curse to wrap it around his shoulders. “With the semi-first grade curse I’ll release, he’ll have to if he wants to save his friend.”

You hum and lean against the wall to wait for the students they sent out for this mission. “Well if he doesn’t and I get some kind of disease up here,” you complain. “I hope you’re ready to cremate me.”

Suguru scoffs at your over-dramatic comment and stands across from you to watch the entrance.

“If he doesn��t bring out Rika then what?” You ask seriously this time. “The cursed-speech user has his limits, you know. Knowing my brother and the school, Okkotsu is probably already training with something else, so if he doesn’t bring out Rika then what?”

Suguru rubs his chin and looks over at you to meet your gaze. “Well then if they're in trouble you can jump in and help them, we can’t risk Okkotsu dying without having her out. The veil will give you cover so you won’t be seen when the job is done.”

You scoff with amusement. “Jump in and look like some whack job just hanging out ready to save kids in veils? They’ll figure us out on the spot.”

“Well,” he argues. “You wouldn't have to get down, an air technique will be discreet and execute the curse without you having to be seen.”

You sigh and nod. “Yeah, that’s right, but he’ll know for sure.”

Suguru nods. “He’ll know today regardless of what happens,” he says. “So it won’t matter. Let’s just hope they don’t protect the kid and make it impossible to reach.”

You chuckle. “Yeah,” you comment on that matter sarcastically. “That’ll happen.”

Suguru snorts softly. “Yeah, you’re right,” he agrees with you. “But he is Satoru’s student, who knows maybe he’s different.”

You avert your gaze and frown at the thought, but you also hope that Suguru’s right about Satoru protecting Okkotsu, because at least he’ll protect the kid better than he protected you that day nine years ago.

“Look,” Suguru breaks you from your thoughts. “They’re here.”

You take a peek past the wall and see a skinny boy in the school uniform with short white hair and a scarf around the bottom of his face—that must be the cursed speech user.

You then spot Okkotsu next to him. Suguru had found his school ID, so you knew what he looked like, but what’s way more visible now is his dark eye bags. Plus he wears white rather than a usually dark-colored uniform. Why?

Yet that’s not the most outlandish thing about Okkotsu, now that you’re close to him you can’t help but freeze and gasp with shock as you quickly feel his cursed energy. It’s impressive and terrifying at the same time. It’s also a lot more than Satoru’s ever was. It’s so…unbelievable.

It would’ve been nice getting to know him now that you see how special he is, but, oh well.

“Come on,” Suguru whispers excitedly. “It’s almost time.”

A veil is drawn so you push yourself away from the wall, but continue to hide under the shadows until a pack of low-level curses create some tornado in the middle of the shopping center. You use that as cover and walk further down the beam to sit in the middle with Suguru beside you.

The curses are busy with the students so they pay no mind to Suguru or you, letting you watch as they form an orb and get louder. Before you know it though, you make out the cursed-speech user walking to the curses, so you use your cursed technique and form a thin water shield in front of Suguru and you, just in case.

The cursed-speech user is strong, so it’s unknown how far his sound waves will reach, and water catches sound waves so it’s better to be safe than sorry.

“Explode!” A voice booms out through the silence, and with that single command all the curses combust, and luckily only the aftershocks of the explosion reach you.

“Truly amazing,” you muse. “I’ve never seen that in action…I would’ve liked to have that technique, it’s cool.”

Suguru glances over at you, you can feel his stare from the corner of his eyes—“like you would've actually enjoyed not being able to speak,” he interjects.

You tilt your head to the side and meet his gaze with a smile. “Ugh, so true,” you agree.

“Maybe our next kid can have that,” he comments.

You snort and retort. “Now how are they going to have that, it’s an inherited technique, dork.”

Suguru smirks and shrugs whilst you both look back down at the scene. “It can happen, it can be a rare case, but it can happen.”

You shake your head and listen as he proceeds to lower a veil, “emerge from darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure,” he chants.

The person who lowered the other veil must be weak if Suguru can cover it with ease. So your brother isn’t the one supervising his students today. That’s good to know.

“Here we go,” Suguru murmurs as he releases a short light blue curse with a big nose and tusks.

Once the kids see it you see Okkotsu reach for his weapon, so you lean forward with curiosity and hope to see the curse attached to him. But Suguru’s curse attacks first, and the cursed-speech user counters by only managing to twist the curses fingers.

“Nice try,” you praise the boy while he falls down. Your eyes then drift to Okkotsu as he runs over and drags his comrade away from the curse, letting you sit back and focus back on Suguru as you wait for their next move.

“Anyway, how many kids do you want?” You ask.

Sure you’ve asked before, but answers change.

“How many ever come out,” he says and turns his head to meet your gaze.

You huff. “I need a clear answer,” you counter. “I’m going to be the one carrying them, and popping them out.”

Suguru draws in a deep breath and drifts his gaze away as he thinks

“Maybe until we have a boy?” You suggest.

“Well,” Suguru breathes out. “What if we have a boy next? I want at least three more.”

You laugh softly. “Three? Man. Okay.” You nod softly in comprehension. “Well, you might get your fourth soon after this morning.”

Suguru’s lips pull to a smirk and he tilts his head. “Well, I can make that a definite possibility later.”

You mirror his smirk. “Oh? Is that a promise?” You tease.

Suguru leans towards you. “We can make it a binding vow,” he whispers in a soft and soothing voice.

You watch him with an enamored look before you beam at him. “No need,” you assure him. “Let’s do it. Maybe go on a nice date, and not do it at home? A hotel?”

Suguru grins. “Well, okay. That works,” he agrees, “I know where to take you too.”

“Oh?” You probe excitedly.

“It’s a surprise though,” he teases.

You hold his gaze for a moment before you smile timidly and then look back at the scene as you see Okkotsu walking out to face the curse. You expect—hope he’ll display Rika, but he only imbues his blade with cursed energy.

The curse gives him everything it has, but Okkotsu proves to be what you expected, a trained swordsman. Even when he gets wounded he keeps Rika in and instead helps the cursed-speech user come out and give the finishing blow. Much to your disappointment.

“Well,” you breathe out and stand up while the kids walk away. “This blows.”

“Oh, what do we do about the veil?” You hear Okkotsu ask.

“What a shame,” Suguru interjects as he swings his leg off the other. “We came here to see Rika,” he says while the worm curse gives him the ID. “As a fellow special-grade, I was hoping to meet him soon. I needed to deliver something he dropped, too.”

“Well,” you groan with distaste. “Looks like we’ll have to move to plan b.” You press your hand on your hip and groan.

Suguru gets up and while he lowers the veil, the worm curse drags itself over to you to drape itself on your shoulders. You smile at it and scratch the top of its head before you caress his head with your cheek as he presses himself against you.

“Let’s have a family reunion first,” Suguru says as he makes room for you to walk past him. “Go over our plan and then move to plan b.”

It’s been ten years. You did good at avoiding your older brother for ten years, now you’ll break that streak and probably see him again at the place that holds the most memories of your cherished teenagehood.

“We’re going to have to lie to Satori,” you mention as you walk out of the emergency exit. “If she finds out who we’re going to see, she's going to want to stick along.”

“You don’t want them to meet yet?” Suguru queries.

You sigh and drop your head when you land on the alleyway by the shopping center. “No,” you deadpan. “Not yet. At least…not there. I don’t trust people not to go tell my family about her. The school is too public.”

Suguru hums in comprehension. “They’ll eventually know you know. We can’t hide her forever.”

You lift your gaze to look at the end of the alleyway and nod softly. “I know, but I want her to at least know how to defend herself a bit before they find out. If they—”

“They won’t,” Suguru cuts you off to assure you. “I won’t let them hurt her.” He reaches over and grabs your hand, not caring what people might say since he’s wearing his Buddha costume. “The curse I gave her won’t let it happen, and you and our family would never let it happen.”

You hold his gaze and feel the comfort you seek by that simple look. When you walk out of the alleyway and join the sidewalk to go to your waiting car, you go back to the previous topic.

“I was promised a show,” you comment as you let go of his hand to hug the worm's head. “We only got to see the fucking preview. If you can even count that as a preview,” you grumble.

“Well I didn't—” Suguru cuts himself off as he hears you mimic him.

“Stop that,” he mutters.

You mirror his serious facial expression and do it again. “Stop that.”

Suguru groans and rolls his eyes, making you and the worm smirk.

“You know Satori has started that habit too,” Suguru points out with annoyance. “I see where she gets it from now.”

You ignore him and wrap the worm around your shoulders before you interject seriously as if you’re upset. “Do you know what’s not right?”

“What?” Suguru doesn’t fret to probe.

“Left,” you interject with a growing smirk as you try not to laugh at your own joke.

Suguru sighs deeply and quickens his pace to try and reach the car faster. You finally burst out laughing and don’t wait to run over and throw yourself on his back.

“It’s a joke!” You say between laughs. “Laugh! It’s funny, I totally got you.”

“You’re such a dork,” he murmurs with a soft smile.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

“Please! Help me! It’s been months and Geto has not accomplished his duty to me!” Kanemori, one of Suguru’s donors exclaims through heavy and exhausted pants.

“Duty to you?” You mock him and laugh softly before you look away from your nail to look at the sweaty man with disgust. “You see,” you sigh and prop your elbow on the armrest. “I would, but I hear that you’re behind on payments, so I will recommend talking to my husband about your condition,” you roll out and offer him a feigned smile. “Albeit I'd watch my tongue if I were you, my husband isn’t as merciful as me.”

Mr Kanemori drops his head and groans before he mutters. “Bitch.”

Nanako gasps as if he had offended her, but you simply smirk with amusement.

“All these years and you’re still nothing but Geto’s slutty housewife,” he sneers out of anger over the fact that you didn’t help him exorcize the curse that clings onto him.

“Well,” you sigh nonchalantly and only seem to piss him off more since you remain calm. “Maybe that’s true, but just remember the only reason you’ve lived this long is because of me. He could’ve killed you the first month you fell behind on your payment, but I told him to give you time. So do you have it?” You ask.

Mr Kanemori swallows thickly and parts his lips to make an excuse, but you cut him off. “Oh, well, what a pity. It looks like it’s time I be a good housewife and take out the trash.”

You swiftly flick your wrist and shoot off a blast of wind that slams into him so hard that he flies out of the room.

“Anyway, what were we talking about before?” You move on quickly as the man stumbles on his feet and begins to yell.

“Geto! Give me Geto! Geto!” His footsteps recede and his voice lowers as he gets further away. “Geto, control your wife—”

Before he can finish his complaint he gets cut off by Suguru, you imagine, he really hates it when people try to bad-mouth you; both non-sorcerers and sorcerers alike. It’s something he’s done since you were teenagers, but now as he’s grown more ruthless, he doesn’t tolerate it whatsoever. It’s something you can say you’re very proud of.

“Oh, that’s right! Miguel,” you bring up your previous conversation before you were so rudely interrupted. “What did you want to show me?”

Said man approaches you and shows you his arm to point at a dark spot. “Come on tell me, does that look cancerous.”

“I’m no doctor,” you mutter as you grab his arm and take a better look. “What does that look like to you Mimiko?”

Mimiko leans over and glances at the spot, and shakes her head.

“You know what?” You snicker. “It’s an age spot! You’re just getting old.”

Miguel pulls his arm away and shoots you a pointed look that makes you shrug.

“I don’t know what you expected, I’m not a doctor,” you remind him. “But maybe it’s that cream you’re using. It’s not a good product. I can give you something better if you give me that recipe I’ve been wanting.”

Miguel folds his arms over his chest and shakes his head. “No, it’s a recipe passed through generations of my family,” he says. “I won’t just hand it out to anyone.”

You scoff. “We’re family,” you point out.

Miguel shrugs. “Yeah, and I still won’t give it to you. I’ll keep making it myself for all of us.”

You pout. “You suck.”

He snickers and Mimiko joins him. You frown and before you can counter, Suguru bursts through the doors with a smile on his face as he comes in shouting. “The time is right, my family.”

You shift in your seat and watch him approach you, and your family gathered around you at the end of the room.

“Let’s lower the curtain on the age of monkeys,” Suguru adds joyfully and stands beside you. “And build a paradise for Jujutsu sorcerers. First, we must tell the cornerstone of the Jujutsu world, Jujutsu High.”

What a pain in the ass. You really don’t want to see him again. There’s a chance he might not be there, he could be busy, but you feel like there’s a higher chance that you will see him when you go shortly. What will he do? What will you do?

You can’t attack anyone yet, but will your anger heighten, or will you not feel it anymore? When you think about what he did you get annoyed and upset all over again, you hate that he left, but seeing him face to face can be a different story. It can bring a rush of many unwarranted emotions.

And sure, you can keep your cool and control your emotions when it matters, but you worked so hard to try and suppress the agony, and getting reminded of that won’t be good. But then there’s the other possibility…and that is that you might not feel anything at all anymore and you’ll just have to live with the fact that he hates you now, that everything you once were is a simple memory.

Maybe that’ll be the worst of all. You can live with being upset at each other, you can tolerate not talking to each other, fighting too, but having him hate you?

Then again why should it matter if he hates you? You stand on different sides of your world, no matter what happens he’ll never come to terms with the ideology you follow. So should it matter if he hates you or not?

No…

“Why not catch them off guard?” Toshihisa interjects. “Won’t that work better? If we plan it good we won’t even have to fight long.”

“A surprise attack is often beneficial,” Suguru says. “But not this time. If we go in with a surprise attack all the sorcerer's that work at the school will be there and foil everything. We need them to be distracted and away from the school for our plan to work, which is why we’re letting them know.”

“What if they try and attack you now?” Manami questions.

“It’s highly doubtful,” you cut in. “They won’t risk putting the students at risk, but if they do try anything that’s why I will go with Suguru.”

“I’ll go too,” Miguel volunteers.

“No,” Suguru rebuttals. “I don't want them to see you yet. Your weapon is an advantage against Satoru Gojo, I'd rather keep that a surprise until the battle.”

Miguel doesn’t argue, he nods in comprehension, letting Suguru then look at Larue. “Will you come, Larue?” He asks. “There’s a high chance they won’t attack, that’s not my intention today either, but if they do then can you help us?”

Larue rolls his head to the side and then nods nonchalantly. “Yeah, sure.”

You offer him a thankful smile and then get interrupted by a shout. “Hey, I want to go too!” Nanako exclaims as she puts her phone down. “Plus there’s this crepe spot close to there that I want to try, so can we go?!”

Your eyes brighten and you sit up and cut in with the same excitement. “Hey, and there’s that shopping center near there that I want to go to too, so that totally works out, yeah, Suguru?”

Suguru and you look at each other, and he hesitates but ultimately gives in. “Yeah, that’s fine. Now as to battle plans let’s discuss that after dinner tonight? It’s been a while since we’ve all been together like this.”

Without hesitation everyone agrees, making you and him happy.

“So now,” he moves on smugly. “Let’s go declare war.”

You sigh deeply and don’t feel your dread go away at any moment during your way there. So it’s a good thing Suguru decided to use one of his flying curses to travel on and make things quicker, or else you would have lost yourself in your wandering mind.

Then again it’s not like returning to Jujutsu High actually resolves anything, or makes things quieter within you. It’s only a trigger for memories of your past to rush through you and make your complexity only feel worse.

“Ugh, what a piece of junk,” you complain as you take a look at part of the school and notice that it hasn’t changed in the past nine years since you’ve last been here. “This place never changes.”

Suguru grabs your hand to help you out of the bird's mouth, while he also takes a look at the school. “Tell me about it,” Suguru agrees.

“Yuck!” Nanako exclaims with disgust as she leans over the bird's mouth. “Geto, Y/N, is this really Tokyo? Feels like the sticks.”

You put on sunglasses and scrunch your nose in disgust as a wave of nostalgia hits you while you keep studying this damned school.

“Nanako,” Mimiko interjects softly. “That’s rude.”

“What? But don’t you think so, too, Mimiko?”

You finally look down and see Okkotsu and the speech-cursed user along with one of Yaga’s cursed corpse, a panda, and one of the Zen'in girls, the one with no cursed energy.

“Come on!” Larue exclaims as he leans towards Nanako. “Get off already!”

“Aren’t you cold?” Nanako rebuttals, causing you to snicker.

“Yeah or do those nipple covers come with built-in body warmers?” You tease, making Nanako laugh while Larue glares at you.

“Who are they?” Mimiko interjects, pulling your gaze back to the students.

“Whoa!” Nanako exclaims as she points ahead. “It’s a panda!”

You sigh and share a knowing glance with Suguru before you cut in. “Bunny, it’s not polite to point,” you gently remind her.

The girl ignores you and proceeds to take pictures. “How cute!”

“And who are all of you!” The Panda directs at all of you. Which they should've done the moment you all landed. You could’ve easily killed them already—“Intruders aren’t allowed in, by Yuta here.”

“Kelp!” The cursed-speech user agrees? Or disagrees? Is he hungry?

“Huh?” Okkotsu rebuttals in confusion.

“No sign of him yet?” You ask Suguru.

“Not yet, but someone will be here shortly, hopefully,” he says.

“Go home before you get beaten!” The Zen’in girl bounces off the others' comments. “By Yuta!”

“Huh?!”

Suguru lets go of your hand and zooms over to Okkotsu to take his hands and finally introduces himself while you wait for the others to get here. “Nice to meet you, Okkotsu. I’m Geto Suguru.”

The other kids look at your husband surprised at how fast he got to Okkotsu, while the boy looks at Suguru nervously and kind of confused.

“Huh?” Okkotsu says. “Oh…nice to meet you…” he trails off.

“You possess a truly wonderful power, I see,” Suguru continues to say. “I believe that great power ought to be used toward great ends. Have you ever questioned the current state of the world? This world where Jujutsu sorcerers act in secret in order to protect the order of commonplace society.”

“Did Geto and you really come here?” Mimiko asks as she approaches you.

You watch Suguru as he pulls back from Okkotsu and nod. “Yeah, a long time ago now,” you say quietly.

“You see,” you listen to Suguru add while you watch him walk around the boy. “There’s this established paradox saying the strong must accommodate the weak.” He turns and throws his arm around Okkotsu’s shoulders before he dramatically expresses himself. “It’s so deplorable!”

You walk over to the short fence with a smile on your face as you find his whole act over dramatic. “He’s so dramatic,” you mumble to the ground as you hide your smile.

“I’ll say,” Larue agrees with you. “How much you wanna bet he was rehearsing that on his way here.”

You snicker and lean back against the fence as you look over at Suguru with a straight face and a stifled laugh.

“The apex of all creation has halted its own path of evolution!” Suguru adds louder. “It’s nonsense.”

You have to admit though, that he does look pretty when he makes those faces.

“It’s high time mankind reconsidered its strategy for survival!” Suguru says. “Which is why we’d like you to help us.”

“Help with what?” Okkotsu asks, and as he does you gasp softly as you catch the glimpse of short white hair through the trees. And you know it can only be one person.

“We’re going to kill all non-sorcerers,” Suguru reveals nonchalantly. “And create a world with only Jujutsu sorcerers.”

The kids react to what was said, and you react with the same disbelief as you finally see him after nine years. It’s a good thing you have sunglasses, it’s actually why you brought them, so he wouldn't look you in the eyes, but the shades don’t hide your face nor do they block his.

You see him clearly, you notice he actually looks like he got fucking taller. He wears bindings over his eyes now instead of shades, which is probably more convenient. His hair doesn’t like it’s that shaggy anymore, it looks more neatly styled now which suits him better. And he looks like he got more muscular, but you can’t tell all that much with his baggy clothes.

And another thing is clear, your anger, that resentment you felt after he left you in that house with your abusive family, is all still there. You still feel it raw and burning within you. It’s still alive—or is it something else? Anger for what could’ve been if he had taken you home that day, if he had come in any of those 5 days that you spent getting tortured. Is it guilt too?

No…it can’t be that…

It’s just pure anger.

“Could you stop preaching your crazy beliefs to my students?” Satoru speaks in a voice that has grown a bit deeper, but not that much.

Nevertheless, he then turns his head and you see him face you. His eyes are hidden, but you can feel his stare linger on you even as you look away.

“Satoru!” Suguru exclaims happily. “Long time no see!”

Mimiko seemed to have noticed your reaction to seeing your brother so she gently hooks her arm around yours, making you look at her and smile softly as you grab her hand and caress it gently.

“First of all, get away from those kids, Suguru,” Satoru adds, making you look up and see that more sorcerers have joined this confrontation; Muscle-head Yaga, Mei-Mei whom you just saw a few months back, Nanami whom you actually saw a couple weeks ago when you went to hang out at a bar. You also see Ijichi whom you haven’t seen in over ten years, he looks so much older, like, older than your brother even.

There are other sorcerers you don’t recognize, and there’s no Shoko. But that’s good, you don’t want to see her disappointment, you can’t face it. That’s why you avoided speaking to her over the years, no matter how much you miss her.

“I had heard this year's first-years were all outstanding students,” Suguru says with a smirk. “Now I understand, it was all your doing. A special-grade cursed human, a cursed corpse mutation, the descendant of the cursed speech users, and…the Zen’in clan's failure.”

The girl swiftly points her blade at Suguru and sneers, “you piece of—”

“Watch what you say,” Suguru cuts her off with no ounce of remorse, his voice is cold and his threat is sincere. “Because I don’t need any monkeys like you in my world.”

With that said the shy-looking boy slaps Suguru’s hand off his shoulders and counters. “I’m sorry. I don’t really understand what you’re talking about, but…I can’t help anyone who insults my friends!”

You smirk at his sudden confidence and speechlessly praise the boy for defending his friends; even the Zen’in girl whom you actually don’t dislike, after all, if she does have heavenly restriction like you’ve heard she has, then she’s special. Just like Toji Zen’in was.

“My apologies,” you hear Suguru tell Okkotsu. “It wasn't my intention to upset you.”

“Then what exactly did you come for?” Satoru asks as he puts himself between Suguru and his student.

“To declare war,” Suguru reveals with a smug smirk before he faces all the other sorcerers. “Everyone gathered here, open your ears and listen closely! On the coming December 24th, when the sun sets, we shall conduct the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons,” he says and steps back so everyone can see him as he makes himself clear.

“It will take place in the crucible of curses, Shinjuku Tokyo, and the holy land of Jujutsu, Kyoto. We will unleash a thousand curses upon each place,” Suguru shares. “And of course, their command will be massacre. If you wish to avoid a scene straight out of hell, come and stop it with all your might. Let us freely curse each other!”

You smirk confidently as everyone falls in shocked disbelief at the horror that was announced, but then through the tension, Nanako screams, causing Mimiko to lean towards you, and you and Larue to lean away out of embarrassment.

“Geto!” Nanako breaks the tension. “The store’s gonna close! And Satori and Belinda are already there!”

“Oh, it’s already that late?” Suguru asks as he looks back at her calmly before he looks over at your brother again and speaks to him one last time. “I’m sorry, Satoru. These girls just insist on getting crepes from Takeshita Street.

“Hurry!” Nanako interrupts.

Suguru begins to turn but adds one more thing. “So I’ll be taking my leave.”

“Bunny,” you mutter with annoyance as you turn to walk back to the bird. “What did we say about interrupting?”

“Okay, but don’t act like you don’t want some too, plus the faster we get out of here, the faster we get to go shopping!”

You grin. “That’s so true! You’re so smart,” you praise her.

“Good grief,” Suguru sighs as he walks back to the bird. “I don’t see what’s so good about a place with so many monkeys,” he says.

Mimiko lets go of you, and you help her back on the bird as you peer back to look at Suguru. “Okay, I changed my mind,” you interject. “No shopping center, we want to go to the mall.”

Suguru proceeds to grab your hand to help you up. “You and who?” He asks as he dreads it.

“The twins, Larue, me, and Satori of course!”

Suguru scoffs. “Sure she does, you know how much she hates spending time there. So how about you guys go, and Satori and I go home,” he tries to make an excuse.

You flick your wrist and brush him off. “No, I want your opinions on things,” you whine. “Plus,” you add with a growing smirk. “I forgot my wallet at home.”

You didn't.

Suguru sighs deeply and just as he’s going to agree, he gets cut off by your brother. “Did you think we’d just let you leave?” He questions.

“You don't want to do that,” Suguru warns him whilst he pulls out a giant curse before him, and multiple smaller ones to surround the students. “Your precious students are within my range. And my y/n has made sure to keep your co-workers out of range.”

Just as he says that you make sure to use your cursed technique to raise a wall made of dirt from the ground to block the other teachers, and the other sorcerers from reaching the students.

“Well, everyone,” Suguru finally brings this all to an end as he grabs onto his bird. “See you on the battlefield.”

The bird closes its mouth, leaving you basked in darkness and your thoughts as it ascends and flies away.

——

*LATER*

“Suguru?” You call out and then slide the back door open to see Nanako standing behind him with his long and dark hair in one hand and a brush in the other. You see Mimiko sitting on the ground beside him, hugging her stuffed creature. Satori’s tiger curse is here of course and makes itself small as it lays under the chair, while Satori is, of course, snuggled against Suguru as they sit on a chair under the grand and naked Momiji tree.

“What does that word say?” You hear Satori ask.

You don’t want to interrupt the moment so you lean against the doorframe and watch the way Nanako brushes Suguru’s hair, the way Mimiko finds peace in her silence, and the sight of Suguru reading a book while Satori tries to read her own.

“Well,” Suguru says, and you watch him point to the page. “Can you try and pronounce it?”

Satori blinks and looks up at her father with a pointed look before she rebuttals. “Well no, silly, that’s why I asked.”

You hold back your laugh, and Suguru scoffs in slight disbelief but he can’t help but smile with amusement.

“Okay,” he breathes out before he helps her. “Well, it says, remember.”

“Oh,” Satori mumbles. “I knew that.”

“I know you did,” Suguru says with a stifled laugh.

You grin at the interaction, and then quickly pull your phone out to take a discreet photo of this adorable moment of Suguru with his girls. And after you take it you admire it with a soft smile as you affirm to yourself that one of your emotions that you know you didn’t feel when you saw your brother, was regret.

Moments like these are why you will never regret the choices you made and the path you followed. It’s all you wanted even when you didn’t even know you wanted it. So if it meant having to live without your brother for the rest of your life just to see sweet and tender moments like these then you’d take it. You don’t want to let go of this moment. Peace and a home is all you’ve ever wanted and you don’t want to let it go. Even if there’s an empty little gap, you could still live happily here in moments like these.

“Y/N?” Suguru breaks you from your stupor. “What are you doing over there? Why don’t you come and join us, Firefly.”

Okay, you can live without that name.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t call me that,” you mumble as you walk over to them. “What are you reading?”

Suguru lifts his book to show you the cover before he responds. “Colors of a Mother, the book you told me about.”

You grin. “Really?” You ask as if he doesn’t read every book you recommend to him. “Do you like it?”

Suguru nods. “I do,” he says. “It’s a very good read…” he trails off and pushes himself up to give you his seat, but you shake your head.

“No, you can stay there I’ll sit on the ground with Mimiko,” you tell him and unfold his leg to sit on the ground between them. “What are you guys doing out here anyway?” You probe. “I was looking everywhere for you. Miguel and the others are on their way now.”

“Well the girls caught me brushing my hair so they asked if they could do it,” Suguru lets you know. “So we all came out. And Satori is doing her reading homework.”

“Yeah,” she grumbles. “But it’s too hard. Why can’t you just read to me instead.”

“Because I’m reading my book too,” he rebuttals. “You just have five pages left. You can do it.”

Satori sighs deeply and goes back to reading to herself. Suguru goes quiet as he returns to his book, and the twins don’t speak as they’re busy with what they’re doing, letting you lay your head back against the chair to smile softly at the blue sky.

You never let go of Suguru’s hand and he gave you all this; a nice and big house that you’re both comfortable in, he helped you start to build your sorcerer community, he gave you your daughters, a protective family, and he gave you peace and happiness. Most importantly he gave you hope that everything you wanted could be achieved, that there can be a better world.

The world and hope was so blurry before, but it’s so clear now thanks to him.

“Geto,” Nanako interjects softly. “Who’s Satoru Gojo anyway? He’s super strong right?”

Oh, but there’s still that situation of your brother…right.

“Hm,” Suguru agrees and goes quiet for a moment before he continues softly. “He was my best friend. But we fought and it’s been like this ever since.”

You need to ask Suguru how he felt after seeing Satoru after ten years. He can act nonchalant but you know there must’ve been some kind of emotion when he saw Satoru.

But when he asks you what will you say? Yeah, well nothing has changed. Which is true. You’re still angry. But…will this anger last forever? You couldn't help but think of that after you left the school.

You managed to be friends with Nanami even with your differences in morals, so can’t that be the same with Satoru? There has to be a point where your anger will slowly fade away won’t there?

“Daddy,” Satori interjects. “When will I get to meet Uncle Satoru?” She asks, making you drop your head and frown at the ground.

You owe it to her to try, don't you? To try and maybe see past that anger and animosity? Ever since she found out about him she’s been adamant on meeting him, Nanami’s and Suguru’s stories of their past only help to fuel her desire.

“Well,” Suguru answers softly. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know yet. Maybe soon, but I can’t promise you anything.”

Satori sighs. “But I want to see him,” she whines. “He’s mommy’s brother, right?”

“Yeah, but things are…complicated right now,” he tries his best to assure his daughter.

“What does that word even mean?” Satori asks in an annoyed voice. “Com—what is that?”

“Hard,” Suguru lets her know. “Things are hard right now.”

“Well,” Satori sasses him. “Make them easy.”

You snort softly and feel Suguru nudge your leg with his foot so you don’t encourage her behavior.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Nanako counters her sister.

“Well Daddy can do anything,” Satori argues. “So yes it does.”

“Not this time,” Suguru lets her know honestly. “Sorry, Chipmunk.”

Satori groans, and your smile falls as you think about that debate whether to look past your anger or not. Regardless of it all, Satoru is the only family member you have who is worth anything, that you actually want Satori to meet and interact with. Everyone else, well, they can all go to hell for all you care.

“Mommy!” Satori exclaims and suddenly wraps her arms around your neck as she rests her cheek on the top of your head, causing her loose strands of hair to fall on your face. “Why can’t you make things easy so I can see Uncle Satoru.”

You swallow thickly and try your best to avoid the complicated topic. “Because,” you mumble. “It’s not that easy. Life is,” you sigh. “Hard that way.”

You know she probably doesn’t truly understand, but you can’t find any other way to explain it but in that way. You don’t want to tell her why she hasn’t met her uncle, why you’ve held a grudge over him for ten years. No matter what, you won’t bad mouth your brother to your daughter.

“Well,” Satori adds. “Can you and Daddy try?” She asks.

You sigh and nod. “I will,” you assure her. “I’ll try.”

“Okay,” she whispers and pulls back to sit back against Suguru.

“Now,” you move and sit up straight. “Why don’t you come here so I can fix your buns.”

“Mhmm, no,” she flat-out says. “I want Daddy to do it, you always leave them funny.”

It’s not your fault she moves a lot.

“Satori,” Suguru scolds her softly. “That’s not very nice.”

Satori exhales deeply. “No, Mom, thank you,” she grumbles.

“That’s okay,” you assure her and can’t help but smile at her. “Anyway,” you roll out playfully and stand up to grab Suguru’s arm and pull it up so you can sit on his lap. He secures his hold right away by wrapping his arm around your waist.

“We should take a picture!” You suggest excitedly as you pull out your phone. “Nanako, Mimiko come here!”

Nanako lets go of Suguru’s hair and wraps her arm around Suguru and you as she rests her chin on his head and beams at the camera. Mimiko walks over and stands by her sister to lean forward and smile softly. Satori presses her cheek against Suguru’s, while he presses himself closer to you and smiles softly.

You grin at the camera and capture this sweet and tender moment of you and your family together.

A/N- Was Satori created just to be a piece of Suguru for Satoru, after Suguru’s death? Yes, yes she was.

Tagged- @deniseabad1928 @secondary-character-25 @starlightanyaaa

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euno11a · 3 months

Text

Tattooed Hearts IV

Genre: No one to someone Tattoo artist! Jungkook X Reader

Summary: What happened to us? Why did we end up like this? It was only a one time thing. Now it’s ruined us both.

Warnings: fluff, angst, smut, mentions of hookups, insults, arguing, blood, mentions of period, insecurities, mentions of being kidnapped

Pt I • Pt II • Pt III • Pt V • Pt VI • Pt VII • Pt VIII

***

“Come on, slut, cum for daddy.” The rando spoke as he thrusted into you. You laid on the bed, not moving except from the occasional jump from his hard thrusts. Listen, you weren’t one for calling things stupid, lying or faking things. But the amount of times you’ve faked an orgasm tonight was hilarious. It’s been two hours of nothing but faking moans, whines, whimpers and orgasms. You couldn’t wait to leave, feeing stupid for even agreeing to have sex with this guy. Once he was finally done, you hurriedly put your clothes back on and gave him a quick smile before leaving. God, you really were a dumbass. The streets were dark, nothing but the street lights illuminating the road and sidewalk. Every sound you heard caused you to jump, it was never the safest option to walk home at 11 PM, fearing of being kidnapped or taken. You knew you weren’t gonna make it home without freaking out, so you walked into the nearest store, which just happened to be a flower shop. The scent of flowers and different herbs hit your senses like a truck. You walked around a little, curious about the beautiful blue flowers you saw.

“Blue hydrangeas, they symbolize remorse and regret.” You whipped your head around, seeing a pretty lady, thick curly hair with a green apron on, the worker. “You walked right to them, maybe it’s because something’s happened?” You paused, looking at the lady with slight shock in your eyes, “How did you…?”

“Honey, I work with flowers. Every flower in my shop has a story…just like you apparently.” You gave you a gap toothed smile, it was one of those rare smiles that filled your heart with joy. “Uhm, yeah…Sorry, I’ve had a rough night.” You smiled apologetically, turning to look at her. Eloise…what a fitting name, derived from ‘Helios’ meaning sun in Greek. “Well don’t keep me in the dark now! Tell me about it, hun.” She sat down behind a wooden table, making full bouquets, each one telling a story. You didn’t know why you felt the need to tell her what had happened, but she felt like someone to lean on. Catching her up about your night, Lindsay telling you to get dick, hooking up with some random guy, faking everything, even about Jungkook. You were now an open book to her, she chuckled, cutting off the bottom of the stems, “Sounds like your friend was just tryin’ to help, darling.” “I know, but I shouldn’t have listened. I’ve had experience like that in the past, I should’ve known.” You spoke quietly, looking down at the chrysanthemums on the table. “Listen to me, life is about experiences. Good or bad, they make you who you are. And you can’t let this man take control of your love life just because he hurt you. You gotta pull your pants up and find yourself a nice man that treats you right in life AND in bed.” She smiled up at you, giving you a knowing look. Blushing, you laughed, nodding your head. Maybe you should let Jungkook go. Yes, he’s hurt you in the past, but you can’t dwell on it. You sat with Eloise, watching her make bouquets, looking at the time you saw it was getting later than it already was. “I think I’m gonna head out…thank you, Ms Eloise.” You smiled, grabbing your bag and making your way to the door. “Honey, wait! Take this, I think it’ll help start your new story.” She smiled at you, handing you a bouquet. It was made up of hyacinths; representing young love, lilies and orchids; representing missing someone, daffodils; representing new beginnings and gardenias; representing secret love. You took the bouquet, smiling gratefully at her, waving and bidding your goodbyes, you left. *** The bouquet sat in a vase on your kitchen counter, standing full and tall, proudly almost. You stared at the luscious flowers, the bright colours illuminating your apartment. It seemed almost chaotic, the bouquet, so many colours, different flowers…it matched your life. There was so much chaos, yet it was so beautiful. You brushed it off, but the thought still in your mind as you got ready for bed. Brushing your teeth, your phone buzzed; it was Lindsay. Girl I trust🫶: Hey babes, I hope the hookup went well 😏 You: Yeah, I love faking everything for almost two hours Girl I trust🫶: OMG NOOO Girl I trust🫶: IM SO SORRY!!! You: Honestly, it’s okay, I met a nice lady that gave me flowers You: So something nice happened at least The both of you texted for a while, saying good night and heading to bed. Something about this whole night was itching away at you, almost as if you knew something was going to happen, but you didn’t know what. *** With two coffees in your hand, you walked down the street, it was a thank you gift to Ms Eloise for the flowers and listening to your currently fucked up life. You made it to the shop, it looked even brighter in the daylight, the flowers looking their absolute best just waiting to be put into someone else’s story. You tried to open the door, but it was hard when holding two coffees. “Let me get that,” You heard from behind you, someone opening the door for you. You turned to smile and say thank you, but remained stoic when you saw it was Jungkook. Don’t let him ruin your life. You gave him a tight lipped smile, “Thank you.” You walked into the shop, not saying anything else. The shop wasn’t busy, but you could see Ms Eloise behind that same wood table, making beautiful bouquets.

The little ring of the bell alerted her someone came in, she looked up and gave you her gap toothed smile. “Why, it’s lovely to see you again, darlin’!”

“Hi, Ms Eloise.” You smiled back, walking further into the shop. “I got you this coffee as a gift for the flowers last night. I hope you like it!”

She threw down her scissors, hands raising in happiness, “Ooo, honey, you don’t know how much this means to me. I absolutely love it, thank you.” She took the coffee carefully, sipping it and humming in delight. Ms Eloise looked past you, raising her brow, “Boy, I thought I told you to stop comin’ in here if you weren’t gonna get any flowers!”

The deep chuckle, the one you knew all too well sounded through the shop. “Come on, Eloise, I was just helping this lovely lady open the door! Her hands were full and you know me, I love to help damsels in distress.” Jungkook walked further into the shop, leaning on the table beside you.

“Oh honey, if you knew this one, you’d know she ain’t need any help from you.” She smirked at him, then looked to you, sipping her coffee.

“Trust me, I know she doesn’t.” He looked over to you, glancing down your body, admiring the sundress you were wearing.

You stood there stunned, “How do you know each other…?” It was almost like you’d been hit in the face with flowers.

Ms Eloise laughs, grabbing a sunflower from the table in front of her. “He likes to pop in every once in a while to bug me, he’s like a pest that won’t get off my flowers! Only thing is, he never buys any.” She raised her eyebrow looking at Jungkook.

He raised his hands up in defence, “I didn’t know there was a problem coming to say hello to friends!”

“There ain’t, honey, but you could at least fill my pockets a little bit! The amount of times you walk in and never do anything is incredible!” Ms Eloise teased him, placing the flowers on brown wrapping paper.

You couldn’t help but crack a smile at their playful banter, laughing a little as well. You talked with Ms Eloise for a little before deciding to head out, needing to get some errands done. You said goodbye and walked out of the shop, hearing your name being called. This time, you knew who it was and you turned around. “Y/N, where you going?” Jungkook asked as he walked to catch up with you.

“Just running errands.” You spoke, your tone was no longer spiteful or hurt, but calm and more confident.

He nodded, placing his hands in his pocket, staring at your eyes for a second too long. He looked to the street, seeing others walking around, shopping and talking. “Listen, I wanted to apologize for the other day. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with anything.” His voice was sincere, different from what you’ve heard from him before.

You nodded, looking into his dark brown eyes, “Thank you, Jungkook…that’s very nice of you.” You both stood there, looking at each other, but not saying anything until you broke the silence. “I…I have some errands to get done, so I have to get going, but I’ll see you around.”

“Alright, yeah. Have fun with your errands, Y/N.” He gave you a small smile, turning around to walk away, leaving you to walk your own way.

How funny, you pictured the bouquet sitting on your counter, white tulips being the centre…forgiveness being the central part of your story.

Taglist: @talyaaas-blog @cassies-cookies

@junecat18

#bts #bts army #bangtan #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook #bts smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader

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