#did i land the plane on this one? idk | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr.com rank in the US is 25.

#did i land the plane on this one? idk

thewoodbinewitch · 1 year

Text

The longer I have a casual relationship with my faith, the more I understand why land-based practices were such a large part of pre-Christian Scandinavian culture and religion (and, like, a lot of religions, but I'm thinking through a Heathen perspective). The land is right there. There's no need to remember to connect with your gods and spirits, they're available anytime by just walking outside

Like, today after work I saw a dead squirrel on the property, and even though I was tired and had worked an hour of overtime, I stopped and buried it. And in doing so, I was able to introduce myself to the land as one of its stewards, even though I've already been gardening. It's the spiritual equivalent of "I've seen you around but we haven't formally met"

From a witchcraft analysis point of view, I introduced myself in the liminal space between life awakening with spring, and burying the dead. I could go into the analysis of why this was the perfect time to do it, but really it was just what needed to be done right then. I could have walked away and gone home, and I wasn't thinking about it being an important part of my land stewardship or my witchcraft or my heathenry, I just knew the squirrel would've ended up in some garbage can somewhere and that was not a fitting end

This is one of the things I love about being casual with my faith, it's gotten to the point where I now do things because it's what you do. So much of changing religions and the early days of building faith practices is having to consciously remember the new things, but there comes a point where it is second nature. I'm pretty sure this is why folks say it takes 5-7 years to start feeling like you're no longer a "baby witch", because after six and a half years as a Heathen and a witch, I'm finally doing things on autopilot

Anyway, I gave the squirrel a fircone and buried it beneath the tree it built its nest in. I hope the furry friend sleeps soundly cradled in the roots of its home

#land stewardship isn't only for business hours #did i land the plane on this one? idk #witchblr #witchcraft #norse paganism #norse witch #personal #witchy shit #the witch speaks #witches on tumblr #tw: death #tw: animal death

27 notes · View notes

bad268 · 2 months

Note

can I request a clingy Kimi Antonelli

where he’s obsessed with kissing reader and overall being affectionate to the point he does not want to let go of her before the race and Toto is like “leave the poor girl alone Kimi” while Susie is like “you were like that before”.

HELP IDK HOW TO END THIS BUT YA ALSO LOVE YOUR WORKS 💗💗💗

Clingy Antonelli (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 2/3

Requested: Clearly (I loved this too much lol I'd be down to do a Clingy Antonelli series and we need some fluff after this race lol)

Warnings: none.

POV: Second POV (You/your, but it does say 'poor girl' once)

W.C. 1025

Summary: Sweet reunions bring Clingy Antonelli to the surface.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

It was a common occurrence that you were in the paddock with Kimi. Ever since you decided to attend school entirely online, you were by his side, and it may (or may not) have been because of the begging you received from Kimi.

It started when he was in karting, and he just wanted someone familiar to talk to. Then, when he moved to championships, he was always one of the youngest ones competing, and it was weird being the odd one out. Around the same time, you were given the option to switch to online school. He begged you to do it, so you could travel with him. How could you say no?

Not to mention, you loved taking pictures, especially of your favorite person, and PR from both Prema and Mercedes would pay you for some of the pictures. It was just easier to pay you since you always took pictures of Kimi.

But that’s beside the point. You were doing what you normally did whenever Kimi was a guest on the F1 paddock: sit beside him silently as he listened in on a meeting. Sure, it was not your favorite thing to do, but it was a standard. And most of the time, the meetings did not even concern Kimi; he just had to sit in them because he was their junior driver.

You were sitting in the back of the room, holding his hand and not paying attention at all. That is until Kimi started pulling at your hand to get your attention. You turned your head and met his eyes. The look he gave you was one you recognized immediately, a silent plea for you to sit on his lap. With a joking sigh, you moved onto his lap as he smiled laid his head on your shoulder after giving you a kiss on your cheek.

“You’re more clingy today,” you whispered to him, “What’s up?”

“You’re going to leave for two weeks,” he complained as his arms tightened around your waist. “I know you miss your family and friends, but I won't see you again until right before the race.”

“Don’t worry, amor (love),” you consoled as you rubbed his arms, leaning further back into his hold. “I’ll be back before you know it, and we’ll be back traveling in no time.”

“Yay,” he chuckled before cutting himself short, “And I’m not clingy.”

“Oh come on,” you replied in disbelief, turning your head to meet his eyes. “Clingy Antonelli is my favorite.”

Despite being with your family for once, Kimi would call you at any chance he could. He just needed to hear your voice and see you before doing anything racing-related. It was one of his superstitions, and you did not plan on standing in the way of it.

Flash forward to when you finally came back. Due to the time difference, it was only 12 hours from the last time you talked to Kimi, but for him, it was nearing 20 hours. He knew that he had to give you space at some points, but this? Nope. He was sure that your plane should have landed ages ago, yet you still were not on the track. You had yet to answer his calls or texts, and he was starting to get anxious.

He was pacing around the garage, half listening to his strategy team go over the plan for the race. He half-registered some Mercedes personnel walk into the garage but did not think anything of it since he remembers them saying they wanted to see him in action this weekend. Little did he know it was Toto and Susie Wolff in the flesh. They talked a little bit with the team before they turned their attention to Kimi.

“Is he always this nervous before a race?” Susie asked Toto, knowing that he had seen Kimi racing in FRECA before, but she did not remember him saying that Kimi got nervous.

“Not that I remember,” Toto responded just as confused before he turned to Kimi’s race engineer with a questioning look, gesturing in Kimi’s area.

“He’s missing his lucky charm,” Anthoine laughed, shaking his head. It’s said when you talk about someone, they appear, and that’s exactly what happened. Like clockwork, Kimi’s head snapped toward the garage door as he heard your unmistakable laugh. Kimi immediately took off, trying to find you. It did not take long because you were right around the corner, about to walk in with Ollie. Kimi wasted no time, picking you up in a tight embrace as he peppered kisses all over your face. Anthoine chuckled again as he pointed at the two, “Oh, look. They’re back.”

They all let you have your moment in peace. Kimi needed it. His nerves were through the roof, everyone could tell, so despite knowing that he needed to get in the car as soon as possible, they stepped back. The last thing they needed was an anxious driver on the track.

You could not even hear what Kimi was saying, just a bunch of anxious thoughts coming to light. You let him rant as much as he needed before he finally set you down and placed a long kiss against your lips. He pulled away all too quickly for your liking before leaning against your forehead, whispering, “you’re never leaving me again.”

“My flight got delayed, and my phone died,” you whispered back as he went back to placing butterfly kisses all over your face. “I wanted to call you.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he sighed, hiding his face in your neck and breathing you in “You’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

“Leave the poor girl alone, Kimi,” You heard a voice behind Kimi chuckle, causing you to look over his shoulder. It was Toto and Susie Wolff, which caused your eyes to widen and your face grew red in embarrassment. Immediately, Susie’s arm came up to smack Toto in the shoulder.

“Oh, leave them alone,” She countered, “You were just like that before we were married.”

“Oh, he’s just being Clingy Antonelli,” you laughed, nervously. “I’ll get him into the car, don’t worry.”

~~~

Part 2 ->

~~~~~

#andrea kimi antonelli x reader #andrea kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli x reader #kimi antonelli #kimi x reader #formula 2 x reader #formula 2 imagine #f2 x reader #f2 imagine #f2 #f2 x you #f2 fanfic #formula 2 #prema racing #bad268 #ship268 #thing268

583 notes · View notes

zegrasdrysdale · 2 months

Text

[ photograph ] j. drysdale

paring : Jamie Drysdale x fem!reader

summary : (Y/N) decides to fly out to Philly for Valentine’s Day after watching Jamie say in an interview that he’ll probably be spending the day alone

warning(s) : just some tooth rotting fluff with no angst for once, a heavy makeout

author’s note : this is just a (not so) lil fluff filled thing bc i wanted to write something for belated valentine’s day. sorry or you’re welcome (idk)

༺═──────────────═༻

“Yeah, uh, I don’t actually have any plans tomorrow,” he explains to a reporter through the screen on her phone. “Everyone I know here does have plans and everyone else I know is across the country so I’ll most likely spend the day putting together furniture in my new apartment.”

That was the moment she decided that she was getting on the first flight she possibly could to Philly so Jamie didn’t spend Valentine’s Day alone. No one should have to spend the day alone. She doesn’t have any plans and she’s off from work for about two weeks because they’re doing renovations so a little trip to Philadelphia doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.

Last year he spent the day with Trevor on the couch and watched movies in their shared apartment. This year, he is in Philly and Trevor actually has a girlfriend. Not very ideal for Jamie.

She isn’t Jamie’s girlfriend, but she is one of his best friends and could never let him be alone on Valentine’s Day. Especially not after hearing what his actual plans are for tomorrow. She’s going to at least help him put furniture together in his apartment.

A flight out of LAX is scheduled for 10 that night. It’s six so she has about two hours to pack for a week long trip to Philly. She even buys a ticket for Saturday’s game at MetLife since she wants to see Jamie play a game while she’s in Philly.

By eight, she’s out the door with a suitcase that’s packed full of clothes and non-liquid toiletries. The jersey Jamie sent her about a week after the trade is neatly folded with the rest of her clothes. She orders an Uber to drive her to the airport.

While in the Uber, she debates texting Jamie and telling him that she’ll be at his new apartment early tomorrow morning since she’ll be landing a little before six in the morning. It’ll probably take about 45 minutes after she lands before she’s on Jamie’s doorstep.

Maybe a surprise wouldn’t be the worst thing so she puts her phone away until she has to pull out her plane ticket.

Getting on the plane takes an hour between getting past TSA and buying snacks for the nearly five hour flight. She boards the plane twenty minutes before it takes off so she has time to get comfortable.

She’s asleep before the plane even leaves the ground.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

All the snacks she bought before the flight are going to be the snacks she eats while she’s in Philly because she slept for the entire flight. It didn’t feel like she slept for 5 hours but she did.

By six, she’s at baggage claim and grabbing her suitcase. She orders an Uber to Voorhees while she waits for her things. The car is waiting for her when she get outside.

It’s a lot colder out than she thought it was going to be. All she has on is a Ducks hoodie that Jamie gave to her the year before and a pair of leggings with Uggs on her feet. Her feet are warm. The rest of her is not. She shakes as she puts her things in the trunk of the car.

She gives the driver Jamie’s new address and she’s off to surprise her best friend.

The closer she gets to Jamie’s, the more nervous she gets. What if he found someone after moving to the Philly area? What if the whole putting furniture together comment was a lie so he didn’t announce to the entire world he was in a relationship? What if he doesn’t want her there in general?

Maybe a spontaneous trip across the country without at least letting Jamie know she was coming wasn’t the best idea she’s ever had.

A call comes through from Trevor. Confused, she answers the phone. “Good morning?”

“Are you in Philly?” he asks.

“Maybe,” she slowly replies as she watches the Philly skyline pass. “Why? It’s like three in the morning.”

“Not for you apparently,” he retorts. “I looked to see where you were because Mason said you weren’t replying to his texts so I wanted to make sure you were okay and I see that you flew across the country.”

She smiles and shakes her head. The way Trevor would find out she’s in Philly is by checking her location. He and Jamie are the only ones that have her location because she’s closest with them.

“Just wanted to surprise Jamie,” she tells Trevor. “That’s all. Tell Mason I’ll call him later because I’m about ten minutes away from Jamie’s apartment.”

“You gonna tell him you love him?” Trevor questions. She opens her mouth to object but he keeps talking. “It’s so freaking obvious so don’t even lie to me.”

A nervous laugh passes her lips. “We’ll see,” she replies. “I’ll talk to you later, Z.”

“Tell me how he’s really doing,” he tells her. “I worry about him sometimes.”

“Will do,” she says as the driver pulls up to Jamie’s place. “Talk soon.”

The line goes dead and she looks out the window at the apartment building. Jamie’s somewhere in there asleep and she’s about two minutes away from calling him to come let her into the building.

She gets her things out of the trunk and thanks the driver before he drives off to pick someone else up. She sighs and pulls up Jamie’s contact.

When she presses the ‘call’ button, it rings about four times before Jamie answers. The entire time, her hands are shaking and she isn’t sure if it’s because of the cold or if she’s nervous to see Jamie for the first time since the trade.

“It’s like four in the morning,” he croaks when he picks up. “Are you okay?”

She smiles at the sound of his morning voice. “Actually it’s almost seven in the morning and I’m currently freezing my ass off outside your apartment building so if you could come let me in, that would be great,” she says.

It sounds like Jamie falls out of bed when she says that she’s outside of the building. If he broke anything then she’s going to have to explain to Torts why Jamie will be out for six weeks.

He isn’t holding any body parts when he swings the door open and blankly stares at her from the top of the steps of the building. He blinks a few times like he’s trying to decide if he’s still dreaming or if he’s awake. She waves and a barefoot Jamie runs down the stairs to hug her.

A laugh passes her lips and she wraps her arms around his torso. “You’re actually here,” he says against her ear. “I thought you were lying to me.”

“Nope,” she replies. “I’m here. I didn’t have anything else to do so I thought I’d come surprise you. Help you put together some furniture for Valentine’s Day.”

Jamie pulls back from the hug just enough to look at her. “You saw that interview?” he asks.

With a nod and a smile, she replies, “It sounded like a very boring way to spend Valentine’s Day so I thought I’d come keep you company. Maybe watch you play at the outdoor game this weekend. I have another week off from work and spending it in the Philly area with my best friend didn’t sound like the worst idea.”

“You are actually insane for buying a plane ticket without knowing if I’d be here or not,” he tells her. “I could’ve left for Toronto before you got here since we play them tomorrow.”

“Yeah I know how your travel schedule works,” she retorts. “That’s how I knew you’d be here.”

He shakes his head and grabs her suitcase. “You have some of the best timing because I took a maintenance day today so I have a day off from practice, but I leave tomorrow morning for Toronto,” he says to her as they walk into the building together.

“Listen, I’m spending a week in the area,” she replies. “I get to watch you play at the outdoor game on Saturday when I wasn’t planning on being on the east coast at all. If you’re gone for a day or two then it’s fine.”

The smile that forms on Jamie’s face makes her heart do somersaults in her stomach.

She can tell how excited he is that she decided to visit him. She knows how much he has been missing Anaheim so she brought Anaheim to him for a week.

When Jamie opens the door to the apartment, she is very surprised by how decorated it is and how much of the stuff he had in his Anaheim apartment has made its way to this one. It still needs some work done, but that is why she’s here. She’s here to help him finish putting it all together.

“I need to build some shelves,” Jamie tells her. “And put together the guest bedroom. The frame still needs to be built for the guest bed too. This is what my plans were for the day.”

She turns her head to look at him as he closes the door behind them. “So it wasn’t come ruse so you didn’t have to admit to the world that you had a secret girlfriend?” she questions.

If she should expect Jamie to have a girl over then she might as well get the girlfriend question out of the way early on in her visit.

“Uh, no,” he replies. “No secret girlfriend. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had any time to find a girlfriend. Yorky has tried but he’s not the best wingman.”

She can’t help but laugh. Jamie smiles and rolls her suitcase to the unfinished bedroom.

She decides to make some coffee for the two of them so they can get started on the day’s plans. They have to put together the guest room and build some shelves. It can’t be very hard to do either of those things. Right?

Wrong.

It turns out that Jamie can’t follow simple instructions to save his life. She has had to refrain from throwing whatever is in her hand at him so many times because he can’t read a piece of paper.

“Jamie, what am I supposed to do with this screw?” she asks as she holds up an extra screw. “Do I have to put it in your head so you can use your brain or something? You missing one in there? Do I need to get Trevor on the first flight out of LAX to come help you figure out how to read the instructions?”

Jamie looks up from his spot on the floor and throws the instructions at her. “Here, you try to read this and tell me if it makes any sense,” he retorts. “It’s all confusing. My parents helped me build shelves when they came to visit a few weeks ago. I didn’t have to do this. Maybe it’s just an extra.”

She grabs the pamphlet and reads the directions. The screw was supposed to be put in when putting the shelves in place. A shelf is missing a screw.

“You dumbass,” she says. “It’s not an extra screw. It was supposed to be put in on the bottom shelf to make sure it is secure and even. You now have an unsecure shelf in your guest room.”

Jamie flattens out on his back on the carpeted floor with a groan. “This is why I’m a hockey player and don’t work in home improvement,” he says as he rubs his eyes. She laughs and tries to keep her eyes on his face instead of on the sliver of skin that peeks out between what is a new Flyers t-shirt and pajama pants. “This is so dumb. I am not about to take that whole thing apart to put one screw in.”

She walks over and slaps the pamphlet on his stomach. He gasps and sits up with the paper in his hands. “Then get it together, Drysdale,” she tells him. “We have a bed frame to build.”

“Fuck the bed frame,” he sighs as she grabs the box in the corner and drags it into the center of the room. “You don’t need a bed to sleep in tonight.”

With a light laugh, she teases, “If we don’t get it set up then I’m gonna be sleeping in your bed until we get it put together.”

Jamie mutters something that sounds like “would be okay with me” but she pretends she doesn’t hear it. She can’t hear it or else she will just say “fuck it” and sleep in Jamie’s bed the entire time she’s here instead of putting the bed together.

The mattress is sitting up against the wall next to where the box with the bed frame was. He has everything he needs to put this bed together and he hasn’t done it yet. Not even over the All Star break when he had a few days off before going to Mexico with the Flyers.

Putting the bed together takes less time and a lot less arguing back and forth. Within an hour, the mattress is on top of the bed frame. Five-foot-eleven 185 pound Jamie flops on the mattress to make sure it’s secure and won’t fall apart if someone were to jump on it.

They do not need to have another shelf problem with the bed that she will most likely be sleeping on while she’s in the area. If it is like the shelf and it’s not safe to sleep on then the couch is in the living room for a reason.

The two of them stand in the doorway and look at their work when they decide the bed is secure. “We make an amazing team,” she comments. “Aside from the shelf.”

Jamie groans and walks down the hallway to his own room. “Shelves are stupid anyway,” he replies. “Who is actually going to use them in this room aside from me just putting a handful of books and pictures on them?” She laughs and goes to unpack her stuff now that it’s safe to do so without stepping on wood, metal or a screw on the floor.

The Flyers jersey that he sent her gets hung up in the closet along with her shirts, hoodies, and nicer pants. She’ll pull bras, panties, and socks out of the suitcase as needed. The beanie she brought to wear on Saturday is put on the bedside table.

Then she pulls out the gift that she brought for Jamie. It isn’t much but she’s hoping that it means as much to him as it does to her. The pictures she brought were taken at such important moments in Jamie’s career and she hopes that he doesn’t mind having a few pictures of his best friend around the apartment.

She walks down to Jamie’s bedroom and knocks gently on the door. There are footsteps behind it before the door swings open. “I, um, had these printed and framed in case I ever came to visit you,” she tells him as she holds out the three picture frames. “Thought you might need some décor.”

Jamie looks down at the pictures and shifts through them.

One of them was taken on Jamie’s Draft Day. He has on a Ducks jersey and she has on his Ducks hat. He looks so happy. He has an arm around her shoulders while he holds up six fingers and is smiling at the camera. She has a smile on his face and is looking up at him with a proud look on her face. Messy ponytail and all.

The second one was taken the day Jamie made his NHL debut and scored his first goal. It’s a selfie she took of her, Jamie, and Trevor at dinner that same night. They’re both holding their pucks because they went right from the arena to a restaurant to eat.

The third one was taken during the 2021 World Juniors tournament where Canada placed second. She’s putting the silver medal back around his neck after he had given it to her. “Silver just means you lost” is what he had said to her a moment before this was captured. She had told him that she was a winner to him and put the medal back around his neck. There is heavy eye contact between the two of them in their matching jerseys.

It was as the third picture was being taken she realized that she loved Jamie. The first two pictures, she knew she had feelings for him, but the third was when she realized that she wanted to be there for him as more than just a friend.

“I had no idea you had any of these,” he says after he’s done looking through them. Jamie looks up at her. “All at different points of my career.”

“Been with you since day one,” she replies with a smile on her face. “You didn’t think that I wouldn’t be here with you while you succeed in a whole new city, did you?”

Jamie laughs and shakes his head. “Absolutely not,” he tells her. “You always make sure you’re a presence in my life.” He pauses and looks right at her. “It’s one of the things I love most about having you in my life.”

She could almost cry when he says that.

There have been so many times over the years where she thought she was annoying or that he wanted her out of his life. She followed him to California when he started playing with the Gulls then the Ducks. He asked her to come with him, but she thought for months it was out of pity.

He has erased years of insecurity with one comment.

“Thanks for keeping me in your life,” she replies after a brief moment of silence.

“You’re like Trevor,” he teases. “You’re always around. It would be hard for me to get rid of you.”

She smiles up at him. “Except he would never fly across the country to see you,” she retorts. “Especially without at least telling you he was coming to see you.”

Jamie laughs. “No, he wouldn’t.”

They look at each other for a second before he walks past her. He has the picture frames in his hand as he walks into the living room. She follows him even though she is confused with what he’s doing.

He puts the picture of himself, Trevor, and (Y/N) on the coffee table under the lamp next to the couch. It’s the most public place in the entire place so it makes sense that that’s the picture that is put in the living room.

The picture of the two of them on Draft Day goes on a little table that leads to the hallway with both bedrooms and bathrooms. The table is under a little mirror that’s been hung up. A little less public but it also joins the other pictures that were taken that day. It looks like it belongs.

Jamie glances at her and walks back into his bedroom. She follows right behind him and stands in the doorway of his room. Her eyes are on the picture of the two of them at the 2021 World Juniors as it’s placed on Jamie’s bedside table.

“This one means the most to me so it deserves a little more privacy than the others,” Jamie tells her without a look in her direction. “You were there for me and picked me up when I was down. I didn’t want anyone else there but you. You were the one that convinced me silver was okay. The team worked hard to get to that moment. The medal was very well deserved because we did everything we could to make it to that game. I did everything I could to get the team to that game. We just came up a little bit short.”

She pouts and walks further into the room. He finally looks over at her. “I didn’t know you felt that way,” she softly says to him. “I didn’t know that I was the person that convinced you it was okay to wear silver around your neck.”

“I needed silver because my gold medal was you,” Jamie shakily admits. His voice is soft. “You’re my gold medal.”

His words have her speechless. Her jaw drops in surprise. She has no idea why he’s saying this to her now.

He reaches out to her and brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She takes a step forward and feels her heart race in her chest as she looks up at him. Her body shakes as she realizes that their relationship is changing.

A line that she never expected to cross is about to be crossed. She can see it in Jamie’s eyes as they examine her face, landing on her lips.

“Can I kiss you?”

She nods because she doesn’t trust herself to speak. She is afraid that she’s going to admit how long she’s been in love with him if she says a single words.

So she nods, and Jamie leans down to capture her lips in a soft, hesitant kiss. He’s testing the waters to see if she’ll push him away.

She’ll never push him away.

Not when she finally has him like this. Not when she finally knows what it feels like to kiss Jamie Drysdale.

When she feels him begin to pull away, she wraps her arms around his neck and leans more into him to deepen the kiss instead of Jamie breaking it. Her fingers find a home in his hair.

She is scared he will regret it if the kiss breaks, and she doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want to see that look. It might break her if he looks at her like that if the kiss breaks.

Jamie cups her cheek and brushes his thumbs over her cheekbone. She melts against him with a sigh.

“(Y/N),” he mumbles after a second. “I need to breathe.”

That’s when she lets him pull away. The sight of his red, swollen lips and unruly hair is almost too much for her. There’s a hint of a smile on his face and something overcomes her.

“I love you,” she tells him. “I’ve loved you since that was taken.” She points in the direction of the picture on his bedside table. “It’s always been you, Jamie. That’s why I flew across the country on Valentine’s Day. I wanted to be with you today because I miss you and I love you.”

Jamie smiles and brushes his thumb over her own lips that are as red and swollen as his are. “I love you too,” he says. “I think I’ve been in love with you since I saw you at my first NHL game in my jersey. I’m very happy you came to the east coast to watch me play in the Stadium Series game this weekend. I was going to probably fly you out anyway.”

She laughs and shakes her head before burying her face in his chest. They’ve been in love with each other for years and are only now saying something about it after Jamie was traded to Philly and she’s stuck in Anaheim for right now.

“Only took me bringing you pictures to finally kiss me,” she teases.

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up and come here.”

Their lips meet in a heated kiss. Everything they’ve been feeling is coming out in the kiss. Jamie tugs her until she is sitting on his lap while he’s sitting on the mattress. She drapes her arms over his shoulders.

It’s that moment when she realizes they put together a whole bed for no reason because there is now no way she is getting in that bed now.

She pushes him down until Jamie is lying flat on his back and their chests are flush against each other. Her hair creates a curtain around their faces despite his fingers curling in her locks.

“Wait, hold on,” Jamie says. She pulls back from the kiss. “Have something to ask you before we get distracted.”

“Hm?”

“Will you come to family skate on Friday before the game at MetLife?” he asks. “As my girlfriend?”

The biggest smile forms on her lips. “You’re going to have to give me skating lessons because despite watching you play hockey for years, I have no idea how to skate,” she tells him.

“I will give you skating lessons,” Jamie laughs. “You’ll come though?”

She nods and kisses him. “I’ll come.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

yourusername

liked by jamie.drysdale, philadelphiaflyers, and 193,872 others

yourusername life recently w my 🤍

view all 15,982 comments

fan1 JAMIE HAS A GIRLFRIEND ????

masonmctavish23 ig i forgive you for not answering my texts last week

yourusername we can hang out when i get back into cali on wednesday

masonmctavish23 good. i’m mad that jamie stole you from us

fan2 oh my god. this is so cute

fan3 you were at metlife ??? i think i walked past you at one point

yourusername i had on the drysdale jersey

trevorzegras oh this is all i’m gonna hear about when she gets back

leocarlssoon it’s about time. i was praying this would happen bc the way jamie talked about you was insane

jamie.drysdale let me live !!

philadelphiaflyers Thanks for coming out

jamie.drysdale skating w my girlfriend for the first time was the best feeling 🩵

yourusername being your girlfriend is the best feeling

༺═──────────────═༻

MASTERLIST

have a request ? check out the guidelines !

wanna be added to the taglist ? fill out this form !

taglist : @fanboysfangirl @dasiysthings @equallyshaw @dancerbailey3 @goldihocksrocks @love4lando @sweetinsatiable @mangoluver

#hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey oneshot #hockey fluff #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl oneshot #nhl fluff #jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale fic #jamie drysdale x reader #jamie drysdale fluff #valentines day #valentines day fic

677 notes · View notes

thegnomelord · 4 months

Note

Alright since 28 is taken Ill do the next best thing 29! Graves and his shadows with M reader, who is a colonel.

I need the wholesome and maybe a bit of the spice ya know. Thank you for soing Shadow company content, i am so starved.

Once again good soup!

Here you go dude, I'm not the best when it comes to writing for a group of people so idk how this turned out :/. Play the game HERE

Prompt: Hug from behind

CW: NSFW, subbot Graves, domtop Mreader, Shadow company fluff, hug from behind, fluff, groping, handjob, cumming in pants.

Being a colonel in the Shadow company and Grave's right hand man, you had a lot of responsibilities. From running drills to stitching up wounds to writing reports and drafting contracts when your magpie of a commander sees a new person he wants to recruit; you expected to deal with a lot of shit, but never in your wildest dreams did you expect to become the Shadow Company's emotional support Colonel.

Colonel Care Bear — it was their nickname for you. You'd made the mistake of being annoyed at the name which, of course, made the little fuckers double down on it. Nothing you did made them stop, even Graves joining in their fun and calling you that instead of your name with a smug grin.

You're not even sure when or why it had started.

It wasn't like you were overly paternal, you just took care of your soldiers. In whatever ways they needed you; The first time you'd needed to give emotional support had been after Jenkins had lost his battle buddy. Jenkins was still relatively young compared to the other Shadows, a rising star that Graves had snatched up, but on the flight back to base he'd been no better than a scared kitten, desperately trying to hold in his sobs. You hadn't said a word when you had pulled him close to you, letting him cry his heart out into your shoulder.

None of the others said a word either, and you didn't bring it up after your plane had landed. You'd expected it to be a one off experience but oh — you were so wrong.

Like feral cats learning to trust a human, the Shadows started approaching you, carefully at first, standing just at the edge of your personal space nervous fingers toying with the hem of their shirts and eyes flickering between you and anything else, until you grew annoyed and pulled them close to you, letting them cry or talk or just sit with their head on your shoulder for as long as they needed; a lighthouse in a dark sea.

Then Williams, who'd had one too many bad missions, had come into your office without a word and plopped himself into your lap while you were busy doing paperwork.

You were surprised, but not too much, with how often you'd found yourself with a Shadow near you you figured something like this was bound to happen. Though you hadn't expected it to be this forward. "Bad day?" You asked.

Williams just grunted into your neck, slightly nodding his head.

You shifted to still be able to write with him in your lap. "Want me to talk?"

You felt his hair scratch your neck when he shook his head, a negative grunt leaving his throat.

"Got it." You said and went back to your work, a hand on William's hip to keep him stable.

Safe to say you weren't amused when Graves had walked in and cracked the biggest bloody smirk when he saw you like that. You were even less amused when he'd whipped out his phone and took a photo of it. And you were ready to piss in Grave's beer after that photo had circulated through the entire Shadow Company, leading to many more similar incidents of a Shadow crawling into your lap when you weren't busy.

It really wasn't their fault your embrace just felt so good and comfortable, your arms perfectly sized and muscled to put weight in your hugs, shoulders just broad enough to make them feel small and safe.

Graves knew this because when he'd needed to confiscate Smith's phone after he'd caught him taking pictures of your ass (not that he blamed him, you had a nice ass but they needed to have some professionalism) Graves had found their simp chat.

It took him days to finish reading all the messages. I mean there were hundreds of texts gushing just over you, calendrer times for when which Shadow could go bother you for attention, not to mention the countless pictures they'd taken of you, from mundane to more suggestive when you were in the communal showers (Graves would die before he admitted he'd needed to rub one out at some of the pictures).

Safe to say that when he gave Smith his phone back Graves was. . .curious. He'd never approached you for comfort like the Shadows did, mostly because he knew he couldn't keep his thoughts pure after just a few minutes in your presence, his throat going dry whenever he feels you pat his shoulder when you pass in the hall.

"Care Bear!" Graves calls when he finds you on your way to your room, using that name just so he can see the irritated twitch of your brow.

"Yes commander?" You ask in that same tone of voice you use when you know he's up to something.

"Oh come on, no need for that." Graves grins, "Ah just need you to do something for me," He says, because he wouldn't be your commander if he was straightforward. "Follow along." He motions with his hand like a dog as he passes you.

Like a dog you follow, so close you cast a partial shadow over him. He leads you to a more secluded hallway, stopping abruptly and hearing you stop too. But you're not close enough, so with an annoyed sigh he says "Come closer."

You raise an eyebrow but do as he says, taking a few short steps closer until your chest is almost touching his back. Without a word Graves suddenly grabs your arms and wraps them around his waist, leaning back on his heels until his back is flush with your chest and you're supporting his weight.

You stall for a few moments just trying to convince your head that yes, your commander is doing that. "Really?" You ask.

He tilts his head to meet your eyes, casually resting his head on your shoulder. "Something the matter Colonel Care bear?" He smirks, reminding you of a very content cat.

You give him a blank look before rolling your eyes, "Could have just said you wanted a hug." You huff and move your arms to really hug him, your hands resting comfortably on his hips, your arms caging him in, the heat of your body seeping into his, your chest rumbling as you mutter your annoyance at the damn nickname.

"What fun would that be?" He says, eyes closing.

And, Hell, Graves gets it now.

He could get addicted this. Your scent and cologne clogs his nose, the heat of your body chasing away the lingering chill of the base. You support his weight so easily it's like he's floating on a firm cloud, forgetting about ranks and war and everything for a few blissful seconds. His mind wanders; wonders what it would feel to have your strong arms pin him every day, what it'd be like to be pinned down, the current gentle pressure turned bruising and demanding, bending him in half and shit— he's hard.

And of course you notice, wouldn't be his right hand if you couldn't read him like a book. "I'm getting the impression," You note, your grip increasing just a bit to keep him still, your other hand skirting down. "That you wanted something more than just a hug." You growl and squeeze your hand, groping the bulge in his jeans.

"Shit—" Graves sucks in a breath, legs scrambling for purchase but you hold him still, his weight still on you. "—I wasn't thinking of nothing." He says quickly, the pressure of your hand on his clothed cock too good.

"Uh huh," You hum, keeping a careful eye on his facial expressions as you experimentally move your hand; Short slow brushes of your thumb against his cockhead earn you little whimpers, unable to hide them with his head still resting on your shoulder. Firm squeezes of his entire bulge has his skin turning a nice shade of pink, his ear hot beneath your tongue as you nibble on it. His thighs part as you bully your hand lower, the strong pressure of your fingers against his balls as your palm grinds into his cockhead making him moan, the stuttered attempts at explaining himself dying out as a visible damp spot grows in his jeans.

"Faster-" Graves growls, his hands grabbing purchase in your hair, yanking your head down into a rough kiss, "-mhh, faster, fuck, man-"

You smirk against his lips. "Ask me nicely." You say, purposely pulling your hand away from where he needs it the most, ignoring his disgruntled sounds. "You son of a bitch-" Graves snarls, breathing rapidly in an attempt to get his frazzled brain to work before swallowing his pride. "Please," He says it like the word hurts him.

"Please what commander?" You wonder, undoing his belt and slipping your hand into his jeans, "Please touch my cock? Please get me off? Please fuck me till I can't walk?" You throw suggestions, applying just enough pressure on his twitching cock to leave him dumbly nodding his head.

"Yes, yes, yes- oh fuck- shit yes-" Phill pants, eyes closing and weakly thrusting his hips into your hand with what leverage he has, seeking out the pleasure that comes with your calloused hand stroking his sensitive flesh. "Fuck- just, ahh-" He breathes in through clenched teeth, "-just please."

"Alright, alright," You hum, increasing your pace, the glide of skin on skin eased by the precum he's leaking, swallowing his little moans and rough grunts as you kiss him. You can tell he's nearing his end with how he begins twitching even more in your hold, hips pushing into your hand sporadically, fat tears prickling his eyes. "Come on then Commander, cum already."

He does almost as soon as you tell him to, his moan swallowed down by your lips as he cums in his pants, your thumb rubbing insistently on his tip to milk him of all he's got, strong arm keeping him close to you.

"You did good commander." You coo gently as you pull your hand out of his pants, and without waiting for a response you push your cum covered fingers into his open mouth. "Real good," You smirk when Phill immediately sucks on your fingers, his brain melted into mush and incapable of rousing his pride to feel ashamed of how he moans at the taste of his own spend. "Such a good boy," Your praise does something to him, has his cock making a valiant attempt to get hard all over again.

The air leaves his lungs when you suddenly push your hips against his ass, making him feel your own hard cock trapped in your pants. "I took care of you," You begin, pulling your fingers from his mouth. "Are you prepared to take care of me?"

#Gnome's Prompt Game #cod mw2 #gnome correspondence #cod modern warfare #phillip graves x male reader #shadow company #shadow company x reader #top dom reader #x reader #top male reader #phillip graves smut

612 notes · View notes

voidbeomgyu · 10 months

Text

ALONE (Teaser)

In which you meet your bias in the worst circumstances.

PAIRING Idol Jake Sim x Fan Fem Reader

GENRE Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Slow Burn, Romance/Strangers to Lovers, Suggestive (Maybe smut, not sure yet.), some fluff

WARNINGS 18+ MDNI, Descriptions of violence, death, blood, etc., All members except Jake died so keep that in mind (I'm sorry), Cursing, Crimes, Mental health talk and experiences, Death, Sickness (Throwing up), Making out, Smut(?), It's an apocalypse!au idk how else to warn about that LOL

SUMMARY The group Enhypen get on a plane to the US and when landing are met with the worst. Jake makes it out alive... but alone. Since the dead are attracted to areas where the population is saturated, your best bet is to stay low in the areas usually considered dangerous (alleyways, abandoned buildings, etc). He made his way into the country and found a nice cabin alongside a lake. His further inspection led him to believe it was abandoned for whatever reason, maybe it was a vacation home? Little did he know his inference was correct, and soon he was met face to face with a member of the family who owned it. How would she react to seeing her favorite artist rummaging through the cupboards of her new--hopefully permanent--home? And how would he be able to explain to a loyal fan of his that he was the only member left?

TEASER WORD COUNT 1,625

RELEASE DATE To be determined.

TAGLIST Comment on this post or send an ask to be added. (Have your age on your profile or you will not be tagged)

Endless walking while trying to find a suitable place to stay was slowly driving Jake insane. The exhaustion from travelling, fear of death, and anguish from the scene at the airport was weighing down on him heavier and heavier every second. Having watched his best friends, his brothers, his family all being taken away from him without being able to do anything but listen to the oldest’s words, “Run”.

Jake had not yet cried, there was no time for it. It’s been almost thirty six hours since then, he’d stolen a bike around a mile away from the airport. It’s helped him a lot on his journey to safety. He never stole, he wasn’t like that, not that type of person. But in the moment he didn’t have the time nor energy to feel guilty about it.

Jake didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he wanted quiet. Not knowing wether or not it’ll be safer in the city or the country side, he chose the latter. Cities are crowded with people, meaning they must be crowded with the dead by now, right? No matter; either way he knew he’d feel much better being in the middle of nowhere, or at least in the middle of what looked like nowhere. All alone in an abandoned farm house, maybe a lake house, any house on the country side would do. He was being too optimistic, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. Finding a safe home to live in alone with no one around for miles sounded comforting.

The Jake from two days ago would’ve shivered at the thought of being completely alone. Though no extrovert, he needed people. He needed that connection, that interaction. His reasons to smile and laugh were mostly based around the people around him or the entertainment he consumed. Entertainment was out of the question now, and it seemed like people were too. Most dead, and others probably too violent to give Jake a chance due to the circumstances.

All he held on him was his and Sunghoon’s carry-on bag from the flight. Note to self, don’t try to save your friend by holding onto their bag. Thoughts like this crossed his mind every few minutes, tragedies sentenced as jokes but he wasn’t laughing. What’s wrong with me? How could I think something like that? Maybe it was the dehydration, starvation, overall fatigue? He hadn’t eaten anything since the flight and was savoring the small amount of water he had on him. Either way, thinking of his beloved friends didn’t do much to help his mood. Trying to think of the good times? Those good times will never happen again, they’re gone forever and I’ll never get them back.

More days passed like this. With a stop at a gas station probably being the reason he’s even alive right now. It was abandoned, for the most part. It was the early morning, and he was literally starving now. The cashier was still there, but his neck was chained so tightly to the wall that it was on the edge of ripping his head clean off. Oh, he was a living corpse too. Jake could tell that much by just looking at him, muffled grunts and groans coming from the pale body every minute. Luckily, he didn’t seem to care much of Jake’s criminal activities there. Stuffing whatever foods and drinks he could into the bags he had on him. They were even heavier now, but he couldn’t feel anything. He was numb to all feeling, mentally and physically.

At day four he had started keeping track of how many days passed with a calendar he found on the wall of the gas station that morning. He didn’t stay there though, he didn’t have it in him to kill the cashier, and he knew that if he somehow got loose while he was sleeping it would all be over. The past few days he hadn’t slept or rested much at all actually. Napping for at most an hour at a time, waking up to the slightest noises and scurries of nearby wildlife. He knows he’s incredibly lucky to not have encountered any of the dead, besides the one at the gas station, but it’s a little stressful to not have seen any either. Where could they all be? He had made it out of the city, the once bustling streets on day two, he knew many people weren’t out here to begin with. But knowing there are creatures that could kill him in seconds lurking while having no idea where they are was terrifying.

It’s been six days. His legs started feeling numb just hours after finding his bike due to the frantic pedaling, now he felt like his legs were asleep all the time. The feeling of pins and needles covered his lower body as they worked on auto pilot to keep him going. His back felt horrible, slouched from his broken spirit. Endless cramping and soreness of his hands and fingers from gripping the bikes handles for hours at a time. His knuckles were white, and now so was his once tanned and alive skin.

His lack of proper meals, sleep, and rest was now obvious. Jake hasn’t seen himself since that day in the airport, but from looking at his now thinner, paler, vein visible arms, he could take a guess at what his face looked like. Hell, he could feel the bags under his eyes whenever he blinked now.

It’s been quiet and empty for a few miles. Nothing but grass, and a dirt trail he’s been following in sight. How long is this damn trail? he thought. Jake started following the trail at the sunset of day five; he remembers because of his calendar. It was coming to the end of day six, the sun starting to set in the distance behind him. He found a flashlight at the gas station and used it to find himself a place to “rest” for the nights he faced, it neared the time to find a spot to sleep.

Trees were all around him now, the area looked more alive here, not dried out and dead like the miles before. He must be getting close to some sort of building, forest trails usually have a building as a starting point, right? Unless this trail wasn’t made for hikers, in that case he was hoping in vain.

It was almost completely dark now. Jake had usually found somewhere to stay by this time, but something was telling him to keep going. Using the flashlight to illuminate the shadowed forest, he heard his friends voices cheering him on over and over again.

“Keep going Jake!”

“Just a little longer!”

“You’ll be okay!”

Tears were unconsciously streaming down his face now, though he still didn’t feel anything. His body just gave up on the effort of keeping them in.

Jake pedaled faster. He couldn’t hear anything but his heavy panting, it felt like someone had covered his ears with their hands and muted the sound of everything around him. He saw something in the distance, the roof of a building; he padaled faster. A house, the roof made of wood, looked like a cabin; he padaled faster. He could hear the muffled sound of streaming water; he pedaled faster.

Face to face with a cabin, going so fast he couldn’t stop himself from crashing into the wet grass below him. Still struck with adrenaline, he pulled himself up quickly and dragged his bike to the front door. His broken and unused voice sounded through his pants as he tried frantically to open the damned door.

The door handle had a key hole but was locked with a rusty padlock. He could turn the handle and wriggle the door, that padlock was what he needed to remove. He pulled a hammer out of his bag; he grabbed it from the gas station floor, it was covered in dried blood. Obviously used by someone prior to leaving it there. Jake slammed the hammer into the padlock, over and over again. The loud bangs from striking the lock were null to Jake’s ears, his desperation coating over all his sense.

Smash. The padlocks body is broken away from its handle and the door is free from it’s hold on the wooden frame.

Jake shoves his way inside, throwing the bike onto the hard floor of the entry way before turning to lock the door. It was locked from the outside but had a perfectly working lock on the inside, though he didn’t care to question it. He made it, he was safe, he felt like he could faint.

He had no time to think, let alone find a good source of light before he threw up. Keeling on the once clean floor, liquid from his stomach poured out from him. His throat burned and ached at the feeling, like his throat was made of sandpaper. Falling back he sat on the floor, staring at the door and the mess he made on the ground. He laid back and let his eyes rest for the first time in nineteen hours. Jake fell asleep there on the hard floor, knee propped up on the backside of a couch.

If he was thinking clearly, he would’ve checked the entire cabin, then scavenged for any foods that may be there. But he was broken, body and mind. Luck had been on his side since the beginning though. The home was completely vacant before he entered, and when he wakes up he’ll have found himself a place to live in safely. Away from the corpses living in the surrounding cities, and away from any still living people, all alone.

(A/N: Hello friends! I'm finally writing LOL I've had this wip since December and I'm finally going to finish it. This post is just to see if people would even be interested lol. The total fic word count I don't know yet because I haven't finished it, but I am close! I won't give y'all any hints but I will apologize in advance for the angst I'm about to put y'all thru<3 sorry love you guys muah. Don't know exactly when I will publish the full fic, maybe right when I finish it, maybe a month after I finish it IDK I haven't written seriously in months so I'm not too confident anymore but I am excited. Hope y'all are as excited as I am :D )

746 notes · View notes

mingispelvis · 7 months

Text

Chilli Pepper Vibe

Genre: mingi x afab!reader, smut w a little fluff but a LOT of plot

Length: 5.5k

Summary: You go abroad with your friends and are blessed to run into Ateez at your hotel.

NSFW warnings under cut

Warnings: oral sex female receiving, oral sex male receiving, fingering, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex (WRAP IT UP), not pulling out, use of slut, use of baby girl, there's a LOT of plot sorry this is kinda fluffy also at the end

Idk how NDAs work and idk how to end it sorry!!!!!

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

Girls trips hit different when you’re all gainfully employed. Seulgi had just made partner at Bae & Kang law firm. Joy was recently promoted to Zone Manager of her company, with a hefty bonus to boot. And you? You finally finished residency and were officially able to practice medicine on your own. Despite the three of you being in your mid 20s, you had all continued to push each other and you all achieved great things.

Thusly, girls trip.

Seulgi, being type A, organized the entire trip from start to finish. To her, vacation starts the moment you step out of your front door. She arranged an Uber Black to take the three of you to the airport, got you all first class tickets, and arranged a very expensive penthouse for the three of you to stay in. She wouldn’t even tell you where exactly you’d be going, just to “bring your sexiest party clothes, a few swimsuits, and your passports”.

“Our final plane before we land at our destination will be at gate, ummm,” Seulgi paused to check her airline app to see where the three of you would be waiting for the next hour. “Ah, gate A57”. You and Joy eyed the terminal signs as you walked towards A57, passing “Los Angeles, California”, “Seattle, Washington” “Atlanta, Georgia” and then “Moscow, Russia”, “Beijing, China”, and “Seoul, South Korea.” A57 came into view and underneath, in bright orange pixels, read “Tokyo, Japan”. Your jaw dropped open and Joy began to squeal. “No way, no way, no way. Seulgi. You did NOT get us tickets to Waterbomb.” Joy jumped up and down, neck pillow flopping against her back. Seulgi shrugged her shoulders and attempted to fight a smile, but Joy squealed again and grabbed her into a huge bear hug, causing a grin to explode onto Seulgi’s face. “I LOVE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW!” Joy’s scream was muffled as her tight hug squashed her mouth into Seulgi’s shoulder.

“Umm..hold on…what’s Waterbomb?” You asked, giggling slightly at your friend’s antics. At this, Joy and Seulgi stopped hugging to stare at you like you’d grown an extra head out of your shoulders. “Ew I forgot she’s only a casual KPOP girl.” Joy rolled her eyes as she plopped down in one of the chairs at the gate and kicked her feet up onto her suitcase. Seulgi took the time to explain the massive festival, the amazing kpop acts, and the water guns to you and by the time your boarding zone was called, you were stoked about getting to go.

The flight to Tokyo was long and uneventful, the ride to the hotel was short and sweet, and the check in process was smooth. The three of you were staying at a 5 star hotel famous for waiting on their guests hand and foot. The elevator up to the penthouse was smooth and when you stepped into the hall, you were shocked to find only two massive open areas on either side of the elevator. “The other side is the other penthouse. We have this entire half of the floor to ourselves. That’s how big this place is.” Seulgi explained. As if your jaws couldn’t drop enough, Seulgi scanned her thumb print and the door to your vacation palace unlocked with a quiet click. “They don’t have my thumb print, right? I didn’t authorize them to have that information!” Joy joked. You couldn’t even think of the logistics as you stepped into what could only be described as luxury beyond your wildest dreams. Marble floors, brilliant chandeliers, gold plated silverware (goldware?) 200 inch large screen TV with surround sound speakers, full bar, and floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city of Tokyo. The balcony was a walk around that you could access from the living area or any of the bedrooms and had a hot tub, a small infinity pool, and another outdoor bar. Each of the three bedrooms had a king sized bed that you actually had to walk up two steps to get into and a full bathroom attached. The bathrooms had clawfoot tubs made of more gold, massive showers, and a towel warmer. Despite having handed over your credit cards to Seulgi so she could split the price of everything equally between the three of you, you had no idea the measly 4 digit price you paid could amount to such elegance.

The long travels and time change hit the three of you hard, so after gawking at the amenities the penthouse provided a little longer, the three of you washed up and hit the sack, hard. So hard, you didn’t wake up until almost 3pm the next day. Luckily, traveling queen Seulgi had accounted for this and had allotted two rest days into the rigorous itinerary, delivering every meal up to the room by room service to be had on the balcony or on the edge of the pool.

“I wonder who’s on the opposite side of the hall from us in the other penthouse” Joy questioned between massive bites of her meal. She was standing in the pool with her upper half lounging on the poolside.

“Probably some big shot oil tycoon and his 3 wives,” you joked, nursing an afternoon mimosa. Joy giggled and downed another bite of her meal. For being so thin, she had one hell of an appetite.

“Actually,” Seulgi started with a smile. “I booked this hotel because it’s usually one of the ones idols stay at since it’s super close to the festival area and the hotel is known for its discretion. I bet it's a kpop group.” Joy dropped a grape into the pool, mouth agape, body frozen as she stared at Seulgi. You watched the grape bob away towards the other side of the pool. Joy still hadn’t moved or spoken when you turned back.

“Joy? Babe? You alright?” You gave her shoulder a light shake.

Joy took a deep breath before shouting, “A KPOP GROUP!? YOU’RE TELLING ME STRAY KIDS COULD BE RIGHT NEXT DOOR? OR EXO? OR-” Joy jumped out of the pool at this point. “We gotta go over there and find out who it is!”

“No! What are we gonna do just knock on the door and see who answers? It could be a girl group too, you know.” Seulgi stated.

Joy jumped again, “TWICE!?” Joy feigned fainting, “catch me Nayeon!” You all three laughed and Joy jumped back into the pool. “We should get some drinks and just have a party tonight. A light party, so we can go explore tomorrow, but a party nonetheless.” Joy suggested.

“Hell yeah we’ve relaxed enough. It’s time to get fucked up.” You agreed.

“I know a place we can get some good stuff for cheap. We spent an arm and a leg on this trip. I'm not paying the big bucks for alcohol.” Seulgi stated, cleaning up the plates (as is her duty as the resident mom of the trip). “Let’s head there now so we can be back before dinner and get some food in our system before we get trashed.”

You and Joy did as you were told and obediently threw on a swim suit cover-up to travel to the store. 2 bottles of champagne and a box of soju later, the three of you returned and got dressed for dinner. After your bellies were full, the three of you put on your “party pajamas" (short shorts, crop tops, and fuzzy socks) and got the snacks and drinks ready on the living room table.

“Shit we need ice for the champagne don’t we. I’ll go grab some from the ice machine down the hall. We’re gonna need more than the refrigerator has at the moment.” You grabbed the empty champagne bucket and headed to the room where the ice machine was located. Well, where you thought it was located. The ice machine room was empty and you pouted while thinking about where you could get ice. You walked back to the room, but before you went back in and admitted defeat to your friends, you saw the doors to the staircase and thought you might as well try one floor down. Entering onto the floor below you headed back to the area where the ice machine could be, but stopped when you saw two figures standing in the open area after the penthouse suite door. Though the lighting was dim (a 5 star hotel can’t light their hallways?) you could see a third figure gesturing, and then backing up and pointing their phone towards the first two as if they were recording. You slowly walked closer when you heard “Ok, shi-jak* [A/N: begin].” T-Pain’s “Booty Wurk played and the two figures started dancing. The moves were executed flawlessly until one of the figures in a black cap made an imperceptible (to you) mistake. Groans from the other two were heard and the taller male in the front, in a gray cap, turned to playfully shake at the other. You took this as your chance to pass through. “You guys are really good at dancing,” you started as all three boys jumped, startled at your sudden appearance. You passed by them, but not before taking in just how beautiful they all three were. “Oh, thank you.” The one in the gray cap nodded to you. You headed to the ice machine, but subconsciously felt like someone was watching, so you took a quick peek over your shoulder to see all three men watching you. Dipping quickly into the ice room, you put your hand over your heart and felt it flutter.

Woah. Were they checking me out? You thought to yourself as you pressed the bucket under the ice machine. The clanking and crunching of the machine and the ice hitting the metal bucket was a mere whisper compared to the thumping of your heart and whooshing of blood in your ears.

Fuck it. It’s vacation. You convinced yourself as the ice toppled over the lip of the bucket and landed with a clack on the floor. When you came out, the boys were dancing again. You walked just close enough to let them know you were watching, and then leaned against the wall. The boys finished up their attempt of the dance and you stepped forward.

“Wow! You guys are really so good!” you fluttered your lashes even though you weren’t sure if they could see in the dim light. “You should be professionals. I wish you could teach me to dance!” You stepped a little closer to the three boys.

The boy holding his phone chuckled while the one in the gray cap thanked you again. You fluttered your lashes again and flashed a sweet smile. “I’m Y/N. And you are?” You turned to the shorter boy in black. “Oh, uh, I’m Wooyoung”. He smiled lightly.

“I’m Yunho.” The boy in the gray cap waved and then shoved his hands back in the pockets of his white cargo pants.

You turned to the final boy and your eyes widened and pulse quickened. You hadn’t gotten a good look at him when you first passed by, but even in the dim light you could see he was a ten out of ten. You strained your eyes and pleaded with your pupils to let you see this man in all his glory.

“I’m Mingi. Nice to meet you, Y/N. And, for the record, we are professionals.” He smiled.

“Oh? Are you in a dance group?” You questioned, never breaking eye contact with Mingi.

“Something like that”, Wooyoung answered. “More like a KPOP group.” He barely finished his sentence before he was lightly slapped in the chest by Yunho.

“Oh that’s really cool. Which group? Maybe I’ve heard of you.” You played it cool even though your heart was threatening to beat itself out of your rib cage.

“Ateez.” Mingi said proudly.

You did your best not to fangirl hard. You’d been listening to Bouncy continuously since Joy sent it in the group chat. Due to your rigorous doctor schedule, stanning wasn’t something you had time to do- thus, Joy’s “Ew, casual KPOP girl” comment in the airport.

“I think I’ve heard of you guys before.” you nodded and flashed another cute smile. “Well, I have to get this bucket of ice back to a few bottles of champagne,” you emphasized your sentence by holding up the bucket and patting it a few times. “But if you guys ever want a break from idol life, my friends and I are one floor up with drinks and snacks.” You passed through the three boys once again, turned around, and started walking backwards so you could express your final sentence to them, “and we’ll sign NDAs, no problem.” You whipped back around before the three boys had a chance to watch you sink deep into embarrassment, fear, and confusion.

Did I really just tell three international superstars I’d sign an NDA to party with them? I haven’t even started drinking and I’m already doing stupid shit. You chastised yourself as you quickly made your way back up the stairs and into your penthouse.

“Finally! We were gonna start without you!” Joy shouted, her back to you as she sat on the couch fiddling with something you couldn’t see.

“We did start without you.” Seulgi corrected, clicking something on her computer and watching the big screen TV at the same time. She seemed to be setting up her computer to cast to the TV to play music.

“You guys will never guess what happened to me and who I met.” You started, setting the bucket on the kitchen counter and tucking the two champagne bottles snuggly within the ice. When you turned back to your friends, they were both staring at you excitedly.

“WHO!?” they yelled in unison.

You went to go sit on the couch. You started off your story of the disappearing ice machine much to Joy and Seulgi’s dismay, and even kept an air of mystery by not revealing the names of the boys until the proper point in the story, after you’d gotten the ice.

“So I’m like, my name is Y/N what’s yours? And he goes ‘Wooyoung’ and the next dude goes ‘Yunho’ and the last dude goes ‘Mingi’.” you recount. At each name, Seulgi gasps and Joy squeals. You continued before they could interrupt you.

“Then Mingi’s like ‘Yeah we are professionals’ and I’m like ‘yeah are you in a dance group?’ and Wooyoung goes ‘We’re in ATEEZ’ and I lowkey pretended like I’m not obsessed with Bouncy so I can stay chill.” You were speeding through the story to make it to the most important part before Joy exploded with questions.

“So,” you continue “I say ‘yeah I’ve heard of you guys. Well if you wanna come up and party with us we’ll sign the NDA!” You bury your head in your hands and pull your knees to your chest while Joy and Seulgi, essentially, freak out.

“Are you telling me Ateez could come up here and party with us!?” Joy stands up on the couch in excitement. Seulgi quickly brings her down a peg to reality and says “They probably won’t but at least Y/N got to flirt with hot famous guys.” Seulgi pauses for a moment before a squeal escapes her mouth and she taps her feet on the floor in glee. “WE COULD PARTY WITH ATEEZ THOUGH!” Seulgi grins. With that, Joy jumps lightly off the couch and pops open a soju bottle. She grabs three shot glasses and pours the bottle evenly across all three. “Well,” she starts “we should be ready when they get here!”

You three take the shots like champs, open the snacks, and turn up the music. After some light mixed drinks and a few good songs, the three of you had almost forgotten about your supposed super star visitors. A knock at the door stops the three of you in your tipsy rendition of Kai’s Rover. You look at each other in confusion, and then turn towards the door. You head over and peek through the peephole. A young Asian woman, probably the same age as you, with an ipad is standing outside the door. You open the door just wide enough to be polite.

“Hi.” You say tentatively, confusion clearly showing on your face.

‘Hi! I’m one of the managers working for KQ and I think I have something you’ll want to sign.” The lady turns her iPad around and you see NON DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT in big bold letters across the top of a document. You feel hands on your shoulder and the door swings wider.

“YES. WE’LL SIGN. WHATEVER IT IS WE’LL SIGN!” Joy practically screams in the woman’s face.

The manager laughs and begins to quickly scroll through the massive document, highlighting the major points (basically, keep it quiet or we’ll sue you for your entire life and the life of your future children) and then hands you a stylus.

“If you agree to the terms and conditions, sign, print, and date here. If you have any questions let me know and I’ll be happy to answer them before you sign. If you’re no longer interested-” before the manager can finish her sentence, Joy snatches the stylus out of your hand and signs off on the document. She hands the stylus to Seulgi and she does the same with speed.

“So, they’re coming up here? They’re all actually coming?” You ask, raising an eyebrow and begging the answer to be yes.

The manager chuckles and says “this non-disclosure agreement covers any potential meetings with the idols mentioned within it on the dates mentioned within it.” She punctuates her sentence with a smile and moves the iPad towards you. Joy nudges you in a manner that lets you know that you will not be ruining this for her. You sign with shaky hands.

“Perfect!” The manager turns the iPad back around and taps on it a bit. “And if you could all input your emails here, you’ll receive a copy of this for your own records.” You put in your emails, and the manager hits send. “Thank you! Have a good night!” The manager bows, and heads down the hall. You slowly close the door and turn to look at your friends. You stand staring at each other, excitement buzzing between the three of you as not one of your brains can form words. Seulgi was the first to break the silence.

“Well…this is happening.” She said as if she was trying to convince herself to keep calm. Joy walked off like a zombie in a trance to sit back on the couch and stare out into the distance. “This is happening.” She repeated in the same tone as Seulgi.

“This is happening!” Joy rocketed up from the couch. “I gotta go put on some makeup!” Joy rushed into her bedroom, and you heard a distinct zip of a makeup bag followed by the continuous clacking of makeup containers hitting each other while being dumped out. You and Seulgi finally had the wherewithal to leave the foyer and head back to the couch. You took a generous swig of strawberry soju when you heard another knock at the door. This time, all three of you ran to the door to answer it. You were closer, and, therefore, faster, and opened the door with a grin.

“(Y/N)!” Mingi raised his hands above his head as if he was greeting an old friend. “I brought drinks and friends.” You moved to the side to welcome Mingi in, Yunho, Wooyoung, and San following behind him.

“These are my friends Seulgi and Joy.” You introduced your friends but before you could give them the eyes that meant “please be cool”, they began to fangirl.

“Oh my gosh Wooyoung you’re my bias! It’s so cool to meet you guys!” Joy giggled and jumped Wooyoung with a hug. “Oh I’m so sorry!” Joy jumped back as quickly as she had hugged Wooyoung. “I should have asked first- can I hug you?”

Wooyoung laughed and nodded, coming in for another hug. Yunho, Mingi, and San greeted you all and you all headed to the couch.

Joy, the official party girl of the three of you, immediately began to pour shots while Seulgi turned the music back up. The party had commenced full swing, with all of you jumping, dancing, and shouting lyrics as loud as you could. After an hour and a few drinks, you were just buzzed enough to let your inhibitions out the window, so when Bouncy came on, you lost it.

“EVERYONE SHUT UP I LOVE THIS SONG” you yelled, arms out as wide as possible to clear the makeshift dance floor (aka the area where the coffee table used to be). The song got as far as Yunho’s “one, two..” before it stopped. You whipped your head around to Seulgi with a look on your face that clearly said what the fuck!? But before you could verbally protest, Seulgi pointed to the TV. She’d pulled up the music video.

“Since you’ve never seen it.” She stuck her tongue out, but you didn’t see her. Your eyes were glued to the screen. By the time the video ended, you had made a dangerous decision. Watching Mingi clear out a bar with a fake gun, belly roll, and dance had you trembling. You knew you had to have him. You devised a devious plan in the blink of an eye. “Play it again!” you whined. “I wanna dance AND,” you stood up to emphasize the second request “I want you all to sing your parts!”

The boys laughed and agreed as Seulgi re-started the music video. You began dancing as Mingi rapped “What you wanna do?”. Your plan was in motion and so were your hips. You spun around and swung your hand in the air like you were swinging a lasso. You slowly approached Mingi, who had sat down on the couch. When the chorus hit, you straddled him. Your heart was beating faster than it ever had before, but your mind was determined. You kept lightly moving your hips and swinging your imaginary lasso. Mingi looked at you with eyes wide and mouth slightly open, corners of his mouth turned up in disbelief. You pushed a little further- putting your hands on his shoulders and singing along:

“Slow it down, make it bouncy

지금부터 fly

좀 다른 spicy 청양고추 vibe”

You looked Mingi in the eyes when you felt his hands on your hips. “Don’t forget to rap your part.” You leaned close with a small smile and mouthed “fix on” in time with the song. Mingi began rapping, and you began the next part of your plan. You wrapped your arms around his neck and began to kiss at his neck. You heard his breath catch slightly, but he didn’t miss a beat of his rap. You moved up to his ear, bit lightly, and moaned “mmmm”. You applied a little more pressure in your grind and you moved to snake your fingers up the hair on the nape of his neck. You kept kissing his neck and, when his rap had completed, Mingi slowly slid his hands down to cup your ass. You could hear San and Wooyoung confidently slurring their way through Seonghwa’s lines. You’re surprised you’re not embarrassed about slutting yourself out in front of your friends, but the growing bulge pressing into your crotch is making it a little easier. Pulling back and placing your forehead on Mingi’s, you stare in each other’s eyes and reach a silent understanding. You slide off of Mingi and grab his hand, leading him to your bedroom.

You shut the door, but can’t turn around because Mingi has pressed his body against you. He wraps his arms around you and kisses your neck. He spins you around and crashes his mouth into you, tongues wrestling and arms wandering. You push him towards the massive bed and pull away from the intoxicating kiss just long enough to warn him to watch his step. You pull off your shorts and shirt and Mingi does the same. Mingi sits up against the headboard and drags you back into his lap. You both moan and grind into each other- Mingi clearly not able to choose between massaging your breasts or squeezing your ass, so he settles for one for each hand. You’ve had enough of the humping and pull away. You trail kisses down Mingi’s body, clearly heading to give him the best head of his life, but he leans forward and grabs you before you can make it to your prize. Mingi flips you over and tears your panties off like he’s unwrapping a christmas present.

“Shit.” Mingi mumbles as he pushes your legs out and back for a clear view of his meal. He looks up at you as he lightly runs his middle finger through your slick covered folds. Your breathing is heavy and your heart is pounding.

“You want it, baby girl?” Mingi raises an eyebrow at you. You nod fervently, but that’s clearly not enough. “Lemme hear you baby. What do you want?” Mingi teases in the sweetest, sultriest voice you’ve ever heard.

“I want you to eat me like it’s your last meal, Mingi.” You respond, grabbing a fistful of his hair. At this Mingi’s eyes flutter shut and he gasps.

“Don’t let go,” Mingi growls, then he dives in. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, and makes quick work of his tongue. He slowly pushes his middle finger inside you and hooks it right into your g-spot.

The speed at which the pleasure overcomes you has you grabbing Mingi’s hair with your other hand and releasing a deep moan. Mingi slurps and moans as he fingers you deep. You pull him off of you and he looks up at you with confusion. You begin to crawl down towards his crotch, bulge straining painfully through his boxer briefs. Mingi gets it immediately and flips over onto his back to continue his work on your clit while you unearth his throbbing cock. Watching the thick, long member spring out of its cage has you clenching around Mingi’s finger. He moans and adds a second as you squeeze the base of his cock. He’s already leaking, so you squeeze a little more out to lubricate his dick. You lick a stripe from the base to the tip, and then take Mingi in his entirety. Mingi’s head falls back and he moans deeply.

“(Y/N), fuck, just like that.” Mingi pants and speeds up his fingers within you. You feel your orgasm approaching but you’re determined to make Mingi remember you. You move off of Mingi, which removes his fingers from you, and turn to face him. He looks down at you and you stare in his eyes as you deepthroat him. You hollow your cheeks and work your tongue up and down, cupping his balls with one hand and running the other up and down his thighs. Mingi lightly places his hands on your head and you can feel him throbbing in your mouth. You can tell he’s getting close and remove him from your mouth with a pop. The heat of the moment over takes you and you go to straddle him, line him up, and sink down on his cock. Mingi’s eyes fluttered shut and he shuddered out a moan. You began a slow pace, up and down, while simultaneously circling your hips. You threw your head back and dug your nails into Mingi’s toned abs. He gripped your hip with one hand and began mercilessly rubbing your clit with the other. Your legs went weak as your orgasm built up again, and you sat down on Mingi, fully taking his entire length. Mingi pulled you forward so you were laying on his chest. He hooked both of his arms around your waist, lifted his hips, and began fucking you senseless.

You came within seconds, gripping Mingi’s cock tight- he could feel your walls fluttering and your orgasm dripping down onto his thighs.

“Fuck Mingi, yes! Make me cum!” You moaned into his ear. Between your pussy death gripping his cock and you dirty talking in his ear, Mingi couldn’t handle it. His hips stuttered, his breath became ragged, and his moans became louder and louder. He pounded into you harder and harder until he finally stilled deep within you. You felt him throbbing and spilling his release as you were coming down from your own high.

Mingi rode out his orgasm still holding your body tightly to his. You pushed your torso up so you could see Mingi’s face clearly- hair sticking to his forehead by beads of sweat, eyelids low in bliss. Mingi took a deep breath and finally came to. His eyes got wide and he swore in korean.

“Oh God. I just…fuck…I didn’t pull out…I’m…are you…” Mingi’s mind was clearly racing and you put your pointer finger to his lips to shush him.

“Shh. It’s okay. I’m on birth control, I’m clean, and I’d never do that to you. I promise.” you comforted him.

Mingi’s eyebrows creased together and raised in a face that relayed “you promise?” then he nodded and released the breath he’d been holding. He then rolled over, still holding you tight to his body, so you could be flat on your back when he pulled out. “Stay there!” he requested as he ran off to the bathroom to get you a warm towel. He came back smiling, ready to provide you with excellent aftercare. He found your clothes that had been scattered over the floor, and handed them to you as he put on his own clothes. A pang of sadness hit your heart as you realized your night with Mingi was over, and you went into the bathroom to collect yourself (and to pee. You always pee after sex!). You looked in the mirror and saw how rosy your cheeks were, hair all over your head, and all you could do was smile. You were thankful that you had this experience. After quickly brushing your teeth and washing your face, you opened the bathroom door and peeked back in the bedroom. Mingi was nowhere to be found. You realized simultaneously that it was silent in the penthouse. You assumed the girls went to bed and Mingi left with the rest of his members. You crawled into bed, fluffed your pillows, and turned off the lights. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You woke up hot. Really hot. And paralyzed. Not sleep paralyzed, paralyzed like you were in a straitjacket. You slowly realized someone was in the bed with you. You could hear a soft snore from behind you. You twisted around to try and see if Joy had had another nightmare and wanted to cuddle with you for “safety”. The figure behind you aroused and you strained your eyes in the darkness to see who the hell caused you to be drenched in sweat.

“Hey, did my snoring wake you?” A soft, deep voice asked. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness and you saw Mingi’s sleepy face, eyes still shut tight. You were glad his eyes were closed because you were grinning like an idiot. “No, I just had a funny dream.” You lied as you cuddled up, face first into his chest. Mingi held you tight, kissed your forehead, and immediately fell back asleep.

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

The smell of bacon wafted into your dreams and knocked on your brain until you regained consciousness. The sun was beaming into your room and you gave yourself a nice, full body stretch. While stretching, you realized how roomy your bed was. You turned over and noticed your empty bed. You sighed in content, happy for the night you had. A piece of cloth under the unused pillow caught your eye. You lifted the pillow and noticed Mingi’s shirt, and a note.

“Had a great time last night. See you at Waterbomb. Have you and your friends meet us backstage ;) -SMG”

You grabbed his shirt, stuffed it into your face, and took a big sniff. You didn’t care that it was creepy and delusional. You’re happy he left you a memento of the night you shared. The door to your room creaked slowly open, and you popped your head up as soon as you noticed it.

“SEULGI SHE’S UP OH MY GOD.” Joy screamed and sprinted full speed towards your bed. She flopped down next to you as Seulgi ran in behind her.

“TELL. US. EVERYTHING.” Joy enunciated her words by shaking your shoulders.

You relayed the night to your best friends. You concluded by showing them the note. Joy and Seulgi shrieked and their voices overlapped in excitement- fantasizing about how the day was going to go. You tuned them out and looked wistfully out the window as the sun continued to shine into your bedroom. You began to grin as you thought about all you were going to do with Mingi again.

#ateez #ateez smut #mingi smut #reader x mingi #song mingi smut #mingi x yn #yn x mingi #mingi x reader #wonderlandnet

320 notes · View notes

planetpiastri · 1 year

Note

happy valentines day vinny !! 💝💝 may i request #88 kisses in which ‘i’ll kiss you right now to prove i don’t feel anything for you’ but the kiss proves the opposite from this list with hangman

loving you && i hope this week is treating you well so far! 🫶

beeeee!!! i love this request SO much omg. reading it back idk if it really captured the Vibe of the prompt buttt i hope you'll like it anyway<33 | [wc - 1.6k]

“Come on, then.” Hangman’s smile is confident and beautiful and infuriating. “Your chariot awaits.”

And he gestures at his bare shoulders.

You groan and roll your eyes, forcing yourself to look away from his glistening, naked torso protruding from the shallow end of the pool. It was a little frustrating to learn that he’d earned the right to feel so confident taking his shirt off in a crowd of people. The guy was an Adonis; his physique was almost unfair. Where did he even find time to do all that working out?

From your place on the side of the hotel pool, you pull your legs out of the water, not trusting Rooster not to pull you in against your will. “I’m good,” you say pointedly, scooting backwards on the tile.

The other pilots boo and make a general uproar, which draws a laugh out of you in spite of yourself.

“You were the one that suggested we play chicken in the first place!” protests Fanboy, sending a gentle splash of water in your direction.

“Bob’s been doing a good job,” you say quickly, nodding your head towards the goggles-clad man leaning against the lip of the pool. “He and Hangman can team up against you guys.”

Hangman and Bob pull almost identical displeased expressions, which just makes you laugh again. Bob adjusts his goggles—which somehow make him look even dorkier than his usual clear frames—and says, “I’ve lost three times. I think everyone is tired of seeing me get knocked over.”

Hangman starts to wade through the shallow water, striding towards you. “Come on,” he says. “I promise not to let you fall. Just get in.” As he approaches, he shoots you a cocky wink. “I know you just don’t trust yourself to behave with your thighs wrapped around my head.”

“Oh my god!” you shout, your face burning as everyone laughs uproariously.

This is the usual when you hang out with the group. Everyone except for you is convinced that you’ve got it bad for Jake Seresin. You don’t, for the record. He’s frustrating and cocky and entirely too chiseled, and not your type, and you don’t have feelings for him! End of story!

But no one believes you. Least of all Hangman.

And you running around the pool, giggling stupidly while he chases you, certainly isn’t helping your cause.

So you get in the pool. And you climb up on his shoulders. And you play chicken against Rooster and Phoenix. And you don’t think about his hands splayed across your bare thighs and the muscles in his shoulders flexing under you and the way the sun glinting off the water in his hair turns him golden—

Phoenix shoves you hard and you topple backwards, landing in the water with a loud splash.

When you come up, everyone’s laughing and cheering. Hangman has his hand on your back, saying, “Sorry—are you okay?”

“Fine,” you splutter, wiping water from your eyes. “You said you wouldn’t let me fall.”

“My bad,” he chuckles, brushing some hair out of your face. “How can I get you to forgive me for letting you down?”

“We have to win at least one time,” you say, straightening up and knocking Hangman’s hand away from your face. “Turn around. Rooster! Phoenix! We’re going again!”

“Your funeral,” says Phoenix with a teasing shrug. She always gets this way during competitions. When you're on the same team, it's awesome. When you aren’t, it's was infuriating.

Without waiting for Hangman to drop down in the water, you place your hands on the smooth planes of his back and climb him like a tree, clambering your way onto his shoulders as he stumbles and laughs, reaching up to help where he can.

“Easy, now,” he says, his voice thick with amusement. “Let’s save that for when we’re alone, alright?”

“God, shut up,” you grumble, your heart pounding. You thread your fingers through his hair, holding tight as he and Rooster step towards each other, squaring off.

Across from you, Phoenix says, “It’s not too late to back down.”

“Your head’s almost as big as his, Trace,” you laugh, patting the top of Hangman’s hair.

“You take that back,” she retorts, falsely serious.

“Go!” shouts Fanboy.

Both sides surge forward. Your hands meet Phoenix’s, both of you laughing and straining against one another. Hangman’s grip on your thighs is grounding and forceful. This time, you know he won’t let you fall.

Phoenix’s eyes go wide, and you know you’ve got her. She yelps, and Rooster makes a strangled squawking sound very representative of his namesake, and they both tip over backwards, falling apart as soon as they hit the water.

“Yes!” Hangman yells, reaching up and lacing his fingers through yours in celebration. The spectators ooh and aah and whoop appreciatively, and you easily slide off of Hangman’s shoulders, landing with a small splash next to him.

Before you can speak, he bends and wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you partially out of the water in an embrace. Your stomach flip-flops, and it’s all you can do to hang on before he puts you down again—but doesn’t take his arms away.

“Oh, my god,” Phoenix calls, standing near Bob at the edge of the pool, wiping the water out of her face. She’s smiling, and she’s pitched her voice up a few levels to let you know she’s teasing. “Just kiss already!”

Hangman laughs. You don’t.

Then, to your horror, Coyote—who up till now had been minding his business on one of the loungers by the pool—puts his lips together and makes a loud, obnoxious smooching noise.

You disentangle yourself from Hangman’s arms and begin to wade back towards the steps, your face burning as everyone laughs, no one seeming to pick up on your genuine frustration. “You’re all children,” you call, not caring who hears you.

“Oh, come on—” Hangman’s voice starts out loud, but then gets quieter as you hear him splash ungracefully through the water after you. His fingers gently brush your wrist, but you shake him off and don’t look back.

“You cannot seriously be following me right now,” you grumble, grabbing up a towel and making straight for the pool house, Hangman’s footsteps following you the whole way.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

That stops you short. You turn, adjusting the towel, and stare at him with an arched eyebrow.

“I should have said something,” he says, brushing his wet hair out of his eyes. He didn’t bother to grab a towel like you, so his chest is still bare and dripping and stupidly distracting. “I don’t know why I let them tease you like that. I should have told them to stop. I’m sorry. Can you just…come back out? Please?”

“I don’t have feelings for you,” you say stubbornly.

“I know.” He doesn’t sound like he does.

“I don’t,” you say again.

“Okay,” he says, holding his hands up defensively.

“I mean it, Hangman.”

“I’m not arguing!” he says, a laugh bubbling out of him.

You’re not sure what takes over you, but suddenly you’re striding across the floor of the pool house, the towel falling out of your hands and pooling on the floor, and grabbing Hangman’s face in your hands, pulling him down to meet your mouth in an angry kiss.

Well, now you’re here, you think. Now what?

Hangman answers that question for you. His hands meet your waist, sending shivers through you, and he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. His skin is cool and damp and intoxicating, and the droplets on his cheeks—

You pull away abruptly, blinking stupidly.

Fuck.

“What was that?” Hangman asks after a moment, eyeing you cautiously.

“I was proving a point,” your mouth says without permission.

“Okay.” He glances sideways before looking back at you. “What point?”

“That I don’t have feelings for you.”

He blinks. “Okay?”

An awkward silence settles over the pool house. Outside, you can hear splashing and laughter. No one is gathered at the door, clamoring for proof. No one has their ear pressed to the door, straining to hear you and Hangman’s juicy conversations. And you realize that you just kissed Jake Seresin for no real reason except… except….

Oh, god.

Except you wanted to.

You have feelings for Hangman.

“Oh, my god,” you groan, driving the heels of your palms into your eyes. “Oh, my god.”

“I’m so confused,” says Hangman, and it comes out like a disbelieving laugh. “Do you seriously think this is all on you? You think they all tease you because of what you’re doing?”

“Oh, my god, stop talking,” you blurt, covering your face. “This cannot be happening.”

But Hangman steps closer. “It’s ‘cause I have feelings for you. And they all know it! That’s why they tease us.” He sighs. “And I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel the same.”

“Jake,” you snap, interrupting whatever self-righteous spiel he was clearly gearing up to give, and the usage of his name instead of his call-sign brings him up short. “Jake,” you say again. “I’m stupid.”

“I’m so confused,” he says again, and this time it sounds like he really means it.

But then you smile at him, and understanding finally, finally dawns in his eyes. You take half a step forward, closing the gap between you two, and you say softly, “I was too. But kissing helped a lot.”

He smiles crookedly, and this time, it isn’t infuriating. It’s endearing. And when he says in a low voice, “Guess I’ll just have to kiss you again, then,” it isn’t cocky and self-assured. It’s just Jake, knowing what he wants and finally getting it.

And you’re so glad to give it to him.

482 notes · View notes

scrollonso · 1 month

Text

First Kiss (Break 1)

A strollonso AU where 18 year old rookie Lance Stroll falls helplessly in love with the notoriously mean world champion. (1.2k words, no warnings) [@v3lnys] {filler chapter? I just felt like Lance and Nando getting closer would make more sense if they spent break together + Mark}

last part - masterlist - next part

They had two weeks off and Lance had absolutely no plans, Nico was on vacation with his family to god knows where, Fernando had probably already arrived in Australia, and Lance didn't have any other friends on the paddock to worry about.

He had thought about going back to Canada but he just ended up back at his house in Switzerland. Spring had started by the time he got home so it wasn't like he could distract himself with snowboarding so he just ended up at home on his couch for the past five days.

Being alone was nice, but a part of him missed Fernando, oddly enough. They'd only ever hung out on the paddock but Lance had grown to look forward to the time they spent together, whether it was actually sitting and talking or just exchanging glances while in the middle of interviews.

As if it was fate, his phone began to rang. It was an unknown number but he figured it might be important, his dad had a history of calling him from random places just to check up on him, as if the 18 year old hadn't been left alone before.

"Hello?" He said, holding his (very small) phone to his ear

"Lancito, I am so glad you answered!" a voice on the other end spoke, a very familiar voice

"Nando?" Lance questioned "How did you get my number?"

"Is not important!" The Spaniard said, brushing off the question "Lancito, are you busy? If you are, cancel, come to Australia."

"No, I'm not busy." Lance responded, wondering if Fernando was really inviting him to Australia, wasn't he with Mark? Wouldn't that be awkward? "Is something important happening in Australia?"

"Si, You are coming, is important."

"Nando, I-" The younger boy laughed, not being able to wipe the smile off his face just from hearing the other mans voice "Sure, I'll come."

"Perfect, I'll send you the information, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay Nando"

"Bye, Lancito! Have a safe flight"

And with that the call ended and Lance wasted no time in buying the tickets to Australia (idk how people bought plane tickets in 2006...)

Lance got off the plane, trying to pat down the hair he could feel sticking up, he always slept on long flights and this one was no acception. It was weird being in Australia a week before he had to but he wasn't going to turn down Fernando is he wanted Lance there so bad, for whatever reason.

It was a Sunday morning and the airport was surprisingly busy, he eventually found his way out and got a taxi headed towards the address Fernando had texted him

"Just landed, headed your way now!!"

Lance stared at the screen before sending the message, just now wondering why exactly he was there, he wasn't blind to the media, especially when he was constantly being interviewed and asked questions fans were dying to know, he had heard the rumours, people saying Fernando was only talking to him to scare him, he was going to embarrass him, he had some ulterior motive, Lance hoped it wasn't true but now that he was blindly following Fernandos orders in another country while he was visiting his friend (who's seat he took) a part of him started to wonder if Fernando was planning something. He hit send.

They'd hadn't texted much, just Fernando sending him the information he needed and Lance thanking him before he got on the plane and turned off his phone, he wasn't too fond of it anyways.

"I am glad you made it"

"Is exciting"

"Tell the driver to go faster"

Lance smiled at his phone, excited to see the Spaniard again, even though he saw him not even a week ago.

"I shouldn't break the law yet"

"I just got here and my dad isn't here to bail me out!"

"I will do it, no worries Lancito"

He shook his head at the text, turning off his phone and waiting to arrive, not too far away from the location

He stepped out of the car, paying the taxi fare then walking up to the house, hesitating to knock. Maybe texting would be better? Or calling? Or anything besides knocking? Before he even had the chance to decide the door opened, revealing a slightly-taller-than-him Mark Webber and Fernando standing by his side, the two closer than he thought they would be

"Lance, welcome, so sorry about making you come so randomly." Mark spoke first, stepping back to invite Lance in

"It's no problem, I wasn't doing anything anyway" Lance smiled as he walked into the house, scanning what he could see

"I told you Lancito didn't mind" Fernando said to Mark, hitting his arm slightly "Is good to make sure you two get along before people start to speculate, ay?" Fernando smiled at Mark then at Lance, reaching up to flatten the hair still sticking up on his head

Lance wasn't sure why he was surprised Fernando was still calling him his nickname, he didn't know why he expected anything to change with Mark around, Fernando seemed the same, if anything he seemed happier around Mark. It made him feel bad, he was the reason Mark lost his seat, the reason Fernando's friend was no longer on the paddock, the reason Fernando had to settle for him instead.

"Well, Lance, I don't mind that you took my seat" Mark laughed, closing the door before putting an arm around Lance's shoulder "I was done with travelling all the time anyway, so don't beat yourself up over what people say"

Lance nodded, Mark was right, and he was pretty old so it made sense for him to be smarter.

"Now, how about we have fun now that we've dragged you to the land down under?" That made Lance smile, he was looking forward to spending the rest of his break actually doing stuff besides binging TV shows.

The next week went by so quick Lance was surprised when he actually had to go to the paddock, almost as surprised as fans when he showed up with both Fernando and Mark.

He hesitated when Fernando suggested all of them going together, worried about what people would say, but the older men made it obvious they couldn't care less so thats how they ended up going together, Mark having plans of doing interviews around the paddock and spending his free time in sither the pink or blue and yellow garage.

Being in Australia a week early was great, they were busy the whole time but Lance enioyed it, loving the time away from his phone and especially away from the media. It made him notice how close Mark and Fernando really were, he felt jealous at times but it was probably just because he was used to having Fernandos attention on him after quali and races, he felt selfish for feeling that way so of course he never addressed it.

"Where are you going first?" Lance asked, looking at Mark, both of them on either side of Fernando

"I was thinking of interviewing people first, it's gonna be weird being the one asking the questions"

"As long as you stay far away from me, we're good"

Fernando shook his head, pulling the taller man closer "We really need to get you used to the media, eh? All you do is complain" He sucked his teeth after he finished teasing Lance, earning nothing but an eyeroll from the teen

"Yeah, yeah." Lance smiled, not able to stop himself when it came to Fernando "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

And with that the race week started.

69 notes · View notes

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

1K notes · View notes

amasugiyuusaku · 8 months

Text

Ace Attorney Prosecutor Headcanons: Which Ones Would I Let Babysit My Child

What it says on the tin. Unhinged ramblings

Miles Edgeworth? No, probably not. It would depend on what point in the timeline, but likely a no. He is just too likely to get entirely absorbed in something and not notice your kid falling in the toilet or sticking forks into electrical appliances. Maybe for just a couple hours. It'd be funny to watch him playing, like, Candy Land.

Franziska Von Karma? Actually, depending on the kid, sure. I bet she's better with kids than you think. She would probably take them horseback riding or something really cool and rich person that they would remember forever. However she would also 100% make your kid tuna salad and when they complained about it, she'd be like THEN STARVE!

Godot? No. Nope. Absolutely not. He would literally immediately forget the child existed. If he did happen to remember he would forget they are a child and let them just like, attempt to fry bacon on the stove at age 5. The house would be burned to the ground when you got back and he would just be like How morbid a sight when the flames from Hell encroach upon our mortal plane. Almost as dark as my coffee

Klavier? Yes! Yes, absolutely! Klavier would be the kind of babysitter kids adore and call their friend. I mean come on who wouldn't love to hang out with a rock star while your parents are away? And bonus for the parents, he's actually responsible?? Fantastic. He would teach the kids to play guitar and they would write songs together and he'd put them all on an EP for their birthdays.

Simon Blackquill? For an older child, I actually wouldn't be too against it. He's snarky and not particularly tender, but he is a very caring person and I also think he would be enjoyable to converse with if you were old enough to keep up with him. He would put on old-timey samurai movies when they got tired of talking. Also, if a burglar broke in, he would absolutely kick that burglar's ass.

Nahyuta Sahdmadhi? Nope. No thank you. Those kids would be in bed with lights out at 7pm, all vegetables eaten, and crayons put away in the order of the rainbow, and the kids would HATE him for it. Definitely the type of sitter to pull out the big lectures when kids are misbehaving rather than save it for the parents to deal with. Also, I do NOT trust him not to make a child cry. Like what if the kid was like HEy wHy aReN'T yOu mArRieD yET??? You CANNOT tell me nahyuta wouldn't just be like Idk timothy, why do you still wear diapers? 🤭🤭oop! In his defense though he would absolutely play Candy Land with enthusiasm

Sebastian Debeste is the baby

Barok van Zieks? I can't decide. I think he would do his best but the unfortunate reality is that his sheer presence might traumatize a child for life. Also since he is from you know 20th century Britain I feel like his bar is kind of low for caretaking and he'd probably be like Oh yes i let her go across town a couple hours ago, i gave her money, she will be home before the sun sets! However at the same time I also feel like he's secretly a hobbyist cook and makes them a nice dinner and then afterward stokes a roaring fire in the hearth and reads Grimms' Fairy Tales

#ace attorney #hcs #headcanons #ace attorney headcanons #babysitting #miles edgeworth #franziska von karma #godot #klavier gavin #simon blackquill #nahyuta sahdmadhi #sebastian debeste #barok van zieks #this is so goofy

146 notes · View notes

emerxshiu · 1 month

Text

FORGOTTEN LAND'S SECOND ANNIVERSARY :3

I AM SOOOO BACK

I started this drawing yesterday around afternoon and finished it just a few minutes earlier.

I went with a messier type of drawing instead of more clean like the elfilin one from yesterday, i find it fun doing it like this, mostly cause i dont have to worry about making it perfectly so i dont get as frustrated as normal. Id place this one as my second best digital drawing. im pretty sure i havent posted what i consider my best digital drawing here, tho i do have it in instagram, i might post it here one day, tho these two are way too tied up, i love how this came out, its not exactly like how i imagined it but its really close to it, and also itd say that since i dont tend to play around lighting that much, this was such a joy to draw and i cant help but stare at it a lot, at least until i start hating it because i made quite a lot of errors. i also changed my elfilis gijinka just a tad bit from last time, but its not that big of a difference, mostly.

ofc i had to draw elfilis for forgotten land's anniversary, i tend to deny it in my head but yeah they're my fave of the kirby characters even tho i hate them a bit. I wanted to draw some more doodles, like, elfilis eating cake, kirby car, a bunch of other stuff (not elfilin cuz i already drew him yesterday) but when i tried i couldnt draw anything more, guess this drawing burned me out a lot, huh?

you can definitly tell i spent all the efforts on him cuz if you look a bit closer to the bottom part you'll see its almost barely detailed, but i mean, they're the focus so make sense i guess for me not add that much detail there. um also, maybe because i dunno i had OVER 130 LAYERS jeez no wonder firealpaca was slowing down so much, i need to manage my layers better next time, tho i did do something i keep forgetting, wich is naming them (most of them at least) that was a real life saver

Also, antares (fecto elfilis' spear/cadaceus), as always, was a pain to draw, but this time its probably been draw the most accurate out of every other drawing ive made with it in it, i didnt notice it was like, a little curved when it reached the blade

some close ups since his face is a bit hard to see

silly :3

fun fact! actually, this is technically a redraw, somewhere around between february and march i started a fecto elfilis drawing for the first anniversary, but i couldnt finish it in time, and i never finished it

thats...quite the improvement! (i remember being so proud of it)

also his wings are like that cuz i did not want to draw the pattern, its way too hard, i literally copy pasted it, wait, i was talking about the 2024 version but i looked at the 2023 one and i just noticed it also has the pattern copy pasted, i guess some stuff never changes since i still abuse the ctrl+c ctrl+v to this day

Also i ended up making a huge error there, i was planing to add the phantom spears from orbital pulsar (the attack he does first when you battle them at lab discovera) but theres an innacuracy, when they do the attack, they always close their eyes, i had actually sketched him (well i mean both these drawings are basically the first sketch (2023) or second sketch(2024) with some color, shadows and lighting. i didnt do lineart in the 2024 one cuz i wanted to be a bit like the og i made (too bad i sketched that one with black since the og was sketched with white due to me drawing the bg first)) with his eyes closed but them decided to make them open for a reason i cant remember, maybe i thought itd look nicer? idk

ive had the idea of redrawing this for quite some month now so it was kinda already planned

background cuz i think it came out really pretty

doesnt have the little stars since without elfilis and the structures it looks fucked up. the actual sky in game is more blue, but the clouds have some orange, in the 2023 ver. i made the sky orange, and in the 2024 ver i wanted it more accurate, but i didnt wanna loose the orange sky, so i did a gradient. pretty...

also here's a screenshot i took when i was like halfway trough it, its barely noticeable but i changed his mouth in the final drawing

I really love katfl, like a buncha whole lot, its basically almost my first mainline kirby game. 100% the demo, finished the game in almost one day, i literally play it monthly, like, every month i put the card in my switch, start it up, get morpho sword, and go shred elfilis in lab discovera. i would probably not even be here on tumblr and the kirby fandom if it werent for it. and i love it so much i genuinly cannot express how much i like it and treasure it with words or anything

Thank you for reading my unnecesarily long rambles lol

I hope i'll post tomorrow and dont forget like usual

Jambuhbye!

44 notes · View notes

imaginmatrix · 5 months

Note

zutara au where katara is an up and coming model/actress and zuko is the closed off guy who serves her tea at the shop next to her apartment.

Okay. Look. Listen. Against all odds, despite them filling all my favorite tropes, I do not actually… ship Zutara. I don’t read fics of them, I’ve never written them— which is wild, right? Wacky? Crazy? Doesn’t make sense. I know. I agree. Idk.

So I wrote this anyway and I have no clue what the fandom is like or how they characterize these characters but HERE WE GO DIVING IN HEADFIRST ANYWAY LETS GO

Katara already knew her and her brother had wildly different priorities— but moving into her new apartment proved that Sokka existed on an entirely different plane of reality.

“My sister has the cash to live anywhere she wants, but she picks a place next to the weirdest building in the city.” He had grumbled the day of the move, which kind of pissed Katara off.

Not because he called the building weird, but because that was his issue with it.

He should have been far more upset with the fact that the skyscraper belong to Ember Corp.

Katara pointed this out to him, to which Sokka only shrugged in reply, “I figured you didn’t care about that seeing as you moved in next door anyway.”

And then she had to stomp away in a huff to stop herself from snapping at him, because that would be hypocritical and ridiculous; but it wasn’t like she moved in next to the corporation that demolished their family’s home and community for parking lots because she didn’t care!

She did care! A lot! Maybe too much!

But then that was why she chose this apartment; the skyscraper next door wasn’t just a skyscraper.

Like Sokka said, it was…

Weird.

Good weird.

To be fair, Ba Sing Se as a whole was a little weird— a hodgepodge of shiny, towering buildings and ancient temples and Spiritbucks and cobblestones and sky trolleys.

No structure could compare to this one.

From a distance, it looked like a regular skyscraper; the architecture was more creative than most, but it didn’t stand out.

Then one’s gaze would travel down, and there, at the base…

A tea shop.

An old tea shop.

It wasn’t even all that fancy, though there were pieces that hinted at a rich history— the small, painted wood pillars on either side of the door, the round windows with various designs etched into them, and the roof— oh the roof! A beautiful hip-and-gable one with the edges flared up and rust red shingles that complimented the muted green of the shop itself.

Katara loved it.

And the fact that a skyscraper had been built atop was so ludicrous it made her dizzy.

She’d once asked Toph why it was like that, and in turn Toph explained that the rumor was that the old guy who owned the shop had been offered a ton of money from Ember Corp for the location. He refused to sell, but reportedly told them he’d be willing to sell the air above his shop for the same price, and a promise that his shop would stay— he wasn’t selling the land, after all.

So they reinforced the shop and foundation to be able to bear the weight, and just like that, a new skyscraper had risen above the city.

Katara only went to the tea shop.

She wasn’t sure what about it was so enticing. Maybe it was how peaceful it was; even when the giant sliding doors were left open in the summer, the noise of the city never seemed to penetrate the shop fully. The smell of tea soothed her. It was soft, and sweet, and earthy, and strangely reminded her of home.

Which was wildly different in culture, but… she felt safe here. Like she had at home. Before it was taken.

That could be the reason she came— she liked seeing something old and ancient stand up to an entity like Ember Corp. It filled her with satisfaction to see something refuse to give in to intimidation, to be immovable in the face of “innovation.”

It was almost sacred in a way.

So she found herself stopping by every morning on the way to work— be it a photoshoot or commercial or audition— for some matcha to perk her up. And every evening, if the shop was still open, she’d grab a Jasmine brew on the way home.

The owner was so kind, a round, elderly man with a gravely voice filled with mirth. He insisted on being referred to as “Uncle Iroh,” which Katara didn’t mind. Sokka was her only family in the city, as their Gran and Father and what remained of their community migrated to the southern towns after their neighborhood was sold out from under them.

She could use an Uncle these days.

On one particular morning she was running late. She whirled into the shop, juggling various items while she searched her purse— sunglasses, phone, the audition packet, chapstick, planner, book for the trolley— ah! Wallet!

But when Katara turned to the counter, it wasn’t Uncle Iroh who she saw; a grumpy looking guy stood there, shaggy hair falling in gold eyes. Those eyes were what she noticed first, bright and intense and filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite place— anger? Contempt? For… her?

The scar, she noticed second. Which upon reflection was a little ridiculous, considering that the angry deep red color and mottled flesh took up nearly half of his face. Not that it should have been what people saw first when they looked at him, she was certain he probably hated it being pointed out, but it was hard to miss.

They stared at each other a moment.

“…Hi?” Katara ventured, less confused by the new employee than the fact that he apparently had no customer service skills. No “Welcome to the Jasmine Dragon!” or “Can I take your order?” or even a rude “What do you want?”

The boy’s brow just furrowed deeper, which seemed almost impossible, yet there he was— basically one big furrow at this point.

“…Um…” When it became clear the grumpy employee had no intention of being friendly, Katara ventured, “Can I have a hot matcha to go?”

She waited anxiously as he punched the order in, finally speaking, “That’ll be six yuans.”

It was Katara’s turn to be the furrower. “Six? It’s usually three, isn’t it?”

This was met with an eye roll and a breathy huff, “My Uncle is… let’s just say he gives discounts more often than he should.”

Katara lamented that the new price would likely mean she’d only have one tea stop a day rather than two, but didn’t argue as she zipped open her wallet, uninterested in prolonging this weird interaction that made her more and more late by the second. She passed the rectangular coins over, and the boy dropped them into the register before turning on his heel to prepare the tea.

That was weird.

But so was a tea shop with a skyscraper balanced atop.

She crossed her arms, checking her phone for the time over and over again. Why was this taking so long?

Katara leaned over the counter to see what the boy was doing, and blinked. The kettle was—

“Are you… are you boiling water?!”

He frowned back at her— though it was likely just a regular look, if frowning was his default state as it appeared to be. “…I don’t know how you make hot tea, but here we boil it.”

“Yes but—“ Katara cut herself off, biting her tongue so that she could calm the ever growing frustration bubbling within. Sokka said she was hot headed, ironic considering where their ancestors came from. Finally, she managed to speak with an even, calm tone; “You have a boiling water tap.”

“…A what?”

Dear Spirits, this guy...

“The owner, he only uses the kettle at night when it’s less busy, for a more authentic experience. In the mornings, he uses the tap— or an electric kettle.”

The guy glanced around. “Because the mornings are so busy?”

To be fair, the shop was empty at the moment. Katara wondered if it was due to the upcoming holiday.

“Yes.” Katara ground out through gritted teeth.

He shrugged in response. “There’s no rush now, so it’s not a big deal.”

“It is!” She finally burst out, “It is a big deal! I’m late for work!”

The boy seemed taken aback for a moment, blinking at her. Then his face hardened. “It’s not my problem if you didn’t leave early enough.”

“But it is your problem that you don’t know how to do your job correctly!” Katara snapped back.

This seemed to rile up the guy even more, his nostrils flaring, “I didn’t even want—“

He was interrupted by the scream of the kettle, and he turned his back on her to remove it from the heat. Katara rubbed the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache encroach on the edges of her consciousness.

It only grew when she looked up to see him dropping a teabag into the cup of water.

“What are you doing?!” She demanded, aghast.

He glanced up, confusion mingling with his frustration this time. “Making tea?”

“I asked for matcha!” Her voice was shrill now, but she couldn’t help it— who hired this guy?!

“…Is this not matcha…?”

“That’s green tea!” And in a bag rather than an infuser, no less!

“Matcha is green tea though.”

“It’s prepared differently!” Katara leaned further over the counter, her braid hanging over the opposite edge as she craned her neck, “Look, Uncle Iroh keeps the materials right there under—“

“Hey, don’t lean over here like that!”

“Or what?” She retorted as the guy stalked towards her, “Mad that I know this place better than you do?”

With the way his eyes narrowed, he was indeed mad about that. “No, I’m not— the money is over here!” He waved his hands at her in a shooing motion. At least he had the intelligence to know not to put his hands on her.

Katara snorted. “Do I look like a robber?”

“You look like a pain in the—“

“Nephew? I heard the kettle…” A sleepy voice interrupted them, and Katara quickly straightened from being sprawled over the counter as a bleary-eyed Uncle Iroh parted the curtains to stare at them.

“Uncle, this girl—“ he pointed, “should be banned from the shop.”

Uncle Iroh yawned, turning his gaze to Katara. Then he brightened. “Ah, Miss Katara, a pleasure to see you— picking up your usual, I take it?”

“Well, yes, but…” she hesitated. A moment ago she had been ready to go ballistic, but Iroh had called the guy ‘Nephew’… so he was his literal uncle? Tattling to family felt a bit childish. “It’s fine.”

“Is it now? Well, I see you’ve met my nephew, Katara, this is—“

“Lee.” The boy interrupted immediately, his hand flying up to cover the name tag pinned to his apron, “My name is Lee.” He looked meaningfully at his Uncle, who merely shrugged.

“He will be working here from now on, so I hope that…” Iroh’s voice trailed off as his gaze wandered to the cup of tea. He blanched. “Z— Lee, did Katara ask for green tea?”

It was Lee’s turn to go pale. “Well, she asked for matcha, and that’s basically—“

Uncle Iroh groaned as he hurried to the tea, nose wrinkling in disgust, “And a bag, too! Where did you even find— no, no bags! We use these!” He waved around an infuser wildly, and Lee grew more indignant.

“Well how was I supposed to know that?! Why do you have teabags if we don’t—“

“Never mind that!” Uncle Iroh bustled around, scooping the matcha into the chawan to whisk, “Clearly you are far worse off than I thought— what has your father been teaching you?”

“Business! And finances, and—“ a furtive glance was shot towards Katara, “and things way more important than making tea!”

“Bah!” Iroh finished whisking and began to prepare the drink, “Very few things in life are more worth knowing than this.” He snapped the lid onto the cup and passed it over the counter with a cheery smile, “There you are my dear, I hope it’s to your liking.”

Katara was already speeding for the door with a wave, “I’m sure it’ll be perfect as always— see you tonight?”

“We’ll be open— and I’ll make sure my Nephew knows how to at least brew jasmine by then.”

“Uncle.”

Katara jogged to the sky trolley stop, her mind racing a bit. Uncle Iroh said Lee would be working there from then on… and if today was anything to go by, her once peaceful escape was about to become a whole lot more stressful.

Unfortunately, slinking into the agency thirty minutes after she was supposed to did not go unnoticed. But the lecture about professionalism and punctuality in the industry was brief, and the day passed in a blur. Lee was nowhere to be found during her evening stop, though Uncle Iroh was appalled to discover that he had charged Katara full price for the matcha. He insisted on giving her the evening mug of piping hot jasmine at no cost, and she took up her usual place on the patio to sit and read and relax before tromping up to her apartment.

The weeks passed fast, and to Katara’s dismay, Lee was now there every time she stopped in.

Figures. Her luck had always gone overboard to balance out— placed first in the third grade spelling bee? Broke her arm on the way home. High school valedictorian? Congratulations, your childhood home is being bulldozed! Career picking up? An annoying man now works at your favorite place in the world.

…Maybe one of those things wasn’t like the others, but it still irked her.

But Lee didn’t speak to her again beyond the curt welcome he gave everyone, the exchanging of funds (he gave her the Uncle Iroh discount now,) and the call of her name when the tea was at the counter.

Katara didn’t like hearing her name on his lips. It was wrong. It made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, made her body tighten and squirm in an uncomfortable way.

A fight or flight response, she reasoned.

And then one evening, he didn’t call it.

She was curled in the plush chair that Iroh always let her drag to the patio in the evenings. Days were getting longer again, so the sun hadn’t quite set yet, casting a golden glow between buildings.

The day had been exhausting; three auditions and two photoshoots. Katara had been up since 3am for the first shoot, but despite her yawns and heavy lids, she couldn’t resist the allure of Iroh’s tea.

Katara was reading. Well, she thought she was reading; but when the sound of a clearing throat made her eyes flutter open, the sky was much darker and the streets bathed in blue rather than gold.

Her head felt cotton-y in the way it did when one took an impromptu nap, and she yawned, looking up from her curled up position on the chair to see Lee standing next to her.

“Ah— sorry, is it closing time…?” She began to straighten out, reaching for her bag, but Lee shook his head.

“No, uh… no. I just… here.” He held out the teacup. “Free refill.”

Katara blinked, “Oh.”

Lee shifted uncomfortably, and it took a moment for Katara to realize what she was seeing; he was nervous. “If you don’t want it, I can—“

“No, no I do!” She nodded to the side table, placing the book that had become wedged between her and the cushions on it as well. “Tell your Uncle thank you.”

“Uncle’s not here.” Lee said. Then he hesitated. “I… I can tell him when he gets back.”

Katara reached for the cup. It smelled amazing, and she sipped at the rich, floral drink. It was different than usual, but good different.

So she took a deeper sip, licking her lips as droplets clung to them.

Her face lifted to Lee, who was shifting his weight back and forth anxiously. Anticipating.

And then it hit her.

“You made this?” She asked— since that first meeting, Lee had only made one of her orders when his Uncle had stepped out. It had been rather disappointing.

“Uh… yeah.”

“It’s really good.” To her surprise, Lee almost smiled, the corners of his lips tugging up as his body relaxed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She confirmed. “Did you add something different…?”

“A few things— Uncle thinks that jasmine is best on its own but…” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I… got bored.”

“Well maybe you should be bored more often if this is the result.”

The furrow that lived between Lee’s brow and where another brow once grew smoothed in surprise— no, that wasn’t a strong enough word for it— shock? The emotion was fleeting, gone in an instant, though his face managed to retain its new relaxed state. “That’s the second compliment you’ve given me. Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket.”

Katara surprised herself by laughing. “You gave me a free drink, so maybe I should buy one too.”

Lee ran a hand through his hair, revealing how his scar stretched up to his forehead; “Well, uh, I should—“

“Do you want to sit for a second?”

Lee immediately, wordlessly dragged one of the patio chairs up next to her in response, flopping into it.

They sat in silence for a minute, watching the occasional car pass by.

Then Katara couldn’t help herself; “Why did you start working here? You didn’t seem like you liked tea all that much.”

Lee sighed, his hand mussing up his hair again; he did that a lot, as if he wasn’t used to having so little of it. “I… messed up big time back home.” His head tilted back to gaze up at the skyscraper that towered above the shop behind them. “So my father sent me here to… I don’t know. Punish me, I guess. Cut me off, told me I couldn’t come back until…” he trailed off. “…you know, I was lucky my Uncle even agreed to let me stay here. If he hadn’t… I don’t know what I would have done.”

Katara couldn’t imagine it— what sort of father would abandon his kid like that?

Sure, she felt abandoned by her own dad half the time, but… at least when he left, he did it knowing her and Sokka were safe and cared for. And at least she didn’t doubt that he loved her, as angry as she was at him for his choices.

She cleared her throat, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried—“

“No, it’s okay.” Lee’s voice had a rasp to it, the sound of someone trying to hold emotion at bay. “It… it was probably time I told someone about it. I haven’t exactly made a ton of friends here.”

Katara spoke before she even realized she’d decided to; “You can come out with me and my friends sometime.”

Lee tilted his head to her, a puzzled expression on his features, “…Me?”

“Do you see anyone else here?”

And then a real smile played across his lips, “Are all your friends hot shot movie stars too?”

It was once more Katara’s turn to be surprised. “You— that— I’m not even close to a ‘hot shot movie star!’” She laughed and tugged on her braid nervously, suddenly feeling shy. “You know who I am?”

“Yeah.”

“Since the beginning?”

“…Yeah.” His voice was softer, more reserved, as if the question had stirred something in him. Guilt?

Katara pressed on, not wanting to ruin the new atmosphere they’d built for themselves. “So you’ve seen me in… what, shampoo commercials?”

Lee shook his head, “Nah, my fa— someone my mom used to be friends with, uh… helped fund that one movie; Glacier Soul?”

“You… you remember me from that?” She laughed again, both delighted and aghast, “It wasn’t even a big role, I wasn’t a lead or anything— and I wasn’t great in it—“

“No.” Lee‘s voice was firm, no room for disagreement. If he didn’t sound so earnest, Katara may have assumed he was just being nice. “You were perfect.”

Katara shifted, warmth spreading on her cheeks. The prickle on her neck, the tightness in her body, those both were present now too; but it wasn’t fight or flight this time, was it? Had it ever been? “Well I… I’m glad you liked me. I mean, me in it. It was my first dramatic film and… and I’m just… glad.”

They both fell silent, Katara downing the rest of her tea to keep from saying more dumb things.

“So…” Lee was hesitating again. “When… when are you and your friends next…?”

“Oh!” Katara reached for her bag, rummaging for a pen, “Here, one sec—“ she grabbed her napkin and jotted down her number. “Text me when I leave, I’ll let you know next time we have plans.”

Lee seemed completely out of his element as he stared at the napkin she’d shoved at him; as if he couldn’t believe it was actually there. Finally, he nodded, “Right, yeah, that sounds— yeah. Good. Great.”

“Yeah?” Katara asked teasingly.

There was another hint of a smile when he replied with, “Yeah.”

Her body was heavy again, so Katara started to gather her things. “Well, good to know you’re not so bad when you’re not extorting people or serving them poisoned tea.”

Lee sputtered, “I… I haven’t done either of those things!”

“Mm, that green tea you tried to give me looked pretty deadly.” He seemed troubled despite the tease, and Katara nudged him as she stood. “Tonight though? That jasmine tea was ridiculously good.”

Lee relaxed again, understanding the jests now and looking quite pleased with himself, “I practiced.”

“I can tell.” Katara yawned and stretched, her body complaining after being curled up for so long, “Well, Lee, I’m glad I got to know you a little better.”

He was running a hand through his dark locks again, looking as if he were going through some sort of inner turmoil despite the small smile on his lips, “Y-yeah, me too, listen, uh…” he took a breath. Then another. “I’m… I…” and then he deflated, “I’m glad too.”

Katara said goodnight, made him promise to text her as soon as she walked out the door, and as she strolled to the next building over, she realized she felt light. Bubbly. Happy.

So their first meeting had been rocky; she couldn’t blame the guy for having a bad day, especially since it sounded like he’d been through the wringer shortly before that.

Why should a bad first impression affect this one?

Katara’s phone buzzed with a text, and when she pulled it out she saw a little fire emoji.

And then she texted back something that normally she’d never in a million years say.

‘Is this your way of saying I’m hot?’

Sokka would laugh in the face of anyone who implied his uptight little sister had flirted.

Lee’s reply was immediate.

‘What?! No! What???? It’s just my favorite!’

‘…wait, don’t take that the wrong way, I mean, I’m not saying you aren’t’

‘Uh’

‘I mean’

‘Can you just ignore all of that? Please?’

‘…Please?’

Katara laughed. Normally she might over analyze his panicked denial, worry she overstepped, but… something felt different about Lee. He was so serious, serious in a way that made her loosen up.

Her brother often told her she was a stick in the mud. And maybe she was, maybe she was austere and boring and too much a stickler for rules… But Lee made her feel like she was fun, too.

‘Ignore what?’

‘I didn’t see anything :)’

‘….thank you.’

She hummed to herself as she savored the taste of jasmine still on her tongue.

Maybe Lee wasn’t so bad.

And maybe… maybe now she had more than one reason to look forward to her morning matcha.

#anon #ask #writing prompt #morgan murmurs #zutara #zutara fanfic #fanfic #one shot

75 notes · View notes

clxja16 · 2 years

Text

The Little Sister

Part 2

Gifs not mine

Charles Leclerc x Verstappen!Reader

Genre: max verstappen’s sister

Warnings: angst, idk

Word Count: 3.8K

Author’s Note: I didn’t think anyone was actually gonna read the first part, considering that it was terrible writing but here’s second part, with a little better writing.

Part one

——————————————-

After leaving your hotel room that night, Max went back to the family house. He, of course, told your guy's mother everything that happened. And Max was even more upset after learning Kelly knew before him. However, Max was hurt above all else.

“She said…” Max paused, not wanting to believe that you meant what you said, “I’m not her real brother.” Your guy’s mom, Sophie couldn’t help but laugh, “mom, it really hurt my feelings.” Max was in disbelief that his mom would laugh at the situation.

“I’m sorry my boy, but this is your own karma,” Sophie giggled.

“What do you mean by my own karma?”

“Do you not remember when you were first starting out in formula 3, your sister wanted to follow you to every race, and you told her she isn’t actually family, and only family is allowed,” Sophie looked at her son.

“Yeah but I was…”

“You were angry, because of how your father was acting, just how your sister is angry with how you’re acting.” Sophie spoke, cutting her son off. “She doesn’t mean it, she knows you’re her real brother in every way that matters, and Victoria is her sister, I’m her mom, and Jos is her father.”

“It really hurt my feelings that she said that,” Max said, still deeply hurt by your words.

“She knows, that’s why she didn’t come home. She’s not here right now, to give you space, because she knows she hurt your feelings.”

“She can come home, I will go.” Max said, wanting you to have a place to run to like he did.

“You’re gonna leave Tuesday night for Monza anyway, your sister will come home when she’s comfortable. Enough worrying about her, she’s a big girl.”

“Mom, you don’t think I was wrong for being upset right?” Max asked as Sophie began to leave him with his thoughts.

“She knows you’re just looking out for her,” Sophie said as she pulled her son into a hug, Sophie pulled away looking at her son, “but she’s a big girl now, she’s not that little girl who just lost her parents. Let her finish growing up Maxie.”

You had texted your mom that you left Zandvoort, and was heading to Germany, home to your birth parents. Your mom wished you a safe flight and she thanked you for letting her know.

Mom: Max wants to know where you are.

Mom: I didn’t tell him anything, just text me when you land and when you get to the hotel so I know you’re safe.

You: I will mom, I love you mom <3

Mom: I love you too sweetheart

You shut off your phone, heading into the airport. You wanted to forget about tonight, even if it was just for a few hours.

Charles didn’t get a chance to stay in Zandvoort, as soon as it was Monday morning, he was on a plane to Milan. Charles didn’t really mind, he was hoping that the celebration of the 75 years of Ferrari would be enough to occupy his mind, instead of you. For the most part it worked.

Only when the day was over, and he was laying in bed alone, did he start to think of you again. The way you would talk about your day. How you would play with the rings he wore, when you’re cuddled into his side. The way your smile for him was bigger than your normal smile for everyone else. How you made sure you added subtle hints of red into your outfit to cheer him on.

He was missing you more than he had ever missed anyone before. He couldn’t get you out of his mind, that you had started to appear in his dreams. When Wednesday finally rolled around, Charles couldn’t take it anymore. Any free moment he got, he spent calling and texting you.

Mon Cherie <3 42 calls

Charles: can we talk pls

Charles: y/n just answer your phone

Charles: I’m sorry I got angry with you, you didn’t deserve it

Charles: pls talk to me, answer the phone

Charles: I just finished my meeting, I want to hear your voice

Charles: y/n please

Charles: can you at least let me know you’re safe right now

Charles: you’re worrying me dear

Charles: I need to get over to Monza right now

Charles: Maybe we can talk this weekend

Charles: call me pls

Charles: at least tell me you’re okay, we don’t need to talk about us, I just want to know that you’re okay

Charles was clearly frustrated by the end of the day, at your lack of a response.

“Mate you alright?” Carlos asked, clearly worried about his teammate.

“It’s y/n,” Charles sighed.

“I thought you were done with her,” Carlos said, taken aback by the mention of your name

“I thought I was too, I don’t know man, she did something to me,” Charles sighed once more. He knew from the first night with you that he was never gonna be able to leave you. He was yours from that very first moment together.

“What happened?” Carlos asked cautiously

“We got into an argument about Max, and I said something that I don’t mean. And since then I have gotten radio silence from her.”

“Well you have to see her this weekend right?”

“I’m hoping,” Charles said, thinking that you’re gonna be in Monza with your brother.

When Max finally arrived at the paddock on Thursday for practice, he tried to act normal but the rumors already started. He could hear the little clicks of the camera catching him arriving, alone. He could hear the little whispers being made, he saw the confused faces.

“Where is she?”

“He always arrives with her,”

“Did she come in separately?”

“Are they fighting?”

“Did anyone catch her arriving alone?”

“Where is y/n?”

Max ignored everyone and headed straight to the Redbull hospitality room. However, even there, he wasn’t safe.

“Mate,” Christian called out to his favorite driver, “where’s y/n?” Christian’s face turned confused, not seeing you by Max’s side.

“I’m the one driving, why would anyone fucking care where my sister is?”

“Okay, relax,” Christian taken aback by the sudden snap in emotions from Max. Christian thought Max was becoming more level headed now, “she’s just always with you during race weekends. Sibling fight?”

Max took a deep breath knowing he couldn’t possibly pretend that everything was alright, when he has heard from you in days. “Something like that, honestly I can’t worry about it now.”

The next day, Max arrived at the paddock, not alone, but not with you. Victoria was by his side today, however that didn’t stop the rumors. Max actually did an excellent job avoiding the rumors and whispers and questions. Victoria also stuck by Max’s side like you would normally do during the weekend.

That was until the media pen, and most of the reporters didn’t really care enough to ask where you were. Majority being more focused to ask about the championship. Then just as Max was almost done. After the reporter asked the initial question, then they asked, “where is y/n by the way, I see you have Victoria by your side this weekend instead of your other sister.”

Max gritted his teeth, not having the correct answer to the question, “Y/n, took a couple days off, she’s resting right now.”

“Didn’t we just have summer break, three weeks not enough vacation for her, some women,” the reporter meant it as a joke, but of course Max didn’t take it that way. Neither did Victoria.

“Our sister’s personal life is none of your concern. That was a very rude statement you just made,” Victoria spoke up, as she pushed Max along, knowing that he would’ve taken it further.

As Max and Victoria walked back to the Redbull, “thank you,” Max whispered to Victoria.

“Of course,” Victoria responded. The two continued to walk back to the hospitality room, but before they made it. Charles stopped them.

“Max,” Charles said, almost out of breath, “where is y/n?”

“Why are you asking me?” Max looked at Charles confused.

“I thought she was with you,” Charles said, looking more confused.

“I thought she was with you,” Max said, now completely lost, “where the fuck is my sister Leclerc?”

“We got into a fight last Sunday, I haven’t heard anything from her since then.”

“Do you know where she is?” Max asked, turning to Victoria.

Victoria took a breath, “yes.”

“Where?” Both Max and Charles asked in unison, Victoria laughed at the two of them, shaking her head.

“She’s fine, and she’s safe, there’s nothing either of you can do about where she is right now. Both of you have other priorities at the moment.” Victoria said, shaking her head.

“Max,” Charles said, “I like your sister a lot. I want something more than just a fling with her.”

“We’re talking about my sister Charles, not just some girl you met at a party.”

“I wouldn’t do anything to intentionally hurt her, Max,” Charles argued.

“Yeah, then where is she?” Max asked, leaving Charles in the sun.

According to Victoria you were safe, and fine. That’s the only piece of knowledge that kept Charles sane the rest of the weekend. Everyone could tell Charles was out of it, and they all suspected it was because you weren’t there.

“You alright Charles?” Pierre asked his friend.

“I’m perfectly fine Pierre,” Charles said in semi-sarcastic tone.

“Y/n isn’t here this weekend,” Pierre sighed, knowing it was because of you that Charles wasn’t really focused.

“Yeah,” Charles sighed sin a monotone voice, “but she’s safe and that’s all that matters.” After the short exchange Charles walked back to the Ferrari motorhome, not really wanting to talk to anyone.

Pierre on the other hand couldn’t handle his best mate being out of it this bad. And Pierre wasn’t the type to just sit back and do nothing, especially when he was the one that ‘set you guys up.’

While you sat in your cushy hotel room watching the Monza qualifying take place, you got a call from none other than Pierre. The first call you sent straight to voice mail, not wanting to talk, especially about Charles. Which you were sure, is exactly Who Pierre wanted to talk about.

Pierre: I know you’re watching the qualfying right now, answer your phone

Then came the second call, which you sent to voicemail again.

Pierre: y/n, I know you didn’t miss qualfying pick up the damn phone.

You sent the third call to voicemail again.

Pierre: If you don’t answer my next call, I’m gonna be forced to tell Charles about the night in Barcelona.

He wouldn’t, you thought to yourself, as you remembered your drunken rant to Pierre about how Charles was leaving you more sore then when he got you.

Pierre: don’t try it, y/n

When the fourth call came in, you answered right away. You stayed silent waiting for Pierre to say something.

“When are you getting here?” Pierre asked, he sounded so sure that you were gonna be there.

“I’m not going to Monza, Pierre.”

“Your brother is racing this weekend,” Pierre started off.

“I’m fully aware of my brother's commitments this weekend, Pierre.”

“When are you getting here?”

You sighed, “Pierre, I’m really not going.”

“Come to Monza, you’ll feel worse if you don’t come,” Pierre said.

“How do you know I’ll feel worse?” You scoffed.

“Y/n,” Pierre sighed.

“Max is so mad at me, Pierre,” you felt yourself getting choked up, reliving your argument with Max, “and Charles, he just had the worst timing.”

“Come to Monza, it’ll make you feel better if you work it out in person.”

“Okay,” you finally agreed.

You were set to arrive in Monza, on Sunday morning. You should have enough time to get to the paddock just before the start of the race. You knew you wouldn’t have enough time to work everything out with Max or Charles before the race, but you would be there when they crossed the finish line.

Your heart was pounding against your chest the entire flight. You couldn’t manage to sit still your mind racing with a million and one thoughts of what to say. You didn’t want to make things more worse than they already were. You didn’t even know if you really wanted to fix things with Charles.

Max might be right about this, that you shouldn’t date Charles or a fellow driver in general. Maybe it was best the two of you pretend nothing ever happened. It seemed a lot better to do that, than try to work through whatever happened between you guys. Maybe Charles was only meant to be a one night stand. Maybe this was suppose to never happen and you’re just going against nature. Maybe there is a grand plan that you’re just not following.

Wen the plane finally landed, you caught the first taxi to drive you down to the race track. You hated the fact that you had your luggage with you and you walked to the Redbull motorhome. You quickly found Max’s room, leaving all your stuff in there. You took a peak at yourself in the mirror, and suddenly the thought of Charles seeing you like this was more terrifying than apologizing to Max.

You knew Max was already on the track, getting ready to start the formation lap, so you pulled out one of your best outfits. Deciding that it was better to wear a mutual white color, instead of too much red or too much blue. You fixed your makeup, redid your hair and now your heart was racing again for a different reason.

The thought of Charles, seeing him in that god awful yellow, and being there for him, had you bouncing with excitement. Being back in his arms, feeling his kisses, celebrating his accomplishments. Everything about Charles excited you. Charles was so right for you, that you don’t want him to be just a fling, just a one night stand, just a little fun. Charles was so much more than that to you, and he deserved so much more than that.

When you finally made it to garage to watch the race you quickly found Kelly and Victoria.

“I knew you’d make it,” Kelly whispered as she held you tight.

“He’s not that angry with you,” Victoria said as she pulled you close.

“He should be, I shouldn’t have said that to him,” you argued.

“He’s just worried about you, he’ll feel a lot better when he sees you.” Victoria said with a smile. Victoria was always the peacemaker in the family, not wanting anyone to be angry with anyone else.

Charles spotted you the minute he walked out to the stage. He couldn’t miss you, in the crowd with the Redbull people, standing in between Kelly and Victoria. He wanted to call out to you, he wanted to race off that podium to you. But you weren’t even looking at him, too busy in your conversation with Kelly. He felt his heart break a little when they announced his name and you still didn’t look up.

Charles smiled for the pictures, he sprayed the champagne, he basked in the praise from the Tifosi, but it was all fake. None of it mattered, if you weren’t happy for him too.

After the podium, after the celebration, when the quiet finally set in, did you finally get to make things right.

“Congratulations, brother,” you said, as Max pulled you into a tight hug. You felt yourself beginning to cry, “I’m so sorry Max… I don’t… I don’t feel that way, you’re my brother, you’re…”

“I know,” Max smiled to himself, pulling away, “I’m just glad you’re safe, and you’re okay now. You’re always gonna be my baby sister, no matter what you or anyone else say.”

You nodded your head, wiping away the tears. “So dramatic the two of you,” Victoria scoffed, causing both you and Max to laugh. “I want it to be known that I have never told either one of you that you weren’t family,” VIctoria added.

You guys began to walk back to the hospitality room, to gather your things before heading to the hotel for dinner. When Max suddenly stopped.

“What’s wrong baby?” Kelly asked Max. Max didn’t answer, instead turning back around heading towards the Ferrari motorhome.

“Max,” you called out, confused by his actions, as you, Victoria and Kelly followed after him.

Max made his way through the motorhome, before he finally found Charles' room. He then turned to you and said, “you're an adult, you should date whoever you want regardless of my feelings.” Max then turned back to face the door, knocking, before leaving with Victoria and Kelly en-suite.

You vaguely heard Victoria ask, “does that mean I can date fellow drivers too now?”

Charles heard the knocking on the door, and for a good second he debated on pretending he wasn’t in. Ultimately deciding against it, he dragged his feet to open the door. Already thinking of a million and one excuses to turn the person on the other side away. That when he opened the door to see you there, while Max, Victoria, and Kelly quickly walked away, he was left speechless.

“Hi,” was all he could manage.

Charles opened the door, still in his race suit, that was tied around his waist. The black fireproofs hugging his body in all the right places. His hair out of place from being in the helmet for the past hour and a half, traces of sweat still dripping down the side of his head.

“Hi,” was all he said, but it was enough to have you weak in the knees.

“Hi,” was all you could say back.

Charles stepped out of the way to let you. You walked in looking around the room, like you haven’t seen it a million and one times before. You knew exactly what you wanted to tell Charles, you were just completely lost on how to word it.

“Um,” Charles broke the silence first. You were always so grateful that he always took the lead. He always made the first move. He was the one putting himself out there. You didn’t even think that maybe it was time for you to put yourself out there and make the first move. “Where have you been?”

“Germany,” you answered. Charles nodded his head at your answer, not asking for an elaboration, or a reason as to why you were in Germany. The room fell silent, you kept telling yourself to just blurt it out. Just say the first thing that comes to mind. Just open your mouth and the words will come out. That’s exactly what you did. You opened your mouth and the words poured out of you with no thought behind it.

“Charles, I didn’t mean it when I said we were done, I really like you, and I want this to be more than just a fling, or a little bit of fun, or friends with benefits, which in all honestly we never really explicitly said that this was a friends with benefits relationship, I think it was just more assumed , and that we both assumed that all we wanted, so I don’t think you can fully blame me for what happened, because you could’ve always made the move and asked for a more serious or exclusie relationship, not that it wasn’t exclusive, I mean I wasn’t seeing anyone when I was seeing you, and if you were seeing someone else when you were seeing me it’s comepletely fine, because, well I mean its not completely fine, I don’t like the thought of you with someone else while you were seeing me, but like I was saying earlier we never explicitly said we were exclusive but at the same time we never said we were friends with benefits, so if anything it would be really messed up on your part if you were seeing someone else because it was never made clear what type of relationship this was, but I want to make it clear that I want a serious, exclusie, real relationship, preferably with you, but if you don’t want this then I understand, I can’t say I woudn’t be hurt be I get it… I mean,”

Charles cut you off, placing his hands on your cheeks, his smile wider than the one on the podium, that little sparkle of hope in his eyes. He looked at you with so much love, it had your cheeks flaring up. “Are you done, mon amour?”

Mon amour, my love, that’s the first time he ever used that nickname for you.

You nodded your head, not wanting to risk losing the feeling of Charles hands on your cheeks. “I want a serious, exclusive, real relationship with you,” Charles said, as he pulled you into a kiss. You had to control yourself to stop smiling into the kiss.

You pulled away first, “you’re serious, like you’re not messing with me right now, like you want to be in an actual boyfriend-girlfriend relationship?”

Charles laughed, his smile so wide that you can’t even recall the last time seeing him this happy, “yes, I’m serious mon amor.”

“And you’re not just saying it to make me stay right?”

“Y/n, will you be my girlfriend, exclusively, my girlfriend?” Charles asked, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close towards him.

You finally let your mind and heart settle, “yes.”

Back home in Monaco, things were mostly back to normal. Max and Kelly were enjoying breakfast in the kitchen, while Penelope and you were still sleeping the morning away.

“Feel better, baby?” Kelly asked Max, watching a content smile spread on his face.

“Yeah, everything is how it’s suppose to be,” Max said. Just then your bedroom door could be heard opening, “finally you’re up for breakfast,” Max said not looking who was walking through the door.

“Awh mate you made me breakfast,” Charles said, hands over heart.

“Good morning,” you said standing behind Charles, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“He’s not allowed to sleep over y/n,” Max said crossing his arms.

“That’s fine, I’ll just sleep at his place,” you teased back, knowing Max wouldn’t like that either. Kelly laughed at your remark.

“Leave the children be Maxie,” Kelly said.

“Yeah, leave us be, Maxie,” Charles teased further, while you and Kelly bursted out into a fit of giggles.

“Come sit down for breakfast,” Kelly said, beckoning you and Charles over to the table. The four of you guys are sitting down and enjoying breakfast together before going about the rest of the day. At the table you silently mouthed a thank you to Max, to which he just nodded back. Your heart is feeling more at ease now.

—————————

Taglist: @werdergirl @dessmxsworld @enjoymyloves @squidwardsluverxx @ccrobbs

#first #five #tags #don’t #work #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 angst #formula 1 au

608 notes · View notes

abiiors · 7 months

Text

1. she's american // george daniel x oc

a/n: erratic is literally the only word i have to describe it. like i don't have a posting schedule, i don't have a masterlist for it yet (i'll add the link when i have one). idk how many chapters. this literally doesn't even have a canon-accurate timeline!! but i wrote something and i wanted to publish it so i did. hope you enjoy! discussions about it in my asks are always welcome hehe <3 cw: arguments and yelling?? can't really think of any hard warnings wc: 3.2k masterlist

it is a truth universally acknowledged that something must go wrong every time i land in london. this time, it’s matty texting me that he can’t come pick me up from the airport.

soz, mate. his text reads, really urgent work came up. i’m sending a friend to pick u up tho. i’ll make it up to u tonight. xx. to compound the annoyance of it, a blast of july heat hits me square in the face when i step off the plane and onto the tarmac.

“make it up” i lightly scoff to myself; make it up is code-word for plying my with cheap beer, greasy pizza and, sure, great weed. i have this routine rehearsed—it’s the same thing we’ve been doing since the age of 14.

friend? i text back and start making my way towards immigration and the luggage carousels. heathrow is just as big as i remember—massive and winding and really fucking beige for some reason. stepping onto the escalator, i take another peek at my phone and at the three dots bouncing in place, waiting for him to finish typing his message.

yeah. george. he responds.

george… i try to conjure up a face for the name. somewhere in the back of my mind, i know it’s familiar. george…matty’s friend george. my phone dings again.

[attachment: 1 image]

it’s a photo of a man, a boy really… he looks like he’s matty’s age and it clicks in my head. this is george and i have most definitely seen him before. his wavy, dirty blond hair is piled on top of his head haphazardly, like he couldn’t be bothered with them at all. the dark roots peek from underneath. george stares directly at the camera, a straight face—straight nose and straight full lips. everything about him screams cool nonchalance. right down to the nondescript white t-shirt he’s wearing.

and this boy is coming to pick me up after i’ve just travelled for eight hours all the way from new york.

subconsciously, i sniff at my t-shirt. yep, the sweat combined with the general stink of the airport clings to me like cobwebs. what i really need is a long, cold shower followed by an even longer nap. what i get, however, is a long line at the immigration counter.

passport clutched in my hand, i look around the area. behind me, an american couple chatters excitedly and plans their itinerary. ahead of me, a british mother reprimands her child for biting his nails. it’s jarring that the american couple’s accents are more familiar to me than the mother and her child’s.

it’s jarring that despite being gone only four years, everything about london already feels foreign.

“next please,” the immigration officer calls out, jerking me out of my thoughts. it’s a simple process really. once he sees my british passport, all he has to do is match my face to it and stamp it.

“thanks,” i mumble when he hands it back to me.

“welcome home,” he responds and smiles that kind, old man smile.

my heart snags on the word. home. and my life back in new york briefly flashes in front of my eyes; a quick montage of tall skyscrapers and glittery new york nights—but i shake my head and clear the thoughts away.

yep, home is here now. and that’s all that matters.

bags in my hand, i make my way to the exit, craning my neck and looking all around me for any sign of the dirty blond hair from the photo.

this is not how i had imagined it would be. i had imagined running into matty’s arms and breathing in his familiar scent, shoving each other playfully until we dissolved into fits of giggles. i had imagined familiarity and comfort; not having to find a practically unknown man in a sea of other unknown people. and even though i had his picture on my phone, i had no way of—

“cleo?”

i turn mid-thought at the sound of my name. the voice that speaks it is rich and deep, gravelly even. yet it’s not a voice i recognise. and then i spot him standing about ten feet away from me. george.

he stares at me in a scrutinising way, then looks at the phone in his hand and looks back up at me. looks like i’m not the only one with a stranger’s picture in my phone.

“george?” i raise my hand in greeting and smile slightly. there’s no doubt it’s a tired, pathetic smile but it will have to do.

this is the first time i’m seeing him properly. and wow, he’s tall. all my life i’ve been used to matty and his almost six feet (the thought makes me smile, i know how mad he gets at the “almost”) but george is so much taller, with broad shoulders and toned arms that are littered with tattoos; colourful tattoos that i try not to gawk at but fail anyway.

he nods once and starts walking in my direction; long graceful steps that should not belong to someone so huge. and yet in five long strides, he’s covered the entire distance between us.

subconsciously, i lose a sigh. after the last 24 hours, all i want is for someone to carry my bags for me and preferably gently manhandle me so i won’t have to do the laborious task of walking.

george does no such thing.

he walks towards me and right past. and then, while i stand there gaping slightly, he turns around. “the car is parked this way.”

translation: are you an idiot?

that’s what his tone screams anyway, and confusion along with annoyance washes over me. what the fuck is his problem? i get that he probably got saddled with the task of picking me up on a hot summer day but taking it out on me is hardly the fair thing to do. i roll my eyes and follow him out of the airport and towards the car park.

dragging my two large trolley bags behind me and trying to keep up with his long strides is no easy task. by the time the entrance to the car park comes into view, i’m jogging lightly and panting to keep up with him. sweat rolls down my back in rivulets while the sun blazes overhead. it’s only 10 am but i am ready to go back to bed for six hours preferably.

fuck george and fuck his long legs. i refuse to ask him to slow down.

a mildly beaten-down ford focus comes into view and george opens the trunk before motioning at my bags. i resist the urge to baulk at him—so now he wants to help? wordlessly, i hand the luggage to him and mumble a quick thanks.

then i turn around and make my way to the passenger side door.

i realise my mistake far too late. or rather as soon as our hands brush, attempting to open the same door and i jerk mine away like i’ve just touched a live wire. george looms behind me, quiet judgement radiating off of him, probably wondering why i’m on his side of the car.

i turn around, face burning with embarrassment and something unexplained, only to come face to face—face to chest, rather—with a very unimpressed george. heat radiates off his body this close, heat and an earthy, sweet perfume that i’ve never smelled on anyone else before.

“sorry,” i back away, “american habits.” but his face remains passive and his eyes trained on the door handle.

“right. sorry,” i squeak and practically run back to the right door this time.

i curse softly, at the wind, this entire day. this city and this entire fucking island. but mostly i curse at stupid american habits and stupid british girls who get used to them.

london is crowded as always; at least, that part is similar to new york. except here i see red double-deckers crawling along leisurely instead of yellow cabs zooming by, waiting for no one. in the twenty minutes, we’ve been on the road, the sun has disappeared giving way to grey clouds. the only sound in the car is the whirr of the aircon and the radio playing some old 80s hits at a low volume. everything else is an awkward silence.

“so matty’s not free today?” i ask. well, i try but all i get from him is a shake of the head before he angrily overtakes the car in front of us.

“and he’s not going to be free all day?”

“dunno. later maybe, in the evening.”

that’s the most words he’s said to me at one go. and it’s also a pretty clear indicator that he’s done with this conversation—well, ‘conversation’ is pushing it anyway. i just look out the window and at the taxi next to us.

it’s the american couple from before; excitedly looking out their windows and pointing at all the buildings. i imagine it’s their first time, they certainly have the ‘americans in europe’ air about them. i imagine their day is going leagues better than mine is; i imagine them going back to their hotel room, spending their day being loved up and excited about their holiday. they’ll take photos, eat nice food. they’ll laugh around being silly and saying exaggerated british slang in exaggerated english accents. and then they’ll go home, back to some place that is theirs.

i snap my gaze back to my lap.

london is not so bad. matty is here. if i could make a life in new york from scratch then i can do it again. besides i already have friends here, it can’t be that difficult. right?

my phone buzzes in my hands bringing me out of my thoughts.

nate.

i have the sudden and violent urge to be carsick. nate, after everything, he has the nerve to try to call me. with more force than necessary, i stab the red button and close my eyes. if george has noticed any of this, he doesn’t react.

images flash in front of my eyes in a dizzying blur after that—nate. new york. nights that used to blend into dawns. nate. champagne that flowed freely. laughter. friends. happiness. nate. heartbreak. and quite possibly utter ruin, if i want to be dramatic about it.

my phone buzzes again and this time i don’t even pay attention to it.

george, however, side-eyes it and then shakes his head. “are you gonna get that?”

i whip my head to look at him, riffling through several responses in my head to politely tell him that this is none of his business.

half an hour of knowing him and i can already feel annoyance settling between us. george stares at me while we wait for the light to turn green. one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows is raised high, his mouth twisted in almost a grimace. what the fuck is his deal? has he never heard a phone buzzing before?

“no,” i reply curtly and go back to staring straight ahead, glaring at the double decker blocking my view of anything else.

half a minute later, the phone buzzes again. and george stares. again.

“for fuck sake,” he grumbles to himself, looking like he’d rather run us straight into the bus than sitting here with me for two more minutes.

“have i done something to you?” i turn to face him fully, eyes trained on him as he shifts the gear and starts driving again.

his jaw ticks at my question. i imagine his molars grinding down hard against each other in frustration as his fingers drum restlessly on the steering wheel.

“no,” he grits out in the same tone i had before.

“then what the f–then what is your problem with me?” i ask, controlling myself last minute. there’s no need to get rude just yet.

george, obviously, ignores that and continues to mutter something to himself that i can’t quite clearly make out.

fuck this and fuck him.

i think back to the last 24 hours i’ve had. i think back to packing my bags while sobbing so hard that i couldn’t see two inches in front of me. of having to figure out a way to get to the airport without nate. of having no one to say goodbye to, no one to tell me that they will miss me. i think back to four years in new york and how by the end of it i was almost back to square one.

“it’s distracting,” he replies and i resist the urge to scoff. it’s hardly that bad. it’s literally just a phone buzzing. “if you don’t want to get it then turn it off.”

i’m almost certain that by now my jaw is on the floor of his messy car—no, seriously. i don’t know how someone would want to have that many receipts and empty beer cans in their backseat—but george has some nerve!

“what the fuck!?” i glare at him, not even bothering to conceal my irritation now and i have no doubt that if it weren’t for the busy road, he would be glaring right back at me. his hands grip the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turn white.

“listen,” i continue, “i know you’re mad that matty made you come pick me up—”

“oh you think you know why i’m pissed off?” he retorts, cutting me off halfway. strike fucking two.

“but i’m not going to sit here and take your shit.” i finish, ignoring him entirely. almost as if the universe were on my side, george turns onto a familiar street. extremely familiar, in fact. i know where i am, i know matty’s house is a five minute walk from here. internally i whoop with joy.

“in fact,” i continue, mustering up all my snark, “i am not going to sit here at all.” then like a maniac, i put one hand on the door handle and jut my chin up in defiance. “stop the car right now and open the trunk.”

predictably, george stares at me like i’ve lost my mind. and maybe i really have because the next thing i’m doing is unbuckling my seatbelt and tightening my hold on the door handle.

“stop the car right now, george or i swear to god, i’ll start screaming for help.”

if i weren't so pissed off, it'd be funny how his eyes go as wide as saucers in the span of half a second, how fast his head whips to me.

“you are fucking INSANE!” he yells and pulls over as fast as he can, “fuck, i don’t know what matty sees in you,” he spits and yanks his door open.

i sit there frozen for a second, all the anger and snark almost leaving my body at his words. almost. but then i hear the trunk opening and the sound of two bags being harshly thrown onto the pavement.

letting out a string of curses that are aimed at him, his family and at least ten generations of his ancestors, i stomp over to where he’s thrown my bags casually. i don’t stop there. i march up to him, staring him right in the face until i am on the curb and tall enough to reach his chin.

“you!” i stab my finger in his chest, “don’t get to say that about me.”

george rolls his eyes looking down at me as if i were about as threatening as a baby penguin. and i have the sudden and insane urge to climb on his car so i would finally be tall enough to look down my nose at him.

“i don’t know what matty sees in you!” i continue the finger-stabbing, just once more to drive the point home but the insufferable man in front of me only scoffs lightly.

“very original of you,” he drawls, “now if you’re done…” he trails off before his massive hand wraps around my wrist and pushes my hand away. his fingers are warm and rough. calloused hands.

someone who’s used to being rough with everything he touches.

and just like that, he’s walking away and back into his car while i’m left fuming on the pavement. honestly fuck george and fuck everything else, i’m just ready to write this entire day off and rot in bed.

with more force than necessary, i start yanking my bags behind me, practically stomping till the end of the lane where matty’s house stands. george and his car don’t move.

i imagine him in there fuming like i am right now and then scream out in frustration. a bird in a nearby tree flies away in panic.

i should not be thinking about that dickhead at all.

when i’m halfway through the lane, the car starts back up. driving behind me, following like a creep. well, that’s an exaggeration—i imagine he has to report back to matty that i made it to the house safe. still, i want to turn around and yell at him to fuck off.

between planning his evil demise and chanting all my angry thoughts, i finally reach the house at the end of the lane and freeze. because i realise i don’t have his keys, matty’s not home and i have no way of getting in. and the only person who probably has said keys is currently sitting in his car right behind me.

slowly, like in one of those cheesy horror movies, i turn around and look in the direction of the car. through the window, i see george rhythmically tapping on the steering wheel, glancing at me while a slow smirk curls onto his face. i can feel the smugness radiating off of him all the way to where i’m standing.

evil little shit.

he takes his sweet little time, getting out the car and sauntering toward the front door. before he gets to the door, he stops in front of me, face carefully blank once again with only a hint of arrogance in his eyes.

“need my help again?” george asks and my god does it take all my restraint not to punch him right in the face.

“just give me the bloody keys and leave, george,” i spit at him and watch his face morph into confusion.

he stares at me for a second longer than he should, eyebrows creasing and eyes hardening as wariness creeps in. “why would i give you my keys?”

“so i can get in, you idiot—wait your keys?”

i open and close my mouth like a fish, trying to make sense of his words. he doesn’t mean what i think he means, right? this is all just a stupid misunderstanding?

“my keys,” he confirms and dangles them right in front of my face so that a tiny metal g smacks me in the nose.

my throat feels drier than the nevada desert. beads of sweat roll down the back of my neck. and it’s not just sweat from the humidity—no, this is a cold sweat. impending doom and bad omens and whatnot.

trying to clear my throat, i speak again in a rough, whispery voice, “why do you have keys to matty’s house?”

but even i know how stupid that sounds before it’s even left my mouth. because why would he have keys to matty’s house. unless…

unless it’s not just his house. and george is not just his best friend. no, george, stupid and utterly infuriating george is also his housemate.

and now he’s about to be mine too.

lemme know what you think <33

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855 @beachesgetpeaches, @you-muppet, @mcabister, @alexmarie29, @at-her-very-foreign, @hfkait, @squishysoupy @sierraeslaprincesa @harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet @thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @theoriginalwhatsername @celestcies

add yourself to the taglist

#the 1975 #george daniel #george daniel x oc #george daniel x reader #george daniel x you #matty healy #ross macdonald #adam hann #the 1975 fic #the 1975 fanfic #enemies to lovers #george x oc #george x reader #george x you #george daniel fanfiction #george daniel fanfic #keep your enemies closer

119 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

cherryheartsx

kim

low-girl221

✨

cartoonslovers

I love cartoons

royalbabble

The House of Babs!

youngmastermalleus

stranger than you dreamt it