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the-boy-meets-evil · 17 days

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once upon a summer | bsk

summary: Every summer kind of goes the same. The population of your usually sleepy beach town doubles and you bust your ass to make enough money to last through the slow season. But a new face blows into town like a whirlwind and he’s determined to catch your eye. Only one problem: he’s here for vacation and you’re married to this town.

pairing: seungkwan x fem!reader genre: 90s!au, summer love | fluff and some angst rating: sfw but minors still don't belong here word count: 8.6k tags/warnings: none really, some swearing, mentions of food, there's a tiny bit of angst

a/n: thank you so much to @beomcoups and @mingsolo for hosting the Now That's 90s collab! be sure to check out the other amazing fics 💕 also thank you to @wonwussy @cheolism @onlymingyus and @wooahaeproductions for helping me brainstorm when i got stuck writing seungkwan.

It’s the same every year, without fail. The weather starts to get warmer, summer is around the corner, and your sleepy little beach town transforms. No longer sleepy, now bustling with life and tourists. Although you groan at how busy the roads get or how difficult it is to run errands or even how hard it is to find a place to go out to eat, you’re also thankful. The influx of tourists guarantees that your family will be able to make ends meet for another year. Sure, there are people that visit during the off months. When it’s too cold to go into the water or even to sit outside and enjoy a meal, at least to most of the people who visit. When you have to wear pants and a jacket to walk along the sands of the beach, careful not to get any part of you wet. But, the bulk of tourists visit between late May and mid September, like clockwork.

You’re just as married to this little town as your parents are. Chipping in at their restaurant when you can, but mostly running a beach rental company with your brother. It lets you be outside a lot more, running boat tours to look at dolphins or explore the tiny little islands off the coast. Or renting out jet skis for people to run around on. Sometimes, when you can’t pawn it off on someone else, you also lead the kayak tours through the shallows between the outcroppings of seagrass. It’s not that you mind those tours or even the workout of kayaking. No, it’s just that people have a tendency to overestimate their abilities and either end up whining or toppling their kayaks over. You’re keen to avoid that whenever possible. When the ocean is calm enough, you’ll also let people rent boats to go out wakeboarding. Those are some of your favorites, when you get to drive because none of the tourists has a boat license. Or, more realistically, nobody wants to deal with it when they’re on vacation. And there’s nothing stopping you from turning the boat a little too hard if someone is acting like an asshole. All you do is say you’re avoiding a wave or staying out of the path of another boat. You’re the local here, born and raised. How can they argue with that?

On the days when it’s a little slower at the shop, or the ocean is a little too wavy for some of the activities, you’ll drop in at your parents’ restaurant. You’re not often on the schedule, but there’s always plenty to help out with. Whether it’s filling in for someone that called out last minute or hopping behind the bar or just running food to tables. Your parents’ restaurant is one of the most popular in town. People wait for hours to eat there just because they don’t want to be the only ones left out. Of course, you also think the food’s amazing, though you’re a little biased.

Today is one of those perfectly calm days out on the water, so you know you won’t be able to swing by the restaurant. Not that the waves ever get that big here. It’s definitely not enough to surf outside of an incoming storm. But, you try to be careful with renting the equipment out all the same. Most of the boats are refurbished anyway, since new ones are so expensive.

“What’s on your schedule today?” your brother, Jamie, asks.

“Nothing so far. I’m just getting caught up on paperwork and renting out boogie boards and shit,” you answer. “Not that there’s any waves to use them on.”

“No duh,” he answers. “Think the kids just use it to float on.”

“Whatever floats their boat,” you shrug.

“Feel like running a private tour out to the islands for the day?” he asks.

You fix him with a look, assessing him. It feels like a setup because you love taking private tours. They usually bring a bunch of food and drinks and just kind of do their own thing on whatever island you take them to. Which leaves you free to read or just enjoy the sun. Sometimes, you’ll even fish or snorkel. It’s just, well, your brother loves those tours too because they’re easy. Something about his tone makes you suspicious.

“Why aren’t you doing it?” you finally ask.

“Got a kayak tour in an hour and they’ll be here any minute,” Jamie says. “And you hate the kayaks.”

“Gotta page Mike to make sure he’s back before you head out,” you say.

If you’re about to take a boat out and your brother has a kayak group in an hour, then someone is going to need to actually man the store. Since you set the schedule yourself, you know that Mike should be back in half an hour, tops. But, like all of you, he’s prone to tacking on a few extra minutes when the group is cool and he doesn’t have something scheduled back to back.

“Chillax, I already did that and Joshua is coming in a little earlier so he’ll be here before I take the kayaks out,” Jamie says.

“Joshua tries to get pretty girls to listen to him play guitar and you want him alone in the shop?” you wonder with a snort.

“That was one time,” Jamie defends, ever the loyal friend.

There’s a retort on the tip of your tongue about how he’s only been caught doing that one time when you notice a group of guys approaching. You immediately know why your brother passed the group off onto you. At least, if these are the dudes that booked the private boat tour. Shoobies. The worst kind of tourists because they don’t think they’re tourists. Because they only live a few hours’ drive away so really, it’s like they live here too. Because they have a house out here and no it’s not just a vacation house, this is home. This particular group saunters up looking like they just stepped out of some boating catalog. Before your brother can elbow you, you plaster on your best fake smile, the one reserved for times like this.

The guy in front seems to be the one taking charge. His bright button up shirt matches his shorts, like he probably got them in a set, and his slightly curly hair looks a little too styled for the beach. The sunglasses look expensive, too, which you never recommend for a boat trip, but it’s his money. Honestly, his whole outfit probably runs close to what you’re charging to take them out for the rest of the day. So, that’s his choice.

“Sup, we’re looking for Jamie,” another one says. He’s tall and classically handsome, like that kind of guy you see in a magazine. Someone that just knows he’s attractive. He’s even got his shirt open showing off his stomach and a lot of tan skin. You hate him immediately. And not in the way of like oh, he’s actually kind of sweet. No, he reminds you of an ex.

“That’s me,” your brother answers.

“I’m Mingyu, I called about the day trip,” he says.

“Lucky timing, we just had a group cancel before you called,” Jamie says. “And my sister here has an opening to take you out.”

The surprise is clear on the guy’s face as you introduce yourself and give your name. Like you can’t possibly be the one that’s going to drive the boat. Like a girl couldn’t possibly handle it. You’ve heard it all before, so you’re just bracing yourself. But, before he can say anything, the guy that seemed to be taking charge earlier speaks up.

“Thanks for taking us out,” he says.

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Mingyu asks, clearly unable to fully resist. For the first time, you glance around to do a headcount. Seven. Your brother is sending you out with seven guys all by yourself.

“The boat or the party?” you ask.

“Either,” he answers like he’s actually doing something.

“I got my boating certification when I was 14,” you answer.

“And she started driving boats a few years before that,” Jamie adds.

“Someone had to drive for you to wakeboard,” you say easily to your brother.

Your brother smiles before looking back at the group. “She’s also got a really mean right hook and she’s not afraid to use it, so don’t be skeezy.”

It’s clear that several guys in the group are eyeing you appraisingly, wondering if you really could knock them out (spoiler: you absolutely could) or if you would even consider it (spoiler again: yes, you would). Nobody else seems to have something to say, so your brother carries on with payment and going over the rules. In the meantime, you double check that your bag has everything you need (pager, emergency kit, shoes, water, snacks, the lunch you packed, etc.) and grab your shirt. You’re in the process of tying it off when you catch one of them, the one that thanked you, watching you.

A few minutes later, when you’re walking over to the dock, it’s him that falls into step beside you. Casual. Not even saying anything. At least, not for a minute.

“I’m Seungkwan,” he finally says.

You greet him again, even though he already knows your name, and figure that might be it. It is, for a bit, at least, while you get everyone on the boat and situated. Tell them that they should probably save whatever food and drink they brought for once you stop because you’re going to drive a bit faster. They paid a little extra to go to a further island and since it’s a little later than you’d normally leave for that island, you try to even it out. Not that they’ve shown they deserve it, but there’s no harm in case they have deep pockets. Which you assume they do, based on their clothing and general attitudes.

Where you had your brother helping you out pushing off from the dock, you’re on your own on the other side. It’s fine, you do it on your own all the time, there are just a lot of eyes on you. Some of those eyes seem to be waiting for you to mess something up, too, but you’re not going to give them the satisfaction. You brush it off when one, you forgot his name already, offers to help and says that he helps on his dad’s boat all the time. You can tie a knot, though.

Once you’re tied off, you point out all the amenities on this little island, which aren’t much. There’s a little place to eat that also has a small bar, chairs to lounge on and umbrellas set up. There are also some picnic tables set a little back from the beach. You let them know that you’ll either be on the boat or sitting inside the little food shack if they need you. And you’ll be ready to head back whenever they are. Mingyu and most of the group take off immediately. Seungkwan lingers behind.

“Are you coming?” he asks.

“Coming where?” you ask back.

“To the beach with us,” he clarifies.

You blink in confusion. “No, I don’t usually hang around.”

“What do you do?” he wonders.

“Read, get a tan, go talk to the couple that runs that little food shack,” you say with a shrug.

“Do you know everyone here?” Seungkwan presses.

You sigh softly and turn to face him fully. “Mostly. At least all the ones that work in tourism. It’s a small town.”

“Seems busy now,” he notices, looking around.

“It’s summer. Most of the people here now don’t actually live here,” you inform him.

“What’s it like here in winter?” Seungkwan asks.

You regard him for a moment. “What are you trying to do?”

“I’m just trying to get to know you,” he says and, almost like he can’t help it, rolls his eyes. “Most people know how to make conversation.”

“But why? Like what do you want?” you press.

“Just to get to know you better, geez, what’s with the third degree? You’re cute, there’s nothing wrong with talking to me,” he says.

“As if,” you scoff. “I don’t date shoobies.”

His face is adorably confused and you mentally chide yourself for even thinking something about him is cute. “What’s a shoobie?”

“Exactly,” you say like that answers everything.

He opens his mouth, but closes it when your eyes dart to this side. Neither of you noticed another of his friends approaching. You think it’s the one that offered to help tie off the boat. “We wondered where you got off to.”

“Sup, Chan? We were just talking,” Seungkwan says to his friend.

“Mhmm,” the friend, Chan, apparently, responds. “Well, Mingyu wants to know if you have the wallets in your bag. He wants to get something to drink.”

“Oh, right, yeah. I’ve got them,” Seungkwan says.

You spend most of the day sitting at the bar of the food shack, despite saying you might read. Well, you alternate between sitting there and chatting with Vernon or helping him out behind the bar. His parents run all the services on this tiny island and you grew up together. Right down the street from each other, actually. He’s been one of your closest friends for as long as you can remember. And one thing you remember is the two of you have always helped out at the other’s family businesses. It’s just part of growing up in this tiny town. Everyone knows each other and takes a lot of pride in helping. Plus, you’ll never say this to Vernon, but you’re probably better behind the bar than he is. You’re surprised his parents have him here at all, but still welcome the distraction.

Your boat guests, as you’re calling them, know you’re here too. Mingyu made a slightly inappropriate comment the first time he strolled up to buy a drink and Seungkwan apologized for him profusely. Seungkwan seems like someone who actually cares about those around him, actively tries to make sure everyone is okay. It’s sweet, in a weird way, but still doesn’t change what you told him. The no shoobie rule is strict. As you’re considering telling the guys it’s time to call it a day, Chan wanders into the bar and says just that. There’s no rush, he insists, but they’re ready to head back whenever you are.

“Need a lift back to the mainland?” you ask Vernon just after Chan walks back to his group.

“No, I gotta help the ‘rents clean up here,” Vernon answers as his mother pops her head around the corner.

“Actually, you should head back,” she says to her son before turning to you. “As long as it’s not too much trouble?”

“No, there’s plenty of space on the boat,” you insist.

“Good, then you can go home and let the dog out,” she says.

“Okay,” Vernon says with a shrug. “I’ll just grab my stuff and meet you out on the dock.”

You give him a nod and head off to the boat. The guys are coming off the beach and fall into step just behind you on the way to the boat. It’s clear most of them have been drinking, yet they’re not as rowdy as you’re expecting. They’re still helpful with getting stuff loaded onto the boat and only two of them make comments that make you cringe.

“Do you own shoes?” one of them asks, gesturing towards your feet. The guy in question is especially slender, not skinny but lean. His dark hair is a little longer than you’re used to, currently tucked behind his ears.

“Yeah?” you say, except it comes out more like a question.

“You haven’t had any on since we first met you this morning,” he presses on.

“Minghao,” Seungkwan hisses.

“I’m more comfortable around the boat without them. It’s easier to not slip. I keep a pair in my bag, though,” you answer, unsure why you’re even bothering.

“Should we all take off our shoes, then?” Mingyu asks.

“Might help you not fall this time,” another one jokes.

“Oh, snap!” Chan, at least you think it’s Chan, calls out.

“I didn’t fall, Jeonghan, I just stumbled,” Mingyu defends.

“Let’s all keep our shoes on and just watch our step,” you instruct.

Vernon appears during all the craziness from your…well, you can’t really call paying customers idiots. But, there’s also nothing stopping you from calling them that in your head.

“You’re the guy from the bar right?” Seungkwan asks and Vernon startles a little before nodding.

“Yeah, my parents run the food shack and the bar and that little gift shop,” he answers.

“I offered to give him a ride back to the mainland so he could get back faster,” you fill in. “As long as you guys don’t mind.”

The guys all shrug. Seungkwan is the only one to speak up. “Good with us. Do you know each other well, then?”

“She’s my best friend,” Vernon answers without hesitation.

If Seungkwan has something to say to that, and it seems like he might, he keeps it to himself. Actually doesn’t say anything to you for the rest of the ride back to the mainland and doesn’t appear to say much to his friends either. You don’t even mean to notice, mostly engrossed in your conversation with Vernon as he stays with you by the steering wheel. The group, as a whole, seems like they’ve had a good day, all smiles and very few hints of developing sunburns.

You realize when you get them all off the boat and back onto land that they definitely had a good time. Mingyu tips you way more than he needs to and way on top of what you would normally expect even from a group like theirs.

“What’s your schedule like the rest of the week?” Mingyu asks.

“My personal schedule or the company’s schedule?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Not like that, we just liked having you driving the boat and we want to come back,” Mingyu says and you can’t deny it’d be nice to have the guaranteed money.

“Oh, let me go check the books if you’ve got a minute,” you say.

Mingyu just nods and follows you along to the shop. “I’m only in a few hours tomorrow morning, so I definitely can’t do that. Monday isn’t too busy and I don’t have anything I can’t move. Tuesday during the day, since it’s slow, I usually work over at my parents’ restaurant. The rest of the week is filling up, but nothing I couldn’t move if you wanted to have me with you. Otherwise, I can have someone else take you out.”

“No, no, you were really great and we want to keep going with you,” Mingyu quickly says. “How about, for now, we book for Monday? And Wednesday. Full day trips.”

“Where do you wanna go?” you ask.

“Uh, where do you recommend?”

That’s how this whole thing with this ridiculous group starts. You ask Mingyu what kinds of things they want to do, list each of the reachable islands, list off the routes you can take without stopping at a specific island, list all the boat related activities. He ends up booking a third day with you, too, because there’s just so much that they want to do and want to see. You’re thankful for guaranteed money with people you’ve at least already met. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t and all that.

You’re a little later leaving your parents' restaurant than you meant to be on Sunday evening. One of the other servers really needed to get cut first, though, so you let them go. Often, you were first to cut out, since you had your own full time job to contend with. But, knowing your schedule for the next day was going to be easy, you didn’t mind.

What you’re not prepared for, though, is one of the guys from the boat group sitting outside. Seungkwan.

He stands up from the bench he’s sitting on and walks over to you. “Busy schedule for you.”

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“We were walking by and I thought I noticed you. Mingyu said you mentioned working at your parents’ restaurant tonight,” Seungkwan says.

“So, you what? Waited for me? Kinda weird,” you observe.

“As if,” Seungkwan scoffs.

“You’re here, though,” you comment.

“I just figured you might need someone to walk you home since it’s dark,” Seungkwan says.

“Kinda weird since I barely know you,” you comment. “Why do you want to hang out with me so bad?”

“Not really sure right now,” he says.

You regard him for a moment and he shifts under your gaze. Without another word, you turn and walk a few steps, before looking over your shoulder. “I’m not going home. You’re welcome to walk with me, though.”

Seungkwan looks confused but hastens to fall into step with you anyway. It’s like he can’t really help but keep a running commentary up while you’re walking. There are so many thoughts that it’s hard to keep up, or even get a word in. It’s entertaining, all the same.

He pulls up short when you get to your destination and he realizes that it’s a houseparty. People and music spill out onto the lawn in a part of town that’s reserved for things like this.

“Aren’t you taking us out in the morning?” he asks.

“Mingyu didn’t want to meet until 10 because anything else was too early and it’s not that late yet,” you shrug. “You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to.”

“But, I can? If I do want?” he asks and you chuckle.

“Thought you wanted to get to know me,” you whisper into his ear. With that, you smile and walk into the house. It takes him a few seconds before he hurries after you.

Parties run a little differently here, in a town that depends so heavily on tourism. Sure, plenty of people will party until sunrise, anyway. Running off being young (mixed with a lot of coffee). You’ve done plenty of it yourself, too. But, the parties all start a little earlier for people like you that can’t always afford to go until the dawn of a new day, especially when you have to spend all of the next day on the water.

While you’re careful to mix your own drinks from the bottles laid out, Seungkwan doesn’t seem to have the same worries. You introduce him to Joshua, who also works with you, and he doesn’t even hesitate to fall into step. So much for wanting to get to know you. Maybe he did just want to know where the good parties were. Joshua even lets him use the house phone to invite some of his other friends.

Those friends do show up and somehow both stick out and blend right in. They’re new faces, brave enough to come to a party where they don’t really know anyone. And they’re undeniably attractive. All of them. It’s a bit annoying, really. As you watch from your position on the couch with Vernon, a group of girls that you’ve known for years, and never really liked, starts to fall all over Seungkwan and his friends. Rosie, the ring leader, looks over at you with a smug smile and returns her attention to Seungkwan. It’s the same as any other time. Her eyes get big, she leans in close to him, touches his arm. The shoobies always seem to fall for it.

You’re on your feet and joining the group a minute later.

“Ah, there she is,” Rosie coos. Seungkwan clears his throat and takes a step away from her. Rosie, always using the same tricks, just steps closer and links her arm through his.

“Oh we loved her,” Mingyu, the tall friend, states. He’s a little tipsy, mostly friendly.

“Yes, everyone seems to,” Rosie says, all false cheer. “Seems a little…dangerous to me. Letting someone so young take you out on the boat.”

“Only when you don’t know your way around a boat despite living next to the water your entire life,” you cut across. “Then, it’s best to keep both feet on land and do something safer, like working at an ice cream shop.”

“I didn’t get any complaints when some of them stopped by earlier. Shame I didn’t get to meet Seungkwan, though,” she says and bats her eyelashes.

You roll your eyes and hold your hand out to Seungkwan. “There’s someone I wanted you to meet, come on.”

“He’s fine here,” she says. You snort.

“Yeah, I can make my own choices, actually,” he says and extricates himself to take your hand.

“We’ll just be here,” she calls at your retreating backs.

“Thanks,” he says as soon as you’re out of earshot.

“No problem,” you answer.

“Did you really want to introduce me to someone?” he asks as you wind through the kitchen.

“No,” you answer and pluck a couple beers out of a cooler.

“Just wanted to get me alone?” he presses and you fix him with a look.

You don’t say anything else, just trust that he’s going to follow you outside, which he does. You plop down onto a bench by the fire and hold out a beer as he sits next to you.

“It was just a little busy in there,” you finally answer.

“You don’t like the people?” he asks.

To buy yourself a minute, you open the beer and take a sip. “I don’t mind crowds or whatever. I’ve just known all these people my entire life and some of them are annoying. It’s like we’re in some kind of competition that nobody ever told me about.”

“Like Rosie?” Seungkwan presses. Your lips press into a thin line and you look away as you take a sip. “I caught the diss.”

“Yeah, I usually dip when she’s around,” you admit.

“She doesn’t like you either?” Seungkwan asks.

“None of those girls do,” you laugh. Seungkwan looks like he’s expecting more. “When we were in high school, a bunch of us went out on the boats one weekend. I didn’t realize one of their boyfriends was trying to pick me up until he went in for the kiss. I obviously brushed him off, but…”

“Damage was done?” Seungkwan asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “Like I’d ever kiss him anyway, as if.”

“And that’s all? They’re not trippin’ over your success with your business?” Seungkwan asks, a mischievous glint in his eye over the question.

You chuckle. “I do okay for myself.”

“Okay? Joshua told me how well you pay him and also that he was shocked you managed to move around enough things to fit us in the way you did,” Seungkwan said.

“What do you want me to say? I could leave here. I could franchise and get out of this town, but I’m married to this life here,” you admit. “Plus, how could I ever get over missing out on meeting the people I charter?”

“It’s okay, you can admit you like me,” Seungkwan says.

“You’re very confident, has anyone ever told you that?” you wonder.

“All the time,” he answers.

“Cheers,” you say and he bumps his beer into yours.

That one party seems to be a bit of a turning point for you with Seungkwan and his friends. They’re all funny, if slightly hungover, the next day on the boat. Always make sure to include you in what they’re doing. It starts to feel more like friends than customers on that second boat trip. Against your better judgment, you also agree to see them outside of boating trips too.

Through that, you get to know each of them. It’s actually kind of nice, in a somewhat chaotic way. It’s a little overwhelming at first. Not that you mind being around new people. You usually thrive in groups of people. It’s what makes you so good at your job. It’s also really sweet to see how much they love each other, especially the way they love Seungkwan. Any one of them would do anything for him and it’s melting your usually guarded heart.

He hasn’t asked you out again since the party, at least not explicitly. But, he’s shown you in a million ways that he’s there. He’s brought you drinks and waited for you after another shift at the restaurant. He listens to what you say and the things you’re interested in. Like how there’s this beautiful art gallery almost an hour away that you’ve never been, but are dying to see. He’s touchy once he realizes that you’re okay with it. A hand on your arm, brushing along your hip, grazing your lower back.

It’s only been a week since the first time you met them and this unexpected group already feels like a safe space for you. That’s why you’d agreed to a late dinner with them after a long day. Turns out, dinner was more like small plates cooked by Mingyu in the house they were staying in.

“Why won’t you let Seungkwan take you to dinner?” Chan asks.

“I don’t date shoobies,” you repeat.

Chan gives you a confused look. “That’s what Kwan keeps saying, but I don’t know what that means. I don’t think he does either.”

“It’s a term for the tourists. Particularly the ones that come down in the summer from the nearby cities and think having a vacation house here means they actually live here,” you explain. You’re not sure why. There’s just something a little endearing about Chan. Kind of like a sibling.

“It’s just dinner,” Chan says with a shrug and takes another sip.

“Fine,” you relent.

“What?” Chan asks, nearly spitting his drink out. “Kwan!”

“Wait…” you start and then marvel at how quickly Seungkwan appears.

“She said she’d get dinner with you,” Chan says as he walks away.

“You agreed to go out with me through Chan?” Seungkwan questions.

“Okay, it’s not like all that,” you start.

“You do like me,” Seungkwan announces, triumphant.

“We’re not going out here. If I’m gonna go on a date with a shooby, it’s got to at least be in a different town,” you sigh.

“I can work with that,” Seungkwan agrees.

It’s nice to be able to sleep in a little and trust that everything is okay both with the shop and the tours. You’re just about to head out to work when your phone rings. You consider letting the answering machine get it before rushing into the kitchen. You think you probably just manage to pick it up off of the receiver before the last ring.

“Hello?” you answer.

“Oh good, I caught you,” Seungkwan says on the other end.

“Yeah, I was just headed out to work,” you say.

“Actually, about that. I know we said dinner, but I have a surprise for you today. It’s too good to pass up,” he says.

“Seungkwan, I have work,” you tell him.

“I spoke to your brother, actually. A couple of my friends agreed to help out at the shop and your brother has someone covering for you. So you’re free,” he shares.

“You can’t just unplan my day,” you say, but you know he can hear the smile.

“You deserve a break. Just say yes,” Seungkwan says.

You consider it for a second, switch the phone from one ear to another to think. There’s only one answer, really. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, okay. What should I wear?” you ask.

“Just something comfortable. We’ll be inside, so you don’t have to worry about the heat,” he says.

“I have to change because I was ready for work. Give me like ten minutes?” you ask.

“I’ll come pick you up,” he says.

It’s hard to get dressed for a date when you don’t know what you’re doing, but you try to just put the first thing on that you can find. That’s part of why you gave yourself such a short window to get ready. It forces you to focus without overthinking anything. Your mind is going into a little bit of overdrive wondering if going out with this man is actually a good idea. Not because you're worried something is going to happen. Weirdly, you actually feel very safe with him. It’s more because you do feel safe and comfortable and completely at ease. That’s not something that happens very often for you. It’s nerve wracking that it’s happening with someone only here for a getaway.

Thankfully, a knock on your front door interrupts your impending spiral and you hurry to answer it. Seungkwan stands on the other side in a nice pair of slacks and carefully tucked in shirt. As his eyes traveled over your own outfit, you worried that you were underdressed. Then, he smiled, told you that you looked beautiful, and handed you a bouquet of vibrant flowers. You invited him into your apartment just long enough to find a vase and fill it with water.

When Seungkwan leads you outside to the black town car, you pause for a second. This already feels fancier than any date of your life and it hasn’t even really started. Sensing your slight hesitation, he gives your hand a squeeze and holds the door open for you to slide in.

As soon as he’s in as well, you’re immediately thankful for him. It’s not like you to be nervous on a date. Not that you actually go on dates often, but it’s just being around people. And that part is easy. Has to be for your line of work. Dates are usually easy too, which makes you wonder why this date is so hard. Thankfully, Seungkwan carries the conversation for both of you. Or, at the very least, he keeps up a steady stream of questions and stories about himself. All you have to do is follow his lead.

Finally, curiosity gets the better of you. “Okay, where are you taking me?”

“You do understand wanting to surprise someone, right?” Seungkwan asks.

“We’ve just been in the car for awhile,” you start.

“Sick of me already?” Seungkwan jokes.

“And we’re not heading towards anything that I recognize for somewhere to eat or anything else date-like,” you say.

“You did tell me that you weren’t going on a date with me in your town,” he says.

“I did,” you agree.

“And we’re not going on a meal date,” he says, still maintaining the mystery.

“You’re so exhausting,” you complain.

“You’re the one who agreed to go on a date with me,” he points out.

“I did,” you concede.

“You must really like me,” he presses.

“As if,” you scoff in response.

The truth is that you’re not sure how you really feel about Seungkwan. You want to keep him at a safe distance. There are a lot of reasons that you have the rule that you don’t date tourists that come down to the beach during the summer. Part of it is that you don’t find any of them all that interesting. There’s often a sense of superiority over the people that are working for the summer. Or they just don’t see it as anything serious. Everyone loves to think of the fun, no strings attached summer flings.

Which brings you to the second, and real reason. No strings attached is fine. But it ignores that you’re real people, too, with real feelings that could get really hurt. It might just be fun for the person who breezes in and breezes back out on vacation. This town is your whole life. This is your livelihood. The last thing you need is to fall in love with some rich guy from the city that’s going to be leaving before you realize it. You don’t want to risk getting your heart broken. It doesn’t exactly explain why you’re breaking all your rules with Seungkwan, though.

When the car pulls to a stop and you look around, your breath catches. As kind as Seungkwan is, you still can’t believe that he brought you here. Once, in a passing conversation, you mentioned an art gallery that you’d been dying to go to. It’s just that life got in the way or it felt too far away or nobody really wanted to go with you. It seems impossible that he would have been listening closely enough to remember you mentioning it.

“Seungkwan,” you whisper out.

“I thought what better time than now to check off some things you want to do,” he says, trying to gauge your face. “Is that…did I do okay?”

“It’s so thoughtful, thank you,” you say earnestly.

“Let’s go, then,” he says and helps you out of the car.

The whole experience is a little surreal. Someone is waiting at the door and lets you in. Seungkwan doesn’t even stop to pay an entry fee, if there is one, before leading you off to the first installation. Just as you want to ask about it, you catch sight of the piece that he’s leading you to and get completely lost. Yes, this really is the perfect date.

Seungkwan is also the perfect person to have with you. For all the times he can’t seem to stop talking, he’s surprisingly soft spoken during your time at the gallery. He keeps in constant contact with you: a hand on the back, carefully grabbing your hand to lead you to a new area, an arm around your waist with his thumb tracing patterns into your hip. His body pressed into yours is both immediately comforting and entirely terrifying. How has this man waltzed into your life and pulled all of your normal walls down?

You were worried that you might feel out of your element going to a gallery with someone like Seungkwan. He’s clearly got money and loves art. As much as you also love it, you don’t exactly know very much. Instead, Seungkwan remains by your side and shares his insights about the different pieces while asking for your thoughts, too. Nothing about it feels like you’re out of place. In fact, you feel like you’re exactly where you belong.

“Can I ask you something?” you ask suddenly.

“Anything,” he answers.

“Why’s it so quiet in here? I know it’s during the day, but…” you start while looking around.

“Oh, I rented it out for the day,” he says casually.

“You…what?” you ask with wide eyes.

“I just thought it might be nice to explore it in peace without anyone else around,” he shrugs off.

“That’s really sweet,” you say with a squeeze of his hand in yours. “I hope you know that you don’t have to do all that to impress me, though.”

Seungkwan looks away, maybe a little shy for the first time since you met him. Not that it’s been that long. “I do want to impress you.”

“Why?” you ask.

“You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met before and I want to show you that maybe I’m not like anyone you’ve met before either,” he answers. It’s so honest. More honest than you’re used to.

“You’re definitely not like anyone I’ve ever met,” you admit.

“In a good way?” he wonders.

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, matching his level of too-honest.

Seungkwan, usually quick with a smart remark, doesn’t have anything to say to that. He only runs his thumb over the knuckles of your hand in his. You’re starting to appreciate that about him. That he doesn’t always say something even when you know he’s got some of the quickest wit in the world.

When you leave the museum, he takes you to the greasiest hole-in-the wall of a dinner that you’ve ever seen. The kind of place that you can’t really imagine someone like him visiting. Someone that has a car phone and designer everything. The kind with more money than you can even conceive of having yourself. But, he slides into the booth with the cracked leather and opens up the discolored menu to see what the place has.

There’s something really endearing about it. Especially considering how worried you were about fitting in at the art museum and then some fancy restaurant afterwards. Instead, he’s showing you all the little ways that he can fit into your world. Or that he can adjust his world to fit you. All the many ways that he listens when you say something about wanting to go to the museum or not really seeing the point of those super fancy places. Which, honestly, isn’t even totally true.

Your heart is so full watching Seungkwan make the waitress laugh at his jokes. You feel impossibly light at the ease of the conversation between you. It’s even easy to swat away at his hand when he tries to steal food off of your plate. It should be a little scary, the way this man is breaking down every wall that you spent so long putting up with a practiced ease. It’s not, though, and you don’t really want to dwell on why that is.

Nothing really changes, at least not officially. But, in reality, everything is different. Seungkwan fits into your daily routine with the same ease that he’s shown in everything else. He’s there with coffee before you start work, there at the end of the day to talk about dinner plans or walk you over to the restaurant your parents own. Sometimes, he’s there during the work day, with or without his friends. It’s only been a little over a week and he already feels like an inextricable part of your routine.

Your brother only teases you a little bit. Mostly, he claims, because he’s afraid that Mingyu could take him (spoiler: he absolutely could not). Really, he’s just happy to see you happy and taking chances that you wouldn’t normally take. Happy to see you enjoying life instead of just living to work. He doesn’t talk about the looming issue and you don’t bother bringing it up either.

At least until you can’t really avoid it anymore.

You and Seungkwan are sitting on a swinging bench at the park. With your legs tucked up underneath you, it’s easier to curl up to him. As is normal for him, he finds all the little ways that he can to be in contact with your body. Even though physical affection has never been your favorite, he’s so casual about it that it feels easy. Everything feels easy.

“So, I have to leave tomorrow,” he says.

And suddenly, your whole world flips. Which is crazy, right? You still barely know him. Haven’t really been out on much that counts as a date. And you knew that this all had a time limit because he’s a tourist. A shooby. Someone that only comes down during the summer or on weekends. This isn’t home to him like it is to you. It doesn’t make any sense that it would feel as awful as you’re feeling now. He’s just someone you met through work and have gotten to know. It is not the end of the world.

“Oh, right,” you say, pulling away to put space between the two of you.

“Are you upset?” he asks.

“No, of course not. Why would I be?” you ask in return.

“You seem upset,” he presses.

You scoff. “As if.”

“Well, I actually wanted to talk about what we were going to do since I have to head back to the city,” he says.

“What we’re going to do?” you repeat as a question.

“Yeah, like about us,” Seungkwan says. You aren’t looking at him so you don’t see the confusion on his face. You don’t really hear it, either. Not over the pounding in your head. “I was thinking I could come down sometimes on the weekend and figure out how to get you up to the city when you have time off during the week and…”

“What are you doing, Seungkwan?” you snap, finally looking at him.

If he registers the hurt in your eyes, he doesn’t comment on it. He only reiterates what he’s already said. “I’m trying to talk about us, like I said.”

“There is no us here,” you snap. “It always had an expiration date, right? You were always going to leave.”

“Well, yeah, I do have to leave. But, I don’t want this to…” he starts.

“To what? To end? Why bother starting it in the first place?” you ask with far more bite than you intended.

“Because I like you,” he says like it’s obvious.

“Do you? Or do you just like that I’m fun for vacation?” you ask.

“This has never been about just having fun on vacation,” he says, still trying to keep his voice even. You can hear the irritation creeping in, though. Good. Maybe that’ll be easier.

“Sure it wasn’t,” you snark.

“Listen, if it was just about fun on vacation, I wouldn’t have picked you,” he finally snaps.

“Nice, Seungkwan,” you say, even though you know you pushed him.

“Don’t turn this around. You know it’s not about it being some vacation fling. Vacation flings are supposed to be…” he starts and then snaps his mouth shut.

“What? Easy? So I’m not a fling because I didn’t sleep with you?” you ask.

“You’re twisting my words, that’s not what I meant,” he pleads with you.

It’s too much, though. This is exactly why you never go on dates with people like him. This town is just an escape to them. Something to get them out of the dreary routine of everyday life. And it’s everything to you. The only thing you’ve ever known and the one place you’re not sure you could ever give up. So, yeah, you knew better than to get involved with him. Knew and did it anyway. There’s nobody else to blame.

Without another word, you’re on your feet and walking off. Ignoring Seungkwan’s calls after you. It’s over and that’s a good thing. It’ll allow you to refocus on the things that matter like your family and making enough money to last through the quiet season. There’s no point in listening to anything else that Seungkwan has to say when you’ve heard it all before.

This always had an expiration date, you remind yourself. At least you got to walk away on your own terms.

It seems that Seungkwan doesn’t understand that it has an expiration date. He tries to stop by the shop before he and his friends head back home. Your brother is quick to intercept him and suggests he’s better off just leaving. For all the annoying things your brother does, at least he doesn’t bother you. Just lets you keep busy and take over any of the tours when you don’t have something else to do. Even lets you reorganize the entire store without a word. You’re thankful for him.

That’s not the last you hear of him, though. You come home to messages on your answering machine asking you to call him back with a number. There’s no point in taking down the number, or even finishing the messages, so you delete them. It even makes you hesitate to answer the phone, preferring to let the machine get it. When you’re not sure if it could be him, you’re not in a rush to pick up.

That’s when he starts reaching out to your friends like Vernon. Thankfully, he’s naturally aloof and doesn’t actually know much of what’s going on. There’s not much he can tell Seungkwan. Not much help he can provide. Although, he wouldn’t help anyone that you didn’t want him to, so he mostly just stays out of it.

It isn’t until the first weekend since he left that you realize he’s still got tricks up his sleeves. You actually have a minute to wonder why he didn’t call the night before. Actually wonder if maybe you’re being too hard on him. And then he’s there, waiting for you by your shop. When you try to ignore him and breeze through the door, your brother blocks your way.

“Just…give him a chance to talk. You might be surprised what he has to say,” Jamie says.

Your brother is a lot of things. He’s annoying in the way all siblings can be. But, he’s never stuck his nose into your business without good reason. And he’s definitely never gotten involved in your dating life. It’s enough of a pause to make you consider giving Seungkwan a chance to say whatever he drove all this way to tell you.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask when you sit down next to him.

“It’s the only way I could think of to make sure I could talk to you,” he says.

“I didn’t want to talk,” you say, a little petulant.

“Then you can just listen,” he says. That catches you a bit off guard with how firm he is. “I didn’t come down here looking for anything. I just came away for a trip with my boys. Then we met you and you’re all I could think about. You’re complicated and guarded, but you’re also kind, smart, funny, thoughtful, strong, and the only person in my life I haven’t been able to figure out in one or two conversations. I wasn’t planning on developing feelings for you. I can’t help that I did. And it certainly has nothing to do with it being vacation. You’re not some vacation fling to me.”

That whole speech brings you up very short. This isn’t what you were expecting and you feel a little guilty. You’re not used to someone putting in this much effort when there are so many obstacles. It’s not how this normally goes. Sure, someone comes down for a weekend or a vacation and they want to chase you while they’re here. Then, the vacation ends and they want to just go back to their normal life with a story about the person from vacation. They didn’t want the complication of distance and schedules before anything had even really happened.

“There’s got to be other people that don’t live so far away,” you say.

“I can’t think of anyone but you,” he says confidently. Easily.

“But, why me?” you ask.

“For all the reasons I said,” he says.

“You live far away,” you protest weakly.

Seungkwan takes your hands in his and looks calmly into your eyes. “Just answer one thing for me. Do you feel something for me as well? Or am I reading this whole thing wrong?”

“I do, but…” you start.

“No buts. Don’t worry about the distance or any of that. We’ll figure all of that out,” he says.

“By me moving?” you wonder.

He looks surprised. “No, of course not. We’ll just find times where we can. It’s like I said. I’ll come down for a weekend or you can come visit me. I’ll pay to send a town car to pick you up if I have to.”

“You really want to make this move without changing…” you start but can’t finish.

“I want you exactly how you are. Like I said, we’ll figure out a way,” he says. “Are you in? Ready to take the jump?”

“As long as you catch me,” you say through the butterflies in your stomach.

“Every time,” he agrees.

i struggled with this and seungkwan was difficult, but i hope you like it all the same 💕

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pis3update · 5 months

Text

Unhide Hidden Skills by Dandelion Sprout

"At the time I originally wrote this (6th of November 2023), I had as many as 7 mods and 1 mod update being WIP, so I decided to take care of the one that would be quickest to complete. Have you ever wondered, "When is my Sim ever going to get a level-up notification?", "Does this activity even have a skill?", or "When on earth will I start getting DJ gigs, to the point I wonder if DJ gigs even exist"? In any of those cases, it's your lucky day. The mod changes only one file, "Skills" in GameplayData.package. The only changes made in that file, are to remove the "(Hidden)True(/Hidden)" rows from the following sections: • AirGuitar • ArcadeMachine • Ballet • BallFighting (Water balloon, snowball, and dew fights) • Bowling • BroomRiding • Bubbles (Presumably bubble bars) • BugEating • ChildAthletic • ChildBassGuitar • ChildDrums • ChildGardening • ChildGuitar • ChildPiano • ClubDancing • Collecting • Consignment (Reputation at consignment stores) • Dancing • Darts • Diving (as in diving boards and dive wells) • DJTurntable • Entertainer • Firewalking • Foosball • Gambling • Gnubb • Hacking (Computer Nerd / Investigator computer hacking) • Homework • Horseshoes (Horseshoes courts) • Karaoke • Lycanthropy • Magic • Mooch • PerformanceArtist • PingPong • Pool (as in pool/billiards tables) • Sandbox (Presumably sandpits, possibly sand terrain) • Scouting • Shuffleboard • Skating (as in rollerskating and ice rink skating) • SnakeCharming • Snowboarding • Spellcasting • Styling • Tattooing • Trampoline • Trick (as in tricking other Sims) • VideoGame • Waterskiing • WildlifeFriend • Windsurfing

...continued on MTS (+ more pictures)"

More Info + Download @MTS.

#Dandelion Sprout #ts3cc #mod

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starwrighter · 8 months

Text

I am not a baby!! (Yes you are)

(Ao3) (Masterpost) (Previous) (Next)

(Part seven lmao)

Sometimes Danny hated being right. Mentally he cursed himself as he clamored into his lifepod. The Aurora was spilling radiation into the water just like predicted it would. A damaged drive core... That didn't bode well for him or the local wildlife. He was a Fenton! He knew the terminology for "This might blow up," in every language, no matter how needlessly complicated you said it.

A radiation suit would be helpful when the ship blew up, if not for him, then for the other survivors. Danny grew up surrounded by radioactive material, he was about as fucked up as one could get, but there was still time left for the other survivors. If there even were any left.

Shaking his head, Danny opened the storage plucking out the remaining Creepvine clusters, and started fabricating. It was hypnotic, Creepvine clusters to lubricant, copper and mushrooms to a battery and copper wire all that and a piece of titanium gave Danny a functioning Seaglide. The device was heavy, the PDA altering the blueprint so it was usable for him.

Opening the hatch up, eager to test his new toy out, Danny dove back into the water faster than ever before. Propellers spun at speeds that would chop his finger clean off if he touched them. A glowing map at the top and a flashlight he could turn off by squeezing the handles. Quick enough to keep up with the peepers while still being able to make quick sharp turns.

The Device whirled as he swam in circles, up, down, left, right, zigzag! Through coral tubes, around stone arches till he got dizzy, divebombing fish and kicking up sand.

"Congratulations, survivor. you have exceeded your weekly exercise quotient by 500 percent. Data indicates that swimming was your favorite activity,"

Heck yeah it was! Swimming is great! He's fast as hell man, radiation could eat shit! Stalkers wouldn't stand a chance, he'd just outpace them! Swimming around, breaking outcrops, and taking samples of table coral for a computer chip. Danny was having a blast!

In time he would have the materials to fabricate a habitat builder and in turn a super cool sea base! A home away from home while he's stuck outside federation space. Currently, the seabase blueprints he had were...limited, but he could work with that!

Rushing to his fabricator the blue lights felt agonizingly slow as he bounced on the heels of his feet, flippers squeaking against the floor. A habitat builder fell into Danny's impatient hands.

Back in the water, Danny scoped out the area. Access to an abundance of resources, food, and water was a necessity. Along with awareness of local predators. The shallows are a perfect place for him to build right now. A temp base to rest and store stuff before moving somewhere more convenient as he explored and met up with any of the other survivors.

Deciding to test out his new tool, Danny placed down a basic compartment. A tiny little tube that would've been big enough if he only needed a place to sleep. Yeah, that wasn't going to work. How was he supposed to pace aimlessly while he wrote notes? How was he supposed to work and live in a high-tech pool noodle? Disassembling the pathetic tube, Danny swam through the shallows plucking up the quartz needed for glass. More materials would be needed to build his base. Thankfully, he’d crashed in a ship made from and carrying the materials he needed. Danny saw no moral issue with “borrowing” titanium from supply crates light enough to lift, but the PDA seemed to have a small issue with it. With a few minutes of tinkering, it was easy to change the machine’s artificial mind.

A loop, he was going to make a base shaped like a zero because that’s how many fucks he gave about Alterra’s dumb rule. Placed upon foundations was the start of his perfect space base. The sides of the Zero became glass compartments, a perfect place to observe the local wildlife. Solar panels mounted jumpstarted the oxygen production, lights blinding when they snapped on. Fish drifted by his base, some ducking underneath his foundations settling comfortably in the shade provided. Maybe if he was here long enough, he’d grow some plants for fish to nibble on?

A hatch was placed on the front of the Zero, finally giving him access to his new base. Cold air punched him in the face as he stepped inside, but it was a welcome attack. Air conditioning at last! Throwing himself to the floor, Danny giggled, noise bouncing against barren walls. A sterile smell cycled through the base with the air filtered in. Like his parent's lab or a hospital room freshly sanitized. Familiar, it smelled like home.

Peeling off his flippers, Danny propped them against the wall. Bare feet against metal floors, Danny took to running through the loop. Brushing his hands against empty walls, he ran laps like it was gym class. The only difference was this wasn't gym class, so it didn't feel like hell. Several laps ran throughout his base until his breath ran out, and he collapsed to the floor.

Winded and panting, he glanced around his base mentally, planning where everything would go. Blueprints were limited, but brainpower wasn't. Making new blueprints for shelving units or a bed should be easy enough. The hard part would be finding the space for it. If he tinkered with the PDA, he could fabricate some blankets and pillows that he could sleep on and store away when he was awake.

First things first, he needed to get a fabricator and some storage set up. A few wall lockers on each side of the fabricator made his little crafting station. His base still felt bare. White walls would get boring real fast. No paint or paper he could use to decorate. No stickers or wallpaper to paint his base to match the stars. Untapped Potential, something to add to his to-do list. If he couldn't decorate anything else, changing the locker's text font would have to do.

Walking in a loop, Danny muttered, his brain working better than his mouth. Words failed, coming out jumbled if they were more than one or two easy syllables. Fangs created a lisp that'd get him verbally castrated if he was back at Casper. That was if he didn't maul them with his newfound face knives. Like a piranha, he was dangerous! Fierce!

Tap...Tap...Tap

Feet freezing, Danny turned to the window, heart jumping to his throat. Several glowing eyes stared back at him, burning a hole into his soul. Stripes of colors ranging from blue, purple, and forest green ran along its massive scaly body and dragon-like head. Two razor-sharp fangs poked out of a closed mouth. Arms glowing blue that faded to pitch black when reaching its four-fingered hands, each claw sharper than a sword. Hands, oh ancients, why does this one have hands? The other one didn't have hands! Curled up, it would be the same size as his base. Danny pointed his scanner at the guy, the results striking terror into the deepest depths of his core...

What the fuck do you mean this guy's a juvenile!?!

@ashoutinthedarkness @avelnfear @meira-3919 @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @hugsandchaos @blep-23 @zeldomnyo @bytheoldwillowtree @justwannabecat @shepherdsheart @starlightcat04 @stargazing-bookwyrm @pupstim

#Danny the moment he gets a seaglide: I'm fast as fuck boii #Danny upon seeing Damian: I'm scared as fuck boii #Imagine playing Subnautica and you're chilling in the shallows and you see a ghost gargantuan hybrid leviathan at your door #I'd simply perish at that point #subnautica au #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dp x dc #DPXDC #DCXDP #All the tags so people can filter

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seasonsbloom · 2 years

Text

bad habit (hangman)

read part ii, read part iii

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.

“Sweetheart,” he drawls, “when you look like me, you don’t really need any lines.”

wc ; 15k

warnings ; angst, explicit language, mentions of previous character death (reader’s mother dies of cancer), mentions of sexual activity, (some) explicit sexual activity, horrible dirty talk, age gap, hangman is sort of an asshole but not really, inexperienced reader

note ; i cannot believe i am posting this, it is so LONG and i am so embarrassed... at first it was just supposed to be pwp and then it suddenly had a LOT of plot and backstory and then i was at 15k and hadn't even really gotten to the smut part yet and now... i'm thinking... part 2? maybe? let me know if you're interested lol. anyways... first fic... yay?

Fightertown is all sand, suntan lotion, and contrails crisscrossing like latticework across the endless stretch of baby blue that is the Californian sky.

At first, you don’t know how to handle it. You’re from Seattle, which means an average of 156 rainy days a year, and here it feels like the only water you’re ever gonna feel again is the Pacific Ocean and the layers of sweat drying sticky on your skin when you wake up every day. You’re too stingy on your electrical bills to leave the fan spinning circles that herd stale air through your room all night, and it gives you a stuffy nose anyways, so you just suffer through it. Then, in the morning, you spend ten minutes standing under ice-cold water until your teeth chatter with enough force to hurt your jaw, only to forget once more what it feels like not to be hot minutes later.

Penny says you’ll get used to it eventually. But, two months in, you’re wondering if maybe she’s wrong.

“‘Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,/ Men were deceivers ever,-’” you read from the book in front of you. “‘One foot in sea and one on shore,/ To one thing constant never.’ Now, what does Shakespeare mean by that?”

Amelia is starting to look like she’d rather be anywhere else. You’ve been at it for about 55 minutes, meaning you’ve got approximately 5 more left for today’s session. Usually, you’d call it quits by now and let her enjoy the remainder of her afternoon because she looks tired enough to fall asleep right here at the dinner table, but you don’t want to leave yet. You’d like to think it’s because you’re a sensible teacher. Most likely, though, it’s because the Benjamin residence is airconditioned, and Penny keeps that shit racked up to a moderate 71 degrees all day, and apparently, you’re a selfish bitch who will put her own need for heat relief before her student’s need for a reprieve from Shakespeare.

Which, like. Semantics.

“I don’t know,” Amelia says, chin resting in the open palm of her hand. She probably would know if she’d listened at all, but you’re pretty sure her mind is as much on the popsicles in the fridge as her eyes are on the clock on the wall.

“It means men are moody assholes who can’t stay faithful,” Penny says as she steps into the living room, ignoring her daughter’s scandalized Mom! “Pretty self-aware for the 16th century, don’t you think?”

You hum. “Pretty true, too.”

Penny laughs. “Don’t you know it? Take it as a life lesson, Amelia.” Then she extends something wrapped in colorful plastic in your direction. “Fudgesicle?”

Maybe some part of you should feel bad about exploiting the Benjamins for their aircon and free ice cream, but you’re sort of past that point.

“Thanks.” You take the fudgesicle and start unwrapping it without any further ado.

“Mom,” Amelia, her phone in one hand and her own ice cream in the other, asks as she gets up, “can I go upstairs now?”

“Ask your tutor,” Penny responds with a thumb pointed in your direction.

You shrug, preoccupied mainly with the flavor of chocolate and fudge melting on your tongue. Your bank account doesn’t really allow for luxuries like popsicles anymore, but, God, this must be heaven.

“Yeah, we’re pretty much done with Shakespeare today. Go over those pentameters again before the test, okay?”

“Sure.” Amelia smiles at you, already halfway to the door. “Thanks. See you next week.”

You wave at her turned back, and wait until she’s disappeared before you say, “She’s a good kid.”

Penny snorts. “A little glued to her phone, maybe.”

“I think that’s sorta par for the course.”

“Not very good with Shakespeare, either.”

“Now that’s definitely par for the course with a fifteen-year-old. Be glad they aren’t reading Hamlet.”

Penny laughs. She sinks into one of the unoccupied chairs at the dining table and stretches her legs out with a sigh. She’s already switched her usual cotton shorts for jeans which tells you she’s about to head over to her bar for the rest of the night.

“I guess I should count my blessings,” she says. “At her age, I’d already hijacked two planes with two different pilots.”

Penny’s stories about her teenage transgressions are always enough to make you feel stuck somewhere between awe and profound jealousy. Your own life is downright dull in comparison.

Then again, your life - and especially the romantic aspects of it - are downright dull compared to most things.

“You must have given your parents gray hairs,” you say, packing up your pencil and notebook in your tote bag. It’s not easy with only one free hand, but somehow you manage without leaving a trail of chocolate across Penny’s tabletop.

“I sure hope so.”

You’re down to the part of your Fudgsicle where the wooden stick pokes out of the ice cream, and try to avoid licking at it accidentally. You hate the feeling of the wood against your tongue, but the whole thing is a bit difficult, as you’re also trying to eat at a pace you know will give you a stomach ache later.

You have to get out of here before Penny sinks her talons into you and…

“You should come by the Hard Deck today,” she says, and you bite back a groan.

Too late.

“I can’t,” you say semi-automatically, “I’ve got work tomorrow.”

Roughly a month ago, you pinned a sheet of paper to the bulletin board at the gas station where you’ve been picking shifts up since you arrived in town, advertising Tutoring for English, Grades 1 to 12. Penny was the only person who answered. Since then, you’ve been coming to the house once a week to tutor Amelia and, unofficially, to be lectured by Penny on all the joys life has to offer.

Her words, not yours.

“No, you don’t. You never work Sundays,” Penny shoots back immediately. Then, at your frown, she just shrugs. “You can’t lie to me, sweetie. I used to do it professionally. It takes one to know one.”

You sigh. “I don’t know that I feel like going out tonight.”

“You’ll feel like it once you’re actually out.”

Having finished your fudgesicle, you place the stick carefully in the wrapper before getting up. You reach across the tabletop and heft up your complete edition of Shakespeare’s plays. The thing is thick enough that you like to keep it by your bedside, just in case you ever wake up to an intruder in your apartment. It definitely doubles as a defensive weapon.

Penny lets out the long-suffering sigh of someone over going through the interminable motions of this spiel the two of you have inadvertently established. “What are you going to do then, tonight?” she asks. “Eat Cup Noodles and read Shakespeare?”

You can feel your face heating up. That really had been the plan.

“Jane Austen, actually,” you mumble without looking at her, clutching the book to your chest like a shield.

“Just… come down tonight, yeah? It’ll do you good to see some people. You’re twenty-three, sweetie. You shouldn’t be sitting around all on your own,” she says gently. “Please?”

The thing about Penny is that beneath her cool-girl veneer, beneath the tough-as-steel attitude of a bar owner, beneath the badass single mom allures, she’s really, really kind. It lets her get away with stuff that would be unacceptable coming from anybody else, but it also means she’s coming from a place of love, most of the time.

You know this. Which is why the next thing you ask is, “Does your bar have aircon?”

The dress was a mistake.

You know it the moment you step out of your Uber. It’s too short, so you just know you’ll be spending the rest of the night tugging at the hem every few minutes. It’s also low in the back where the tightly tied straps of the halter-neck slap against your shoulders, and that means everyone can probably see the patch of acne your dermatologist promised would subside after puberty. Turns out, all men really do is lie. So you’re also going to have to find a wall to perch against and maintain that position until it’s socially acceptable to leave without Penny being angry with you.

In short: you’re deeply uncomfortable.

You don’t even remember why you picked this out earlier, let alone why you bought it in the first place. A mixture of misplaced bravado and alcohol on a night of online shopping, probably. It’s just that there’s this thing you sometimes get, this peculiar tug in your stomach, this strange desire to be seen at the same time that you’re terrified. You want to be invisible, but sometimes you think you’ll die if you don’t get any attention.

Maybe you just want people to perceive you, but without any of the negative consequences that might come with it.

That’s not how the world works, though, a voice at the back of your head tells you that sounds so much like Penny it scares you.

You spend a good five minutes idling by the parked cars, turning your keys over and over and over in your hands. You have half a mind just to go back home.

The Hard Deck is spilling buttery yellow light into the darkness of the night, and people migrate to it like moths to a lamp. You can hear the music and the chattering of voices even from where you’re standing in the gravel parking lot. It’s the sort of thing that should probably make you excited, but instead, you feel the familiar swoop of anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

Ridiculous, you scold yourself. You can’t honestly be afraid of a night in a bar.

Even past ten o’clock, with the sun set beyond the horizon in a display of pinks and oranges and blues so ostentatious it bordered on smugness - like the sky was saying, hey, look what I can do! - it’s still too hot. You can feel pearls of sweat beading in the nape of your neck, the tops of your thighs, the peak of your hairline. If you don’t go in now, the make-up you spent an embarrassingly long time perfecting will melt down your face in a puddle of mascara and lipgloss.

I’ll just stay for a while, you think. I’ll let Penny make me a pink and fruity cocktail, and then I’m going home in an hour. It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna be okay.

You’re really trying to hype yourself up as you climb the few steps to the front porch. A few people are milling about here, nursing beers, a couple making out towards the railing where the light doesn’t reach.

Inside, the air smells like sweat and beer and good times. There really is air conditioning, but it doesn’t do too much to dispel the heat of too many people pressing into too little space. People crowd towards the bar, a throng of them, as they nudge and poke to beat each other to the next drink order. It’s mostly people from the Army base, you realize, a little taken aback. A sea of short hair and tan uniforms, beers in hands, and smiles on faces. The jukebox is playing a Springsteen tune.

You’re distracted enough that when somebody bumps into you, you let out an actual yelp and almost lose your footing.

Large hands come up to steady you by the elbows. “Sorry, sweetheart,” someone says from behind you.

You turn on your heel quickly. The guy is beautiful, because of course he is. The sort of beautiful you can recognize even when you get only a glimpse of his jaw and shoulders. Tall, tan, fit.

Your heart skips a beat.

He’s also not looking at you at all, hands already gone from you, neck craned to presumably look for someone in the sea of people.

“Didn’t see you there,” he says, and then he’s strutting away from you just as quickly as he’d come.

And, okay… ouch.

Now you regret wanting to be invisible earlier. Turns out the actual thing does not feel good. Not one bit.

A pit opens up in your stomach, and you need to swallow down whatever emotion is rising in your throat. You have the sudden, embarrassing, debilitating urge to cry.

Then somebody calls your name across the room. It’s Penny, waving at you from behind the bar with a massive grin on her face, and you could fall to your knees with relief.

You push your way through the crowd, fighting elbows and knees until, finally, your palms hit the wooden counter. It’s sticky beneath your fingers. You cringe.

“You made it!” Penny cheers. She draws a perfect glass of beer from the tap even as she talks to you.

You’re reluctantly impressed.

“Yay!” you agree, miming sad little jazz hands.

Penny laughs, never one to let even the most pitiful excuse of a joke pass her by. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

“I did promise,” you say. You didn’t mean for it to come out as defensive as it does.

Penny shakes her head, still smiling. She deposits the beers in the waiting hands of a Navy pilot, then turns to you. “I don’t doubt your integrity, sweetie. Just your commitment to having fun.”

“Yeah,” you agree, slowly letting your gaze wander over the overstuffed bar. “Fun.”

This time, Penny actually snorts. “Just have a drink, yeah? Relax.”

People have been telling you to relax for years now. You’re too tense, you’re too uptight, you gotta loosen up a little. They did it in high school. They did it when you were studying for an English degree in college you haven’t used even once in the year since your graduation. Hell, you’re pretty sure somebody did it when you were still showing up to kindergarten Halloween costume contests dressed up as a Math teacher while everybody else was a Power Ranger or a Princess.

It’s just a little difficult to relax when all you’ve got is childhood trauma, an apartment you can’t afford, friends you don’t talk to anymore, and student loans to pay off until the end of your life.

“I haven’t been relaxed a day in my life,” you say drily.

You can’t be sure because she’s turning to fill a row of shot glasses lined up neatly on the countertop, but you’re almost positive Penny is rolling her eyes.

“I could help you relax.” You know it’s the guy from earlier before you even turn to confirm your suspicion. He’s sidled up behind you, leaning half over your shoulder. This time, he glances down at you and has the audacity to send you a wink. “I’ve been told I’m quite good at that.”

Now that you know he’s a total sleaze, you feel better about how he ignored you earlier.

“Seriously?” you say. “Has that line ever worked for you?”

A grin spreads over his features. You realize he has an incredibly punchable face.

“Sweetheart,” he drawls, “when you look like me, you don’t really need any lines.”

You bristle. A remark you hope will be scathing builds up on the tip of your tongue, but you’re interrupted before you can let it loose.

“Hangman.” You’re seriously confused by the tone of genuine affection in Penny’s voice. What the hell is that about? “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have a round of beers.” He lets his eyes drift down to you again, and his grin grows impossibly wider. “Plus whatever the little lady’s having. You can put it on my tab.”

Little lady. You’re about to vomit on the countertop. You’re definitely not feeling a strange tightening sensation in your stomach. Nope, no way.

“No, thank you,” you say pointedly. “I can pay for my own drinks.”

Never mind you know for a fact you have about ten dollars left in your wallet.

“Come on,” the guy says, nudging you a little where he’s still hovering over you. He’s so goddamn close. You can feel the heat he radiates, can smell the scent of his aftershave, something spicy yet sweet. When he speaks, his chest rumbles with the sound inches behind you. “See it as an apology for knocking into you earlier.”

So he does remember. You’re not sure if that makes you feel better or worse.

Penny is watching the exchange with a raised eyebrow and a twinkle of something you can’t name in her eyes. It’s enough to inspire actual fear in you.

“Let me guess…” The guy pretends to think about it for a moment or two. “You want something pink and fruity, yeah?”

You can’t believe it’s that easy for him to read you, can’t believe the way it has instant, white-hot shame flashing through you. Now you really want to punch him.

Shoulders actually, genuinely shaking with all the anger piling up inside of you, you turn to face Penny. “Scotch,” you say. “Neat.”

Penny is staring at the two of you as if she’s watching a tennis match. Then, you become suddenly and uncomfortably aware of a bar full of people tailgating behind you, waiting their turn to order their drink.

While you’re starting to feel your skin itch with all the attention, the guy seems to have no qualms. His finger appears in your field of vision as he points at you. “You heard the little lady, Penny. One scotch. Neat.”

He over-pronounces the word, the t crisp and sharp, mocking you, and you grab the countertop hard enough your knuckles protrude white beneath the skin.

Penny shrugs and reaches beneath the bar to retrieve a glass and a bottle of scotch. Then, as if calling back to some inside joke, she says, “You got it, Hangman.”

That stuns you.

“Your name is Hangman?” you ask, and you can’t keep the genuine disbelief out of your voice. “What, did your parents hate you? What the fuck kinda name is that?”

He raises an eyebrow, but the smirk remains unrattled. “You got a pretty dirty mouth, huh, sweetheart?”

“I can curse as much as I like, thank you very much.”

He hums, says, “We’ll see about that.”

And when you look over your shoulder, you find him staring at your lips.

You whip back around, elbows squished between your body and the bar, heart beating a hundred miles a minute. Blindly, you stare straight ahead, through the open back doors, to where the moonlight reflects off ocean waves. Something is itching beneath your skin now. You have to calm down before you blow your fuse.

“Hangman,” he explains after a moment of silence, “is my callsign.”

That clarifies just about nothing to you. “Callsign?” you repeat. “What are you, a phone sex operator?”

It was supposed to be an insult, but he throws his head back, laughing like you made the funniest joke he’s ever heard. Then he leans forward, all the way into your personal space, chest pressing to your back, shoulders brushing yours, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as he says, “If you want me to talk dirty to you, sweetheart, all you need to do is ask.”

It sort of wipes your mind clean. No thoughts, only your body reacting - stomach tightening, hairs standing on end, a shiver down your spine. Penny sets the scotch down in front of you, then breezes off to serve some other customers. You barely even see her. Your breaths are coming a little faster, your heart is beating a little harder.

Then he straightens up again, all points of contact suddenly gone. If you weren’t sandwiched between him and the bar with nowhere to go, you think you might tip over backward. It’s all so sudden it leaves you dizzy.

He chuckles, and you hold your ground. Refuse to look at him. If he has picked up on just how rattled he’s got you, you’d rather at least not know about it.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not a phone sex operator,” Hangman says. “I’m a fighter pilot. More dangerous, just as sexy.”

You twist around to get a better look at him. Then, for the first time, you take note of the khaki uniform. Nobody, you think, absolutely nobody, should be able to make that color work for them. And yet somehow, it brings out the green in his eyes.

“Bigger environmental footprint.”

It’s pretty weak, admittedly, but this whole night has spiraled into a realm you didn’t plan for so quickly that you can’t come up with anything else. As a result, you’re uncharacteristically out of your depth.

“Bigger everything,” he shoots back, raising a single eyebrow in challenge.

You don’t know how to counter that, so you take a sip of your scotch and then have to concentrate way too hard not to spit it right back out. The first time you ever tasted alcohol, you snuck a gulp from your dad’s class of Whiskey on the rocks. This is almost as vile, if not worse. Years of consuming margaritas exclusively seem to have dialed your tolerance for straight, hard liquor down to a solid zero.

“You still sure about that drink?” Hangman asks. The amusement is so evident in the upward turn of his mouth that it makes you want to kick his teeth in or hide behind the counter with Penny. One of the two, just as long as you don’t have to keep looking at him. “I’ll buy you something else. Maybe Penny serves juice boxes.”

Just to spite him, you down the whole thing in a single, long drink.

It burns a trail of fire down your esophagus, and you have to fight a coughing fit so violent you’re not sure you aren’t about to choke. Big mistake, definitely. Huge.

You try your best to keep your face neutral, but your muscles aren’t cooperating. At least if Hangman’s smirk is anything to go by, he’s definitely called your bluff.

“Well, you took that like a trooper,” he says drily.

Anger lodges in your throat.

“You must be the most insufferable pilot in the whole Navy,” you tell him, hoping all the distaste you feel for Hangman translates into your voice.

Not that it matters. He seems to be one of those guys so infatuated with themselves that everything just rolls off their shoulders, like water off a duck’s back.

“I like to think so,” he says amicably. “I excel at most things I try. Always strive for excellence.”

You’ve never considered yourself a particularly violent person, but you’re pretty sure you would have broken his nose right then and there if it hadn’t been for Penny choosing that exact moment to swoop in.

“Here are your drinks, Hangman.” She places them on the countertop, then jabs a thumb towards the back of the bar. Her voice goes a little pointed as she says, “I think your friends miss you.”

He doesn’t look annoyed to be interrupted, and you can’t believe it, but it puts a little dent in your pride.

Just how stupid am I? you ask yourself, making a point to face away from him again.

Hangman twists his upper body to reach around you, somehow balancing three bottles in each hand, clamped between his fingers like he’s the alcoholic version of Edward Scissorhands. For a moment, you’re completely enveloped by him, in his arms, and it’s too much, definitely too much, goes straight to your head. You can smell him again, the aftershave and the body spray and the sweat, and as his chest presses flush to your back, you swear you can feel the beat of his heart against all that bare skin exposed by the dress.

“You ever need some help relaxing,” he says into your ear, and for an instant, you feel the ghost of his lips tracing against your ear lobe, “you just ask, yeah, sweetheart?”

And then he’s gone, leaving you clutching at the bar desperately. Your legs feel like jello, ready to give out beneath the weight of your body.

What the fuck just happened? you ask yourself silently. Your mind is still completely, absolutely blank.

Penny pops up out of nowhere like a meerkat. Something on her face tells you you’d better run for cover right now unless you want to get wrapped up in one of her schemes, but you’re rooted to the spot.

“So…” she drawls, and the grin blooming on her face is downright devious. “Hangman, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, rummaging through your purse just to have something to steady the tremors in your hands.

“He was so coming onto you.”

“He was not.”

“Oh, yeah, he totally was. That was aggressive even for Hangman standards, and, lord, that’s saying something.”

“Can I get, like… a glass of water?”

Penny ignores you. “You should totally go for it.”

She nods her head in the direction he disappeared, and you can’t help but follow with your eyes. A group of Navy pilots is shooting pool in the back towards the opened doors. Even among all the uniforms, Hangman sticks out to you - blond hair, tan skin, smirk you want to slap right off his face. He’s laughing at something the only woman in the group said - a real, full-bellied laugh - and then, out of the blue, as if he can feel your gaze, looks right up at you.

Across the chaos of the bar, across the scattered tables, across the people swaying to the ABBA song playing from the jukebox, across the raised beer bottles and lowering shot glasses, he sends you a wink.

Feeling caught, you turn away instantly. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

“No way,” you say. It doesn’t come out as firm as you want it to, your voice wavering, and you have half a mind to ask for a bucket of ice to thrust your head into. Maybe that could clear the cobwebs.

Penny laughs. “You sure, honey? You look like you’re about to spontaneously combust.”

“I’m sure I do,” you agree. “From anger. I’ve never met somebody that obnoxious.”

It’s pretty clear you’re grasping at straws here.

“I’ve known him since he was a student at Top Gun. He’s a good guy,” Penny says. “Deep down.”

“How deep are we talking? Like Mariana Trench? Center of the earth?”

Penny rolls her eyes. “Come on. Stop thinking so much. Go and have some fun.”

You point at the sign hanging above her bar, the one she’s so proud of she has mentioned it to you several times. “I thought you were supposed to help out when somebody disrespects a lady in here.”

It makes her laugh, a genuine laugh full of amusement and affection that bursts out from deep in her belly. She pets your hand gently.

“You can handle yourself. I know it for a fact.” The smile goes from genuine to mischievous. “Besides… you could stand to be disrespected a little. In the bedroom.”

You gape at her retreating back for a moment.

Then you drop your face into your hands and mutter to yourself, “Oh, God.”

Again… what the fuck just happened?

“Hangman asked me to give him your number.”

Penny doesn’t even wait until the end of the lesson this time.

You’re at the Benjamin dining table, watching over Amelia’s shoulder as she writes a short paragraph on misogynistic themes in Much Ado About Nothing. All the ice cubes in your water glass have melted, and the condensation leaves rings on the tabletop and damp against your palms.

When you glance up from Amelia’s work, her mother is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, arms folded in front of her chest. She’s grinning. You look back at the notebook and pretend your heart hasn’t just started racing.

Amelia, whose pen has stilled, asks, “What’s a hangman?”

“Who,” Penny corrects. “He’s a guy interested in your tutor.”

“There’s only one c in unnecessary,” you say. “A shirt has one collar, two sleeves.”

Amelia doesn’t seem to have heard you. “Oh my god,” she says. “Is he cute?”

“Very,” Penny answers at the same time that you grit out, “Not at all.”

“Is he a pilot, too?” Amelia asks, shooting her mother a look you don’t miss.

For all that she is just a teenager with all the eccentricities and dramatics that entails, Amelia has what some would call an old soul. She’s always looking out for her mother, always thinking things through to the bitter ends that Penny would rather look at through the lenses of her perpetual rose-colored glasses.

It reminds you of yourself, and sometimes you want to hug Amelia, hold her, tell her she doesn’t need to take on all these battles. That she deserves to be a child, should revel in it for as long as she can. You don’t want her to end up like you, all this baggage and no one to help you carry it.

“Of course.” Penny, unperturbed, pushes into the room and pulls out a chair for herself. “Nobody can resist those Military men.”

You hide your snort behind a coughing fit just so you don’t give Penny the satisfaction of thinking she’s actually funny. She doesn’t deserve that.

“When did you meet him?”

“Saturday, at your mom’s bar,” you explain, pulling her notebook towards you. “And we didn’t meet. He almost knocked me over and then proceeded to mock me for ten minutes. Not exactly romantic.”

Penny rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. He was flirting with her like crazy.”

You pretend to be busy scanning over Amelia’s writing, but you don’t register much past the words Hero and Claudio.

“Which one is Hangman again?” Amelia asks. She sounds much too invested in this for your liking.

“The blond one.”

“Oh, with the green eyes?”

“That’s the one.”

“Wait, he’s so cute.”

You groan and drop your head onto the tabletop.

So yeah, maybe there are people out there with real problems. People that are starving or people that have lost their homes. Compare your situation to them, and your toil will seem like nothing. All that is true. But right now, at this moment, you can’t imagine a fate worse than having both Benjamin women pouncing on you like this.

“Don’t be so dramatic, sweetie.” Penny pats the top of your head like you’re a small dog. A miniature poodle or something. “If anything, Hangman will be a good time.”

You turn your head so your cheek is pressed against the wood of the table and glare at her. “Maybe we shouldn’t discuss this in front of your teenage daughter.”

“This isn’t the worst conversation she’s had in front of me,” Amelia says. She’s doodling something in the top corner of her essay. At your skeptical look, she shrugs. “Mom gets chatty when she’s drunk.”

“What I’m saying,” Penny continues, voice rising just a little, “is that you won’t regret giving Hangman your number. You need to loosen up a little.”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t notice that innuendo,” you mumble under your breath, then sit back up abruptly. “Absolutely no way. He’s not getting my number.”

“I think it would be cool if you had a boyfriend,” Amelia interjects.

“You and me both, baby,” Penny agrees, leaning across the table to take a sip of Amelia’s sugar-free Mountain Dew.

You are going to start screaming spontaneously any minute now.

“I’m perfectly fine being single.”

Amelia grimaces. “You literally know half of Much Ado About Nothing by heart.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Penny reassures quickly and gives her daughter a placating look. “Just that you might have a bit too much time on your hands.”

“That’s not true. I work six days a week.”

“Exactly!” Penny smiles from ear to ear. It’s almost angelic, that smile. You can’t believe there’s an actual demon hiding behind it. “Which is why I should give Hangman your number. You have to have some fun at least one day a week.”

“I agree,” Amelia says.

“Am I still getting paid for this?” you ask, glancing at your phone to get the time. “Does this stay on the clock?”

Penny doesn’t answer your question. “I just think anybody in Fightertown needs to go on at least one date with a Navy pilot. It’s a rite of passage, really.”

“Aren’t there any other eligible pilots around then? Somebody nice? Literally anybody else?”

Penny’s smile turns soft. “You’re not seriously trying to convince me you’d be content with a nice guy, are you?”

That gives you pause. “What’s wrong with nice guys?”

“Absolutely nothing. Just… I don’t think nice is what you need at all, sweetie.”

You exhale loudly and then sit up, shaking away the strands of hair plastered to your cheek. “I don’t think I could stand being around Hangman either.”

“I’m not saying you should get married to the guy,” Penny acquiesces, “just… go on one date.”

You think about it for a moment. Think about dressing up in your prettiest dress, waiting outside your shitty apartment complex for Hangman to pick you up. Would he wear his uniform again or civilian clothes? You imagine him in jeans and a t-shirt, a hoodie for when it gets colder, the way the fabric would hug his broad shoulders. Would he take you to a restaurant or to the movies? No, Hangman seems like the type of guy to take you somewhere he can show off, you decide, to go bowling or surfing or something equally embarrassing for you, gratifying for him. You think about sharing a bottle of beer on the beach, the ocean spreading far and wide and blue in front of you, waves cresting, the moon gleaming, his warm hand on your back, his voice so close to your ear. Think of drawing him closer, his breath on your mouth, his touch on your hips…

You shake your head to banish the thoughts.

No way, you think, and something inside of you flutters with the sudden fear of it all, no way I can do this.

“I don’t think so, Penny,” you say. Your voice has gone quiet, dispassionate but firm, and you know Penny will know not to push further. “We should get finished with this lesson.”

Penny is quiet for so long that you know she’s swallowing down words. So you make it a point not to look at her.

There’s a fear inside of you, a fear that stands in doorways and won’t let you pass. A fear that blocks the pathways of your life. You’ve been static for so long now that you don’t know how to shake it. Sometimes you don’t even know if you want to.

There’s something reassuring about not moving. It means you won’t get lost.

Finally, Penny sighs. “Alright,” she says, rapping her knuckles against the tabletop. “Be good, you two.”

You concentrate on the words blurring and sliding off the page in front of you and ignore the insistent, nagging voice at the back of your head chanting coward coward coward.

It’s Friday, but you’re not feeling at all inclined to thank God for it.

The gas station is deserted, which, in your humble opinion, is much worse than when it’s busy. Because no costumers mean nothing to do and nothing to do means nothing to occupy your mind with, and nothing to occupy your mind with means thinking, thinking, thinking.

You’re like a broken record - getting halfway through a thought before you circle back to the beginning, endless loops cartwheeling around and around.

It goes: Penny, Amelia, Hangman, Saturdays at the Hard Deck, Arizona Ice Tea spill in aisle four, Hangman, Hangman, Hangman… record scratch, pause, tape spooling, rewinding, replaying.

You’re so bored you’ve counted all the ceiling tiles four times. On the radio, they’re talking about the weather. The slushie machine is spinning cherry-colored ice with little, gurgling sounds.

The bell chimes, and you barely look up from your phone screen. A few lowered voices, the sound of laughter, and shuffling feet on linoleum floors as the group approaches the glass walls behind which row after row of drinks stands huddled can to can in the blessed cool. You blow a strand of hair out of your eyes.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

And you must have done something really horrible in a past life - there’s no other explanation for why the universe keeps doing this to you.

Hangman is leaning against the counter, one elbow braced on the top, the other arm lifting to flick his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose. He’s smirking, and the expression has become so familiar already that you think it might be melded with his face. You pretend not to notice the sleeve of his uniform straining against his bicep.

“Are you stalking me?” you ask.

“Definitely not.” Stepping away from the counter, he lifts a sixpack into the air. “I’m buying beer.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You got any ID?”

It punches a laugh out of him, and you don’t like it. You weren’t aiming to amuse him - you want to annoy him. You want to make his skin crawl the way he does to you. You want to slip inside his mind and burrow there, stay there, get lodged there. A splinter in his finger. A thorn in his side.

The intensity of it scares you, and when you reach for your water bottle, playing with the cap, your hands are shaking.

He reaches into his pocket and gets out his wallet. The picture on his driver’s license is old; He’s younger in it but no less handsome. His hair is just as blond, his eyes just as green. There's nothing ridiculous about it, unlike the botched photo you took at the DMV years ago.

You glance at his date of birth belatedly, almost like an afterthought, then do the mental math quickly. Not because you think he isn’t old enough to buy the beer. Just to find out how big the gap between him and you is.

Seven years. Seven years… you don’t know what that means. You don’t know why you care.

“Alright.” You move to ring up the sixpack, but he shakes his head.

“Waiting for my friends,” he explains with a thumb thrown over his shoulder.

“You have friends?”

He laughs again. “You’re funny.”

“I’m not trying to be,” you mutter and, resolved not to engage with him any further, pick your phone back up and settle in against the shelf of cigarettes behind you to ignore him.

He is having none of it, and you’re not even surprised.

“I liked the dress better, but those shorts aren’t half bad either.”

You look down at your work uniform of white denim shorts and a hideously orange vest with your name tag pinned to the chest. It is a downgrade from Saturday’s outfit, that’s for sure, but you haven’t settled on how you feel that he remembers it yet.

“I didn’t think you noticed my dress,” you say.

“Sweetheart, you’d have to be an idiot not to notice that dress.”

It has you lifting an eyebrow, seeing an in. “Oh, so you admit you’re an idiot then? Since you ran into me and all?”

His smirk goes just a fraction wider. “Maybe I did it on purpose.”

“You run into girls on purpose often?”

“Only the real pretty ones.”

It makes your head spin because… things like this just don’t happen to you. Not with guys like Hangman, at least. And it’s not even because you think you’re ugly or unappealing. Rationally you know you’re not. It’s just that he’s so… he’s so…

“What, am I so handsome you’re speechless?”

He’s so goddamn insufferable.

“You torturing this poor girl, Hang?”

You recognize the woman from last Saturday, her sharp cheekbones, the glossy hair sleeked back into an army-mandated but nonetheless impressive coil at the back of her neck. She’s pushed her sunglasses up to the top of her head, which already makes her less of a show-off than Hangman by a mile. The smile she gives you is genuine and warm, and you feel yourself relax.

Anything’s better than being alone with Hangman.

“Oh, hardly.” Hangman shuffles to the side to let the woman heave another six-pack onto the counter. “If anything, she’s the one torturing me.”

There’s a literal ball of fire in your stomach, radiating heat all the way up to your cheeks. You must be looking like a deer caught in headlights right now.

The woman purses her lips. There’s so much derision in this one minuscule expression that it has actual jealousy jolting through you. Man, if only you could look at Hangman like that, you might actually make some sort of impact on him.

“Stop lying, man.” The woman rolls her eyes and then shares a look with you, something conspiratorial, something long-suffering only women can share in the presence of a man severely overestimating his own desirability. “She’ll punch you before she lets you take her out.”

Hangman shrugs. “Fine with me. It’s a fine line between love and hate.”

“What the fuck,” you mumble and busy yourself with the register.

“Is he bothering ladies again?” Two other men in Navy uniforms step up. One, tall, dark-skinned, mustachioed, dumps a whole armful of snacks on the counter, then grins at you a little sheepishly.

“Always,” the woman answers without missing a beat.

Hangman says, “I’m not bothering her if she enjoys it.”

You’re almost entirely positive that he winked at you again, but you make it a point not to look up and start scanning items instead.

“You guys need any bags?”

“That’s alright,” the woman answers.

They chat among themselves as you ring them up, but you can feel Hangman’s eyes on you the whole time. It’s enough to make you feeble, clumsy, and try your best not to drop anything.

You don’t know what compels you to say something. By all means, you should stay quiet. Let him leave. Never think about it again.

Instead, you pick up a bag of flaming hot Cheetos and say, as casually as you can manage, “Are you having a party?”

“Bonfire,” Hangman corrects. His elbow is still balanced on the counter, all that tanned skin, and you let your eyes follow the trail of his arm, up to his chest where his name tag spells SERESIN, all in capital letters. You pause there, staring at the name. “On the beach.”

You think that’s going to be it, that you’re going to ring him up and send him home. You’ll bite your tongue bloody before you say another word.

But then he continues, “You should come.”

He hasn’t been exactly subtle in his flirting, so this shouldn’t come as a surprise, and yet somehow it does, enough to stun you. Maybe it’s just your lack of self-confidence, but such a blatant invitation to spend an evening not just with him but with all his friends, makes your brain short-circuit.

“I have to work,” you answer almost automatically, brain operating completely on auto-pilot.

He lifts his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. “After work, then.”

You open your mouth but can’t come up with another excuse, so you just settle on, “Your total is 42,98.”

You think he will fight you on it like he’s been fighting you on everything since the first time you met. But he just smirks, only one side of his mouth lifting, and gets his card from his pocket.

“I’ll pay,” he says.

When you accept his card, you take painfully meticulous care not to let your fingers brush against his.

The woman watches the whole exchange, and as you glance at her, something unreadable, some tiny flicker of emotion crosses her face before a genuine, slight smile replaces it.

Hangman stores his wallet in his pocket and starts collecting snacks in both arms, as do the other two men. You watch it all with a strange feeling fluttering in your chest, something that grows in your throat, threatening to choke you.

You wonder what it would be like to live in the moment, to stop thinking of consequences, stop weighting every decision with scales, overthinking every issue until you’ve looked at it from every angle and still haven’t found a single solution. You wonder what it would be like to throw your hands up in the air, say fuck it, who cares, wait for the end of your shift and drive down to that beach, get drunk on the beer you sold to the most obnoxious pilot in the history of the Navy, to take him home later and then have him inevitably never call you or text you or even speak to you again.

You wonder what it would be like not to feel the weight of the world drag you down, down, down.

“See you around, sweetheart,” Hangman says, smirking, pushing his aviators back up the bridge of his nose until the green eyes disappear behind the dark shades, until he’s obstructed from view. Until he becomes once more just a guy you pass on shopping streets, too beautiful to be real, too beautiful to ever talk to you. He turns towards the door, the other two in tow.

If he looks back, you think, torn between wishing and dreading, if he looks back, I’ll go.

He doesn’t look back.

Only the woman hangs back, looking at you with the same expression you can’t make light of. Curiosity, maybe. Interest.

“He’s not giving you too much trouble, is he?” she asks after a moment.

Her voice is different now, less harsh somehow. Softer.

You can’t even imagine what it must be like to try and make it as a woman in a world that’s still as obviously run by men as the army. You suppose there’s some amount of adjustment involved, some posturing. A shell as thick as armor.

“It’s… it’s fine. He’s harmless.” You’re surprised at your own words but not as surprised as you are to find that you actually mean them.

No part of you feels threatened by Hangman; no part of you feels unsafe or intimidated. You’ve been hit on by enough sleazy men in bars to know that that’s a rarity.

“He can be a lot, sometimes.”

You snort. “I can tell. If anyone’s in danger here, though, it’s him.”

She raises an eyebrow, and her sunglasses, still pushed into her hair, climb with the movement. “How so?”

“If he keeps going as he has been, I’ll punch him in the face.”

She grins and says, “I don’t doubt it.”

It’s nice. Pleasant. Easy.

You can’t remember the last time you spoke to somebody close to your own age like this, almost like you’re friends. At the realization, your heart gives a painful pang.

“I’m Phoenix, by the way,” she says, offering you a hand across the counter.

You take it without hesitation and smile at her as you tell her your name.

She nods. “We usually hang around the Hard Deck on Saturdays if you ever want to come by.”

“Oh,” you say, “Thank you.”

It’s a genuine offer, you can tell. She doesn’t strike you as somebody who says things she doesn’t mean, and that’s why it’s special to you.

She nods again, says goodbye, and pushes off the counter.

By the door, she pauses suddenly. Then, with one hand already on the handle, she glances back at you.

“He’s not a bad guy,” Phoenix says, face gentle, and you don’t need to ask who she’s talking about. “He’s just… he’s just Hangman. He acts like an asshole, but he’s a softie on the inside.”

You sink your teeth into your lower lip, unsure how to answer.

Phoenix shrugs. “I just thought you should know,” she says.

The bell above the door rings as she steps outside. A gust of warm wind blows in. The aircon groans once and pumps more stale, cool air into the room. The radio is stuck on a Katy Perry song. You tap your fingers against the countertop in a rhythmless pattern, squeeze your eyes shut, and think of the long, long stretch of nothingness that extends before you.

Three months ago, you packed your life into a car.

It had never been part of the plan. Because that was a thing you used to have, once upon a time - a plan. You knew exactly what you wanted, from the job to the dog breed to the car. There was a house down the road from your parents, a house with a blue door and a white fence, and a tire swing dangling from the branches of an old, twisting willow tree, and you had known you’d buy it one day since you were five.

When you were eight, you used to run past that house every day to catch the school bus, thinking what it would be like to be up on that swing, kicking your legs and soaring higher, higher, higher, up into the blue of the sky. When you were fifteen, you wondered what it would be like to live in a house with two stories, a house where things wouldn’t be cramped, where you didn’t have to spend fifteen minutes waiting for the only bathroom to be free, where you didn’t hit your elbows and knees and shins and toes on all the nooks and crannies and rusting nails protruding from wood. Finally, when you were twenty, you wondered what it would be like to come home from work to a husband who loved you and kids who smiled at you.

So you used to have a plan. Go to college, get a job, grow up, get married, buy that house. You used to have things figured out.

And then your mother died.

You remember watching her as she began to fade, as she went translucent like the paper she used to wrap your sandwiches in. As cancer dissected her, flayed her open, ate away her edges, a little more each day. As she went from vibrant colors to shades of gray, film history reversing itself. You remember when it got so bad, you left college to go back home, to sit by her bedside every day, to feed her by the spoon as she had once fed you, to read to her from the books you had once studied in 8 am classes, from Bronte and Joyce and Fitzgerald.

One morning you walked into her room, expecting to see her awake, and found that she’d gone cold in the night instead. To this day, you’ll never forget how that felt - the grief of it, instant and cleaving you in two, the panic of practicality, of not knowing what to do or who to call. And then the relief, that horrible, warped thing that welled up inside of you, that you still can’t forgive yourself for, because at least it was finally over, all that suffering and all that waiting around for the inevitable.

It was a small funeral. Your parents divorced years ago, back in the cartoon and apple juice days of your life, and your father was clumsy as always, a stranger in the face of the familiarity you’d shared with your mother. Just a touch of his fingertips to your shoulder at an open grave, a downward twist to his mouth, whispering sorry, kiddo, before he disappeared back into the lovely townhouse with his new family and the younger, more agreeable versions of you, the children he’d actually wanted. Back to sending you a birthday card a week late or a month late or not at all and never calling and never visiting and scheduling Facetime calls he forgot about in favor of dance recitals or school plays.

So then you were alone. Resoundingly. Irrevocably.

You finished college in a daze, graduated just because you had gotten halfway there, and dropping out seemed like a bigger hassle than finishing. Found yourself with a degree you no longer remembered what you had wanted to do with in the first place and all those crippling student loans.

That house with the blue door and the white fence and the tire swing on the willow tree had lost its meaning. Your plan had turned to dust and slipped through your fingers, had been buried right alongside your mother.

So you sold your mother’s place (because who wants a house full of ghosts anyway, a house where each room reminds you of something that will spend the rest of your life missing from you) and got in your car, and you drove. You drove along the coast, through the thick trees of Washington, past the streams of Oregon, through the deserts of California, and when your car finally broke down in Fightertown, you said, fuck it, whatever, might as well, other places suck too. And you stayed.

It has remained the only time in your life you have ever acted on impulse, ever let your heart decide instead of your head, and you’re still not sure if it was the right decision.

You spend your days now trying to scrape together enough money to pay for your electricity bills and your rent and your gas. Just enough to get a frozen yogurt every once in a while. Just enough money so you don’t have to think about money all the time, counting it, saving it, missing it.

It’s sad, you think, when you’re alone at night, spread-eagle on your bed, limbs dangling off the sides of the mattress, staring up at the water stain spreading like a plume of smoke across your ceiling. A sad, little life with no direction.

You’re wallowing, and you know you are. Your penchant for dramatics is getting the best of you.

Most days, it’s not so bad. You like Penny, and you like Amelia, and the other day you went to see a movie at the theater, and that was nice. You like your books and your music and the Reese’s peanut butter cups you buy with your employee discount at the gas station. You like the beach, the taste of salt on your lips, and how the sun feels on the tip of your nose.

So most days, it’s not so bad. And then sometimes, it is.

Then it settles around like a dark cloud, like a fear you just can’t shake. That nagging anxiety in the pit of your stomach that seems to have no cause and no solution gnaws at you, yaps around your ankles, sinks its fangs into you, and won’t let go.

That’s when you curl into bed (but not under the covers because it’s still California and still too hot and still too expensive to keep the fan spinning) and blink into the nothingness and don’t move. And that’s when you dream, or else the dread of it all will swallow you whole and never spit you out again.

So you tell yourself that’s why you’re here again, at the Hard Deck, for the second week in a row, choosing to spend your Saturday with a bunch of sweaty drunk people instead of a family-size pizza. It’s just because you want to avoid the maelstrom of your mind.

It’s definitely not because you couldn’t stand the echoing loneliness of your shitty apartment anymore. It’s definitely not because Phoenix invited you and just seemed so goddamn nice. And it’s most definitely, a 100 percent certainly, cross-your-heart-and-hope-to-die, not because of Hangman.

You’ll go to your grave swearing that.

When you shuffle into the bar, Penny stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. It’s early enough that there’s still space to move.

“What the hell?” she says, abandoning her task completely in favor of turning to gawk at you. “What are you doing here?”

You shrug your shoulders, trying for nonchalance even as you feel like there are tiny bugs wriggling beneath your skin. Too many eyes on you. “I was craving a drink.”

Penny raises an eyebrow in what you recognize as the international sign of not convincing enough.

“Who the hell are you,” she asks, “and what have you done with my daughter’s tutor?”

Ducking your head, you clumsily climb onto one of the barstools and fold your arms on the counter. Then you try to look around the bar as inconspicuously as possible.

“He’s not here yet,” Penny says.

“Huh?” Feeling caught, you busy yourself with adjusting the hem of your skirt, so it covers as much thigh space as possible. “What?”

Penny doesn’t even pretend to buy it for your benefit. “Hangman,” she says. “That’s why you’re here, right?”

You stiffen, alarm bells going off in your head. If she can read you this easily…

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie.

“Oh, come on, sweetie.” She pats your hand in a gesture you can’t describe as anything but pacifying. “It’s alright.”

Your face feels hot. “It’s not like that,” you say, but even you can tell it’s a feeble attempt at an argument.

Penny chuckles. It’s not a mean sound, quite the opposite, actually, but it still makes your heart sink an inch or two.

“There’s nothing wrong with being attracted to someone, you know?”

That has you bristling. “I’m not attracted to him,” you protest. “I hate him.”

Utterly unbothered by the note of distress that has snuck its way into your voice, Penny shakes her head, an affectionate smile playing about her mouth. “There’s nothing wrong with a little bit of hate-fucking either.”

The gasp her words elicit from you is downright scandalized. You throw a furtive look at the patrons around you to make sure nobody heard, but that just makes Penny’s smile grow.

At least one of you is having fun.

“I’m not going to hate fuck anybody,” you say and then immediately wish your voice had sounded more firm. Less squeaky.

Penny shrugs. “Alright. It’s a fine line between love and hate anyway.”

“Why does everybody keep telling me that?” you whisper.

Either Penny doesn’t think that worthy of an answer, or she didn’t hear you. Which is fine either way. It was more of a rhetorical question anyway.

“So what do you want to drink, then?” Penny asks, finally seeming to decide to indulge you just a little.

Finally you perk up. “Can you make me a Mojito?”

You spend the better part of an hour sitting at the bar, telling yourself you’re definitely not waiting around for him. You’re only here to get drunk.

But the longer you sit alone, watching people around you enjoying themselves, watching as the chatter goes from quiet to deafening, as the place fills up with a steady stream of patrons, the worse of an idea the whole thing seems like. You can’t remember what provoked you to come in the first place for the life of you.

Suddenly, your bed, a gaping, looming lion’s mouth earlier, seems like the most inviting place in the world.

“Penny,” you call, leaning across the counter and waving your hand to get her attention. “Can I just pay, please?”

“You’re going home?”

“I… yeah. I think so.”

With the way Penny is frowning at you, you can tell she isn’t too pleased, but she doesn’t fight you on it.

“I’ll let you go home, but you’re not paying,” she says.

“Penny, you already pay me. You don’t need to let me drink here for free, too.”

She chuckles. “Oh, I’m not. Hangman said to put anything you drink on his tab if you ever show up again.”

That gives you pause, your stomach tightening. “I can’t accept that,” you say, and your voice comes out strangely choked.

“Oh, but you can.”

It’s Hangman, because of course it is. He seems to have an uncanny ability to show up whenever you do so much as think of him. Like he can sense any mention of his name even from miles away. His ego is certainly big enough.

Grinning, he claims the empty space at the bar next to you, leaning his back against it with both elbows braced on the wood. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I let a girl as pretty as you pay for her own drinks, now would I?”

“Gentleman,” you repeat under your breath. “We’re just saying whatever now, huh?”

He ignores that, twisting around instead to chirp, “Penny, darling, light of my life, will you get her another… what is that, a virgin Mojito?”

You wish you could come up with something witty, but you’re distracted by the long, long stretch of his legs, and all that comes out is, “I drink them with alcohol, actually.”

“Really? Is it only scotch you have trouble with then?”

Now this reminds you just why you hate this guy. Who cares if he’s handsome? Who cares if your heart starts cartwheeling every time he smirks at you? He’s a certified, purebred bastard, and you’re seriously considering if the satisfaction of breaking his nose would be worth the inevitable lawsuit.

“I don’t need you to pay for my drink,” you say, voice firm this time.

“I know,” he counters, still smiling, “but I’m pretty sure the Navy pays me better than whatever you’re making at that gas station, so I don’t mind. Just stop being difficult and let me pay for whatever you order.”

The anger settles in your throat, already familiar. It’s difficult to keep it down, to keep your head from exploding.

“Fine,” you grit out from between clenched teeth. Then you turn away. “Penny? One round for everybody. It’s on him.”

The smile slides off Hangman’s face, his expression morphing into something stunned. For a moment, he actually looks impressed.

Then he laughs and shakes his head. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say there was something like begrudging admiration flickering across the planes of his face.

“Alright,” he says, “I’ll hand it to you, sweetheart. That was well played.”

He gives Penny the okay, smirk once more firmly in place. And you, triumph so short-lived that it dies inside you like a pathetic little candle snuffed out by a typhoon, consider letting loose a long, echoing screech.

Is there anything that will break that steely resolve of arrogance he carries everywhere he goes?

Penny rings the bell, and the answering cheer almost pops your eardrums. You turn away from Hangman before you do resort to violence and drain the last of your cocktail in a single sip.

“I’m going home,” you say and hop off the barstool. It brings you inevitably closer to Hangman, your thighs brushing his, and you pretend not to notice.

“So soon?” he asks, and you don’t need to turn to know he has raised one eyebrow. “I only just got here.”

“Hence my leaving,” you counter drily.

“And here I was thinking you wore this dress for me.”

He doesn’t touch you, but for a moment his fingers hook into the soft pink fabric of your dress, where it flares out around your hips. It’s enough to send a shiver down your back.

The worst part of it all, you think, is that he isn’t wrong. You upended the contents of your wardrobe earlier tonight until every available surface in your room - from the bed to the chair to the floor - was covered in clothes you deemed just not right. This number - flimsy, tight, low in the chest but a little more modest where the hem hits almost halfway down your thighs - was buried at the back of your closet, practically forgotten and with the price tag still on. Even as you laughed at how ridiculous you were being, part of you hoped he might notice.

And now that he has, you’re wishing you could rewind time and exchange the infernal thing for sweatpants and an old flannel.

“You’re way too full of yourself,” you tell him.

“So I’ve been told.” He gives you another once over, and suddenly you feel as if you’re standing naked in the middle of this bar. “This one’s spectacular, too, sweetheart, but I still maintain that first dress was my favorite.”

Somewhere between flattered and fed-up, you shoulder your purse. “Goodbye, Hangman.”

“Oh, come on.” He steps to block your path but makes no further move to touch you. “Have another drink with me.”

You’re about to protest when a gentle hand lands on your shoulder.

“You really need to learn how to take no for an answer, Bagman,” Phoenix says. “The lady’s not interested.”

You can feel the smile spreading on your face. Just in time, you think.

Ignoring Hangman completely, she turns to you. “You wanna shoot some pool with my friends and me?”

You glance at Hangman from the corner of your eye, unsure whether you hope she counts him among those friends or not. Then you nod because Phoenix is still nice, and you don’t actually want to go home to your empty apartment, and playing pool sounds fun just about now.

“Sure. Why not?”

As Phoenix leads you toward the tables in the back, you feel Hangman’s eyes on you like hot irons.

You’re five drinks in by the time you give up on pool.

“God,” you whine, lowering your cue. “I suck at this.”

“I’d disagree,” Payback says, staring down at the green felt of the table like he might be about to cry, “but I think you’re right.”

“Hey, we’re supposed to be on the same team!”

He grins. “Sorry, but my mother didn’t raise me to be a liar.”

There’s a warmth flooding your chest, something liquid and light. It might be the alcohol or the unfamiliar levity of it all. You’re more used to intense fits of worrying and anxiety than laughter with people you met only about an hour ago but still almost feel like friends.

“Want me to teach you, sweetheart?”

Hangman’s sitting on a barstool not far away, nursing his beer. He’s been staring at you since you started the game, and maybe it's part of the reason your cue stick kept going in directions you didn’t mean for it to. Now you can just hear the smirk in his voice.

If you were less drunk, you’d come up with a witty response. But, as it stands, you just say, “No.”

Hangman ignores you. You can feel him behind you even before he steps up, your fingers tensing around your cue, your whole body locking up as if in anticipation, as if in dread. And then he’s there, solid and warm behind you, fingers curling around your arm and moving it backward.

The place he touches you seems to tingle.

“Like this,” he says, voice low and chest rumbling with the sound. He’s speaking right into your ear again, and suddenly it’s impossible to talk, to think, to breathe.

He brings you into position with one hand on your waist, and you can’t believe it, but he’s practically bending you over that pool table in the middle of that bar, and you’re just letting him. His hips press into your own, an insistent weight that makes your head spin, makes you feel like you’re about to slide right off the face of the earth. The table's edge cuts into your abdomen, but you barely even feel it. You can’t register anything past the feeling of his skin gliding against your own as he lets his free hand wander slowly, slowly, down the expanse of your arm.

“Now, just gently…” He guides your arm backward as he speaks, his voice right in your ear, right in your head, his breath against your cheek, the side of your mouth, and you’re dizzy, can’t even see the ball that’s right in front of you, have no idea what he wants you to shoot at. “... thrust.”

The ball lands in the pocket with a resounding thunk.

For a moment, you just blink at where it disappeared.

“Good girl,” Hangman says, so quietly that only you can hear, fingers squeezing just once where he still holds you by the hip, and then he steps away.

It sends a jolt of molten heat through you. Your knees, which felt wobbly before, threaten to buckle. You just stay there for a moment, frozen, bent over that table, feeling like the earth beneath your feet is rolling in waves. A sound escapes you, something from low in your throat that gets swallowed up in the bar's noise - all the chatter and the music and the sounds of the engines running in the parking lot.

And then it’s an ice-cold panic that has you scrambling, standing upright, stepping away from the table, turning towards the group of people around you, and pretending you’re not trembling all over, that your panties aren’t soaked through.

“I’m done, I think.” You raise your cue above your head like a sports trophy. Your voice is remarkably firm for how frail you feel. “Who wants to take over for me?”

There’s a shuffle as a few of the guys whose names you can’t remember start fighting each other for your spot on Payback’s team. You give up after a while and just drop the cue. Somebody catches it before it can clatter to the ground, and you turn your back on them.

Tugging at the folds of your skirt, you try desperately to regain control. The evening is slipping through your fingers like wet rope. You feel unmoored.

Phoenix, grinning from her perch against the jukebox, offers you a swig from her beer bottle. “I think you weren’t too bad.”

“Well, I did keep forgetting if I was supposed to hit the stripes or the solids, so, like….” you admit, accepting the bottle and taking a tentative sip. Maybe this will help calm you. The taste hits your tongue, and you grimace. “Ew. I don’t get how you guys drink this.”

Phoenix laughs at you. “It takes practice.”

“I don’t wanna practice that,” you say. “I’ll just get another Mojito, I think.”

You’re not going to survive this night unless you have another drink. Hell, you might not survive this night even if you have another drink.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this confused. Your mind is a thicket of thorns that bite your skin at any move.

Hangman leans forward in his seat until he’s in your field of vision. His eyebrows are furrowed in a way you haven’t seen before, but beneath them, his eyes glint. It hits you suddenly that he knows exactly what he’s done, that he is perfectly aware of the effect he has on you.

You consider getting that cue stick back and whacking him over the head with it.

“You sure you want another one, sweetheart?”

You frown and say, more forcefully than necessary, “Why? You don’t wanna pay for it?”

“Oh, I’ll pay for it,” he says. “I’m just thinking somebody will have to carry you home if you have another one.”

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t love to carry her home,” Coyote chimes in, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. At least you think that’s Coyote. Things are starting to go a little blurry.

As you approach the bar, you say, a bite to your words, “I’ll make your dreams come true, then.”

Penny is busy at the opposite end, so you order from a girl who seems a lot less interested in serving you than the group of aviators currently trying to get her attention. Which you can’t really blame her for.

From behind you, maybe-Coyote keeps going, “You should make some of his other dreams come true, too.”

Phoenix lands a well-placed elbow between his ribs. “Shut up, man. You’re being creepy.”

“I don’t sleep with drunk women,” Hangman says as the bartender deposits a dispassionately assembled Mojito in front of you. “My mother raised me to be a gentleman.”

Your snort is decidedly unladylike, but you couldn’t care less. You’re so far gone.

“You keep saying that, but I haven’t seen you act like one even once.” Then, as an afterthought, you add, “Also, I’m not drunk.”

You pull your drink towards you, the glass cold with the ice cubes swimming in it, and promptly spill a healthy stream across your own arm and the bartop.

“Sure you’re not,” Hangman agrees smoothly. He procures a stack of paper napkins from somewhere and starts dabbing at your elbow, soaking up the worst of it. You stare at his movement with your head spinning. Why is he being nice? “I’m not a gentleman in the bedroom, though, I’ll have you know.”

He winks at you, and that’s more like the nefarious Hangman you know. It lets you relax a little.

“Christ.” Phoenix looks like she might hurl. “You want to lay it on any thicker, Hang?”

He just shrugs, so casual about it all. You wonder if he’s ever been rattled by anything. If he’s ever felt as out of his depth as you do every time he enters a room.

“Who doesn’t like it a little rough in the bedroom, Phoenix?”

You can’t believe he said that to her. Part of you expects Phoenix to roll her eyes and give him a piece of her mind, but she just grins, shaking her head.

“Me, actually,” she says. “Just leaves you sore. I prefer it slow.”

“Slow?” Hangman repeats. “You and Rooster would be a match made in heaven. Masters of the geriatric pace.”

“Who’s Rooster?” you ask, wondering if Hangman is trying to set Phoenix up with someone running a poultry farm.

Nobody answers your question.

“It’s been my experience,” Phoenix says, “that most guys only like it rough cause they have no idea how else to do it.”

Coyote laughs at that. It’s obviously meant to taunt Hangman, but he doesn’t react much beyond a tiny upward twitch of his mouth.

You’re left wondering if these are normal conversations people have with their friends. Are you just a prude? You feel like you’re going insane.

And then Bob, who has been quietly snacking on peanuts for most of the night, pipes up, “I think it just depends on your partner. You gotta listen to them.”

Hangman stares at him like he’s just revealed he likes to take his clothes off and perform an Irish jig on top of an aircraft every Sunday. “Am I just supposed to believe you’ve had sex with multiple partners?”

Before you can stop yourself, you slap Hangman’s chest. Admittedly, both the alcohol and the way your head is still reeling have the move lacking any real vigor, but it still leaves you a little stunned at yourself.

“Don’t be mean,” you say. His chest feels very firm beneath your palm, muscles hard and heartbeat steady. Then you realize you’re still touching him and withdraw your hand as if you’ve burned yourself.

Hangman is grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it when I’m mean.”

That almost makes you choke on your Mojito.

“Right,” Coyote says. His teeth gleam white when he smirks at you. “So, how do you like it?”

You freeze. Your mind stumbles, then short-circuits.

“Oh, god, boys. Just leave her alone,” Phoenix sighs. She gets up to sling an arm over your shoulder. It’s a reassuring presence by your side, one that makes you feel a little less like you’re about to levitate off the face of the earth. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

Hangman is staring right at you. He’s still smiling, but something in his eyes has shifted.

You can’t look away from him. Your heart stutters in your chest.

“I… I don’t…” you falter.

Across the distance between you, Hangman raises an eyebrow. “What are you, like a virgin?”

It hits you square in the chest.

You know you need to laugh it off, know you need to counter with another quip, another insult, another jab, but your mind is blank. Time seems to freeze for a moment. You can’t breathe.

Your eyes burn, and you realize with a sudden, horrible lurch that you’re going to cry, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Several emotions pass over Hangman’s face in quick succession. The glint is gone from his eyes now, replaced by something like genuine guilt. That’s how you know he was just joking around, but it doesn’t soften the blow at all.

Anger, humiliation, and, worst of all, the remnants of your earlier desire pump through your veins. You feel weak and tired and helpless. A snowglobe shattered on the floor. All of it hits you at once.

You’re painfully aware of all the eyes on you. You’re painfully aware you haven’t said a single thing in way too long.

Hangman says your name, his tone caught somewhere between concern and apology.

I can’t, you think. I just… can’t.

So you turn on your heel and all but sprint for the open doors.

Out back, the air has cooled down to a more bearable temperature, but it does nothing to calm you. Your skin feels several sizes too small, the world is tilting a little bit to the left, as if everything’s written in cursive. In your ears, your blood rushes like a roar.

You’ve never been so embarrassed in your life.

A few tiki torches light a path from the Hard Deck’s back entrance towards the sand of the beach. You follow almost blindly, stumbling down the two steps. The ocean stretches endless and dark blue in front of you. Your sandals fill with sand that scrapes against the soles of your feet.

You walk a few steps until you reach a weathered tool shed with the blue paint eroded by years of wind and salt spray. Only when you’ve found shelter behind it, when you know you’re hidden from view, do you allow yourself to cry.

They’re bitter tears. You’re embarrassed about your display earlier, about letting Hangman get to you, embarrassed because everybody saw. Embarrassed that you didn’t deny it when it isn’t even really true, not technically. Embarrassed that you’re twenty-three and practically a virgin, embarrassed that it matters to you. It shouldn’t matter.

Virginity is a social construct, you remind yourself, and then you just cry harder.

Most of all, you’re embarrassed because you want Hangman.

It’s the first time you admit it, even to yourself, and the truth of it settles heavy in your stomach. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted someone as much as you want him, and you don’t even like the man.

It’s ridiculous, humiliating, mortifying, and suddenly you wish you had stayed home tonight, had never come here in the first place.

And then he says your name.

The moonlight paints his hair a blueish shade of silver. He looks impossibly handsome, standing just a step or two away from you with his hands in his pockets, backlit by the flickering of the torches.

Immediately you straighten up and rub your cheeks to get rid of the tears. Your fingers come away stained black with the remnants of your mascara.

For a moment, you and Hangman just stare at each other. The distance between you gapes like an open wound, like a canyon, like an ocean.

Finally, he asks, “You okay?”

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

He looks torn. His jaw moves as he grinds his teeth.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You don’t have to ask him to clarify. You know exactly what he means.

“I don’t know you,” you say quietly.

He makes a strange, strangled sound at the back of his throat, then buries his face in his hands for a second. When he re-emerges, he looks honestly distressed.

“If I had known,” he says softly, “I would have stopped being so aggressive.”

You don’t know how to tell him that that’s the opposite of what you want. You don’t know how to tell him that you don’t know what you want.

You don’t know how to tell him that you know exactly what you want.

Everything’s a mess.

Shrugging, you say, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter?” he repeats, disbelief in his voice. “Of course it matters. I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

That makes you frown.

“I didn’t say you make me uncomfortable.”

Aggravated, sure. Annoyed, wound-up, frustrated. All of that. But uncomfortable? Never.

That gives him pause, but only for a moment. He goes on, “I shouldn’t have… it was too much. I’m sorry.”

You can’t explain any of this, but you want to. You wish you could just make him understand, but you can’t even make sense of yourself.

Your insides are all tangled.

“It’s not like… it’s not like I’ve never done anything,” you rush to explain. “I did sleep with someone when I was sixteen, but I just… and then there was always so much other stuff that I didn’t have time to date, and then other stuff happened, and I didn’t even want to date, so I just….”

At the look he gives you, you trail off.

“So you’re not a virgin, then?”

“Not… technically,” you confirm, then cringe at how ridiculous it all sounds.

He just stares at you.

“It… what does it even matter?” Suddenly, you’re angry. “Even if I was a virgin, there wouldn’t be anything wrong with it. And it’s none of your business. Why do you even care?”

One of Hangman’s eyebrows raises. “I don’t care if you’re a virgin,” he says, voice perfectly calm. “I care that you’re comfortable.”

That staggers you. “I… why?”

He shoves his hands back into his pockets. “Because I happen to like you.”

Now you’re the one staring.

That can’t be right. Hangman’s not supposed to like you, not when you’ve just established that you can’t stand him. Not when you’ve spent every night since you’ve met him listing all the reasons why you need to stay as far away from him as possible.

When you don’t answer, he starts talking again. “Why didn’t you just say you’re not a virgin in there?” he asks, jerking his head back in the general direction of the Hard Deck.

You shrug and look away. “I’m not… experienced.”

He waits for you to continue.

“It was just once, with my first boyfriend, and it wasn’t… I didn’t… well, after it was over, I never wanted to do it again.”

Hangman’s expression is unreadable. The breeze picks up, and you shiver, crossing your arms over your abdomen.

“I’m not…” You swallow. “I’m not confident. I can’t talk about it the way you guys do. So easily.”

He looks at you for a long moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is gentler than you’ve ever heard. “I’ll stop, then. This was too much. I’m sorry.”

But there’s something there, in the words. A challenge. He’s giving you a way out at the same time as he’s giving you an in.

The way he’s looking at you seems to say, Ball’s in your court now, sweetheart.

In your life, you’ve always taken the familiar path. You thought things through thoroughly, made decisions with your head and not your heart. You liked to be safe, too scared to step out of your comfort zone. And so the house with the blue door stayed a dream, one that eventually moved so far out of reach it lost any appeal it ever had.

But then you think of your life stuffed into a car. Arriving in an unfamiliar city and deciding to stay. Diving headfirst into the unknown.

If you have done it once, you tell yourself, there’s no reason you can’t do it again.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you say, voice quiet, hands shaking. “I like it.”

It might be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Being honest. Here in this moment, with him, bathed in moonlight that dips the worlds in shades of mercury.

It’s almost impossible to get the words out, and then they dangle awkwardly in the air between you. You feel exposed, stripped, flayed open in front of this man who is practically a stranger to you.

Over the beat of your heart hammering away in your chest, you can barely even hear the roar of the ocean.

And then Hangman steps closer to you, bridging that distance. His features are dipped in half-shadows, but you see his eyes flickering down to your lips.

You swallow around the lump in your throat.

“When I saw you for the first time,” he says, and his voice is husky, low, “in that little dress… I wanted to bend you over the bar and fuck you right there. With everyone watching.”

It knocks the air out of you. You let out a choked sound that might be the beginning of a gasp. A jolt goes through the core of you.

He comes even closer, and, instinctively, you stumble backward. He crowds you against the wall of the shed. The wood is rough and cold where it presses against your back.

The stupid nametag is right in front of you then, and it occurs to you suddenly that you don’t even know his first name.

“Look at me,” he says.

In spite of yourself, you listen immediately. There’s something in his voice, not just demanding but commandeering. You don’t think you could disobey him even if you wanted to.

And Hangman’s so close now. Close enough that you can see the specks of gold swimming in his eyes, close enough that you could probably see yourself reflected in them if it wasn’t so dark.

One of his hands is braced against the wood by your head, palm down, and the other goes to cup your cheek. Fingertips trace across the jut of your cheekbone, down, down, down over the planes of your face, avoiding your mouth to ghost toward your chin and then the line of your throat.

You don’t dare breathe.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says softly.

It’s such a stark contrast to his earlier words, so crude, that it leaves you light-headed.

You can smell him; over the lingering ashes of burnt-down bonfires, over the salt of the ocean, there’s the scent of his aftershave. Cinnamon and spice. You think you could get drunk on that smell.

“Hangman…” you whisper because you can’t think of something else to say for the life of you.

He shakes his head, tuts gently. “My name’s Jake.”

“Jake,” you repeat. It’s like you’re in a daze, dumb with the intensity of it all. If this night is giving you anything, it’s a severe case of whiplash.

He hums in response, eyelids going heavy. Lets his fingers trail from your throat, where your pulse is beating like a sledgehammer, down your chest, between your breasts, over the flimsy fabric of your dress. He pauses on your stomach, lets his fingers spread out like a starfish, and just watches for a moment as his hand moves with each breath you take.

When he speaks, his voice sounds almost pensive. “Has anybody ever made you come?”

The sound you make is much too close to a whimper for your own comfort. Involuntarily, your thighs clench together, and you realize faintly just how wet you really are, the skin just below the lines of your panties sticking together.

You don’t need to look at Hangman to know that he’s noticed your reaction.

“It… no,” you admit hesitantly. You’re going to spontaneously combust, you just know it. “Just… myself.”

He grins at that, but it’s not a mean expression. “So you touch yourself?”

It’s so hard to swallow. Even harder to talk, to find words, even to form a coherent thought.

Jake leans closer still, so close his breath traces across your face. “Answer me.”

“Sometimes.” Your voice has gone so quiet you’re sure he wouldn’t have heard you if he wasn’t standing so close to you. Like he wants to climb into your skin.

You’re becoming painfully aware of all the points where he isn’t touching you. A minuscule but safe distance between your hips, your faces, your chests. That arm curving around you, braced against the wall. No point of contact except for the large hand on your abdomen.

You shudder.

“What do you think about? When you touch yourself, what do you think about?”

The muscles in his arm flex, straining against the fabric of his uniform, veins protruding blue through the skin, and it shouldn’t be this hot, but it is. You’re on fire and he isn’t even touching you, not really, but you’ve never been so turned on in your life, wound so tightly, a kite dancing higher and higher into the sky.

You shake your head quickly, unsure if it’s supposed to be an answer or just a way to get rid of the fog that’s descended on you.

Jake’s hand wanders a little lower, almost imperceptibly, just about half an inch, but you think your heart almost fails you.

“I…” you swallow again. Your mouth is dry, and your palms are sweating. Your core pulses with the sort of desire that’s impossible to ignore. “I don’t know. I don’t…”

God, if only you could be casual about this sort of thing. You wish you could say something sexy, something teasing, something that would make Jake feel even a fraction of what he’s making you feel. But you’re just you. Inexperienced, unsure even of what you want.

You choke up, and, to your mortification, tears pool in your eyes again.

“Shh,” Jake immediately shushes you, and his face is almost tender. “That’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll give you something to think about.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly, blinking up at him.

And then it’s back, that signature Hangman smirk, the same one you’ve wanted to slap off his face so many times, only it’s making you weak in the knees now, makes your lips part, makes you wish he would just touch you already.

“I’m not going to kiss you tonight.”

It’s almost shameful how quickly you try to protest, really. If it hadn’t been for those five and a half Mojitos, you would have stuck your head into the sand right here.

Hangman laughs at you, the sound just a little mean. “You’re much too drunk, sweetheart.”

You suppose it doesn’t make much sense to argue. Now that you think about it, you really are drunk. The fuzzy, warm sort of drunk. Just on the right side of intoxicated, where everything feels packed in cotton, and nothing feels impossible.

Even that someone like Hangman might want to dirty talk to you behind the Hard Deck’s tool shed.

“Can you do something for me?” Jake asks.

You can just bite down on the anything that threatens to spill from your mouth the moment he’s uttered the question, and, god, what’s wrong with you? This is getting out of hand.

Dumbfounded, you nod silently.

He leans impossibly closer, his nose trailing along your jawline, and whispers, “The next time you touch yourself… When you’re alone, I want you to lie down on your bed. I want you to spread your legs, and I want you to touch your pretty little pussy for me.”

You clench your eyes shut, breath stuck somewhere in your throat, as Jake’s hand lifts from your stomach. He takes a fistful of your skirt and pulls it up, using his other hand to hold it away from your body. The cool breeze caresses your legs, but that’s not why you shiver.

His fingers slide along the inside of your thigh, from kneecap up to the very tops of them. You can’t breathe, can’t blink, can’t do anything but stand there and hope you won’t dissolve into a puddle.

“And when you fuck yourself,” he whispers, “I want you to think of me.”

And then he touches his fingers to your core, over the lace of your panties.

If you weren’t so far gone, you think you’d never forgive yourself for your reaction.

You all but squeak, back arching off the wall, pushing yourself into his palm, mouth dropping open as pure heat spreads through you, like an ache, like a tightening at your very center.

“Jesus,” Jake says, and his voice sounds breathless. “You’ve soaked these through, sweetheart.”

It’s the first indication that he’s affected by this, too, that you’re not the only one impacted, and somehow that’s enough to make you want him even more.

You wonder what it would be like to get him off. What he would look like, sound like. Taste like.

Your exhale is a tiny, shuddering thing.

“Can you do that for me?” he wants to know. “Touch yourself for me like I asked?”

“I…” You think you would have agreed if he had asked you to lasso him down the moon.

Anything you say, Hangman. Anything you want. Just keep touching me. Please.

“Yes,” you agree. “Yeah, I… okay.”

“Good girl,” he says. His lips press to the side of your throat just once, right where your pulse is pumping at a rapid pace.

And then he steps away, fingers gone from your panties, mouth gone from your neck.

The loss of him leaves you reeling, dizzy, plastered to the wall like roadkill.

Even Hangman looks a little disheveled, but it's minimal comfort.

Again, you feel on the verge of tears.

Hangman clears his throat and asks, “Do you have a ride home?”

It takes an uncomfortable amount of time for the question to even register. You just stare at him at first, blinking owlishly.

You barely even remember your own name. How are you supposed to answer this?

“I… Uber,” you say.

It’s not even a complete sentence, no verb at all, but it seems enough for Hangman.

He nods once. Then he takes a moment just to watch you.

Finally, he says, “I changed my mind about the dress.”

He takes a step back to admire you head to toe. As he looks at you, the torches reflect in his eyes until it looks like they’re gleaming. You’ve never felt so exposed in your life, and it makes you squirm.

You’re still so wet, wetter than you’ve ever been, and you’d do anything for him to touch you. Slide his fingers into you and fuck you right here, behind Penny’s bar, out on the beach where anyone might see. Think you might just die if he doesn’t.

Jake reaches once more for the skirt of your dress, but this time he doesn’t pull it up. Instead, he just lets his fingers dance through the folds once, the touch featherlight. Just a whisper of his digits across your thigh. You barely feel it.

You’re going to shake apart right here and now.

“I think this is my favorite after all,” he says, grins that Hangman grin, and then he’s gone.

You’re left leaning against the shed, breathless, panting, head and heart a mess. Alone, as you stare out at the white foam cresting on the waves, wondering what the fuck just happened.

read part ii

get added to the bad habits tag list !

#top gun maverick #hangman x reader #hangman fic #hangman #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x reader #fic #writing #mine #f: bh #idk how to tag this i'm literally going to cry lmfao

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docwritesshit · 10 months

Note

Hi hi! I hope this request reaches you in time for the 3 & a half hour deadline (timeline?) but anyway!

Could I have some headcanons (or whatever makes you happy) for Sun Wukong x Reader who are having a relaxing day on Fire Flower Mountain with the monkeys?

That deadline was for Saturday, but I'm happy to do it for you now! And I'm guessing you meant flower fruit mountain, so here goes!

Sun Wukong and You on Flower Fruit Mountain

First and foremost, you are the one pressured into a relax day by your celestial monkey. He knows when you over work yourself

Once there, the monkeys are all over as you have Wukongs scent, so they are a little rough at first but manage to calm down after a bit

The first activity of the day is the beach babe. He warned you in advance to get ready for water so you already have a swimsuit to your liking. You both lounge about on the sand, you possibly having a book while Wukong fishes as the monkeys are out and about around you playing with eachother

After that, he would take you back up to the bungalow where he got some face masks and ordered you to sit as he painted your nails, with you painting his after he was done.

During this, the monkeys are playing with the bottles that thankfully Wukong kid proofed so they don't open any

Then the movie marathon starts! It's gonna be either Monkie Cop or your fave movie series/ movies. (Personally, the movies I would have playing would be who dunnit movies like Knives Out, Glass Onion, See How They Run, Orient Express, Amsterdam and some Renfield for zest)

During this, he already has your fave take out food or comfort food out on the table while you two snuggle up with all of his monkeys cuddling and lounging on you two.

If you're comfortable with it, he will offer you a massage to get the tension out of your body and such, if not, he will just play with your hair 💕

Once you are asleep, he basically makes a nest around you to not be disturbed with the monkeys cuddling up to you two. He wraps his arms around you, admiring how beautiful you look and smiles at the peacefulness you exude when sleeping.

He situates himself under you, hugging you close with his tail wrapped around your leg, and gently goes to sleep with the sounds of you soft snorting and heartbeat

#lego monkie kid #lmk x reader #lmk sun wukong #lmk swk #swk x reader #sun wukong x reader #lmk sun wukong x reader #lego monkie kid x reader #AAAAAAHHHHHH ITS SO FLUFFY IM GONNA DIIIE #i love this so much omg #ty anon #anon ask

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chansdimplesmile · 5 months

Text

BREEZED ALONG US

Pairing: Bang chan x yn

Genre: fluff, extreme cuteness

Word count: 1.6k words

This isy first fan fic I am writing😬😁 pls bare with me and let me know if u like it 🫶🫶

The evening breeze swayed your hair as you sat by the open window of your warm study room, facing the beach. The calm and smooth shades of the sunlight filtered itself on to your favorite novel, The Fault in Our Stars. Although you have read the book to the point, where you have already mugged up every scenario without leaving any possible detail, it always made your heart thump with excitement and pleasure.

You closed the book with a heavy sigh as you finished the last chapter of the book for the umpteenth time. Leaving the book on the table, you neared the window, admiring the sunset. The door creaked behind you, indicating that someone entered.

"Finally, You guys are exhausted from playing on the beach since afternoon." You teased jokingly, not even bothered to see who entered. "Uh-huh" he responded, as you faced him, "they are still by the beach." He placed the book you were reading to where it belonged and headed towards you.

"Why did you leave them then, I was just about to join you." Saying so you resumed what you were doing before he entered, rather flustered by what you saw.

It's not like you didn't see your boyfriend shirtless before... it's just... this time it... hits different. His perfectly sculpted face, with the plumpest lips you've ever seen. The beach tanned skin with a tint of pink on his cheeks, from all the exhaustive activities he did on the beach. The hours he spent vigorously working out in the gym with his friends were evidently visible when you saw his abs and the buff arms, and damn they were so tempting. Not to mention that the pearly drops of water dripping on his forehead from his yet to dry hair from the shower and the towel slung around his broad shoulders barely covering his chest, were not helping your state much either.

"Well is it wrong if I want to spend some 'us' time with my girlfriend?" His voice snapped you out of your fantasy. "And besides I highly doubt that you would have joined us there on the beach." He said in a matter-of-fact way.

You laughed at his last statement.

True that you were not someone who would enjoy beaches. Mostly because you hated the sand that piled up between your toes and got stuck on to your feet making it feel itchy, or was it because you hated being dragged into the salty waters. Well the reasons were many, but your best excuse was that you were not a great swimmer like your boyfriend.

"Beautiful view isn't it?" He whispered, standing behind you. His strong Australian accent sending shivers down your spine.

You looked up at him, only to find him smiling at you. Dimples prominently visible. You returned his gesture and said

"Indeed. But I've seen beautifuller things"

"Pfft... Beautifuller.... Is that even a term?..."

His laugh made your heart flutter. You would literally fight anyone and anything that could possibly be the reason for your boyfriend to stop this action of his.

Nevertheless you gave him a stern look "I don't follow dictionaries, I create my own vocab." You puffed your cheeks.

"OK. OK. Stop sulking" he chuckled, while pinching your cheeks.

"Now, will you please throw some lights on to what this 'beautifuller' thing is? Y/N." He asked, putting extra emphasis on the word he learned just moments ago.

A smirk crept on your face as you answered his query, "My boyfriend." You leaned back, making yourself comfortable on his chest, "My boyfriend is the most beautiful man in this world, both inside and out."

"Oh, yeah. Sure." He scoffed, taking it as a joke.

"BANG CHRISTOPHER CHAN." You raised your voice a bit, pulling away from his warmth. You glared at him straight into the eyes and continued "Just face it. I can literally click a random candid pic of yours, frame it in an exhibition and it would still get me enough money to last for, like, six to seven months - no wait... maybe even more. Yes, you are that beautiful. "

"Yeah, whatever you think, sweetie."

He placed his wet forehead on top of yours while you dried his hair using his towel.

You suddenly felt his hands snake around your waist and your body stiffned under his skin.

"I swear Chan, if you are planning to do that I won't hesitate to kick you right now."

This was definitely not the response he was expecting from you as he detached your foreheads with a rather quizzical and worried expression on his face.

"Do what?" He asked with a face that read WAY-TO-RUIN-THE-MOOD.

"Come on Chan." You rolled your eyes, as he buried his face in to your neck. "You know how much I hate tickles."

"Well, you see..." he spoke, not even bothering to change his position "I was not planning on doing anything, but... now that you mentioned it..." you could literally see him smirking even though his face was hidden.

"No. Please Chan. No. No. No. No. No."

You perked to the side as his fingers sent weird tickling sensations at your waist. You danced weirdly, as if you just saw a roach crawling on the floor, trying to free yourself from his surprisingly tight grip. Lucky for you that you plopped on the bed besides or else you would have crouched down on the floor, even bonking your head on one of the walls.

I mean, that's just a possibility.

Your stomach ached as Chan merciless tickled you. Your laughter resonated in the room as you started to find it hard to breathe.

"There." Chan said, satisfied by his act. "I guess, that's enough for now." He sat up, looking at your pathetic state recover from this torture.

"What do you mean 'for now', this is enough to last me a life time. I hate you." You free fell into the pillows of the bed, letting your head sink in them.

"I love you too, Y/N" he stated, making his way to your left.

A long sigh escaped your lips as you stared at the white ceiling above.

"I can't believe it. We'll be leaving tomorrow evening." You spoke, breaking the sweet silence that engulfed you two.

Chan hummed in agreement.

"Then, why did you not come and spend the day with us at the beach, huh." He stirred to his right to face you.

"And watch you guys have all the fun while I am seated under the umbrella. Nope. Thanks. I would rather love being locked in a room with tons of books. You don't know the struggles of being the only girl with eight idiots." You said, rather dramatically. "Not to mention that, Jisung and Felix can get handful at times when they are together."

You received a chuckle from the guy beside you.

"To be honest, it's not my fault that I am the only one who's dating a beautiful woman, and the fact that you preferred inviting all of them rather than some of your friends." He reasoned. "Come to think of it, why even bother to invite them, when it could have been just you and me?" He asked, pulling you closer into a hug.

"Well, that could have been done. But then this week would have been annoyingly silent without them." You mentioned the commotion causing group of seven young lads, or in Chan's terms 'my chaotic younger brothers', who accompanied you on this little week long trip of yours with your boyfriend.

"I know they are a mess, but they are the mess that makes you happy, and you happy makes me happy. And I kinda love them." You spoke, establishing the fact that you have grown used to the gang over the past three months of your relation with Chan and how much they meant to you.

"Not more than me, right?" He asked pulling you closer to him.

"Nope. Not more than you, cupcake." You assured, leaning towards him.

As if anticipated, he came forward sealing the gap between you into a soft kiss. What was supposed to be a light kiss on your lips soon turned into a heated make out session, which could have deepened into something even more passionate if it weren't for the constant knocking on the door.

Both Chan and you were quick with your actions. Chan went to receive the door while you randomly picked up the book from the bed, opening it to any page. The door opened only to reveal the second eldest from the group.

"Hyung, we are- Oh I did not know Y/n could read a book upside-down." Minho pointed out in your direction.

"Yeah, it's one of the many special abilities I have." You chuckled nervously, slowly correcting your mistake.

Minho simply smirked turning his attention back to his hyung. "Anyways, we are heading out for dinner; you both should get ready for it." He turned back to leave, only to stop midway. "And by the way you should wash your face Channie hyung, Y/n's lip balm is smudged all over your jawline." Saying so, Minho closed the door behind him.

You took a breath you have been holding for this long. Chan gave you a soft smile as he walked to reach the bed. But suddenly he halted in his track with eyes as wide as a disk. It was then that realization struck to both of you.

"He found out, didn't he? God! He is such a good observer."

"Yes Y/n he did. Brace up for the teasing we're getting today."

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flurrys-creativity · 9 months

Text

Night dive

Pairing: Han Jisung (Stray Kids) x Fem!Reader; Genre: Fantasy, kinda mermaid/hybrid, SMUT; Rating: nsfw, 18+, MDNI; Warnings: jet lag, walking off alone, being observed, hybrid/mermaid jisung, night diving, nudity, TENTACLES, this is tentacle porn, unprotected sex, double penetration, anal (f receiving), sucking, kinda oral (m receiving), breast and nipple play, multiple orgasms, sense deprivation, crying, overstimulation, mating and breeding, slight impregnation kink, mentions of blue ringed octopi and them being deadly, uncertainty of returning home, reader blacking out; Wordcount: 3.098; Event: Where the Shoreline meets the Sea by the Cult of Dionysus Network

Summary: Avoiding the heat of the day you leave the vacation house during the evening, searching for a secluded spot. Soon enough you realise that spot wasn’t as secluded as you thought. During a night dive you were about to discover all kinds of things.

A/N: First of all, I google street viewed half of Jeju island and it’s fucking beautiful. Second of all, researching blue ringed octopi mating rituals was a wild ride and turned this into the tentacle porn it is... have fun... and please tell me what you think!

The second you stepped out of the plane you knew the weather would be too hot during the day for you. Of course you wanted to have fun during the holiday trip with your friends but there was no way you would survive this heat.

Your group of friends rented a beautiful house on Jeju island for the time being of your stay. You walked into the spacious centre of the house, seeing a kitchen area to your left and further in a large table for all of you to sit at. To your right you saw a living room area with a couch.

There were doors leading away from the centre but you simply walked to the couch with your stuff and plopped down. You heaved a sigh, feeling the heat and jet lag doing their toll on you already. “I’ll pick whatever bed is left”, you murmured and laid down on the couch, closing your eyes within seconds.

You woke up hours later, groggy and disoriented. Yawning heartily, you looked around and noticed none of your friends were in the main space. You stretched on the couch, hearing a few joints crack, and rubbed over your face. “Curse of the couch”, you murmured and stood up.

You lazily wandered around the house, checking in on your friends, who stayed in their rooms, and searching for the last free bed. Once you found it, you got your bags and basically threw them on the mattress.

For today - the arrival day - you hadn’t planned any group activities. Most of you simply wanted to get to the house and then check out the near surroundings or unpack.

You scratched the back of your head, contemplating whether you should unpack your things now - so you wouldn’t have to do it later on - or if you should ask one of your friends to join you on a short tour around the area.

Through the open window of your room you heard the ocean waves crashing against the shoreline and you knew immediately the decision was made.

As if the water called for you, you wandered outside - completely forgetting to ask one of your friends to join you. A fresh breeze encompassed your body, filling your senses with the salty air.

You knew a little further away from the house was an actual sand beach, which was quite rare on Jeju since the volcanic based island had more rocky shores than sandy beaches.

Despite the sun setting already, you assumed quite the traffic down at the beach and somehow you felt like avoiding civilization at the moment. Therefore you walked around the house, searching for a direct path towards the ocean. Between some bushes you discovered an opening and after one last look over your shoulder, you followed the path.

It didn’t take long until you arrived at the rocky shore. You inhaled a deep breath, closing your eyes shortly and taking in your surroundings with your senses. Thanks to the setting sun it wasn’t as hot anymore and with the fresh breeze it even felt slightly cool on your skin. Small droplets of salt water landed on your body and you opened your eyes again.

The last sun rays glistened on the surface of the ocean, hiding the reefs underneath it. You knew that just a few metres into the water was enough for the depth to drop massively. The rocks and carved in holes were perfect conditions for the most colourful reefs and a wonderful home for dozens of sea creatures.

You noticed a large, flat rock close to the border of the water. Using the remaining sunlight you jumped and climbed towards it, making sure you wouldn’t fall down and hurt yourself. With a soft sigh you landed on the rock and turned around your own axis.

The place appeared to be quite secluded and with a small smile on your lips you sat down on the rock. You leaned back on your hands and closed your eyes again, feeling how your whole body and mind started to relax.

You never imagined a rock being that comfortable but you were able to stay there for hours on end.

A splash in the water caught your attention and you sat up straight again. You slowly turned your head and looked around, scanning the surface of the ocean. You could feel the eyes of someone on your form but you struggled locating where it came from.

You caught a movement from the corner of your eye and your head immediately snapped into that direction.

A head broke through the ocean surface, droplets of water running down the dark blue hair. Ever so slowly the person turned around and bright blue eyes caught yours. With one hand he brushed his wet hair out of his face and moved closer to the rocky shore, half hiding behind some rocks.

You crossed your legs and tilted your head, curious as to where the young man came from. Hesitantly you raised one hand and waved it gently as a greeting.

He stared at your hand and then looked down at his own, slowly raising it.

You smiled and turned on the rock to face him properly but that sudden movement seemed to scare him. His eyes widened and you thought even the colour of his hair brightened before he dove back down again.

“No”, you called out, raising one hand as if you wanted to pull him back. You bit on your lower lip and dropped your hand again, eyes wandering over the area he vanished at.

You stayed a moment longer, hoping he would come back but after a while you realised it wouldn’t happen again. With a defeated sigh you pushed yourself up and climbed back over the rocks. Once again you looked over your shoulder, silently praying to see him again, before you walked back through the bushes and towards the house.

You still couldn’t wrap your mind around the meeting you had and laid awake in your bed through half of the night - which might come from your extended nap earlier too. You also weren’t sure if you should bring it up with your friends or keep it to yourself.

The following days - after the activities with your friends - you returned to the rock during the early evening. You stayed in the same position for hours and silently waited. Even though you couldn’t be sure he would actually come back.

You sighed and removed your shoes, scooting to the edge of the rock and dipping your feet into the cool water. It has been three days already and you slowly lost your hope of meeting him again. You leaned back on your hands and closed your eyes.

The cool water caressed your feet and calves while the sea breeze played around your upper form. Your mind drifted into daydreaming as your body started to relax again.

When you heard a splash again you thought it was part of your imagination. Even the soft touches along your leg felt like they were part of your mind games.

“Your skin is… soft”, a gentle voice disrupted your thoughts.

You flinched and opened your eyes again, noticing the same blue mop of hair floating over the water level.

He had some distance between the both of you once more, eyeing you warily. The sudden movement had him on edge, brightening his blue hair.

You blinked several times in fascination, staring at the almost pulsating colour. You’ve never seen something like this before and it dawned on you - something you should have assumed earlier on - that he wasn’t really human.

He slowly came closer again, the iridescent blue toning down once more. He eyed you intently, seeming just as curious as you.

You introduced yourself and hesitantly waved with your hand again, smiling when his eyes landed on your hand like the last time.

“Jisung.”

You repeated his name, liking the way it felt when you said it. “Do you live around here?” You let your gaze wander around the area, struggling to make out any details with the sun having vanished behind the horizon.

“Sort of.” Jisung swam closer and placed his hands on the rock next to you. “I could show you.” He looked at you almost nervously, his eyes darting towards the open ocean.

You slowly scooted closer to the edge of the rock. The curiosity got the best of you and you let your gaze wander down his body.

Despite the increasing darkness you easily saw his naked upper body but instead of legs you discovered tentacles. The warm yellow-brownish colour was littered with blue rings and dark spots.

Jisung dipped deeper into the water, suddenly feeling conscious about his form. He never approached a human before but his species was incredibly rare, making him lonely. When he noticed you didn’t react negatively to his form but had a spark in your eyes, he became more confident.

You bit on your lower lip when Jisung caressed your leg with one of his tentacles, letting it slither along your calf and further up towards your bare thigh. The suction cups of his tentacle gently sucked on your skin, teasing you even more.

“I’d like to see your home, yeah”, you breathed out, a shiver running through your whole body.

“It’s underwater though.” Jisung caught your eyes for a moment before he let his gaze wander over your clothes.

You nodded and started unbuttoning your top as if in trance. Your subconscious questioned you whether you should feel embarrassed about undressing in front of a stranger but something about him made you ignore that fact.

With a few movements you had undressed completely, placing all your clothes next to your shoes. You pressed your lips together and carefully slid into water, inhaling sharply when the cool liquid surrounded you.

“Take a deep breath”, Jisung instructed you, grabbing your hand and pulling you further out to the open ocean.

Once again you nodded and inhaled deeply, letting yourself be pulled underwater by Jisung. At first you had your eyes pressed shut, the dark engulfing you completely. A small tug from Jisung made you open your eyes.

Even though you two were under water during the night you could perfectly see Jisung and his broad smile. He brushed over more anemones, which suddenly illuminated the darkness.

You looked around in wonder, nearly gasping in awe if it weren’t for the fact you were under water and had to hold your breath. Dozens of colours shone brightly around you, showing you the wonderful reef surrounding you two.

Jisung pulled you further along the reef, brushing over anemones on his way to keep your path lighted. Every now and then he looked over his shoulder to check on you, smiling softly whenever he caught your eyes.

You watched him closely, even forgetting about your surroundings. His tentacles spread and closed over and over again to push himself forward, moving him through the water like it was nothing.

Jisung stopped in front of a carved stone, which was covered with anemones and corals. The shell of an incredibly large clam leaned against the stone wall. Jisung moved it aside and showed you his little home. It wasn’t much but thanks to the shell he had a safe space to live in.

You swam closer to the wall and shell, brushing over the surface with your fingertips. You never imagined it to be that smooth. A smile played over your lips as you turned towards Jisung.

He came closer to you as well, looking at you intently. His tentacle caressed your bare skin, lighting up your desire. Your lungs burned for air, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to tell Jisung to stop. You wanted him to continue, wanted to feel his touch and the suction of his tentacles on your skin.

Thankfully Jisung remembered your need for air and swam back to the surface of the ocean. As you broke through the water, Jisung’s hands on your hips pushing you even further into the air, you inhaled greedily the oxygen.

You automatically placed your hands on his shoulders when he lowered your form back into the water. Only everything from your shoulders upwards stayed above the surface level.

“You good?”

Even though you still greedily gasped for air you nodded at him. Your hands drew lines on his skin and once your breathing finally calmed down, you were able to focus more on Jisung again. You brushed his dark blue hair out of his face, transfixed with his eyes on you.

Jisung’s hold on your hips tightened and he pulled you closer against himself. His tentacles, those he didn’t need to keep both of you afloat, started caressing your skin again.

With the star- and moonlight you could see his blown out pupils, noticing he was just as aroused as yourself. A moan escaped your lips when you felt one of his tentacles slither closer to your core.

Jisung breathed heavily, wrapping one of his tentacles around your ankle. He had been watching you every night you came to the shore, had been observing your every movement and he realised quickly he wanted to mate with you.

His tentacles slithered along your body, sucking on your skin and teasing you in the process. Two of them moved up to your breasts, wrapping themselves around your tits with the cups sucking to your skin. The tips of his tentacles circled around your nipples, making you squirm in pleasure.

Jisung used another tentacle to wrap it around your hip, having now his hands free to cup your face and pull you in for a kiss.

The tentacle around your ankle moved to your thighs, rubbing itself between them. You instinctively pushed your legs together, crying out in pleasure, but obstructing Jisung’s way to handle you.

He snarled and hurriedly swam towards a stone formation, pressing you against it. Jisung used one hand to hold both of you afloat, having now the ability to use all his tentacles on your body - especially the one to pump you full with his sperm packets.

Jisung kept his tentacles on your tits and around your waist, using two more now to spread your legs apart. Another tentacle made its way around your throat, poking its tip at the corner of your mouth as well.

You shivered, feeling the suction cups around your throat. Without hesitation you opened your mouth, letting the tip of his tentacle enter your wet cavern. You moaned around the appendage, sucking it and wrapping your tongue around it.

Jisung’s breath became irregular, watching you and your reactions to his tentacles. His desire grew exponentially while he stayed close to you. He pressed his special tentacle against your core, rubbing the side with the suction cups over your folds. As he found your clit and made you squirm even harder under his touch, it took all of his composure to not simply pound into you.

You gasped for air when Jisung placed his free hand over your eyes, obstructing your vision now and heightening all your other senses in the process. Another yelp made its way out of your mouth once you felt his last tentacle play around your asshole.

Gosh, you wanted him to fill you in every possible way and even though the feeling was foreign, you couldn’t get enough of it. Whimpers and moans fell from your lips while simultaneously saliva dripped out of your mouth. Parts of it even ran along the tentacle Jisung still had in your mouth.

Jisung couldn’t wait any longer. He already pushed most of his tentacles into your holes - except for the one he needed for mating. The tentacle caressed your mound and spread your lower lips, dipping into your core ever so slightly.

“I’m gonna pump you full of my seed. You’re mine. My mate. And you’re gonna carry my babies!” Jisung growled and finally pushed his last tentacle into you, making you gargle around the one in your mouth. He pumped into you over and over again, pushing the tentacle as far into you as possible. Jisung did the same with the other tentacles inside of you, varying in speed and depth.

Within seconds he brought you over the edge. You screamed around the tentacle, feeling all your muscles tense and relaxed repeatedly. Even after your high, when sensitivity started to hit you, Jisung didn’t stop thrusting into you.

He groaned and grunted, the hand holding onto the rock cramping up and knuckles turning white. His blue hair started to glow brightly - same with his eyes and the rings on his octopus half. Jisung knew he was close to transferring the first sperm packet into you.

You could feel Jisung tense up and something different than the tentacle being released into you. You squirmed even more in front of him, feeling another orgasm building inside of you. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes as your whole body spasmed yet again. The tears rolled down your cheeks once you noticed Jisung still wasn’t slowing down at all.

You barely knew anything about blue ringed octopus - even less about the hybrid form. You only knew about their deadly bite but nothing about their mating process. Yet, you had a feeling it would be a long one.

You gargled around his tentacle, crying from the oversensitivity when yet another orgasm hit you.

Jisung spilled packet after packet into you, becoming addicted to the feeling your body gave him. Your warmth, the softness of your breasts, the tightness of all your holes - everything about you made him want to have more and more of you.

By now it felt as if your insides got rearranged with the ongoing onslaught on both your holes and you could do nothing about it. You felt like a sexdoll in his hold - only there to bring him the most pleasure. It definitely was the case if you went by his aroused grunts but your own pleasure got tenfolded with every passing second. Even up to the point you were sure you’d pass out.

In your lust filled thoughts you momentarily thought back to your friends and your vacation. A small part of you wondered whether you’d ever return to them. Or maybe Jisung would keep you by his side, keep you to have sex with you as often as he could and as long as he could.

Another orgasm washed over you. And with it your consciousness, letting you black out from the overwhelming pleasure you received.

Taglist: @xavi-in-kpopland @sanjoongie

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pearlywritings · 1 year

Text

Come with me, my love

synopsis: the best way to heal is to go somewhere else. Do not worry, your lover has already taken care of that.

pairing and characters: Albedo, Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli x reader (separately)

tw: pure fluff, hurt/comfort

word count: 2.9k+ words in total

author’s note: I dedicate it to my dear @lunargrapejuice , I hope this will bring you comfort you need, my dear 💛 and also to anyone else who is in desperate need of it☺

Albedo

The concept of relationship is fairly new to Albedo, he’s still exploring the field and is learning new things, even though you two have already changed the status to official. However, he is unbelievably observant, and his ability to note anomalies comes in handy when it concerns you.

Lately he’s noticed how you haven’t been your usual self - the bubbly, smiley, affectionate, lively self with energy almost bursting out of your body. You’ve become grim, sluggish, and didn't come to him for a kiss or a hug unless it was him who approached you and gave you those. In the moments like this you were clinging to him, as if fearing he’d break the comforting atmosphere and go back to his research. But the one thing the young man understood about relationships is the importance of being there for your partner.

Albedo didn’t ask you to tell him what’s wrong - you’ll open up to him when you are ready if you’d ever feel like that - he knows and trusts you. He just holds you close until you doze off and only then comes back to his work table to wrap up whatever is hanging and call it a night.

When it goes like this for over a week, the blond becomes really concerned and understands that it requires some more drastic measures. He officially submits documents for a couple of days off to Jean, informs his alchemist team about his absence and starts researching and planning an immaculate solution to the issue before him.

The gathered data eventually suggests that going out somewhere away from bustling places of constant presence and unwinding is what usually helps to deal with growing depression. You might think his first thought would be taking you out to Dragonspine. After all, the scenery is breath-taking (when there are no raging blizzards), it’s serene and mostly quiet, and no one can disturb you two.

…well, he considered it.

But ultimately he decided on a beach day. Just you, and him, and Klee, since he knows how strongly you adore the little troublemaker. Listen, maybe taking a child who loves fish blasting to the lake isn’t the best idea, but Albedo checked and rechecked her belongings to make sure everything exploding was left home before actually going there.

Weaponizing Klee's charms was a clever decision and proved to be effective. The pyro user becomes your energizer as she constantly asks you to search for seashells, play with her in the water, draw Dodoko on the sand (Albedo, who joins you in almost every activity, undoubtedly wins this one), search for seashells some more, play with a ball, build sand castles…

You plop onto your towel only when the girl starts chasing the crabs, gleefully laughing and swinging her bucket in which she was going to put her new "friend". Your lover hums, keeping an eye out for her to not get into any sort of predicament and sits down next to you, side by side, bending one leg and resting his arm on the knee.

“How’s the vitamin D absorption going?” You chuckle at his choice of words, but then again, you spent so much time inside your shared apartment, of course your organism started lacking the sun rays.

“Pretty awesome, I must admit,” rearranging your body so you could lie down with the man still sitting close, you give your body a good stretch, contently sighing.

“Glad to hear that,” elegant artistic fingers reach out to brush the stray locks from your face, and you quickly catch his wrist, bringing it to your lips to leave a soft kiss.

“Thank you, ‘bedo. I am sorry if I caused you trouble with my… well…” You trail off, but of course he understands what you mean.

“No need to apologize,” a small, but warm smile graces his lips, “You didn’t cause me any trouble, sunshine.”

At the sweet petname your heart skips a beat and mouth twists in your attempts to not reveal a stupid grin. The Chief Alchemist is enchanted by you, so bright and shining, drinking in your soft expressions and bashful body language.

The mission deems to be a success, but solidifying the results with late night cuddles back home wouldn’t hurt.

Diluc

The owner of the Dawn Winery hates parting with you for longer than a work day, even though sometimes the list of his duties keeps him away from you for exactly over a full work day. That’s why he loathes business trips that require his presence.

You hate those too, because it means you won’t get to get a morning kiss from him and give him one, share breakfast with him, see him throughout a day and sneak sweet kisses and hand holdings in private of the backroom of the tavern, walk with him or welcome him home, feel his arms around you when he climbs through the window of your shared bedroom at the winery after his late night endeavors…

You won’t get to see his vibrant eyes - hazy with sleep, sharp when annoyed and absolutely swirling with adoration when he gazes at you. You won’t get to whine for him to stay in bed for just a little longer, because the warmth of his body is too precious to lose so easily. You won’t get to drag his gloves off of his hands when he doesn’t go out in the city at night, preferring to go to sleep with you. You won’t get to braid or unbraid his flaming hair, massage his scalp and listen to his calm content breathing, as he eagerly leans in your arms.

You get the point - business trips are the worst.

And your feelings are completely mutual on Diluc’s end, even if some of the reasons for him feeling agitated may vary.

This is exactly why you are planting your feet on one of the streets of Fontaine, holding onto your fiance’s hand and curiously looking around you. This time the man’s heart ached when he saw an absolutely heart-broken look on your face when he informed you of yet another we-cannot-sign-this-deal-without-you business trip. The past two weeks had been hard for both of you, and the lack of seeing each other only worsened your mood and made you feel so miserable. A week more without him? You didn’t think you’d endure it without crying, because everything was pressing on your shoulders and it was suffocating, nearly crushing.

The decision was fast and simple - going there together. While Diluc Ragnvindr enjoys privacy, he feels pride at the idea of showing his amazing significant other - soon to become a spouse - off. The amount of mischief concealed within the multiple walls of his character can’t help but look forward to you cutting off the suitors that inevitably come after the young wine tycoon. He knows you can do it just with a single glance and that’s one of the things he loves about you - the power of your beautiful eyes. He himself is weak before the effect of them.

“So… This is Fontaine…” You whisper in awe, still observing everything your gaze has an opportunity to be cast upon. Your hand is still clinging onto his, and something flutters in the male’s chest, when you gently tug on it, urging him to move after you.

“First things first - we are purchasing the Kamera. I want to capture all the moments we’ll share here,” at your proclamation Diluc softly chuckles, briefly turning around and signaling for the servants to unload your carriage and bring everything into the house he rented for you to stay in.

“Sure, my flame. I’d love that as well.”

You grin happily - looks like there is no trace of your previous depressed state anymore. A day in the carriage huddled in blankets together managed to heal your sullen mood and partially feed your desire for being close with him. Don’t think he didn’t enjoy it too, only Celestia above knows how desperately this man craved your presence and affection - it’s just that you and your satisfaction come first.

This trip must give you many memories and Diluc will make sure to spend all the free time he’ll have with you. Oh, but to think of it, in his busy time he also can have you there, because what are they gonna do? Revoke the deal they themselves begged him to consider? Exactly - no.

You are stuck with him, and honestly, this is the best thing when we are talking about two touch-starved and presence-craving lovers.

Kaeya

“Kaeya, I am nervous.”

“You better not be, she’ll sense that you are not in control.”

“You are not helping!”

The man, whose leg literally brushes against yours, as the two horses - a pitch black one and golden with flaxen mane and tail one - slowly march side by side along the road of a Starfell Valley, finds it cute. Finds you cute. A crease between your eyebrows from before disappeared and the look on your face was replaced with such adorable concern. You really don’t have anything to worry about, the girl he chose for you is the calmest specimen he has in stables, very docile and friendly, having been won by you with a piece of apple you offered to her prior to this walk. It is really much better when getting you on his stallion, who is not that tolerant to the people who are not Kaeya himself.

“Do not worry, I am not letting go of her reins until you are ready to try it yourself,” he assures you in a soft voice, which smoothness infiltrates all your senses and lulls the rising unease. “Swing your body lightly back and forth with the horse’s steps, it’ll help you to stay in the saddle and help you feel the movement under you. Trust me, it’ll help.”

“O-oh, alright,” with his palm pressed against the small of your back, you try doing as he says, carefully moving your body. His thumb gently rubs your skin under a thin blouse, assuring you that everything is okay, and, when you glance at him from the corner of your eyes, he offers you a sweet smile, murmuring ‘god job, snowflake’ just above the whisper. It makes your heart flutter and lips form a small smile of your own. Your lover is your salvation, really. The moment he saw your gloomy face upon arriving home, he knew he’d go any lengths to bring a smile back to your face. Kaeya consoled and cuddled you that evening, and a couple of days later took you out of the city to spend his day off together.

A horse walk idea has been stuck in his mind for a month already, after you became a witness of him training recruits, the ones that signed for cavalry. Him, on his stallion, with reins in one hand and a training sword in another, entranced you, to the point you snapped out of your stupor only when he hopped on the ground and approached you with a teasing smirk.

Now his words and expressions lack the usual banter, the softness of his cerulean eye blending with the spotless sky above, the rustle of his lips being like one of the grass and leaves the wind plays with, and his smile warmer than the afternoon sun. He belongs in Mondstadt so much. He belongs next to you so much.

Wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kaeya’s visible eye widens when you, using stirrups, rise and reach to him, pressing your lips together. The hand on your back instantly slides further and settles on your hip, keeping you steadied, as his mouth slowly devours yours. He senses no more negative feelings inside your body, and it sparks joy in his chest, which spreads through his body in waves of lingering warmth.

Your eyes sparkle when you separate and the man nearly lets go of both his and your reins, reprimanded by his horse’s disgruntled snort.

“Thank you, Kae,” Archons your smile is blinding, “I needed it.”

“No need to thank me. I got you. Always,” and you giggle when he smooches right under your chin.

“So, when can I trot?”

“Trot?” He nearly snorts at your zeal. “Haven’t even held the reins, and wanna trot already?”

“But you looked so elegant while doing so!”

“Got you mesmerized, eh?” You lightly pinch a hand still resting on your hip. “Ouch! Goodness, Y/n, can’t you admit you are head over heels for this Cavalry Captain?”

“In your dreams, Alberich,” you stick a tongue at him and the man is completely reassured that his Y/n is back.

“Then I’ll be waiting in my dreams. As for reality, I wouldn’t be opposed to giving my love private lessons in horse-riding.”

“Oh! Can we start today?” Eager, aren’t you? How lovely.

“Consider we’ve already started.”

Zhongli

The snowflakes are dancing in the sky, twirling and slowly lowering to the snow-covered ground, pristine whiteness almost blinding with how every tiny frozen crystal reflects the sunlight and sparkles like the finest gems of the Liyue mines. The crust is crunching under your legs, as you and your husband are taking your morning walk in the vast lands of Snezhnaya.

Truth to be spoken, Zhongli would’ve probably never found himself on the territory of the Cryo Archon, but this is a special case. He knew how badly you needed a change of place and new experience in your current dispirited state. No surprise he agreed almost immediately, when during his last visit to the land of Morax Childe invited the two of you to stay with him and his wife in their homeland. He promised no interruption from the Tsaritsa or the Harbingers, and, knowing that partially the invitation was surely coming from the ginger’s lover, whom he had met and whom both him and you found very pleasant to be around, the man believed it.

At first the idea of coming to Snezhnaya worried you, but Zhongli didn’t miss the curious and excited glint in your pretty eyes. He gave you time to consider the idea, and a week later the three of you were on a ship, half-way to the country of snow. The woman carrying Ajax’ real last name welcomed you warmly and with a big smile on her face, chewing her husband lightly for not having invited you two earlier.

The atmosphere that prevailed in this house surely helped distract you from oppressive thoughts, and exploring outside with your caring husband made you so tired, but in a pleased kind of sense, that you didn’t have the energy to spend it on anything but share a goodnight kiss with Zhongli and fall asleep in his comforting embrace. You were healing, and it couldn’t but delight him.

You took a liking to the walks in the early hours of morning, because it, as you proclaimed, was very refreshing for the beginning of the day. Being a morning person Zhongli always joins you on your little outings. Childe introduced a thermos to you two, and ever since your husband tends to have it on him whenever you are outside. The tea in there has a calming and soothing effect, meticulously prepared by skillful hands with love and care.

Another thing you both became fond of was dancing. Just like snowflakes in the air you spin in each other’s embrace, heavy cloaks with fur collars barely swiping the snow under your feet. A soft melody hummed in deep voice mixed with gleeful giggles, turning into a shared laughter soon into the dance that really didn’t have any name.

Sometimes though the quietness around you awakes a feeling of loneliness and you can’t help but shed tears, face pressed to his chest with his arms wrapped tightly around your form. He lets you cry and release the negative emotions, gently swaying your bodies to some rhythm existing only in the beat of his heart. He tries to swipe your tears before they turn into the frozen droplets and sting your eyes or bite your cheeks.

The usual expensive leather of his gloves is replaced by thick wool and feels warm against your face, as his big palms cradle it in his delicate hold.

“My gem…” the puff of hot air from his mouth caresses your nose - that’s how close he is - and you cutely wrinkle it. “Don’t you think we should return? It’s been almost an hour, your skin is burning from the cold already.”

“Must we really?” An adorable pout doesn’t work on a stoic man, as he lets go of your face and, to the accompaniment of your squeals, hoists you in his arms bridal style.

“If you refuse to use your two legs, then I’ll just carry you,” his smile is disarming, damn him.

“All the way back?”

“Why, of course, my dear. Do you question my strength?”

“No, of course not! It’s just…” Though your cheeks are already red, he doesn’t mistake the way you avert your eyes in quiet embarrassment.

“Oh, is this position making you shy? Don’t worry, I am sure our hosts will understand.”

“You..!” The man chuckles lightheartedly, not having it in him to stop himself from teasing you. Ah, this truly is refreshing, and Zhongli is so elated to see a once again happy smile that you desperately try to hide in the fur of your coat.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #albedo x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #zhongli x reader #albedo kreideprinz #diluc ragnvindr #kaeya alberich #zhongli #albedo kreideprinz x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #genshin impact fluff

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 1 year

Note

I see your “accidentally a criminal” mini storyline and raise you “accidentally tripping off the silent alarm for the exact same reason and “this patrol is so fucking boring- oh thank god someone’s trying to break into the Gotham library archives”Bruce/Batman responding to the call”

"What the-" Bruce knew you were in Gotham. Of course he knew. He'd seen you only a handful of hours before.

But somehow, watching you hunched over a table like a question mark, frowning at your handwriting on a legal pad in the dim security light made him snort. He should have known, honestly.

Who the fuck would break into the library? Most people, even serious scholars just requested copies of what they needed instead of coming themselves- no one wanted to get Joker Gassed or have Condiment king or King Tut hold them, hostage, for whatever half-cocked reason.

For just a moment, he considered startling you. Just to see if he could do it. To see just how aware you might be. Both Lois and Clark had told him it would take an act of god to pull you out of the hole. And he'd never seen you deep in it. Archival tools at the ready. Painstakingly noting whatever it was. Laser focused. Happily bopping along. Like a little meteor in your own erratic orbit.

But, he decided against it. There were rookie cops with itchy trigger fingers and if you screamed, well. He had perfectly good body armor but the last thing he wanted was for you to get hurt. Or for Clark to tear him limb from limb.

"I don't know if you noticed," he drawled, walking forward, smiling just a little but it's getting late-"

"It's only-" you look up and flick your wrist out to activate your watch face and heave the most irritated, resigned sigh Bruce had ever heard. "Damn it."

"The good news," Batman said, "is that you're not getting arrested."

"Oh?"

"Being absent-minded isn't a crime, Doctor," he chuckled.

"Maybe not but-"

"But?" he hummed, picking up your cardigan where it had fallen to the floor and sliding your water closer. He's not sure if you're croaky from dehydration or just because you hadn't spoken in so long.

"I had a half a joke about absent-minded nuclear scientists and war crimes... give it a day or two it'll be funnier."

"I look forward to it," he chuckled, watching you pop your neck and unfold yourself, "But for now, I should probably see you back to your hotel."

"Pity," you sigh. "I almost had it-" You shake your head and shrug into your cardigan, rubbing your eyes with a sleeve and stifling a yawn. Your eyes felt like they had sand in them and your stomach felt stuck together.

"Tomorrow's another day," he said, shooting a glare at the officers and security that had started up the aisle to stop them.

"Tomorrow I have a date-"

"A date?" he asked, lip twitching.

"With Bruce Wayne do you know him?" you ask.

"I can't say we ever met," Batman answered, helping you put your notes into your satchel.

"Pity," you hum, taking the bag from him, "I think you'd like him." And the glimmer of teasing in your eyes makes him feel warm. He's not sure if you're completely bonkers or completely brilliant, and the longer he talks to you, the harder it is to see where one might become the other.

#Bruce Wayne #Bruce Wayne x reader #ask answered #minors dni #odd duck!reader

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arvensimp · 1 year

Note

You writing is amazing, you capture the character personality so well.

I found an secret beach while playing pokemon scarlet and I was wonder what will a beach date with arven look like? What swimsuit will he wear? Reaction to our swimsuit? What activity will arven and reader do?

Thank you! Also, ooh! Where is it? I found a secret lil cave by the ocean just between the glacedo mountain and the orange foresty area north of the lake that I thought was pretty cool. Is the secret beach the one north of the lighthouse on the west coast? Also forgive me for not replying to a comment if you leave one! I check all my posts for tags and comments constantly, but since this is a side blog, I'm not able to reply from here. Just know that I love everything y'all say!! If you ever want to chat my inbox is open. :)

Beach Episode

Arven x reader, no gendered pronouns

When you excitedly tell Arven about the secret beach you've discovered and offer it up as a potential date destination, he is delighted. You can count on him to take care of all the planning. Truth be told he's happier that way. "Too many cooks in the kitchen," as it were. You just need to worry about driving the lizard in the right direction and picking a nice bathing suit.

When you arrive, before you even start unpacking together, he examines the area and whistles, fists on his hips.

"This is pretty nice! Not that I doubted you, of course, but usually an untouched beach is way less sandy and much more rocky and uneven than this, I'd think. Good going!"

From there, the two of you set out a massive beach blanket, big enough for both of you and a few pokemon to lounge about on. Next come the umbrellas to provide a bit of shade, as well as the folding table to house the snacks and coolers.

Arven really goes all out when he has time to prep.

Once all the set up is done in terms of the "picnic site," Arven goes ahead and changes into his swimwear. He wears just basic trunks, nothing terribly fancy, but they do have a floette print similar to that of his phone case.

He doesn't outwardly make a huge deal out of anything you wear, not thinking it's appropriate, but he's really happy to see you in your swimsuit.

Before you rush into the water, he does get a little blushy. "We need to make sure we get some sunscreen on before we get into the water, okay? I-I can help you, if you like? Not to be weird or anything."

You, of course, happily accept his help, and squirm and giggle at the cold sensation of the cream before he rubs it into your back and shoulders.

You also help him apply his own sunscreen. He pulls his hair out of the way for you, and you get to basically give him a little mini back massage as you rub him down. Arven sighs and relaxes against you as you work...

Once you're all SPF'd up, you release your pokemon from their balls, and it's basically a free for all! You spend as much time playing in the sand and surf as you like.

Arven basically plays along with whatever games you're down for. He didn't really get to play much in the water as a kid, so he's happy to learn how you did it when you were little.

You also build a couple of sandcastles together with your pokemon, being careful to respectfully knock them down before you abandon them, just in case they turn into sandyghasts.

As with any date with Arven, the main event is the food.

Your man has packed all the best for your little group of Pokemon, and then for the two of you he has fresh squeezed fruit juices, along with some pastries, sandwiches, and a surprisingly delicious pasta salad that kept super well in his new cooler that he has been really eager to try out!

The date does eventually end around the time it gets dark, but you're able to spend a nice amount of quality time snuggled up on the blankets, cuddling and exchanging soft kisses before you go.

#arven fanfic #arven x reader #arven pokemon #trainer arven #arven #rival arven

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thatswhywelovegermany · 6 months

Text

Verdict concerning urinating at the beach of the Baltic Sea

A man emptied his bladder in the protection of the dark and was confronted by watchful upholders of law and order. The case went to court - and the judges felt challenged to show their craft.

It is one of the advantages of nature that your view of the magnificent landscape is not obstructed by an outside toilet. That's why you simply have no choice but to pee outdoors every now and then. Under the cover of a bush, tree, hill or even the night, an unproblematic affair that should not upset anyone.

Something like that may have gone through the thoughts of the wild wee'er who removed himself about twenty meters from his friends gathered on the Baltic Sea beach in a summer night of July 2022 and urinated protected by the darkness – the act was committed around 00:36 – with his back facing the beach towards the water. Children building sand castles or girls playing volleyball were not active at this time. Nor was the beach frequented by walkers. However, law enforcement officers of the city of Lübeck armed with flashlights patrolled the beach, who confronted the perpetrator – but only after he had emptied his bladder, order must prevail. The man was supposed to pay sixty euros for the administrative offense of "annoyance of the general public by a grossly indecent action", which the man refused to pay. The case went to the district court of Lübeck.

Among other things, the question whether the wild wee'er had violated the public sense of shame was on the table. The court found: no. The person concerned had entrusted himself to the protection of the darkness and did not have to expect to be suddenly illuminated with flashlights and to be approached in a targeted manner. It has to be redounded to the district court's credit that it has also kept an eye on the geographical peculiarities. "The fact that there were no other ways to retreat behind landscape features at the drift line of the Baltic Sea, unlike in mountains and at forest edges, except to turn away, cannot be stacked against the person concerned. That's how it is at the coast."

Yes, that's the way it is at the coast. Continue in the court text, on to the next setback for the Hanseatic city of Lübeck. According to the district court, no discommoding pollution or impairment by odor had occurred. The Baltic Sea is not a puddle, the wild wee'er had determined correctly. The court has researched that it contains "an amount of 21,631 cubic kilometers of brackish water. The degree of dilution would be so high that even in the event of a repeat or imitation a discommoding pollution or impairment by odor is impossible."

Finally, the district court comes to the beautiful, almost poetically formulated judgment that under the vastness of the firmament, man has no less rights than the deer in the forest, the rabbit in the field or the seal at the drift line of the Baltic Sea. And since, in case of doubt, we are sometimes deer, rabbits or seals, depending on the region, the state treasury has to bear the costs of the legal proceedings and the expenses of the person concerned.

#improbable news from germany #that's so german

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haolovre · 2 months

Text

——stuck with u——

non idol! minghao x fem! reader

!!warning: this is the first time im writing on a platform so bare with me and hope its not cringe:)!!

|| fluff || words: 1k

ur roommate, junhui has this friend what seems to caught ur attention, minghao. one day junhui invites all of his friends over. but then-

I. too early for this madness?

“Y/NNN!!” he screamed as he barged in ur room. he floped on top of u as u were trying to sleep. “what do you want?” in an annoying tone as u still wanted to sleep. “mah friends are coming over in 5 minutes” this was the third time this week that jun’s friends were coming over. and today is wednesday… yes they came everyday-. you throw ur pillow at jun. “whywhywhy can’t u just go to there houses?” u said still wanted to sleep “because they want to see u” he pouted “i swear they like u more then me” you signed “finefine just don’t let them in my room when there her-“ as u get cut off by the doorbell. jun was sprinting to the door (how the hell didnt he fell idk) as u get up closes the door to get ready. as you thought jun bumped into something u were so wrong it was soonyoung and this actives ass running through the whole house from whatever was chasing him (i think it was seungkwam but idk man) u opened the door. and u shut it again. why? because soonyoung and seungkwam were wrestling on the carpet. dino just became jeonghan’s chair (even tho there were seats left) jun and minghao hyping up the fight. jihoon and hansol are just standing there dont know what to do. cheol trying to break the fight but kinda struggling as he’s laughing his as off. the rest were just laughing there asses off. yep ur asking urself how the hell does they have so much energy AT 9 AM.. well then u opened ur door again not looking at the scene in the living room. U make urself some breakfast (idk what u guys want just think its ur dream breakfast) as the situation calms down u sit down and have ur breakfast. u and hansol had a conversation about the fight what just happend. then poof everyones is at the dinner table arguing about what they want to do today (i swear they argue about everythingㅜㅜ) u guys settle with going to beach as it was a hot summer day. cheol was paying for everything as he wanted to keep everyone happy ( tank u sugar daddy cheol <3 we luv u) as ur getting ready going to the beach. someone ‘knocks’ on the door. u were surprised by who it was. what u saw was minghao on the ground. as he knocked on ur door but u didnt respond and he didnt had time to meditate he just got impatient and tried to knock down the door but then u opend the door so yehㅜㅜ “u oke?” as you thought he would be “yeah im fine” “jun said were going so hurry ur ass up” he smiled. u grabbed ur bag and followed minghao to the living room where everyone was waiting for u. seungkwam ran too u. “ i was so worried i heard a crash, u didnt get hurt right?” “nono im fine ask minghao about the fall” as u smiled to minghao, who was embarrassed. “aww thank god ur oke” as seungkwam was smiling like a mother. “alright lets go then!!” obviously mingyu coudnt wait to go to the beach. the cars were Divided as : cheol, minghao,jeonghan were driving seungkwam , y/n and soonyoung as dj, seungkwam mingyu, hansol, dokyeon were in cheol’s car. y/n,jihoon wonwoo were in minghaos car. and soonyoung, chan, jun were in jeonghans car. after a bumpy car trip of 20 minutes. u all arrived at the beach. I swear mingyu was in the water within 20 seconds and wonwoo and hansol were following him. as u see everyone in the water except one person. u didnt see minghao. but u swore u saw him going into the wate-. splash.. u turned and saw minghao with a bucket. with the shock u had u wristlet him to the grond. u on top of him. u swore u could have killed him if you could. after a bit u guys were tired and just layed in the sand lookin at the others.

II. unexpected.

as u and minghao discussed to go to the water dokyeom ask u guys to join volleyball. u guys went to the court. u were on joshua, mingyu,seungkwam,vernon,wonwoo and jeonghan. the rest were on the other team. u guys played for two hours. and ur team won!! (yes seungkwam carried) u and cheol decided to get icecream and fruit for everyone. cheol paid for everything (as he said that earlier) u guys came back too see soonyoung and Seungkwam discussing about the volleyball game. u guys gave everyone fruit and icecream as everyone looked dehydrated from the whole game. u caught someone looking at u, minghao. minghao was looking at u. but u just said to urself that he was daydreaming so u just think nothing about it. at the other hand minghao also turned away when u did, kinda flustered as u caught him staring at u. two weeks before he met u. as jun begged u too come with after ur break up with sunghoon (i love sunghoon so dw) u kinda had a depression fase and u didnt leave the room at all. but when minghao saw u. he fell in love with u. instantly. after a week u fell for minghao. you fell for him, you got deja vu as this is how much you loved sunghoon but u didnt care. now back too the present. everyone was discussing where to eat. “wait guys you know about the new place that openend up i heard it was really good” as u requested. everyone agreed. after 10 min everone arrived at the restaurant. it was a korean chinese restaurant. u guys went in and sat at a table. minghao excused himself too the toilet.everyone ordered what they wanted after minghao came back to the table. u felt something on ur thigh (we finally at a romance scene yayay) u see minghao’s hand on ur thigh and look at him smirking (kinda creepy but eh) he looked away as the food came to the table but his hand is stuck on ur thigh. as u all ate minghao whispered to meet him outside. u and minghao excused to get fresh air. everyone talking about what is going to happen. minghao waiting for u with a bouquet in his hand. “y/n, the most beautiful,kind, sweet person i ever met. i want u to mine forever, dear y/n will u be my girl friend?” he said. u,stunt in place, dont know what to say. “i-“ “its fine u dont feel the s-“ minghao got cut off as u kissed him on the lips, their soft, perfect match for urs. u pulled away “thats ur answer” u smirked. as u see a man so happy he could jump to the moon. smiling so hard. he gave u the bouquet. u guys walked to the restaurant again and everyone was shocked seeing u two holding hands. gasping at the scene “tadaa she’s mine now so keep distance” says minghao proudly.

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poseidonsdaughterthesiren · 3 months

Text

The Daughter of Poseidon: Chapter Two

Della pulls Jason along to meet Chiron. She glances at him every once in a while and he looks panicked.

“You know no one is going to execute you right?” she giggles.

Jason’s face resembles a deer in headlights. He pauses by a sign.

“You know something about who I am right? You and that Annabeth girl were very invested in my arm.” Jason’s blue eyes were full of paranoia.

Della sighs, “Look I don’t know who you are. That mark on your arm is unusual, and you know the gods by their Roman personas.”

Jason crosses his arms, “How do I know this Chiron guy isn’t going massacre me?”

“Chiron is just and fair. He won’t kill you unless you give him a reason. Now let's go I need to talk to Beth.” Della begins to walk towards the trail.

“About that Percy kid right?” Jason doesn’t move from his spot.

“Yes,” Della sighs, “about that Percy kid.” She swallows hard holding back any feeling that tries to escape her.

Jason has moved to the trailhead now, “Who is–”

“He’s my brother,” Della sniffs, “Let’s go.”

They meander up the trail to the Big House. A four-story manner painted baby blue with white trim. The wraparound porch had longue chairs, a card table, and an empty wheelchair.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Jason said. He stands petrified on the spot.

“It’ll be fine Jason, I’ll be here the whole time. You won’t get massacred.”

Jasons nods.

The sound of hoof steps came from the house and Jason straightened like a soldier at attention.

Della smiles at the centaur on the porch, “Hey Chiron this is Jason.”

Jason backs up so fast he almost trips.

Chiron adorns his World's Best Centaur shirt and has his bow on his back. He ducks to avoid the porch light and starts to smile at Jason. Then the color drained from his face.

“You…” Chiron says, “You should be dead.”

An uncomfortable silence passes over the three of them.

“Adella, I need to speak to Jason in private,” Chiron says. He was stiff as a board.

Della frowns, “Are you sure I can stay if you–”

“Adella, now please.”

Della nods and steps back from the pair.

Jason’s face screams HELP ME!

Della pats him on the back. Once the door clicks shut. She makes her way down the trail.

The ring of cabins is deserted. Everyone is off doing activities to keep busy. She stops in her cabin and grabs her market bag. She shuts the door and makes her way to the lake.

Once her feet hit the shore she slips off her sneakers and sets them to the side. The wreckage of the chariot was cleaned up. The only evidence of the event was a black smoldering mark on the sand.

Della rummages through her bag, she should clean this thing out more often. Shells from Dad–no, blue Jolly Ranchers–no, aha! Della pulls a quartz crystal and a drachma. She sets the bag by her shoes. Skillfully, Della angles it to create the smallest of rainbows she tosses the drachma and says,

“Iris goddess of the rainbow please accept this offering. Show me Percy Jackson.”

Nothing happens.

Della sighs and sticks the quartz back in her bag. She should’ve known. Normally, the offering presents you with the person you’re trying to get a hold of. Ever since Perc went missing any time Della or Annabeth tried nothing happened.

Frustration seeps into Della. She knew better than to let it fester. Fully clothed in her oversized orange shirt and cut-off shorts she slips into the lake. She swims towards the bottom. Perks of being Posedion’s kid she could breathe underwater.

She nuzzles herself into a little spot crosses her legs and tries (key word tries) to meditate. Not achieving her goal Della opens her eyes to green mist instead of blue water.

Free me daughter of Poseidon, or the Earth will swallow us. It must be by solstice! A familiar older woman’s voice rang through her head, “FREE ME!”

Della gasps awake. She wasn’t underwater anymore. No, instead she’s levitating above the middle of the lake—no sign of the green mist or the voice. There is however a crowd of campers by the lake.

“Della!” Will yells, “Della, are you okay?”

Is she okay? She tries to control the water to help when whatever force is holding her up decides to drop her. Before she can crash into the lake she is caught by Will.

“You good?” Will asks.

Della gives him a dazed look, “Chiron–I need to see Chiron. Vision, bad vision”

Will sets her down but keeps an arm on her just in case, “Alright everybody move. Nothing to see here.”

Della tries moving forward when her legs nearly give out. She grabs Will again.

Will swiftly scoops her up and rushes them towards the Big House.

“Ugh, I’m never going to live this down am I?” Della asks.

“Don’t worry Dell,” Will pants, “I’ll let you keep your dignity.”

She focuses on staying awake. She vaguely remembers feeling like this at the Lotus. Disoriented.

Will bangs through the doors of the Big House.

Chiron, Annabeth, and Jason's heads all snap toward them.

“Will? Della? What happened?” Annabeth places a hand on Della’s forehead.

“I don’t know,” Will pants, “She was floating above the lake and then she fell. I barely caught her–then she said she needed to see Chiron–something about a vis–”

“A vision?” a unique voice said from the couch. Red hair appears in Della’s tunnel vision. Rachel.

“Rachel?” Della croaks. She tries to roll out of Will’s arms.

Will takes the hint and sets her on her feet. He and Annabeth both have a hand on her.

“Will, go prep the infirmary, I need to speak to Della,” Chiron orders.

Will slips his hand off her and dashes out the door.

Annabeth slips Della’s arm over her shoulder for stability.

“Chiron,” Della rasps, “Green smoke–meditating–solstice–”

“It would seem Della has had the same vision as Ms. McLean.”

“Huh? Piper had a vision?”

“More like Hera hijacked Rachel who seemed to have communicated for her,” Annabeth says.

“But Della wasn’t in the cabin–” Annabeth says.

“Guys,” Jason says, “She doesn’t look too good.”

“Della?”

Della felt her spinning like she was on the merry-go-round with Percy and their mom on the beach. Her knees buckle, and she slips out of Annabeth’s grasp on the floor. She can see him. Percy. He’s running by a freeway Riptide at the ready. “Percy? Percy, I can see you” she sighs. He just barely glances at her before the darkness swallows her like one of her father’s waves.

#heroes of olympus #percy and annabeth #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #oc character #jason grace #leo valdez #piper mclean #the lost hero #pjo hoo #percy jackson x sister reader #jason grace x reader #jason grace x jackson!reader

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sweetly-yours-and-mine · 9 months

Text

Words Unsaid

Summary: Bordeaux Pt. 2: “You know, Élodie asked me if you were single last night.”

“Hm?” His heart stutters at this. The secret he’s held from you for a while now bubbling up with hot lava, singing the insides of his stomach.

Pairing: Marc Spector x f!Reader

Warnings: antisemitism (not explicitly written, not from reader), talk of divorce, death of a spouse, translations given at the end, reader is French but no other descriptions are given to them

Word Count: 6.0k

A/N: Here she finally is! I hope you enjoy it! This can be read with the first part for more context or on its own. Thank you to @moony--stars for helping me with the French and to @pennyserenade for reading this over for me as well.

What had started as a relaxed game of charades, chosen specifically to surpass the language barrier between Marc and everyone else, had morphed quickly into a battle of sharp tongues and insults.

He thinks it’s political, but he’s not sure. Through the heated argument he’s managed to pick out the names of a few ministers and major contracts.

Usually, with Steven’s help, he manages to understand quite a fair bit. But his alter’s been frustratingly stubborn on stopping the eavesdropping ever since the tense conversation Élodie had shared with you while he was playing on the ground.

Even if he’s been abandoned by Steven, he’s still got Anaïs with him.

Exhausted from a long day at the beach and the excitement of the charades, she’s in the state between sleeping and awake, her eyes drooping heavily as she tried to follow the conversation around her and failing, in much the same way Marc is.

She’d given up quickly, and had crawled into his arms like a spider, holding onto his torso with all her arms and legs.

Marc hadn’t been expecting to get along so well with Anaïs. He’d always assumed that he and children mixed together like oil and water.

Yet he’d hit it off with Anaïs almost instantly. Sometimes, though he’d die than admit it, he prefers her company than that of some of the people here.

There’s one of them, Adrien, whom he actively avoids. He’s your brother-in-law, and Marc’s tried, honest to God, to make at least some polite conversation with the guy but it’s impossible. It had been like trying to fight off nausea.

Then he tried, if not for you, for Anaïs. Tried to view Adrien as her uncle, since he’s starting to care for the girl a concerning amount. So he’d decided to help when it was Adrien’s turn to make dinner for the villa last night.

And that lasted all of ten minutes before Marc wanted to throw the dinner set on the ground and decided instead to throw in the towel and go play Jenga with Anaïs.

He drifts out of his thoughts and looks around the living room again, at the flushed faces around him. Their voices are starting to get loud, starting to get on his nerves. There are at least four separate conversations going on now, each overlapping over one another, twisting together like yarn.

He tilts his head to the side and looks at the empty wine bottles on the table, wonders if everyone, including himself, has maybe had a little too much to drink.

Anaïs shifts in his arms, restless like an ocean wave until she finds a more comfortable position and lays her head on his shoulder with a content hum. Looking now at the smooth, unbothered skin of her forehead, tinged a little pink from her insistence against wearing sunscreen, Marc can’t help but to envy the girl.

Right now, he’d much prefer to crawl up into someone’s arms and fall right to sleep instead of whatever sort of chaos that’s happening around him.

He wonders if she’s only chosen him because she knew that he for one wouldn’t be shouting the way Adrien is now. That really, it wasn’t that she trusted him to fall asleep on him like this, but because he was the only logical solution to her problem.

Though he’s fairly certain that that is the case, the hours they’ve spent playing board games and wrestling until sand was caked into his hair no matter, he can’t help the implicit bitter taste it leaves in his mouth.

Oh, Marc. Steven’s in the headspace again. Don’t think that, she adores you.

Marc swallows down the pill of his alter’s words and it lodges at the back of his throat, stuck and persistent on not going down any further. His hand comes to rest on the girl’s back and starts to rub her comfortingly, maybe win some brownie points in his favour.

Adrien cuts someone off for the third time, jumping away from his own conversation and to another one in at most five minutes, and he hears you suck in a frustrated breath and let it out slowly. You swallow down your words, finishing your wine, digging your thumb into the stem of the glass.

He looks over at you now, at the mountains and valleys of your sloping profile. You’ve drunk the least out of all of them tonight. Your eyes are following the conversation, beady and focused; you’ve barely said a word since the abrupt change in conversation.

Maybe he’s the one holding you back.

Maybe if he wasn’t here you’d also be teetering on the edge between tipsy and drunk and yelling about things you have no control over, like politics.

Maybe-

Adrien throws up his hands in frustration and mutters something under his breath that sounds like you’re hopeless and Marc can’t help the frustration that grows inside of him at having to look at the guy’s face, and he sighs out, softly, to not disturb Anaïs.

Maybe this is why you moved away to London.

The topic’s been pressing insistently in his mind for a while now, almost from the moment the two of you arrived in Bordeaux. Though he’s come to know you intimately, Marc’s not really sure of the reason why he’s come to know you in the first place.

First he was alone.

Then you were there.

And now Marc can’t imagine his life without you in it anymore. The time before you a hazy mess, the time after sharp and defined, crispy like the outer edge of fresh-baked bread.

Well, Adrien could be one of the reasons why. In-laws at best were barely tolerable, and it’s clear that yours likes to balance on that border like a knife’s edge, but Marc knows it’s not a strong enough reason to uproot yourself the same way he did, plopping yourself in a foreign language with a sea of infinite variable accents.

He has a sneaking suspicion it’s got something to do with Élodie’s frustrated reprimands from the other day, but he’s only got his gut to go by.

A curl of frustration grows around him at being left alone in his thoughts and suspicions like this. At being abandoned by Steven, when he quite clearly understands everything going around them.

The room suddenly goes quiet. Adrien is talking now, the multiway chitchat having stopped abruptly as his voice starts to reach the four corners of the room. The silence underneath makes his ears ring, and he latches onto it.

You fidget and take in a sharp breath, your body coming in closer to his on the couch.

He can smell you now. Your shampoo and moisturiser, the salt of the ocean and the sharp, tangy sword of wine.

Your brother-in-law’s words seem a needle and thread as they sew a stitch into your forehead, turn down the corners of your mouth unpleasantly. Marc knows you well enough to know that there is a silent anger growing inside of you like you’re starting to enrich uranium.

Another brief glance around the room shows shock and horror.

Marc’s about to send a half-ass threat to Steven to at least give some sort of translation when you straighten up beside him, your eyes aflame.

“Hé!” It’s a loud shout and it makes Anaïs jolt awake, cutting Adrien off. The intensity of your gaze bores into him from the other side of the room. “Marc est juif!”

“Et alors?” he seems barely phased by your retort.

It seems the wrong thing to say, for you scoff and mock him, muttering under your breath as you set your wine glass aside, “‘Et alors?’” You shake your head and gather your cardigan, your footsteps harsh as they go away, “T’es con!”

The air is heavy and tense around the room. Adrien is sputtering and stumbling over his words as he tries to recover from whatever you just said to him, but he’s just white noise now.

Anaïs whines from having been woken up so suddenly and Élodie tsks, getting up, “Bon chérie, allons au lit.” She gathers her up and away from Marc and thanks him. She kisses her daughter’s head and quickly moves out the room as if it were filled with mustard gas.

The moment they’re gone, Marc starts to miss her warmth. The feeling is so intense that, in combination with all the strange almost-glances he’s getting from around the room, it makes him stand up and go away.

For the first time since arriving, he wonders if maybe it was a mistake to take you up on your offer. If he’s the reason for all the tension in the house now, the reason why your sister snapped at you and the reason why you snapped back at her a couple afternoons ago.

He wanders aimlessly around the house, his only companion other than you getting put to bed at the moment.

He finds himself on the back porch and lets himself enjoy the cool breeze running up from the ocean and into the leaves of the tree, the shade of which he’s fallen asleep in on many a hot afternoon to wake up to you and some of your friends drinking on the wooden porch together, laughing.

He likes the image of you laughing so easily, your head tilted back and your chin tilted up. If he were more talented, he would have brought it out of marble with a convincing hand. Down to the last detail. The delicate gold necklace around your neck. The golden hoops in your ears that he’s never seen you without.

A harsher breeze brushes past him like a thistle and he comes back to himself.

There’s a restlessness inside of him that refuses to quiet and an ugly dissatisfaction settles in his legs. He goes back inside, this time set on finding you to see if you would explain to him what had happened, what your brother-in-law had done to make you so mad and almost ruin the vacation.

He finds you on the balcony, half-heartedly eating a popsicle, your head leaned forward like it does when you’re deep in thought, your feet propped up on a chair in front of you, crossed at the ankles.

“Hey,” he tries to say it softly but it still makes you jump.

“Oh…hello.” You straighten up considerably.

“Mind if I-” Marc’s shy suddenly. Though he’s been living in the same house as you for almost a week now, he’s barely spent any time with you alone, the way the two of you usually do back in London. He swallows thickly and digs his nails into his palms, “Mind if I sit?”

You hum in agreement and gather your legs up so he can settle in the chair across from you.

Without thinking about it, he reaches forward and brings your feet into his lap. Your nails are painted red, the same colour as your hands, the polish faintly chipped from the ocean and the sand.

The night air is humid and cool. It smells of saltwater and sunscreen and your perfume. The orange of your popsicle.

You hold it out for him, “Want the remaining?”

Though he could go without, he leans and takes it from you, if only to be closer to you.

The flavour is synthetic, the sweetening harsh. It tastes the way your niece’s breath smells after meals.

A sticky drop rolls down to his wrist and he licks it away. His other hand comes to rest on top of your foot.

It seems he gives you the confidence to start talking, “I’m sorry about Adrien, I thought he would be…” you wave your hand around as you try to sort out your thoughts, place them neatly beside each other in English. “...more intelligent than that.”

He shrugs, biting off a piece of the popsicle and sending a jolt of electricity from his teeth straight into his head. Steven curses out and calls him an idiot but he ignores him, “No need to apologise, I didn’t understand him.”

“Not important,” you push back, that same fire starting to come back in your eyes, but much more tamed, and less direct. “He said bad things about you.”

“Was it political?”

You nod, frowning as you try to search for the proper word, “It was…was…” Sighing you give up, “It was antisémite.”

Something inside of him falls at the word but he pushes through it, “It’s the same in English: antisemitic.” He wonders if Steven was listening when it was said, how he’s feeling about it now.

You repeat the word, murmuring under your breath to add it to your vocabulary. In the sweet honey of your voice it loses close to all the negative connotations it usually holds for Marc.

“I apologise,” you say regardless. “It was not good for him to say, no matter if you comprehended or not.”

“It’s alright. You shouldn’t be apologising for what he said.”

“Someone has to.” There’s guilt laced into your eyes. He can easily read it even if he can hardly make out your face save for the major contours in the low light spilling onto the balcony from the hallway.

His hand trails forward and he holds onto your ankle comfortingly, “I don’t associate Adrien with you.”

You hum, still deep in thought.

Marc swallows and decides to leave it at that. For a brief moment he thinks about what else Steven has heard and has been keeping away from him, absorbing the blow of behind-the-back insults spoken clearly and deliberately under the guise of his supposed inability to speak French.

When he finishes the popsicle, he bites into the wood and bends it.

“I understand…if you’d like to go back to London,” you speak suddenly. “I can leave too.”

He entertains the thought for a minute, going back home, back to the sacred routine you two shared together.

Lunch on Tuesdays.

Brunch on Sundays.

Late Saturday night movie showings, when it was just the two of you and he could steal handfuls of your popcorn and make you pout. When he’d buy you cotton candy afterwards to make up for it, cotton candy you regardless shared with him, simply because he’d bought it for you.

The idea seems enticing.

He misses you, that much he can admit.

He’s barely seen you and usually when you talk with him it’s about trivial things. Asking about the name of the sushi place you went to together a few months before that had quickly become your favourite, if he wanted more wine or water, if he could help you set up the deck chairs.

But in London he’s never seen you in your swimsuit, your face bare of any makeup, your hair loose and free. In London you’re constantly weighed down by the burden of a second language and work pants and blouses.

Though he understands close to nothing of what you say, he’s come to appreciate truly how intelligent you are, your quick-witted retorts and your easy laughs.

He also greatly appreciates your interactions with your niece, how much Anaïs enjoys spending time with you, coming into your room with picture books and falling asleep with you in the lazy afternoon sun.

The images in his mind tug at something inside his chest, and he shakes his head, “That’s alright. I like it here.”

“You do, really?”

He nods, gives you an easy smile, “Of course. I needed a break from the city.”

You exhale an easy breath, “It’s only Adrien that is the problem. The rest of them, they’re good…not…antisemitic.” You test out the word, the pronunciation perfect, the emphasis stumbling onto the fifth syllable instead of the fourth.

Marc doesn’t correct you, though you insist on him doing so. He rathers you not learn a word like that. He rathers it not be reinforced as part of your vocabulary because of repeated use.

He instead probes gently at the question plaguing him, trying to ask it without asking it, “Is that why you moved? Because of Adrien?” He anglicises your brother-in-law’s name deliberately, and revels when you don’t correct him, a bruise ringing out in pain as he thinks back to the argument in the living room.

“Hm?” you laugh softly and shake your head. “Well, not just because of him. But he is stupid…and annoying.”

“Is that what you said to him?” there’s a stitch in his heart that melts away as you laugh and your voice warms up towards him. “‘Con’. Is that what that means?”

The corner of your mouth turns up mischievously, “More or less. It’s a good insult, you should speak it more.”

“Okay,” he grins at you. “Okay, I will. Next time I run into him I’ll be sure to use it.”

You giggle at his words delightedly, and stretch your hands above your head before a thought runs across your face and sours the mood. “Élodie will not be happy at me,” you groan and sink down into your chair.

“Oh?” With both hands he starts to smooth up and down your calves. A selfish part of him delights at this information, that you’ve gotten yourself into trouble with your sister because of him. He rubs in it like a cat on concrete.

You nod and look at him again, “Adrien and me, we never seen with the same eyes .”

Frowning, he tries to make sense of your words, before laughing, “See eye to eye, you mean?” His bad mood has all but lifted now that he’s beside you and alone, the bitter taste gone from his mouth. Your old dynamic with him is starting to show again.

“See eye to eye, that’s what I said.”

He looks at you drolly, “No…you said you two don’t see with the same eyes.”

“Same meaning!” you protest and roll your eyes playfully. “Besides, it sounds better when I say it like that.”

Marc leans back in his chair and laughs easily. He wants to tease a little bit more, tell you that your English has definitely gotten worse over the past few days but he finds he doesn’t even mean it in a teasing way.

You converse so easily in your native tongue. It makes him want to start taking lessons so he can talk with you, so he doesn’t hold the upper hand he does in your conversations together.

Again, he wonders why you decided to move away. Away from your sister and your niece, your dickhead excuse of a brother-in-law.

He’d hoped that this vacation would have helped him get to know you better, but you remain the enigma you’ve always been. He feels there’s a gaping hole in the image he’s created of you. He knows of the trivial things, and some non-trivial ones.

You invited him over one weekend and he helped you make strawberry jam. Standing over boiling fruit and sugar you opened up to him, as he washed and cut the fruit, when you talked about your childhood, your parents and your sister.

He was content with what you gave him. He returned much the same to you and he appreciates that you don’t try to stick your hands through the holes of his stories, why there’s the constant presence of his brother until suddenly it disappears, why memories of his mother are abruptly cut short at that time as well.

But there’s a certain friction between you and your friends and family here in Bordeaux. It’s subliminal but the effect is still ever-present. In Élodie it manifests as some tough, older sisterly love. In everyone else, it morphs into quasi-resentment.

And despite all his best intentions, he wants to know what it is. He’s not sure why he can’t let this rest, why he isn’t satisfied with the friendship you offer to him so selflessly.

He’s murmuring your name before he’s had time to think it through. You look at him with a soft smile, softer than the blankets on your bed, he hates himself for what he’s going to do next, “Why did you move to London?”

“What do you want to say?” The softness is fading into a hard defensiveness. Like the cornstarch and water experiment he did as a kid in a Chicago public school he’s long forgotten the name of.

He goes suddenly shy at this, and he looks down at his lap, at your feet in his lap. The crash and sighs of the ocean behind him are a comforting white noise he enjoys listening to, as opposed to the argumentative chatter from earlier.

With a shrug he tries to elaborate, “Well, you’d built a whole life here. There are people who care for you. I just…” with a deep breath he looks back up at you, at the wrinkles in your brow like the linen of the matching sets you’re partial to in Bordeaux. “Forget I said anything, hm? I think I’m drunk.”

You tilt your head to the side, quite clearly neither letting it go or forgetting. He’d hoped it would have been both. “Marc, I don’t understand.”

His hand is warm and soothing over your skin, he feels it is almost pleading with you. “It’s not you,” he waves his free hand around and tries to find a way to make it sound that he’s not breaking up with you. The alcohol having loosened the hinge of his jaw, he starts to ramble, “It’s not, really. It’s…I was being foolish, hm? What was it you said earlier? Con? I was being con, that’s all.”

The last bit makes him wince. Steven would have pronounced it much better. Marc’s only gone and made a fool out of himself.

“Why I left France, you mean?” you’ve barely noticed his nerves, eyes hazy as you look at him, almost through him.

“Really, we don’t need to-”

You don’t start to talk for a few, long minutes, but Marc’s stopped talking.

After a humid pause, you start to speak, “I…I wanted to go away. There was much going on in my life.”

“Your sister misses you,” he says quietly, and regrets it almost immediately.

You laugh, a breeze running through your cardigan, “Of course she does. She was very persevering to stop me from going.”

“Anaïs does too.”

“Both of you manage quite well together, no?”

His heart warms at the mention of your niece. Today, he’d played with her in the ocean for close to three hours. Had carried her in his arms until they reached the soft, warm sand and splashed around with her like two little ducks. He’d let her rub wet sand into his hair and his cheeks and his chest. She’d let him do it back to her and had burst out into a bouquet of giggles and the sounds had gone straight to Marc’s soul.

He washed the sand off the both of them in the ocean, had held her underneath her arms and ran with her across the shoreline as she cried out in joy, her feet dragging through the water, so he kept going. He kept running to the point where a painful stitch started to form in his side.

Once they were both considerably tired, he’d laid out a towel on the ground to let them dry off. Then she’d shown him the clapping games she plays at her daycare, singing along in words that Marc didn’t understand as her palm hit his over and over again. Her voice was soft like petals, slightly breathy and shy but gaining confidence the way a plant grows underneath the sun.

“You’re her favourite now,” your smile is sweet. If he allows himself to read into it a little more, there’s an undercurrent of satisfaction, maybe even some smugness, “She doesn’t like her uncle Adrien nearly as much.”

Marc is glad that it is dark enough that he doesn’t have to school his features into indifference. There’s a swooping seagull inside his stomach, it twists and bends and runs its wing in the clear waters of the ocean.

Steven’s rings out in the headspace again, yet another smug, I told you so.

Marc sometimes wonders if you would get along with Steven. If you would cherish your friendship with him the way he does yours.

His alter is eager to meet you. On his best days, he’s always nagging about it and Marc always quips back that you’re still working at understanding English accents. Steven argues back that he wouldn’t even have to talk to you in English like Marc does, and that between the two of them he’s the more qualified one to be talking with you.

That usually shuts the conversation up harshly.

He’s considered introducing the two of you, and every time his fears get the better of him. Fear that one day a preference will grow inside of you like a weed and Marc will have to get shunned into a corner after having gotten a whole bellyful of your undivided attention.

“Anaïs is a lovely girl,” he says, pulling himself out of his thoughts again. “I-I don’t really…get along with children well.”

“Really?”

Marc is surprised to hear that you’re surprised.

“Is-is that…”

“You always seemed to me very good with kids.”

He makes an embarrassed sound and looks down at his shorts, picks at some lint as his left eye closes in disagreement and uncomfort. “I don’t know about that.”

He feels your eyes on him and he doesn’t look up.

You change the subject again, which is strange because you usually push more on things like this. Times when he’s prone to brushing off kind words like dust off windowsills. First with the pad of his finger, then all at once with his palm, letting the dust pill up into uncomfortable little pellets that he’ll wash away with water and dishwasher soap to rid himself of the feeling.

“I got an email about a new play they’re showing.”

The words are so familiar to him he may as well be on his lunch break with you, walking around London streets crowded underneath your plaid umbrella, your scarf a deep teal that compliments the colour of your hair.

“Hm? What’s it called?”

You shrug, lifting your chin at an angle as you try to think of the answer before giving up, “It was interesting. Should we go?”

“When’s the showtimes?”

“Next week, Saturday and Sunday.”

He pretends to think about though he was already going to get tickets from your first mention of the show. “Alright, that’s sorted then, Saturday evening.”

“What’s the idiomatic expression Americans say? It’s a date?”

He nods, “It’s a date.”

“But it’s not just for dates, is it?”

He tells you that it’s not. “But try to avoid using it outside of it,” Marc finds he’s the most at ease when he’s talking to you about language. There’s very little ambiguity to it from his end, and if there is he usually can find the answer with a quick search. “It can cause confusion.”

“So it’s not a date,” you tease back at him, bringing your knees into your chest. He misses your warmth and longs for it back, the lingering footprints of your touch against him a defiant testament against his wary mind. “You know, Élodie asked me if you were single last night.”

“Hm?” His heart stutters at this. The secret he’s held from you for a while now bubbling up with hot lava, singing the insides of his stomach. You nod to set your words into stone, and he sighs trying to push through the panic wrapped around his lungs, “And what did you tell her?”

You shrug, pick at a scab on your knee that you don’t know where from or when it came. “I said I thought you were.”

“Why-” he tries to steady himself. “Why’d she care?”

You shrug again. Marc leans forward and stops you from breaking skin again to let the scratch heal over without any setbacks. Your hand is both soft and rough. The saltwater’s been working away at it like sandpaper and he wonders if you’ve brought your hand cream with you or not. The one that smells like lilacs.

“She likes to matchmake. Marie likes you, I think.”

Marc’s embarrassed to realise that he doesn’t know who exactly Marie is. “I’m not…looking to date right now.”

“Alright,” the word lies between your two chairs on the scratchy concrete. “I’ll tell her.”

“Thanks.” He feels he should say something more, something along the lines of Marie being a great girl. Something that says he’s just busy with work at the moment, even if it would be a lie because he hasn’t clocked in overtime for close to a year now, the anniversary of your friendship looming up ahead in close to a month’s time.

He swallows and tries to move through the cotton in his mouth, but you beat him to it.

Marc should have read you well enough to know by the arch of your right eyebrow that you weren’t done with the subject.

“I’ve never met any of your girlfriends.”

Your persistence on this subject is like a thorn, but he answers you with the half-truth anyways, “That’s because I haven’t had any since we met.”

You pause, but continue on, “Boyfriends, then.”

He shakes his head, “No one. I haven’t dated anyone, not since we’ve become friends at least.”

It’s clear you think he’s lying. You’re frowning and running your tongue over your bottom front teeth so that your lip juts out unnaturally.

He thinks about it for a moment and he feels like adding on that he isn’t lying about this thing, since he’s spending close to every prime date time with you. You’ve permeated his every free time like ivy. He’s turned his back on you and you’ve crawled up the walls and around the windows, filling in the spaces between his ribs inside his chest.

For fear of more half-truths and quasi-lies eating away at the foundation of your relationship, he decides it’s time that you learn the truth about him. It’d been foolish of him to think that he could remain friends with you forever without you becoming curious as to his aversion to dating, his constant free time on the weekends, his eagerness to accept each and every suggestion you pose to him.

“I-uh,” had he not drunk so much this evening, he thinks maybe he’d be more hesitant to say this to you. But it flows out of his mouth like sunshine from the sky and Marc for yet another time comes to learn how comfortable he’s become in your presence. “I’m divorced.”

There’s a silence but Marc doesn’t know what to make of it. The night seems to have grown darker, the waning crescent in the sky not casting enough light for him to be able to pick cues from your body like flowers in a field. And even then, he’s not sure he’s ever seen you in such a situation for him to be able to recognise any familiar signs.

“What was their name?” Your voice is soft, softer than he usually hears it.

“Layla,” it comforts him a hair, through the pounding heart that’s ringing against his chest like a hammer, that her name doesn’t bring him any more pain. Right now, the greatest concern on his mind is losing the relationship he shares with you. “It’s been around a year and a half now.”

“You miss her.” Your hands come to wrap around your knee and you let your other leg hang over the edge of the chair. Marc knows when you get up, there’s going to be indents of the wicker pattern in your skin like a shoreline.

Though he can’t tell much, it comforts him that you’re only getting comfortable and not leaving.

“I’ve gotten better.”

He’s not sure he’s ever going to stop missing Layla, but he feels he stopped loving her for a while before they walked into that lawyer’s office together. He wonders if that’s going to make any sense to you, if he puts it like that. You must think missing someone means you love them as well.

How does he explain to you the ten years he spent with her? The undeniable mark she’s left on his skin and the pieces of her hair he kept finding in his stuff as he unpacked and tried to settle into his new apartment.

Maybe a little childishly, he turns the spotlight back on you, “I’ve never met any of your partners.”

“I’ve never had any, since we met.”

The words ring in familiarity through his mind.

Something inside of him tells him that maybe you’ll understand the difference between longing and loving more than most would. He’d given up on Dr. Foster as a therapist because of that.

He can’t help but chuckle at the similarities between your circumstances, as the true nature of the ease and comfort in your friendship is starting to get revealed to him like a new butterfly breaking free of its cocoon, its wings still crumpled and not ready for use.

The heat of your breath falls over his legs and ruffles the edges of his shorts, “You asked why I moved to London…I was married once too.” Your hand runs through your hair and your leg is placed by the other, your feet on the cool concrete. Marc takes off his sandals and does the same. “He died. Five years ago. I moved because…well…”

Finally you give a little shrug.

The secrets the both of you have shared together rest on top of each other as would a precarious stack of books.

“I’m sorry.”

His words sound meaningless but he’s at a loss for what to say otherwise. He wonders what it was like for you, these past years when he didn’t know you. At least occasionally he gets to see Layla, hear her voice over coffee and meet the new girl she’s been seeing.

“It’s alright,” you say it with a well-practiced ease. “It was a long time ago.”

“Do you…”

“Very much,” there’s a gentle pause and then you continue softly. “But I am like you, I’ve gotten better.”

Everything seems to fall into place now, with low, quiet clicks.

Why he’s gotten better, why you’ve gotten better.

Why every single time he could have taken up Layla’s offer to get set-up with someone he’s instead made plans with you.

Why every single Friday evening, you were free for a movie, or a play, or a concert or just had opened your door to him with Chinese in his hand and talked with him until the early hours of the morning over lo mein and egg rolls.

There was a loneliness in you and was reflected in him. There was something inside you that seeked him out. And it’s been enough. For close to a year it’s been enough. It explains the familiar ease with which you and him share your time together.

“So…” you continue in an easy voice. There’s a laugh hiding behind the corner. “You’re not seeing anyone?”

“No,” his laughter comes so easily that it surprises him. “Not anyone at the moment. And I’m not looking to either.”

The words you say next seem to hold a strange meaning for Marc, that he’s scared doesn’t actually belong there but he hears it anyways, “Me also, I’m not looking to.”

From below, the ocean crashes like its kneading bread dough with itself, as if it’s the first time it’s happened, as if it’s done this for an eternity and will continue to as long as the Earth spins, as long as the sun shines, as long as you laugh and smile.

For the ocean, five years means nothing. The ocean understands what Marc feels for Layla, what you feel for your husband, what you feel for him, what he feels for you. It understands more than what Marc understands of himself.

It understands from eternity to here.

It understands from here to eternity.

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here.

Translations:

Marc est juif! - Marc is Jewish!

Et alors? - So?

T’es con! - You're an asshole!

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