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#and got very Unreasonable Hours of work

mire1li · 4 months

Text

Reader as Alastor's Mother part 2

Part 1!, Part 3!

𓋼 You would absolutely decorate his microphone with a bunch of ribbons you found!

And he would absolutely allow it in fear of upsetting you, although he began to take them off later on when he had to leave, but seeing you get sad at his actions changed his mind… It did not help that the ribbons were glittery.

“Oh look, Sparkles got sparklier!” Angel had said when Alastor was passing by.

𓋼 He wants you to be happy but don't even try having feelings for anyone in hell, they'll most likely 'disappear under mysterious circumstances' and then you'll just so happen to hear their screams on Alastor's radio broadcast <3

Lucifer tries to flirt everytime he sees you outside (or once he comes back to see the hotel which… would be 'some' time later…) But it's not long before Alastor shows up bcs he has a shadow follow you everywhere

“My mother certainly would not want someone so… ancient…”

“are you trying to make me sound like a fossil?”

“Maybe~ I can’t say for sure though!”

"Y'know, I've stolen wives before… maybe it's time to steal a mother instead!"

"I'm going to fucking kill you"

𓋼 Lucifer would play silly games with you and bring you gifts by leaving them at the hotel’s doorstep, although you never received any (like he thought you did) because Alastor would always take them before you saw them. Or he would make them his own to give to you if you were having a worse day than usual!

“Mother, I had noticed that you weren’t feeling all too great so I brought you a wonderful gift!”

“Oh, thank you, darling!”

Your mood always brightened when he gave you these gifts. 𓋼 One time when Lucifer visited the hotel, he went straight to you to ask you about how you liked the gifts.

"[Name]! Hello, deer, how are you? Did you like the gifts that I left you?"

"Hello Luci, I'm fine, thank you! … Gifts? what gifts?"

"The ones… that I left on the doorstep of the hotel!"

"I dont recall seeing any gifts there… but Alastor recently started leaving the hotel more often! Not for very long though…"

And then Lucifer realised. You never received his gifts because Alastor got to them first! After that, he made sure to put a note with his signature on them. Though, that still didn't deter Alastor, to Lucifer's dismay.

𓋼 One time, Angel returned to the hotel at an unreasonably late hour, so you went to make sure everything was alright.

"Are you alright, Angel?"

"Huh? No, I'm totally fucked!"

"Why? What happened?"

"You know Valentino right? My boss?"

"Of course I do, everyone hates him quite a bit here and you always talk about him"

"Right, well, fuckin' Val made me work an extra 10 hours!"

"He what?!"

"Yeah! Absolute bitch move."

Naturally, Alastor was watching and listening to you two so you turned to him, with quite the menacing look in your eyes.

"Oh Alastor, prepare your radio broadcast!~"

𓋼 You noticed that most of the residents of the hotel all came to you for advice quite often (except Niffty, she's just an entirely different entity)

"It seems they have become quite fond of you, Mother"

"They have, haven't they?"

Alastor's expression was always one of annoyance whenever someone came to you for help. He wouldn't dare admit it, but he was most certainly jealous of anyone who even stood too close to you, let alone talked to you.

𓋼 Because of that one time that Alastor stood right next to Charlie to spite Lucifer, Lucifer decided to stand just that close to you to get back at him.

"An eye for an eye, Mr Radio!"

"I recommend you watch yourself."

𓋼 One time, when you were out of the hotel and walking around Hell with Alastor, Vox just so happened to see you on one of his tv screens, Valentino sitting by him, messaging someone.

"Hey Val, who the fuck is that with that old-timey prick?"

"Hm? No clue."

"You didn't even look, fuckhead"

"How would you know? You're too busy eyefucking Alastor."

"I am not"

"She's probably just another one of those redemption hotel idiots. It doesn't matter"

But Vox still just glared at the screen.

𓋼 Vox continued to keep an eye on you, seeing just how wonderful you are and so when you were outside the hotel alone (or so he thought) he went up to you. Somehow he didn't catch onto the fact that you're Alastor's mother.

"Hello-"

"What do you think you're doing?" Alastor, of course, suddenly appeared out of thin air, standing in between you and Vox, with an even more annoyed smile than usual.

"Alastor, is this another one of your friends?"

"No-"

"Yes, absolutely, ma'am. Great friends, in fact!"

"Ha! Well, you see, this is my Mother."

"Your what?"

Yeah, Alastor simply walked away with you whilst Vox was buffering.

𓋼 Vox constantly tried to talk to you alone but Alastor was always there to stop him, so unfortunate.

"Would you stay away from my Mother, you-! Ahem, my apologies, Mother."

"Hah! Your mother? I think you meant our mother!"

𓋼 Alastor would absolutely cover your ears when swearing at, or insulting, anyone.

𓋼 When you first met Valentino, you were so mad at him on Angel's behalf that you knocked him out and brought him back to the hotel with you. Of course, Vox was there with Val but he was like a lost duckling, just slowly trailing behind you, unsure what to do.

"I'm back!"

"What the fuck did you do??" Angel was lying down on the couch when you entered, dragging the unconcious Valentino behind you.

"A favour to you and hell!"

"No, but how?!"

"That's a secret~"

"Ok… so why'd ya bring him here?"

"Redemption"

𓋼 Back to Lucifer! He would tell you random animal facts to try and impress you! He would also unironically ask around, and search up (if necessary), how to impress a woman.

𓋼 Lucifer would suddenly start playing the violin for everyone in the hotel 'for everyones' entertainment' as he called it. (It was meant for you though). Each time Lucifer did this, Alastor told you that something important happened that required your attention. You always stayed for the beginning though.

𓋼 One day, you were baking cookies and you and Alastor left the kitchen for a while whilst they were in the oven, however, you both somehow managed to forget about them… so when the smoke alarm suddenly rang, you ran into the kitchen, everyone wondering what happened.

"Fuck!"

"Language, Mother."

"Don't you 'language' me, young man!"

𓋼 You redecorated his room. He wasn't a fan of all the new colours, but he still appreciated the gesture. (There was a lot of glitter involved)

𓋼 After a while of you staying there, everyone definitely sees you as a mother figure (Alastor didn't appreciate this much either but he's willing to look past it for his friends)

𓋼 As small gifts, you made everyone items that resemble them and filled them with different colours of glitter and paper that remind you of them. Bonus: Behind the scenes! 1. Yuri's bad timing:

2. Vox and Val:

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ham1lton · 3 days

Note

47 with FA14 please :)

047. the inside of an elevator that won’t move w/ FA14.

— part of a series of drabbles! <3

you were incredibly annoyed. so annoyed in fact, that you were this close to quitting this job. your very cushy hybrid job which paid incredible and gave you your own office even though you mostly worked from home. toto, your boss, had given you the alonso case which meant that you’d be working through your sister’s wedding. the same wedding you’d booked off months ago.

you get in the elevator, slightly fuming, as an older man also got in the elevator with you. he turns to you.

“floor three please.” he asks politely, as you’re standing next to the buttons. you seethe but press the button for him.

as the two of you stand in silence, the elevator suddenly stops. you give each other a panicked look. the silence between the two of you is heavy, only broken by the occasional faint hum of the elevator’s machinery. you click the help button and after a short conversation with the very unhelpful guy on the other end, you’re told help will arrive in half an hour.

“great! just what i fucking needed.” you mutter. he turns to you. “what? like this is a great situation for you either?”

“no, obviously not.” he says, in very accented english.

“so don’t give me that look.” you roll your eyes.

he raises his hands defensively. "okay, okay. truce?"

you sigh, realizing you're being unfair. it’s not like it’s his fault. "yeah, sorry. it's just been a really bad day."

"tell me about it," he says, leaning against the elevator wall. "what’s got you so worked up?"

"my boss just dumped this huge case on me last minute," you say, frustration bubbling up again. "it’s for this big client, alonso or something. now i have to miss my holiday because of it. i had the time off booked for months."

he raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "alonso? that's tough."

"yeah, and all because some big shot can't finalize a business contract on time," you grumble. “what’s so important about this stupid contract anyways?”

he looks away, as if contemplating something. "sounds like a real pain. what do you do, exactly?"

"i'm a corporate lawyer. and you?"

he hesitates for a moment before answering, "i'm... in business. finance, mostly."

you roll your eyes. "well, mr. finance, at least you’re not stuck working on a weekend for some unreasonable client."

the silence that follows feels heavier than before, and he shifts uncomfortably. "yeah, must be tough," he says quietly.

you frown, feeling slightly guilty for venting so much. "sorry, i didn't mean to unload on you. it's just been a lot."

he nods, offering a small, understanding smile. "i get it. sometimes things don’t go the way we planned."

you both fall silent for a second, the hum of the elevator the only sound, as you wait for help to arrive. then, as if compelled to fill the void, you continue. "it's just... my sister's wedding this weekend. i've been looking forward to it for months. and now, because of this contract, i'm going to miss it. i don't even know why it's so urgent."

he shifts again, looking like he wants to say something but isn't sure if he should. "maybe the client has their reasons," he offers carefully. "not that it makes it any easier for you."

"yeah, well, whoever they are, i hope their business crashes and burns," you mutter darkly. "no contract is worth missing something so important."

there's another pause before he speaks again, his voice softer this time. "sometimes, it's hard to see the bigger picture when you're in the thick of it."

you look at him, a hint of curiosity mixed with your frustration. "you sound like you know a lot about this."

he gives a half-smile as he shrugs, almost rueful. "more than i'd like to admit."

before you can ask more, the elevator jerks and starts moving again. you both breathe a sigh of relief as the doors slide open. he gestures for you to go first. "after you."

as you step out, you glance back at him. "thanks for listening. and sorry for the rant."

"anytime," he says, his smile warm but his eyes holding a hint of something you can't quite place. "good luck with that contract. and i hope you find a way to make it to your sister's wedding."

"thanks," you say, still feeling a bit unsettled as you walk away, wondering why his understanding smile seemed to hold more weight than a simple stranger's sympathy.

later that evening, as you’re buried in paperwork, your phone buzzes with an email notification. it's from toto. you open it, and your heart skips a beat.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

subject: urgent update on alonso case

dear l/n,

i have some unexpected news regarding the alonso contract. the client personally requested to change the deadline, granting you the weekend off. i know this is a surprise, but please take the weekend to attend your sister's wedding.

best,

toto.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

your mind races as you read the email again. how did the client know about your situation? you stare at the screen, the pieces slowly clicking into place. the man from the elevator—the one who listened so intently, who seemed to know more than he let on—he must be connected to alonso.

the realisation brings a mix of emotions: relief, slight embarrassment, gratitude, and a touch of something warmer. you can't help but smile, remembering his kind eyes and supportive words. your phone beeps again.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

subject: dinner invitation

dear y/n,

i hope this message finds you well. i wanted to extend an invitation for dinner sometime this week. it would be a pleasure to meet in person and discuss matters beyond business.

please let me know if you're interested and i hope you enjoy the wedding.

warm regards,

fernando alonso.

ceo of alonso corp.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

author’s note: i don’t actually write for fernando but this was calling to me so i decided to fulfil the prompt. i hope this isn’t too ooc. my bad. also reader and ceo!alonso go on the date and fall in love and the week before their wedding he pretends to get her on a contract all over again bc he thinks its funny.

#ham1lton’s drabbles 🝮#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 fanfic #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso x you #fa14 x reader

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hauntedwitch04 · 26 days

Text

Hero

Dean Winchester x reader

Words: about 1.6k words

Warnings: smut, possessive!Dean, swearing, kinda voyeurism, male reciving, not proofreaded

Author’s note: Hi loves! New day new kink, tbt not my best work but I hope you like it, your witch Becky

Requests are open I Ask

My masterlist

Join the Taglist

If you like my works, consider to buy me a coffee - Patreon submission

KINKTOBER ...........-..........KINKTOBER TAGLIST 2023

DAY 12: Tit-fucking

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Dean had seen Hell, but no torture could match this moment for him.

You went out as usual to celebrate yet another hunt that saw you return home victorious to some seedy bar nearby. None of you, Dean, and Sam had dressed up for the occasion, indeed looking like an ordinary Friday night, but for certain the elder Winchester knew he was going to have quite a bit of trouble when he saw you leave the room a few hours earlier. You were wearing a simple tank top under the usual shirt that is now in common use among hunters, almost in recognition of each other, but that 'outfit so unreasoned was capable of making poor Dean take trips far beyond the pure and chaste thoughts a friend should have about you.

Sam is sitting at the bar sipping his beer while talking to a very pretty girl; you, on the other hand, probably caught up in the alcohol a bit, are having a good time, dancing along with a couple of girls you met earlier while getting drinks, and Dean can't help but stand there watching you ecstatically. Hunter watches you move your body to the music, as your form brushes against the bodies of the other girls, and he can't help but think if it wasn't his body that yours is moving next to.

He dreamed of being able to touch your breasts, caress them and love them, before starting to bite and suck them so as to leave obvious marks, and let everyone see that they were only his, that you were only his; he dreamed of seeing your tits jump at the same rhythm with which he would fuck you, hard and mercilessly; he dreamed of falling asleep on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, and of finding you there when he would wake up because of yet another nightmare.

Too lost in the far corners of his mind, imagining you under him while he tortures your nipples with his mouth, he does not notice that you are approaching him quickly and with fear in your eyes.

As soon as you touch his arm, with a gentle touch, he awakens from that daydream and stares at you, not understanding this sudden change of emotions on your part.

"Hold your ground." She whispers in his ear, before changing expression again and smiling at him with a sweetness that Dean feels melt over the chair in that provincial bar as if he were standing before the goddess of beauty herself.

"Love I finally found you! I couldn't see you anymore and I got worried, luckily this gentleman accompanied me." You say in a squeaky voice, as you point to the man just behind you, who looks at you as if you were nothing more than a piece of meat, who lays his gaze on the hunter once you tighten around his arm with a look mixed between anger and resignation, ready to move on to the next victim.

Dean immediately understands the situation and feels a sudden rage invade his body, in the need to protect you and affirm to the other man that you are not merely a doll good for satisfying his desires, but that you are his to preserve and love, even if the contact of your chest with his arm is enough to short-circuit his brain for a few seconds.

He feels your breasts against his elbow, your skins touching, and for a moment he is sure he would have come in his pants if it were not for the threat in front of you.

"Good thing he was there baby, I was starting to worry." Dean says as he gets up from where he's sitting and moves his arm that you're holding tightly, behind you, to hold you against his chest, to make you feel safer even though selfishly he can't complain about feeling your chest pressed against his. He knows perfectly well that if he looked into your eyes, he would see everything he wants from your cleavage, but after all, he is still a gentleman and this is not the time.

"Well buddy, since I'm so nice to bring your lady back to you, you might thank me by letting me take a ride with her, don't be-" The man begins to say with a grin on his face, before being interrupted by Dean's fist making contact with your face. You look shocked at the hunter, who in response holds you even tighter to him, while gesturing to his brother that he would take you out, or rather to the motel, since Sam was more than busy minding his own business anyway.

Once outside you find yourself in the parking lot, get into the car and start driving. You stand silently beside the man watching him grip the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. At some point without explanation Dean pulls over and gets out of the car, walking over to the first tree and starts punching it. You immediately get out and stand between him and the poor unfortunate object on whom the hunter has decided to unload his anger by grabbing his wrists.

"Hey, it's okay, you can relax now." You whisper, trying to reassure Dean, who shakes his head.

"You don't know how much willpower I'm using right now not to drive the car back and hit that son of a bitch so hard that I would send him straight to Crowley with a one-way ticket." He comments, as he closes his eyes and prays to any listening deity to give him the strength not to kiss you right now, and ruin your whole friendship.

"Hey I know, but we're here now, he's not our problem anymore." You retort, wrapping your arms around his waist, trying to appease his ire with a hug, but he jumps back at feeling your chest make contact with his again, knowing you would surely feel his erection pressing against your belly.

"I can't even touch you now? What is it with you that that man touched me?" You ask shocked, as you see him shaking his head vehemently.

"No, it's not that. It's just that if you touch me-" He pauses for a moment, to swallow and look you in the eye, and then within a second blow all plans not to ruin your friendship and pounce on your lips like a hungry man. You let him take full control of the kiss, letting you press against the tree as his lips from yours move down your neck, to your shoulder. "-I don't know if I can control myself." He finishes, returning to look into your eyes.

"Who said I want you to control yourself?" You counter, only to kiss him in turn, then kneel before him, unfastening his pants.

"Baby, we can't here, someone might see us." He comments, as he watches you lower his boxers and take his member, already stiff, in your hands before leaving a couple of kisses on the tip.

"Then we'd better hurry up." You retort, winking at him as you begin to move your hand back and forth on his cock, eliciting moans of pleasure from him. You continue this for a few minutes, until you are satisfied with your work, and you lower your tank top slightly so that your breasts come out.

Dean's eyes widen as he sees you rest his member between your breasts and for a moment that this is yet another beautiful dream from which he will wake up as usual with the most painful erection of his life. Instead he feels the soft skin of your chest in contact with that of his member and realizes that it is all real, in fact for a moment it feels like he is going to orgasm right away as he tries to hold back. You squeeze his member between your breasts and he begins to move back and forth creating a friction that Dean would not know whether to describe as hellish or angelic.

After a few minutes managing to find some sort of inner balance to avoid coming right away, Dean finally opens his eyes, to see you looking at him with a satisfied smirk as your hands resting on your breasts squeeze them, causing him to curse.

"Baby, you're going to kill me like this. How did you know my greatest weakness?" He comments, gritting his teeth as he hears you giggle.

"You were never very good at hiding that you were looking at my tits Dean, and this seems to me the best way to thank you for always being my hero in shining armor." You respond as you feel him coming closer and closer to orgasm, so you squeeze his cock even tighter between your tits and increase the speed until he comes releasing all his seed onto your breasts. You stay still for a moment, until you bring a finger to catch some of the cum that was on your chest, and bring it to your mouth, to taste it. Dean that sight almost picks you up, leading you back to the car, opening, however, not the driver's door, but the back seat.

"But how, I thought someone would see us here?" You tease him as he throws you on the seat, and he lies on top of you, kissing you fiercely.

"Let them watch, what is certain is that I will not spend another second of my life without knowing how you groan my name as I fuck you so hard that you forget yours as well."

What can I say, this night certainly promises to be fun.

TAGLIST

@river-rat69 @ladysparkles78 @samanddeansannoyingsis @ash04w3 @l3viathanpup @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @that1nerd20 @the-house-of-rose-and-ember @hi-my-name-is-riley @shodowbane09 @supernatural-lvr @imaraccoon @shhdontlookk @justawinchesterwhore @deansbbyx @xbugsyx @newtdumbledoorstarksoot @afcnds @biahz1

#dean winchester x plus size reader #deanwinchesterxreader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural x reader #supernatural smut #dean winchester #kinktober 2023

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star-anise · 5 months

Text

now, hold still—

I'd kill for some resources on body image in the context of disability, chronic pain, and having grown up with a complicated and intense medical history. I think I've exhausted my local library's offerings. Yes, I'm seeing a counsellor who focuses on this, and he's probably got recs, but I'm pacing my cage and lashing my tail in between sessions.

"Body image" has a particular connotation most of the time, because it comes out of the field that deals with eating disorders. Which is great and I'm glad for the people it works for, but its basic principles and assumptions are for completely different problems than the one I have.

I can't track down who said it first, but in my reading I keep coming across this narrative of, "I saw my body as something to be disciplined and controlled, an object only seen by external eyes. Now I've learned to take joy in what my body can do and experience, and to see it as a site of pleasure."

...Sounds fake, but okay.

My body is a site of pain. It cannot do or bear the experience of many things. I have to exercise a huge amount of discipline and control just to get out of bed every day. I can't imagine my body being a visible object that other people might find pleasing; it's incredibly hard to look up from my continual tooth-and-nail fight getting my body to let me live to imagine what someone who doesn't live with all this shit might see.

When I was a child, I learned to hold myself very still. For a hairdresser, or photographer, or a dentist, or someone who wanted to measure my height, or an injection, or a doctor who wanted a demonstration of how one of my joints looked, or an X-ray, or an IV inserted, or a CAT scan, or to have a cast taken off, or a PET scan, or to have a wound treated, or an MRI, or to have a pin pulled out.

And you know, I got proud of that. I felt like a brave warrior in a fantasy novel. I learned to take deep breaths, and take myself in my mind away from the anxiety and unpleasantness, until I could shut down my reaction to it. So that I didn't flinch or scream or cry. Because there was something wrong with my body, and doctors knew how to fix it.

When I was getting assessed for fibromyalgia, this new doctor told me he was going palpate areas in my back, arms, and knees. I get a lot of massage; I knew what was coming. I slowed my breathing, concentrating on the long outbreath. I took myself away from my reactions and thought continually, obsessively, about letting my body droop, weightless, like the moment when your aching limbs meet a solid surface and fresh cool sheets.

"Hm, I dunno," he said. "A lot of this checks out, but your trigger point exam was totally negative. Most people, when I touch those points, they have a big reaction. Some people even scream and jump off the table."

"Well, no," I think I said. "If I'd done that, it would have hurt way more, for like, hours." And I was polite about it, because you have to be polite to doctors; doctors know how to make you feel better. But what I felt at the time, and still feel today, is a kind of outrage I labelled was unreasonable the moment it was born: You wanted to hurt me, and it's my fault for not letting you?

How do you learn how to ask for things, when you've taught yourself to lie still and cry quietly because the nurse who said they'd be right back is helping someone who suddenly needs the help more? How do you express yourself, when you've spent your whole life gritting your teeth?

The problems I have about my body are not about being attractive or thin. They are, however, about being small. Learning to cry less, scream less, and ask for less. About feeling like my body is a burden to anyone who comes to know it, and like that's a burden I can't ask other people to take on unless I'm staggering under the weight of it.

Right now, what I've got is this:

Remember, you weren’t the one who made you ashamed, but you are the one who can make you proud. Just practice, practice until you get proud, and once you are proud, keep practicing so you won’t forget. You get proud by practicing.

#staranise original #chronic pain lyfe #gore tw

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bbyblair · 9 months

Text

small touches, pink cheeks.

charles leclerc x f!reader

pt.2!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

a/n: this is the first fic i’ve ever written so please excuse any mistakes or errors in my writing! Any tips are welcomed and very appreciated. hope you guys enjoy this! let me know if anyone would like a part two. <3

summary: the start of the 2023 season, Bahrain in early march. you'd recently joined the sky team, working as a news reporter and interviewer for your beloved sport.it's your first week and a mix of nerves and anticipation swirl together in your stomach. you're giddy to finally meet who you’d be working with for the next few months… but what happens when an instant connection sparks up between the new girl and Ferrari's golden boy?

warnings: light cursing, kind of angst? idk. sort of enemies to lovers? reader is annoyed at Charles :(

word count: 1.8k

thursday, march 2nd 2023.

a small breeze creeps through your window and goosebumps arise on your skin. you can hear your alarm angrily blaring on your phone, but you hadn't woken up yet fully and your brain was still in a haze. suddenly your eyes snap open as you realise what day it is. it's race week and you should be heading off to the airport in around three hours, shit.

you sigh the same dramatic sigh you had been doing since you were a little girl and roll your eyes. contemplating whether or not to risk another five minutes of blissful sleep. luckily you come to your senses before making that grave mistake. your feet pad lightly across your bedroom floor and into the bathroom, you pause and look around your room realising that from now on you're going to be on the move for a solid 6 months. it's worth it though, this career you had been working toward since you were in high school, and you're proud of yourself to have finally got here.

the cool shower water finished off the job of waking you up and after spending a little too much time getting ready you were packed and heading off to the airport.

┊┊┊┊ ➶ ❁۪ ｡˚ ✧

the flight went quickly, considering the ample amounts of work you had to complete before landing, but you managed to get it all done on the plane with a little bit of rushing. you hadn't had time to travel much during your childhood or during college so you were practically squealing with excitement when you emerged from the plane and began your journey to the hotel you were staying in.

the taxi was stuffy and warm, and your excitement started to be replaced with nerves as you realised that soon you would be in the heat of the paddock, meeting with very important people and drivers.

you always had a natural ability to make people feel comfortable and this helped you in becoming an interviewer, plus the three years of journalism school you just about survived. It had been a wild ride, but you were finally here, in bahrain, about to be introduced to your new life.

after getting yourself set up in your hotel and ready for the rest of the afternoon you began making your way over to the race venue. it was huge, but empty due to the fact that the race was in a few days. The only people around were a few race engineers and team members who were discussing strategy for the upcoming race. you were looking for someone in particular, your boss who you'd met before in london. stumbling through the paddock you finally found where the sky hq was situated and after making quick friends with the rest of your interviewing team, some of whom you knew from back home, you all decided to go out for some drinks.

the night moved fast and before you knew it you were making your way back to the hotel at an unreasonably late time and collapsed onto the bed, tiredness taking over your whole body.

friday , march 3rd 2023.

regret washed over your body as you woke up in your hotel room, your alarm blaring at you at a completely unreasonable time. you swiftly began getting ready for the day ahead, your first day. nerves overtake your body again completely during your short walk to the circuit, it was already swarming with fans, ready to watch the free practice after missing their sport for a few months. the staff entrance was hidden away and luckily not too busy, so you managed to sneak in on time.

you greeted your team who you'd already become quick friends with yesterday and they began briefing you on the timing of the day and when you would be interviewing the drivers. you had been told that this morning you were meant to go over to the ferraris section of the paddock and conduct a fun interview with leclerc and sainz. some silly questionnaire to test their knowledge of one another by asking them some, in your opinion, very personal questions. of course you smiled heartily and agreed, after all this was your job and you were excited to meet all of the drivers, having loved f1 since you were little.

you made your way over to the ferrari area, and you and the filming crew were kindly greeted by their pr team who directed into a room and informed you that the two drivers would be there shortly. nerves started to bubble up in your stomach, even though you were confident and knew that you were good at your job sometimes meeting new people stressed you out a little more than you liked to admit.

shuffling and muffled voices were heard outside of the door and the suddenly it opened and you were greeted with two handsome faces, both smiling politely at you and they outstretched their hands for you to take. you quickly grabbed the spaniards hand and shook it.

“mr sainz, its a pleasure to meet you, im y/n im going to be hosting your interview today.”

his smile grew a little wider and he chuckled, “please call me carlos, and its lovely to meet you too y/n.” you blushed a little at how he said your name in his accent and smiled at him. your eyes then landed on the monegasque next to you, his smile remained on his face but his eyes were unreadable and intimated you a little bit. his eyes raked over your form and then he also outstretched his hand. his grip was much firmer than carlos’ and he began speaking before you.

“charles, I'm looking forward to working with you y/n.” his eyes then returned to their initial softness and his grip loosed. you were a little taken aback but quickly composed yourself. you just simply nodded your head in response and softly spoke out a small “me too.”

that interaction stumped you, and you were clearly flustered but the rest of the interview went smoothly and you had played the quiz game, the two men laughing throughout and their childish rivalry entertained you more than you liked to admit. but throughout the interview you had felt charles' eyes on you more than once. once you dared to meet his gaze, but as soon as you did he quickly looked ack at his teammate and continued with the game nonchalantly.

maybe you were just making this up, you didn't know. but no one had ever looked at you the way charles did and it made an odd feeling rise up in your stomach.after the interview ended the two men shook your hand again and began to leave, having to get ready for free practice which was starting in a few hours.

the filming crew packed up and left. you turned your back and let out a sigh at the odd experience. shuffling through your bag for your phone you heard someone clear their throat behind you and your body snapped back and spun around. to your surprise charles was stood their. the same unreadable expression on his face which made your cheeks burn straight away. you looked around awkwardly, silence engulfed the room and you didn't know if you should say something to the driver or stay silent. his voice broke you out of your thoughts.

“sorry, i didnt mean to scare you.” he chuckled softly and his eyes creased, easing your nerves a little. the hint of his accent poked through his words, it was very attractive you had to admit.

“no , no its okay, can i help you with anything?” your voice came out harder than you imagined and more agitated than you felt. his expression hardened again and his smile fell, he shook his head.

“sorry, i just thought i forgot my phone.”

you stood there and looked about the room. you felt the atmosphere in the room change and as you looked at him more closely you could see the outline of his phone in his jean pocket. he didn't know you had noticed, and you were confused as to why he was really here. not wanting to drag on this interaction longer than needed you quickly picked up your bag and began to walk toward the door.

“I hope you find it.” you mumbled out.

suddenly his body was blocking the doorway and you stopped a few feet away from him. your face burning red and confused about his behaviour. “you are not going to help me look?” he smiled and a sneakily glint in his eye made your heart skip a beat. was he flirting with you? you were very up to date with the gossip and knew he had a suspected girlfriend so his behaviour was even more shocking to you.

“oh sorry.” you mumbled dumbly, not knowing what to say. you knew he had his phone and you weren't about to embarrass yourself by crawling all over the floor looking for it.

“i've got to edit this interview i'm afraid, so if you wouldn't mind letting me pass.” you looked down at the ground as you spoke and mentally cursed yourself at the fact that your voice came out much weaker than you intended.

“okay.” you could hear the smile in his voice, “i apologise ma douce.” my sweet. you didn't know what he had just called you but the french nickname paired with his voice made your heart sway and even more blush burned on your cheeks. he moved from the doorway with a charming smile and allowed you to pass through.

your feet felt like jelly underneath you but somehow you carried yourself through the paddock back to your work area, a smile gracing your pretty features at what had just happened. but you couldn't allow anything to happen and you knew that, he had a girlfriend and it was your job to interview him. this is so wrong you told yourself. sliding a hand over your face to try to compose yourself, you began to start editing the interview.

you paused in shock, watching over the footage you saw how charles gaze almost never left you throughout the whole interview. he was starting at you like an animal and you didn't know why. shock graced your features even more to see how he clearly was checking you out and when you spoke to carlos, his eyes even darkened in a overprotective manner. who was he to get so possessive over you? you had just met? anger started to replace the feelings of shock and you wanted to storm back into ferrari to give him a piece of your mind…

┊┊┊┊ ➶ ❁۪ ｡˚ ✧

pt2?

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc fluff #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 x reader #fluff #angst #light angst #x reader #enemies to lovers #forbidden love #forbidden romance

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wheels-of-despair · 1 year

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Smoke Break Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Hellfire is holed up in your basement on prom night, but you can't sleep. Might as well drag Eddie outside for a smoke break. Contains: Excessive snoring, giggle fits, smoking, possible monster encounter, Evil Woman taking charge and demanding that I slap a MDNI warning on this baby. (Don't test me, ageless blogs, I'll block you.) Words: 1k

Somebody is snoring way too loud.

You lie awake in your dark basement, trying to remember who's where so you know whose pancakes are getting dropped on the floor in the morning.

Hellfire usually spent prom night in Grant's basement, but now that there was a girl in their midst, his mom decided she didn't want to set a bunch of teenagers loose in an unsupervised environment. So the anti-prom celebration was being held in yours this year. Very kinky stuff: pizza, an unreasonable amount of snack food, Carrie, Prom Night, whatever else was on the cheap horror shelf at Family Video, and a room full of nerdy virgins… plus you and Eddie.

The last movie had ended an hour ago, and everyone who'd made it through decided to crash. You'd snuggled up next to Eddie and slept for what you estimated to be half an hour before someone's loud-ass snores jolted you awake.

And by extension, jolted Eddie awake.

You both laid there silently for a few minutes, nuzzling into each other and hoping to get back to sleep. Every time you got close, another snore would rip through the room. It was comically loud; the kind of snore that should probably be accompanied by a cartoon saw and a log. Eddie must've realized this too, because soon, every snore would send you both shaking in a fit of silent giggles. Giving up on sleep entirely, you decide to pass the time a different way.

"You wanna go out and smoke?" you whisper.

"Yeah," Eddie answers, and you begin untangling yourselves and rising off the floor. You tiptoe through the pile of sleeping nerds until you reach the basement door, then slip out.

It's unusually warm outside, but half the appeal of a late-night smoke break is the cuddling. You sit next to him on the concrete garden wall. He slips his arm around your back once he lights up, and you rest your head on his shoulder as you pass the cigarette back and forth in the light of the full moon.

About halfway through, you start craving something else.

You begin drawing lazy circles on his pajama-covered thigh, slowly working upward.

"Don't do that," he warns, blowing his smoke away from you.

"Don't do what?" you ask innocently, nuzzling your nose into his neck.

"They'll hear us."

"Not if we're quiet." You plant a sweet kiss on his jawline and squeeze the inside of his thigh.

He sighs and stubs out his cigarette in the dirt. You've won. He turns his head for a smoky kiss, which you happily give him.

Once you've got him breathing heavier and kissing you with urgency, you pull away, slithering to the ground between his legs.

But diving right in would be too easy on him.

You pull up his faded Dio shirt and begin trailing soft, sweet kisses down his bare stomach. He begins to moan softly, hands gripping the concrete.

You palm him through his pajama pants, to see if he's ready, and his breath catches. Oh yeah. He's ready. You slip a finger beneath the waistband, and he forgets that he's supposed to be being quiet.

"Oh shit, oh fuck," his stream of consciousness flows between pants.

"Eddie," you hiss, pulling back and looking up at him.

"Yeah?" he breathes.

"Do you want this?"

"Fuck yeah."

"Then shut the fuck up."

"Yes ma'am."

In silence, you start over, hiking his shirt back up and working your way back down his stomach with kisses. His breathing is rough, but he is capable of shutting up. You'll have to keep that in mind.

When your trail of kisses reaches the elastic waistband of his pajama pants again, you take the edge between your teeth, pull back, and let it snap on him. He jumps, then fumbles to help you out.

He moans when your mouth closes around him.

You release him and look up with a glare.

"Please," he whines.

You lift a hand to cover his mouth and get back to work, listening to Eddie's muffled moans. When he starts writhing too much, you remove your hand from his mouth and sink your nails into his hips to hold him still.

"I'm gonna… I'm gonna…"

And then, he does.

Wiping your mouth and rejoining him on the garden wall, you sit facing him this time. You wrap a leg around his backside, and he slumps into you. You chuckle and hold him, half-flopped over with his head on your shoulder.

"You okay?" you whisper.

He nods sleepily and wraps his arms around your waist.

"Think they heard us?"

"They probably heard YOUR loud ass," you tease, rubbing up and down his back.

"Sorry," he mumbles.

"No, you're not," you chuckle, and he buries his face in your neck, knowing you're right.

You sit there quietly for a few minutes, just enjoying the alone time and the sound of crickets.

Then you hear something crunching through the woods in your direction. You both sit bolt upright, scanning the dark tree line in front of you with wide eyes.

"Uh… wannagobackin?" you ask quickly.

"Yup." Eddie jumps up and pulls you toward the basement door. Once inside, you lock both the knob and the deadbolt, then try to find your way back to your little nest without stepping on anyone.

Miraculously, you get there without waking anyone up… or so you thought. Still a little rattled from whatever kind of monster was on its way to eat you a few minutes ago, you cling to Eddie's side and stare into the dark, refusing to close your eyes.

"You okay?" he whispers. You respond by squeezing him tighter. He puts a finger under your chin and draws your face to meet his for a comforting kiss. "How 'bout now?"

"Not quite. Try again." You can feel him smile against you as he obliges.

"How 'bout now?"

"How 'bout you two are fucking gross," Grant grumbles from the spot you'd tried to isolate in the dark some time before.

"What was that, Grant?" Gareth chimes in. "I can't hear you, I had to shove my drumsticks in my ears."

"Come on guys, they're young and in looove," Jeff says in a singsong voice.

"Well, since we don't have to be quiet anymore..." Eddie lays a loud, wet kiss on your lips, and you laugh as everyone else pretends to gag.

Aside from the near-death experience, not a bad way to spend prom night in Hawkins.

#writings of despair #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #is it a demodog or a deer? who knoooows

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ussgallifrey · 5 months

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Home for the Holiday | Part 3

✦ Summary: Never let it be said that you weren’t willing to do just about anything for your squadron. As you find yourself roped into an elaborate ruse to help fool Hangman’s mother for Christmas all seems to be going according to plan. But when that plan spirals out of control, the line between real and pretend begins to blur.

✦ Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Anxiety, arguments, fake dating, hurt/comfort, Jake’s family being fake and generally awful towards him, mentions of divorce, mentions of past abuse, minor angst.

✦ Word Count: 9.9k

✦ Author’s Note: Hi, has it been over a year since I posted anything for this story? It must be a Christmas miracle! Anyway, this one has been sitting in my drafts for a very long time, slowly getting added to every few months. And here we come to the end of Jake's annoying family. The next two chapters will be decidedly happier, I promise.

[Master List]

You’re woken neither by your own internal clock nor the backup alarm on your phone but by the irritated slamming of something across the hotel room. It takes you a second to properly assess the sound as being of the non-dream variety. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you push up onto your elbow to stare into the unsettled darkness.

The golden light from the bathroom spills out into the entryway where a shirtless Hangman seems to be fighting a losing battle with the foldup ironing board.

“You good?” you call out, voice still hoarse with sleep.

His eyes snap up to meet yours, mustering out an almost guilty, “Shit, sorry Pits.”

You wave him off, sitting up properly - the white sheets spilling over your thighs.

The bedside clock informs you that it’s still early in the morning, though not unreasonably so. He had told you the drive to his father’s place would take a while, so it made sense for him to be up at this hour but less so for whatever the hell he was trying to accomplish across the room.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, scratching at the back of your neck as you pad your way over to find out.

“What’s with the iron?”

There’s a seafoam green shirt on the board with a plugged-in iron on its end, that much you can see.

“Damn thing won’t turn on,” he flicks the buttons on the iron up and down, on and off.

Quirking your brow, “You know it takes time to heat up, yeah?”

He pauses, fixing you with an exasperated look, “Fifteen minutes enough for you?”

Throwing your hands up in a defensive hold, you take a step back.

“Shit. Look, I’m not trying to be a total ass here. Just, I didn’t exactly go packing a lot of options and I can’t go wearing what I did yesterday because Josh saw it already - ”

“Got it.”

He sighs in defeat, grabbing hold of the shirt. Giving it a good flap, you can see the clear wrinkles on the front.

For a lazy day in, the shirt would be fine. But this was a family get-together and Jake Seresin was a naval officer. His closet was likely similar to your own when it came to precision-pressed and properly hung items. Wearing this shirt, the way it was, would not fly.

“Well, before you go complain to the front desk - give it here, and let me try something.”

His own brow rises but he ultimately hands it over by the scruff of the collar. Swiping up your toiletry bag, you head into the bathroom, looking over your shoulder to give him a small smile.

“Let’s see if the magic of steam can’t work a miracle on this.”

His features drop in a way that says he hadn’t even considered that as an option before he grins, “Here’s hoping.”

After hanging the shirt on the towel bar, you take an extra long and heated shower. Letting the water massage your back and shoulders with its pressure. You certainly missed the little things like this when you were aboard the carrier. Uninterrupted, hot, lengthy showers where you didn’t feel like it might be a biohazard to touch any surface.

No, this was nice.

And when you step out of the tub and wrap a towel around your middle, you crack the door open to inform Jake that his shirt is just about good to go.

“But I can hit it with the hair dryer still. We got time, right?”

He hums in reply from the other side of the room, though you can’t see him.

Turning on the exhaust fan, you wipe down the steam-covered mirror with a hand towel and go about finishing your routine. Making sure your feet are actually dry, you step back into the room - walking over to your bag in search of another outfit.

Jake had pushed aside the blackout curtains in your absence, filling the room with natural light. He’s sat on the edge of his bed again, but now he has a plain white tank on to go with his jeans. You can hear the faintest clearing of his throat, making you look back at him.

His gaze drifts down your back for a second before he seems to busy himself with his phone again.

“I’m guessing this one is a little more casual?” you ask, pulling out three different shirts.

“Mmm, yeah,” he clears his throat again with a cough, glancing over towards the bathroom.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get your shirt out in a minute. I’m just letting the steam work its last bit of magic on it.”

His eyes finally meet yours and he frowns slightly, “I wasn’t - y-yeah… okay.”

And then it seems to dawn on you: you were only wearing a towel.

And while it might be common for the guys of your squadron to walk around shirtless in the gym, or when they were changing out of sweaty flight gear, it wasn’t exactly a frequent occurrence for you to be seen in anything but your usual navy-issued tank and shorts. And while Hangman himself had been in nothing more than a towel yesterday morning, during the rush to get ready, that seemed like an entirely different situation to your own.

Your heart races as you become aware of just how exposed you are right now.

Grabbing hold of your entire bag and muttering out an embarrassed: “Sorry, I’ll just - ” as you hurriedly flee back into the bathroom.

Hangman, for his part, seems too stunned to even form a reply and you can’t exactly blame him.

Jesus, what were you thinking? You might be comfortable around your squadron but nothing over the past two days had elicited that level of comfort between the two of you.

Taking far longer than necessary to choose an outfit and get dressed, you’re slow and methodical about your hair and makeup this time too. Only when your nerves have settled down from the encounter, do you finally grab his shirt and return to the room.

“Well, what do you think?”

You hold the shirt up for him to examine. He nods, standing from his spot on the bed to take hold of it by the shoulders.

“Thank you.”

You just nod, tight-lipped, as you go about putting your bag away in its rightful spot. Jake tugs his arms through the sleeves before heading over to the full-length mirror by the front door. You watch as he methodically rolls the sleeves up to his elbows, creasing the cuff perfectly each time. When he’s done, he twists his watch around - back and forth, a few times.

And then he clears his throat, looking over towards you as you slip on your boots.

“You look good, by the way.”

Slowly, your eyes meet his and you offer him a gentle smile.

“Not too shabby yourself, Bagman.”

He ducks his head down for a second, grinning all the same. But then he’s glancing down at his watch and frowning again, patting his front and back pockets as he checks his EDC.

“You ready to go?”

Rising from the desk chair, you fix him with a questioning look, “Are you?”

With a smirk, he shakes his head. Offering an honest, “No.”

Jake holds the door open for you as you leave the room, heading down to the stairwell. You make an off-hand comment about it not being the way to the free dine-in breakfast. But he just keeps walking and eventually, you're in the parking lot. Slipping into the passenger side of the rental car, you watch as he adjusts the rearview mirror and his own seat.

Before he even starts the ignition, he looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Well, someone wouldn’t let us go down to the lobby for breakfast.”

“Ha,” he chuckles. “Come on, I know a better place.”

Raising your brow as you buckle your seatbelt you say, “I’m intrigued.”

Hangman just grins, grabbing hold of the back of your seat as he backs out of the parking spot.

You're not sure what you expected, but when Jake pulls into a busy Sunoco gas station ten minutes later, you can't help but raise your brow skeptically at him.

“Trust me,” he grins - all teeth - as he snags his aviators from his shirt collar.

“Tell me they have the best donuts around at least,” you call, following him out of the car.

He had parked off to the side, away from the entrance of the food mart. Digging his hands into his jean pockets, he waits for you to meet him on the sidewalk in front of the hood of the rental car.

Grinning with all the smugness of a higher power, he nudges your arm with his elbow and leads the way. Avoiding the building entirely, which makes you even more curious. The two of you round the other side of the gas station where the smell of smoked meat and spice fills the air.

There are two food trucks, a yellow tear-drop-shaped repurposed camper, and a smaller red build. Each has its own canvas tent with tables and chairs set up underneath. Fancy chalkboard signs bring the promise of amazing food as do the long-stretched lines outside of them both.

“Okay,” you admit, “You had me concerned for a second there.”

He chuckles, getting into the yellow truck's line, “Gotta keep you on your toes, sweetheart. Anyway, I wanted to give you the chance of having an Austin staple.”

Well, if the menu wasn't enticing enough for you, then the smell certainly was. You find yourself nearly floating along the line with Jake. After ordering, you grab an empty picnic table to yourselves and proceed to dig into the absolutely massive breakfast burritos.

“Have you eaten here before?” you ask after swallowing another absolutely sinful bite.

“No, actually,” he wipes his mouth with another napkin. “This place didn't exist until two years back. Found it online when you were, uh, getting ready.”

Your chest aches as you recall the awkward encounter from this morning. Slowing your chewing, you manage out a pinched, "Well, god bless online reviews. This is incredible."

After another bite, you rub your lips with the back of your hand, glancing across to meet his gaze - his sunglasses remain folded on the table now, so you're able to see the green of his eyes once again.

“I mean it,” you swallow. “This might be the best breakfast I've ever had.”

He stares for a moment, swallowing his own bite before a slow smile graces his lips.

“Better not let your momma hear you talking like that.”

You laugh, “I'm sure she'd understand.”

Jake gives a warm chuckle, shaking his head, “Hell, think you know more about my family than I do about yours at this point. Not even sure I can remember you ever talking about them.”

Setting the burrito down carefully in the foil wrapper, you contemplate his small accusation. While you had certainly heard your fill of just about everyone else’s families while on deployment, you can’t recall if you really ever dove into talking about your own.

Obviously, you had heard all about Jake’s very extended family at this point. But even you knew about Freud and his weird association with his mom’s current husband - her fifth husband if you were remembering things correctly. Cosmo had a close relationship with his sister Cecilia but not his sister Lucia. Slab had a complicated connection with his adoptive parents but got on okay with his older brother. And so on.

“They’re not very interesting,” you finally settle on.

He raises a single eyebrow, “I highly doubt that.”

“Compared to yours?”

That makes him smirk, “Fair point.”

From there, it takes you a little longer to realize that you’re both eating at a leisurely pace and that Jake isn’t constantly checking his watch or telling you to speed it up. It’s a strange occurrence, given his usual attentiveness for being timely. Jake Seresin lived by the motto that if you’re early, you’re on time and if you’re on time, you’re late.

So, as nearly a full hour of the two of you sitting there and shooting the shit passes, you start to grow the slightest bit concerned. Going on to ask:

“How far did you say your dad’s place was?”

His lips immediately fall into a sort of scowl as you pull him away from a very amusing story about his time in officer’s school.

“Two hours,” comes the almost robotic reply.

“Does that mean we should start, you know, heading out?”

Your breakfast had long since been finished and the wrappers thrown away. Your drinks were little more than melted ice and semi-chewed straws at this point.

After ruffling his hair and twisting his watch around a few times, he finally sighs.

“Yeah, probably.”

Forcing a tight-lipped smile, you slap his shoulder as you finally stand up from the picnic table.

“Come on, Seresin. You got me as your wingman for a second round today. No time like the present.”

Grabbing hold of both of your near-empty drinks, he too lifts his leg over the side of the bench and stands up with a playfully annoyed, “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up now, Pits.”

The ride to his dad’s house is filled with Christmas music played by two different country radio stations. As the odometer slowly creeps up mile by mile, you can see the difference in your companion’s composure. He started out relaxed, almost lounging in his seat. And then it grows more rigid; with his hands clutching the steering wheel like it had personally wronged him.

Last night, the two of you had talked about the upcoming shitstorm of a holiday get-together.

You knew Josh would be there again. But you would also be meeting his other brother, Justin, and his wife and kids of course. And then there was his sister, Jess, and her brood - as he had put it.

Just from the way he talked about his siblings, it was clear that Jake did not get on with - nor keep in close contact with - any of them. He seemed particularly hung up on his sister more so than his older brothers. And while you were sure there was a story - or two - there, you didn’t feel it was the time, or place,to pry.

And then, of course, there was the infamous Mr. Seresin himself. Of him, you knew the least amount of information. Only being told that you should keep your conversations limited if not just nonexistent. You weren’t sure how well that idea would apply in reality, but for your friend’s sake, you promised to keep things to his plan.

As the radio DJ announces yet another Thomas Rhett song, Jake finally hops onto an exit ramp, signaling that you were close to the inevitable get-together.

In almost two hours, you had covered a variety of topics pertaining to work. But seeing the great amount of tension currently attacking your wingman, you finally relent with a different story.

“I got my pilot’s license at seventeen.”

Only because you’re at a stoplight does Jake look over at you, wide-eyed and mouth slightly ajar as the beginnings of a smirk curl into place.

“Do tell.”

You chuckle as he turns the wheel.

“Whole line of aviators, actually. Great-grandpa was a paratrooper during Korea and I guess he just missed the adrenaline when he came back to the States. His son took up commercial flying and my dad got his license just because it seemed like everyone else in the family was doing it.”

“And you?” his sage green eyes meet yours for a quick second before he focuses back on the road ahead of you.

With a shrug, you draw your knee up on the seat and stare out the passenger window. Swatches of dusty farmland and wooden fences pass you by.

“Guess I was always just growing up around them. My grandpa took me flying all the time when my dad was busy working. Did my first solo ride at fifteen in a glider and got my license two years later.”

You can see his grin from out of your peripheral and count it as a victory.

“Any other incredible talents you’ve kept hidden under that smartass exterior?”

“Hey!” you gently slap his arm, pulling a fake pout. “If there was, I’m not telling you now.”

“Alright, alright,” he bites his lip, tapping the steering wheel as a sense of ease washes over him. “I’ll play nice.”

With a roll of your eyes, you mutter under your breath, “Fat fucking chance.”

There’s a seemingly dramatic sigh from him which is immediately followed by a hand being jabbed into your flank and a screech of laughter erupting from your lips as Jake proceeds to tickle your side.

“G-god fuckin- STOP, y-you asshole,” you try to squirm away from his touch, but his fingers seem to know your exact weak points and there’s only so far you can scramble away.

“Give it up, Pita,” he croons sweetly, still somehow managing to drive the car steadily down the road with his left hand.

“Mercy! Mer-cy, you jackass!”

You shove at his hand until he finally relents. Absolutely beaming as he looks over at you, unable to stop his own chuckle from seeing the state of you. He sighs, the bubble of laughter on his lips as he turns down a dirt road.

“Sure know how to distract a guy.”

With a huff of indignation, you say, “I’m sure there’s more alluring ways to do that.”

Only when Jake chokes on his own spit do you throw your head back in a howl of laughter.

“Christ, the look on your face, Seresin.”

“Ha ha,” he deadpans, catching your gaze in the reflection of the rearview mirror. “Laugh it up, sweetheart. Cause we’re almost there.”

That does seem to sober you both up almost instantly.

The radio sways in and out between bits of static break-up. As the houses fall further and further back from the road, it seems like you’re looking at nothing but straight-up copper-dusted fields.

Hangman leans forward on the wheel as he peers out at the stretch of dirt road, checking the numbers on the mailboxes that pop up every mile. And then, at last, he finally slows the car down to a steady roll.

And while Lady A is singing about it being an absolutely Wonderful Christmastime, you watch as all signs of joy seem to drain from your friend’s face as he turns onto the long-winding drive of his father’s ranch. The tires kick up dirt and pebbles, leaving a trail of dust in your wake. You’re jostled in your seat from the rough terrain of the unpaved driveway.

“Can’t believe I’m fucking doing this,” he murmurs, staring up ahead at the trucks already parked next to the white barn.

The house itself is a massive ranch-style home, with wood siding that almost makes it look like an older cabin. But the windows are clearly modern and sleek. It was no question at all that Jake’s father had some serious money to his name here. If the accompanying acres of farmland weren’t already a dead giveaway.

You wait for him to park, killing the ignition and resting his arms on the steering wheel with a resigned look in place of his usually bright eyes.

“When, uh, when was the last time you were here?”

With a sigh, his chin resting on the wheel now too as he stares up at the sprawling house.

“All the time as a kid. It was my granddad’s. Went on to my uncle until he ran himself straight into debt from all the gambling and drinking. Then this one - ” he jerks his head in the general direction of the house once again, “ - got it passed onto him. Haven’t been back since my granddad passed. So maybe… fourteen years?”

With a singular blink, you mutter an equally pressed, “Jesus, Seresin.”

“Yeah, well…” he just shakes his head, having already given you the gist of everything last night. No point in rehashing old news.

“Looks like everyone is here,” you comment after glancing around at the other numerous vehicles in the drive.

He nods, finally pulling the keys from the ignition and swinging the chain into his hand.

You follow him up the path to the front porch – a once beautiful piece of craftsmanship now deteriorating and stained. The floorboards of the deck squeak under your shoes and a handful of the railings seem to be either broken-off or missing entirely. A black bear carved out of wood greets you both with a simple welcome sign held in its fur-textured paws.

Jake gives a solid rap to the door before he grabs hold of the handle and shoves it open. More of a courtesy knock than anything.

With a little squeeze to his bicep, you give him your best encouraging nod and follow after him as he slides through the entryway where a massive pile of boots and shoes has been deposited.

You’re only afforded a sliver of a proper view into the main living space, but the noise level is already on par with an F18 ready to take off from the flight deck.

As you kick off your shoes into the sprawling mess of footwear, you’re assaulted by the sound of screaming children, raucous cheers, a football announcer blasting through surround-sound speakers, and the faint twang of Christmas music radiating out from a speaker somewhere in the middle of it all.

Mixed with the pungent smell of sweat-soaked shoes and rosemary-scented turkey roasting in an oven, you reach out to grab hold of Jake’s arm – simply from the overwhelming amount of things happening all around you before you even see a single person.

“You good?” he murmurs, a shocking amount of concern etched onto his usually playful features.

“Mhmm,” you manage.

A warm hand eases its way onto the small of your back and you feel the madness fall into a pinpoint tunnel where it’s easily manageable and not so disconcerting.

“Never better,” said through a set of clenched teeth is all you can work up for him.

With another squeeze to his arm, you allow Jake to guide you – by the hand still on your lower back – down the front hall to the large open-plan living space. To your left, several women lean against the russet-colored cabinets, with glasses of dark red wine in hand and ringing laughs as short blonde-haired children weave their way through the space.

To the right, near the stone fireplace sits the majority of the men on overstuffed leather couches and recliners as they stare up, with rapt attention, at the game currently projected on the large flat screen mounted above the mantel.

“Uncle Jake!”

Your eyes lock onto the blur of yellow and red that comes charging toward you both. Stepping out of the fray, you watch as your companion drops to his knees to scoop up the girl with the maroon ribbons laced through her platinum hair.

“Kenna Kenna Kenna,” he grins, grabbing hold of the young girl around her waist as he hefts her up and swings her back and forth in his embrace.

A smile that you can’t seem to control graces your lips as you watch the scene play out.

Oh, the guys back on the carrier would kill to see this side of Hangman right now. What a privilege it was for you to bear witness to.

From over his shoulder, you’re presented with the curious brown eyes of the girl who then jabs her hand against Jake’s chest and demands:

“Who’s that?”

You watch as your companion’s grin slips down for just a brief second before he forces a tight smile.

“That,” comes the familiar voice of the older Seresin brother, who rises from one of the leather recliners with a beer in hand, and a too-smug smile on his face. “Is Uncle Jackie’s girlfriend.”

The girl gasps, staring up at Jake with a pure look of wonderment, “You have a girlfriend?”

Out of instinct alone, you wrap a hand around his right arm – encouraging the act from him.

“I do,” he nods at last, glancing over at you with those piercing green eyes. And then he’s laughing, dropping the girl back down onto her feet as he says, “God, when’d you get so big?”

“Probably sometime between your last visit and now.”

Your gaze snaps over to the woman in a denim blouse in the kitchen area, swirling her wine before she finishes it off.

If you had to take a guess...

“Jess,” he greets, short and to the point with a curt nod of his head.

Bingo.

As the girl, Kenna, skirts off to join the other kids currently hanging back by the patio doors near the massive Christmas tree, another man wanders over. Similar to Josh and Jake, he’s got dimpled cheeks, darker blonde hair, and a distinctive swagger to his walk.

“Hey man,” he claps Hangman on the shoulder, presenting him with a bottle of beer in his other hand. “Long time no fucking see. Look good though.”

Jake takes hold of the drink before he slinks his arm back around your waist, guiding you forward and into his side.

“Justin,” he nods, half in greeting, and half in explanation for your current confusion.

Ah, brother number two.

“And you’re the mysterious girlfriend,” his eyes slip past his brother to land firmly upon your face.

You offer your hand in return, along with your name.

“Never thought we’d see the day,” he grins in return. And then he’s backing away, gesturing toward the fridge, “Something to drink? Beer, wine, Coke?”

Surrounded by so many people who all seem to be particularly interested in scrutinizing your every move, you merely shake your head, “Think I’m good for now, thanks.”

Jake squeezes your side and you look to your left to see him already staring down at you with a soft smile. Emboldened by his apparent approval, you begin to make your rounds with him never far from reach.

You’re introduced, quickly, to Gwen. His bubbly stepmother with dark roots and straw-colored hair who hands you a glass of wine without taking no for an answer. She’s brightness personified and the definition of a doting host. Beside her stands a rather quiet fixture in the kitchen.

Marissa is the curly-haired young wife of Justin Seresin. She watches on with a bottle held between her chipped-red nails as Jess hollers at Kenna from across the room when she tries to drop a handful of slime on her uncle’s head.

The woman remains silent, though she holds an amused smile, as she watches the madness of her inlaws take place. There’s a brood of children that moves and weaves through the adults who remain largely indifferent to their antics.

From the countertop, where an array of appetizers are laid out, you watch as the two seven-year-old twins – Dawson and Dixon – gulf down scoops and scoops of bean dip. While their sister - Brynlee, as Jake’s stepmother manages to tell you over the noise of the get-together – seems content to cling to Marissa’s pant leg as she stares up at the towering adults overhead.

Your nerves begin to ease as a sort of familiar feeling washes over you. If you convinced yourself hard enough, you could almost pretend this was one of your mom’s extended family reunions.

Sure, you weren’t well-acquainted with everyone yet. But if you forced a good smile and made an effort to be courteous, you were sure you could get through the ordeal without tarnishing your wingman’s reputation.

Slowly, Jake guides you through the room, until, at last, you’re sat on the armrest of one of the leather recliners, watching with distant interest as the announcers recount the last play in the game before halftime.

“So, you gonna introduce us properly?”

Your eyes shift toward the couch where you spot the gray-haired tresses and stern sun-baked face of Daniel Seresin. Your companion, who had been standing off to the side of the living room speaking in quiet conversation with his eldest brother, seems to straighten up to full attention as if an admiral had just entered the room.

With a twinge of discomfort, your gaze tracks Jake as he strides over to you, a hand resting on your shoulder when he finally comes to a stop. You can feel his breath on your neck, the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

In a rigid tone bordering on inspection-line worthy, he introduces you by name and rank to his father.

A smile flits across the older man’s face as he beams up at you, rising from his lounged position on the couch to properly shake your hand. He looks the part of a typical rancher with his light-washed jeans and buttoned-down shirt tucked in with a flashy belt buckle.

“Real pleasure to meet you,” he grins. His hand is large, calloused by years of work. “I can’t tell you the last time Jake mentioned a girl catching his interest. Isn’t that right, buddy?”

You feel rather than hear the clipped mhmm that Jake gives in return. His gaze remains largely focused on the wall behind his father where an array of framed family photos resides. Never affording the man with the respect of holding his gaze.

Daniel claps your shoulder warmly and invites you to sit down with promises of their dinner being a real feast.

“She’s a saint, Gwen,” he tells you as you resume your position on the side of the armrest.

Jake, pointedly, slouches down in the actual recliner, his fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle as he stares – unseeing – at the TV.

“Hell, damn near blew myself up last year with the fryer. Don’t think she’ll let me in the kitchen, will ya, honey?”

He shouts the last part, to be heard over the crowd. Followed by a ringing you bet your ass I won’t coming from the vicinity of the stove.

You watch as Josh shakes his head in amusement, cradling a wriggly toddler in his arms. But your attention ultimately falls to the man seated to the side of you. Lost in his thoughts, trapped in his own head.

Reaching down with a tentative hand, you squeeze his fingers with your own.

It takes a minute, but then those welcomed meadow-green eyes meet your gaze and you can almost see the momentary relief that crosses his face as he squeezes your hand in return.

Dinner at the Seresin house is a decidedly casual affair in comparison to the meal you had shared with Patricia the day before. Gwen dishes out the seasonal fixings onto Christmas-themed heavy-duty disposable plates. Accompanied by wrapped bundles of plastic cutlery in Santa Claus paper napkins.

Balancing your plate on your lap is a true feat of talent as you’re the main entry and exit point to the kitchen, still settled on the armrest beside Jake.

The nieces and nephews, all eight of them, are situated on the floor on a big fleece blanket that quickly becomes an absorbent towel for their stray food bits more than anything else. Your hostess has the foresight to turn the game down to a more reasonable level, though the noise in the living room is still on par with a jet engine firing.

You find yourself shouting to be heard whenever anyone graces you with a question, which isn’t many... at first.

“ - anyway, after he pulled them over,” Jess continues her story about her husband, Nick: the Statetrooper. “He told them that he – god damnit! MacKenna Jaymes, are you or are you not watching your sister?”

Your attention, involuntary, falls to the oldest grandchild who has a mouth full of food as she stares helplessly at her younger sister who’s let her plate slip and spill all over the blanket.

“Fucking Christ,” Jake scoffs in heated breath, too quiet for anyone besides you to hear. His anger isn’t directed at his niece, of course, but at his sister.

Shoving his plate onto the other armrest, he peels himself up from the chair and crouches down to the oblivious toddler who has orange cheese sauce all around her lips – which he wipes clean with a napkin.

Jess, for her part, rolls her eyes and continues on with a biting tone about children needing to take care of their own messes. But Jake merely scoops up the girl’s food and settles the plate back down on the floor in front of her with a gentle ruffle of her sweet blonde locks.

You hold his plate for him when he returns to the chair, running a hand through his own hair.

“Thanks, honey,” he says in a cadence so natural it almost makes you drop his plate.

When he’s settled, you chance a look at him before you find your gaze trailing over to the far too smug brother seated on the chair adjacent to yours.

“See? This is the shit I was talking about last night,” he waggles a finger between the two of you as an example.

“Dad, do you remember when he brought over that girl? God, Jackie, what was her fuckin’ name?” Josh perks up, sitting on the edge of the cushion as he grabs his father’s attention, and, inadvertently, Jake’s as well.

“Oh, gosh,” Daniel starts, slapping his knee in thought as he stares up at the ceiling for the answer.

After a beat, you hear the soft utterance of, “Sarah.”

You glance down at Jake who keeps his head bowed under the weight of old memories.

Josh snaps his fingers, “That’s it! Fucking head cheerleader wrapped around his damn finger and did he even spare the girl a glance? I swear to God, he - ”

“Christ, can you knock it off with the swearing already?” Jess snaps.

The mischievous brother merely grins at you in a way that seems to say you see what I’m dealing with here?

“Must be all that growing up that’s got you so enamored.”

Settling your hand on Jake’s left shoulder, you give him a reasurring squeeze. You’d already dealt with his brother’s annoying antics and personality last night, what was a few more hours of unending torture under a familial microscope?

He lets out a long ragged breath, but you can feel his shoulders loosen marginally.

You almost miss the biting sound of the Seresin sister when she mutters, “Doubt it.”

But Jake doesn’t.

And he latches on to it like an enemy target on his radar system.

“Something you wanna say?”

The room falls to a stifling silence like the distant whistle of a falling shell about to make impact. You fear for the fallout from the impending crater.

She has the audacity to look aghast, a hand held to her heart in surprise as she manages to finish off her potato salad in one quick bite.

“Jacob. If you can’t say something nice, you don’t say anything at all.”

“And yet you always manage,” comes his lightning-quick response.

“Well,” she drawls. “On a holy day like Christmas, I think you can find a way to keep your opinions sealed up.”

The other occupants watch the sparring of words like a tennis volley. But someone seems to have had enough.

“Oh, bless your heart dear!” Gwen says, standing quickly from her position on the couch beside her husband as she makes her way over to you. “You’re all out of casserole. Come on, now. Let’s get you fixed back up.”

Your chest tightens as you’re literally pulled to your feet by the determined woman, who quickly leads you into the depths of the kitchen. The words from the two siblings are still just as biting, but slowly the trickle of grandchildren also make their way into the kitchen.

Just another Christmas get-together for them as the grown-ups row.

As Gwen tops your plate to the point of sagging with more food, you watch MacKenna as she settles her younger sister on her hip while holding a hand on top of the toddler’s head.

“You’ve got your hands full,” you manage to say, hoping the smile you offer her isn’t tight with worry as the noise in the living room continues to grow.

The girl shrugs, as much as she can with a one-year-old in her arms. She tracks her siblings as they settle onto the hightop stools and begin to rummage through the lower cabinets.

Josh has his hands out as he tries to delegate between the bickering siblings, but Justin and Marissa just have the peace of mind to leave the scene altogether – also journeying over to the sanctuary of the kitchen.

“Don’t worry,” the eldest brother says to you, leaning on the counter as he carefully pushes his twin sons away from the bowl of Chex mix. “They always get into it when they’re together. Has nothing to do with you.”

“Oh,” is all you can say in return.

“Here, hun,” his wife says to the nine-year-old struggling to hold onto her baby sister any longer. “Give your arms a break.”

With a handful of chips in his mouth, Justin points at his wife, “We’re not having another one.”

She nods congenially, patting the baby’s back with her hand, “I know that.”

Jess is on her feet now, pointing a dangerous finger at Jake, but you feel rooted to the spot because this was never a discussed topic of possible scenarios between the two of you back at the hotel.

“Abandoning your fucking family because you have goddamn daddy issues. Get the fuck over yourself, Jacob!”

For all the hostility his sister throws his way, your companion remains level and coolheaded as always.

He stares up at her with a perfectly blank face, “Can’t go one damn holiday without throwing a tantrum can you?”

Gwen coughs, pulling your attention away for just a moment as she all but shoves a platter of cookies in your face.

“Want one? Got more than the two of us can eat here. I made peanut butter, peppermint, pecan – ”

“ - and you think you can just show up here like it’s all water under the bridge and everything’s fine and dandy just because you have a girl on your arm? That doesn’t make up for the last decade of your shit.”

You take a step toward the living room, where even Josh has shrunken down onto the couch with his head between his hands. Daniel remains completely stock still as he watches the seemingly one-sided fight drag on.

“Just ‘cause you found the first broad to give you the time of day, doesn’t mean you can just waltz in here and – ”

Before you can even register the words, Jake is on his feet.

Staring down at his sister with a heaving chest and balled fists.

You break away from the cluster of family members as you make your way to his side. Tentatively, you reach for his hand – easing his fingers away until you can entwine your hands together. His nostrils flare as words that have been building up since childhood begin to battle their way up to his lips, but it all comes to a halt when you murmur a gentle:

“Baby?”

With a slow turn of his head, he looks down at you – fight dissipating from his eyes as you squeeze his hand. Giving a gentle tug, Jake follows you over to the sliding doors of the back deck.

Behind you, you can hear Josh give an admonishing, “Never known when to close your massive fucking trap, do you?”

But you push aside the door and lead your wingman into the fresh afternoon air before you can hear her likely cutting response.

Having no real idea of the lay of the land, you pull him down the back steps and find yourself traversing a small pebble path around the back of the house. Jake, still in a state of silence, allows you to guide him forward without so much as a peep.

Near the back wooden cattle fence dividing the backyard from the actual farm property, you stop under the shade of a large tree. The billowing branches bring not only cool shade but a sense of privacy away from the prying eyes of the bickering family inside.

Releasing your grip on his hand, Jack takes a few unsteady steps forward before he drops down onto a faded old wooden porch swing. It creaks under his weight but seems sturdy enough as he eases his heels into the ground and pushes back and forth.

You stand there, staring out at the vast fields for a long long moment before you hear your name whispered into the breeze.

Turning back to your wingman, you take a seat beside him, your knees brushing as he continues to make the old swing sway.

Out here, if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine you’re in the cockpit on a smooth return flight. The only noise comes from the gentle breeze drooping over the tall grass that bends like ripples in the water.

But your attention ultimately falls to your friend. With his knuckles gripped white on his knees, his head bowed down with his shoulders hunched high to protect him.

This version of Hangman would never be seen by your squadron, nor would it ever be mentioned.

With a steadying breath, your voice cracking as you force out the words, you say, “I have a soft spot for disco music.”

It takes a second for the words to register, but Jake slowly lifts his head and stares at you with pure confusion.

“What?”

“Disco. It’s my... thing? And I’m swearing you to fucking secrecy, Bagman. But... I belt out ABBA songs when I’m alone. Donna Summers too.”

The making of a grin begins to form on the corner of his lips.

“I’ve got it bad for the Bee Gees.”

His brow raises ever so slightly.

“Do those private serenades also include a dance number?”

With a bark of laughter, you tuck your hands between your knees as he rocks you further back on the wide swing.

“Oh, absolutely.”

When you look up, you find his eyes narrowed and scrutinizing. But not in a harsh way. More like you were a puzzle he was just only now figuring out the missing pieces of.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Giving a shrug, you say, “Because I wanted to. Also, no one will ever believe you.”

There’s a beat of silence before his lips tug up into a radiant smile that has him shaking his head.

“God damnit, you’re right.”

You let your left shoulder bump into his right as his laughter slowly ebbs away to silence once again.

He spares the house a furrowed expression before he lets out a slow exhale of breath.

“This thing,” he starts, twisting his watch back and forth on his wrist. “Between me and Jess, it goes back years.”

“You don’t have to explain it,” you assure him with a soft utterance.

But he presses forward despite it.

“Josh and Justin were already out by the time things got bad. Just me and her in the house. Not that she paid much mind. She was ‘bout to graduate and I was just some snot-nosed ten-year-old.”

He eases into the swing, dipping his head back over the headrest to stare up at the swaying green leaves above the two of you. You find yourself turning to face him, pulling your left knee up onto the seat.

“Mom started drinking ‘round then after she found out he was fucking his bowling buddy. Had been, for the last two years or so. But Jess didn’t know that shit, just saw Mom passed out on the couch with an empty bottle on the floor.”

Jake shakes his head, pushing away the memory.

“They never said it to my face, but I know. I was the save the marriage baby.”

“Jake...”

Offering you a tight grimace, he continues.

“Spoiled as hell, got whatever I wanted and then some. Private school, the works. Brothers didn’t care much, but Jess...” he trails off.

Your hand settles onto his forearm, offering a squeeze of comfort when your own words fail you. He dips his chin in return, welcoming the touch of familiarity.

“That’s what I meant by it the other day. They sided with him and I went along with her because I found out what was really happening. Don’t get me wrong, Gwen’s a good lady and the two of them are better off divorced. But... put a wedge between me and the three of them.”

Clearing your throat, you ask, “Is that why you left to join up?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Couldn’t fucking stand to be around either of them by the time I graduated. Just wanted to start over, do something for myself on my own terms.”

And then he scrubs his palm over his face, wincing as he does so.

“Christ, I don’t know why I’m fucking telling you any of this.”

“I said you didn’t have to, you know,” you nudge him with a teasing tone.

With a look of pure exasperation, he holds his hands out like a confession, “Got me bleeding my heart out here like I’m Freeze or something, Pits.”

“Eh,” you sigh, twisting your body to pull up both of your legs onto the bench – only to deposit them both right across Jake’s lap with little fanfare. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of it.”

Something funny flits over his features for a moment before he places his hand over your calf and resumes his gentle rocking of the swing.

Eventually, you both manage to peel yourselves off the swing and wander back into the house. Jake says something about being completely okay with ditching the whole thing and heading back to the rental car. But you have to remind him that your shoes are still currently lost in the massive pile in the front entryway.

He then tries to convince you to leave them, going so far as to say he’ll buy you a new pair before your flight.

But, reluctant as he is, you walk hand-in-hand back into the house. You get lost in the excitement of the kids who want to open up all their presents right this very second and it seems like, for the moment at least, the fight has been put on hold to allow the true joy of Christmas to take place.

Though Jake and his sister remain on opposite sides of the room for the entire duration of the madness that is eight kids scrambling to unwrap their numerous presents the fastest.

While Justin plays the role of gift hander-outer, Jess lounges on a barstool in the kitchen, watching the mess play out with a stink eye. Jake, for all his hold-ups on the day, also drops to his knees to help the younger nieces unwrap their gifts.

Which leaves you, surprisingly, with a small bundle of drooling baby in your arms since her own mother would rather watch from afar than interact with her own children.

June is happy to suck on the left foot of her new stuffed buddy, lounging out in your lap as you rock the recliner back and forth. Jake shoots you several amused glances before he gets tugged into the decidedly un-fun realm of opening up all the plastic-wrapped toys for the kids.

The living room floor is heaped with wrapping paper and ribbons, loose twist ties, and chunks of cardboard and plastic molds by the time he returns to your side. This time, he’s the one resting on the armrest as he gently taps the snoozing baby’s foot with his fingers.

“Out like a light.”

“No better way to celebrate the day,” you agree.

The sleeping babe must be used to the chaos that is the Seresin family, as her siblings and cousins run amok with their new toys that beep and jingle. Tiny feet thundering against the hardwood floors as they zoom up and down the long hallway separating the living area from the rest of the house.

“Now that’s a picture if I’ve ever seen one.”

You lift your gaze to Gwen as she rounds the corner, a wine glass in hand as she settles in next to Daniel on the couch across from the three of you.

“Think you two will ever settle down stateside?” he asks with a true glimmer of hope in his graveled voice.

Jake winces, hand falling to your inner thigh for support.

“I, uhm, I could never ask Jake to put his career on hold for that,” you find yourself saying.

“Same for you,” he adds a second later.

Gwen, for her part, gives an understanding nod – settling a hand on her husband’s arm to stifle the topic down.

“How long have you two been flying together?”

Your wingman seeks out your gaze as the two of you mentally run through the tangle of memories.

“Three, almost four years now?”

“Mhmm.”

“And what set this all off, if you don’t mind me prying?”

Jake clears his throat, and you have to turn your head to hide the beginnings of laughter that bubble up to the surface. He shifts his weight, draping his right arm over the back of the chair, a finger playfully tugs at the fabric of your shirt.

“It was after a mission debrief. Fourteen hours, dead on our feet,” the story, completely fabricated, comes to him with a true sense of ease.

“And, I dunno. Everyone was shuffling outta the room and I just looked over and saw Pita and thought...”

At the pause, you turn your face to look up at him only to find his softened eyes seeking you out.

“Wow. I can’t have this girl out of my life.”

That piercing expression nearly takes your breath away and you want to applaud Jake for his terrific acting on the fly.

Pulling your gaze back to the seated couple, you add, in jest, “I’m sure my greasy hair and flight suit was what did it for him.”

“Hundred percent!” he grins, tugging a strand of your hair.

At some point, the others filter back into the room and Marissa kindly takes the snoozing June from you. You have to shake out your arms just to return the blood circulation. Who knew kids that little could be that heavy?

And while you get lost in the rushed conversation of two seven-year-olds trying to tell you all about the mechanical workings of their new RC cars, Daniel pushes up from the couch and weaves his way over to Jake, before saying something in his ear. You can feel the way he goes rigid as he slips his arm away from you and slowly stands and follows after his father.

You watch as the two men disappear down the hall, toward one of the bedrooms or office from the looks of it. A cold dredge of worry washes over you, cooling your insides and twisting your stomach into another uncomfortable slosh of concern. He had just started smiling again.

“He’s really got you bad, doesn’t he?”

Pulling your gaze away from the empty hall, you find the piercing eyes of Josh inspecting your face as he leans across his chair to speak to you.

“You. You’re worried about him.”

“Comes with the job,” you say.

A smirk tugs his lips into a twisted look as he too glances down the hallway.

“He’ll be fine. Little testy with whatever Dad’s about to try pulling. Won’t be too surprised if that’s the end of our little visit.”

Your brows pinch, “That bad?”

He chuckles, easing back into his recliner, “Always.”

You try to focus on the happy children occupied with their new toys and the soft lull of the TV sportscaster, but you find your primary focus pulled toward the long empty hallway.

He had told you all about the history between him and his old man, both in the backyard confessional an hour prior and the day you arrived in Austin. Yet now your mind was conjuring up worse and worse scenarios of what was happening in a closed-door room several feet away.

Another few minutes pass where you try your best to ignore what could be transpiring a few yards away, but the sound of a door opening followed by a pleading voice saying:

“Jacob, come on now. Jake. Jake.”

You crane your head just in time to see your companion striding down the hallway, directly toward you – pushing both Justin and Gwen gently out of his way. You’re on your feet by the time he reaches you and before you can even ask are you okay, he’s grabbing hold of your arm.

“Think we’re done here, sweetheart.”

Trying to get a read from his expression alone is useless, so you merely nod in return.

“Okay.”

As Jake directs you toward the entryway once again, with a trail of family members walking a few steps behind you both in silent anticipation, Daniel Seresin finally makes a reappearance.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he just shakes his head in return to his wife’s questioning look.

Hangman can’t seem to move fast enough, even as the nieces creep past you to get to him.

“Are you leaving now, Uncle Jake?”

“When am I gonna see you again?”

He’s halfway between tying his left boot when he looks up at the little faces curled with worry and childhood innocence. Frozen, unable to find the right words to explain his hasty escape as he peers up and over their heads at his father standing silently at the end of the hall.

“Oh, that’s my fault, I’m afraid,” you say, leaning down to grab your own boots as three braided-blonde heads turn to look up at you.

“We need to hurry to the airport to catch our flight, don’t we, honey?”

A flash of gratitude in his eyes and a slow exhale has Jake nodding, quick to play along to your tune.

“That’s right, sweetheart. We have to go see Pita’s family now. Wouldn’t be fair to keep her away on Christmas, yeah?”

Shelby clings to his leg, her face squished into his thigh as she murmurs, “But I’ll miss you.”

Jake shoots you a clear help me look, but your rescue comes in the shape of Josh Seresin who swoops in and collects the five-year-old up into his arms.

“I’m sure you’ll hear from Uncle Jackie soon. Won’t you?”

Your companion gives a fast nod, “That’s right, kiddo. Soon as we’re back on the carrier, I’m gonna call you right up.”

The little girl peers over her uncle’s shoulder and you meet her soft gaze.

“And Pita too?”

Jake almost laughs, but he curves it into a smile instead.

“Yeah, her too, honey.”

Oh, your breakup in a few weeks was gonna be fun to talk through with a kindergartner.

Pushing that thought from your head, you righten your boot into place and fall back into Jake’s easy embrace, his hand finding a too-familiar spot on your waist.

The drive back to the city is shared in silence with only the familiar Christmas tunes from the radio there to fill the void between you both. And even then, the holiday spirit has already seeped out of the vehicle and into the vast countryside. No amount of classic jingles could fix that at this point.

When you arrive back at the hotel, it’s as though you’re waiting for the missile to hit. That weapon of course being Jake himself.

But the man in question is as silent as ever as he drops down onto the edge of his bed. Too tired to even remove his boots as you carefully tread around him to take care of your own shoes.

His silence makes you even more cautious in your moves, tiptoeing across the carpet to your bag and back again. Afraid to make any noise that could set him off. Oh, you could handle the fallout, of course. You’re just not sure if he could at this point.

When you emerge from the bathroom, now dressed in your sleepwear, Jake is lying flat on his back with his legs hanging over the edge. His eyes open and staring, almost unseeing, at the popcorn ceiling.

After spending a moment to assess your situation, you unceremoniously flop down on the bed beside him, a hand plopping down on his right knee.

And there you sit, in the stillness of the hotel room for a series of long-passing minutes. You watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, curling your fingers tighter and then looser on his jean-clad knee. Until, at last, he speaks.

“Should have never did this to you.”

You wait until his eyes land on you before you respond.

“Oh, fuck off, Bagman.”

It takes a second, but he eases up onto his elbows.

“I’m serious. Yesterday with my mom was one thing. But this shit? Today? God,” he drags a hand down his face in annoyance.

Releasing a breath, you lay down beside him on the bed. He stares down at you for a long moment before he falls back down next to you.

“I told you, I don’t care. I agreed to this entire insane endeavor and I told you I was gonna see it through no matter what. So, lose the bullshit grief, and don’t worry about me.”

Tugging on the loose fabric of his seafoam-colored button-down, you give him the space to respond or not. Hell, you were gonna be the last person to try and press the man for anything right now.

“I just...” he exhales, resting a hand on his chest. “I dragged you across the country, away from your own damn family, just to do this.”

Rising up slightly so you can stare down at him, you retort, “Which I agreed to. If I didn’t want to do this for you, do you honestly think you could force me to do any of this? Honestly?”

Jake glances back at the ceiling before a smile graces his lips.

“Hell no.”

“Exactly,” you reply, dropping back down.

“Well... at least it’s over.”

You hum in response.

Come morning, you would take the rental car back to the airport and board separate flights. You up to Michigan and Jake back to California. You would enjoy a family-filled holiday and he would be...

Your stomach turns at the thought.

Alone.

After everything that had transpired over the past forty-eight hours, after all that he was dragged through. Jake would be alone come Christmas day. Alone with his own damn thoughts and whatever reemerged trauma that came with this particular visit produced.

Maybe that’s why, after several more minutes have passed you both by, that you turn toward him and say:

“Do you... I don’t – well, that is to say, uhm...”

You can feel the look he gives you but you have to crane your neck back to properly look him in the eyes. There’s something there in the meadow green of his irises that emboldens you – allowing the words to come easily.

“Jake, would you like to come home with me for Christmas?”

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

#jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #top gun fan fic #series: home for the holidays #my fic

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p0ssywhippedcream · 2 years

Note

Could we possibly get L and reader going at it (wink wink) and then Light literally walks in on them? Whether he joins or not is up to you, i dont mind either way :)

this is the req i was done with and deleted and i’m kms it was so beautiful… here we go take two please work this time 😭🙏

Anyways thanks for participating, sweetlove! means the world <33

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

L was a man of strategy. He was intelligent and bold and he’d do just about anything to win, no matter how weird it was. Once, you witnessed him tackle somebody in a bear suit while selling crepes in order to get information on the U.S. government. So his strategies ranged from slightly unreasonable to grass-fed cows in the mayor’s house.

Today, it was grass-fed cows in your house. He came to you with the idea and somehow managed to make you think it was a good one. His logic was that since Light very clearly had a crush on L’s girlfriend and he couldn’t do anything to stop it, he may as well take advantage of it.

L would take you in front of Light, perhaps offer him to join to build trust and vulnerability. You agreed, but things got more complicated when he began taking you on every possible surface in the Taskforce, whenever he had time. It was hard not to cringe when Matsuda made a sandwich on the bare kitchen counter.

Today, L has you propped on a sofa in one of the many living rooms, stripped down to nothing as he sits on his knees. Your back arches and you whimper as he sucks your clit into his mouth teasingly.

"Fuck, L..." Your head flies back and rests off the edge of the couch.

His hands wrap around your waist to pull your cunt closer towards him, a smirk on his lips as he drags his tongue down to your drooling core. So lost in your pleasure and loud cries, you don't hear a door open behind you.

Light stands there dumbfounded, holding a stack of documents he'd been dragging around for the past half hour searching for L. He's at an angle where he can see the back of couch where your head thrashes and just barely the side, where he can see your thighs around L's distinctive hair.

His mouth goes dry as you let out a whine. His brain goes crazy between what would make him seem less like Kira and desire for you. For once, the human part of him wins and he takes a step further into the room, slowly closing the door.

He tentatively walks in farther, placing the papers on a table and forgetting about them as he gets closer. At this point he can see your breasts from how deeply your back is arched and L's face buried in your pussy, your legs shaking terribly on his shoulders.

Light stops where he is, a mere few feet away and watches as L pleasures you the way he's dreamed of. Then his breathing stops too, when L's eyes shoot from your face to his. Light waits for screaming commence, to get kicked out and locked in a cell for being a pervert.

But that doesn't happen. L's mouth curves into a amused grin on your clit and lets Light see his tongue flick your clit eagerly. Your whole body is covered in a blush blossoming from where L's fluffy, black hair is. Then you start to make this beautiful, ethereal sound.

Goosebumps appear on your legs and your hands reach between them to tug on L's hair. You sound needy, desperate, pathetic. Light itches to move, to take over. He wants to be the one making you sound like you've reached heaven.

But when he sees the way L is looking at him, he knows that if he wasn't already crossing boundaries, he surely would be then.

So he watches as your chest rises and doesn't fall. He watches he your thighs squeeze infinitely tight and your hands tug hard. He watches as everything tenses and then releases as your cunt gushes all over L with the prettiest sound ever falling from your lips.

There's a beat as you collapse and catch your breath, eyes closed as your shoulders slump in. L slowly pulls his head from you and kisses your thigh.

Then he turns to Light and says, "Would you like to give it a try?"

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biblio-smia · 20 days

Note

hello just a simple fluff request

hanging out with non-gf!bestfriend!ethan and he accidentally blurts out his crush on reader

it's been an hour since you've caught ethan looking at you strangely.

you've tried to catch him again for confirmation but it's as if he has a sensor, eyes flickering away just as you glance over. you've gone as far as to keep your head very still - to no avail. ethan's got you beat.

maybe you have something on your face. but you've wiped your mouth and ethan would be a terrible best friend if he didn't point it out within the hour.

your faith is beginning to waiver, frustration forcing your attention from the movie playing to ethan (and yourself - but mostly ethan).

his subtle glances feel like digs, growing your self-consciousness with each one. your mind wastes no time in creating a far-fetched, unreasonably reasonable explanation for how stiffly ethan sits. maybe he really hated the movie you picked out but felt bad saying anything. maybe he found out you'd skipped the history lecture you promised him you'd attend.

"ethan," you finally grumble, not bothering to press pause before turning to ethan. "you're pissing me off."

"what?" ethan's voice breaks out of surprise, a clearing of his throat quickly following his question.

"what do you keep staring at? if there's something on my face and you're not telling me-"

"there's nothing on your face."

you glare at him pointedly. suspiciously. your doubt is obvious but ethan ignores it, turning back to the tv and rewinding the last minute or so you have missed.

he's dug his own grave. this is even stranger than him arguing with you.

"ethan."

you're shushed immediately, finger to ethan's lips pressing against yours right after. you move ethan's hand away from your face but your grip remains strong in hopes you'll catch his attention again.

"you haven't been paying attention for the past forty minutes."

ethan scoffs. "yes, i have!"

he doesn't have to look at you to know exactly which look you're giving him. you don't have to speak to confirm you've caught him in a lie.

ethan grabs the bowl of popcorn he cleared within the first ten minutes, heading off into the kitchen with a weak "want any?" over his shoulder.

avoidance. you'll be having none of it.

you're hot on his tail, unable to let it go. it's unlike ethan to keep anything from you. you've worked hard for status of best friend and you're sure as hell not letting go of it anytime soon.

"ethan," you repeat in that tone ethan recognizes too well. he's never excelled at lying and he's even worse at hiding his feelings from you.

he wonders how he's gone so long.

he should be rewarded, really.

"ethan, what's wrong?" your tone is soft now, reminding ethan of the gentle touches of yours he always finds himself falling in to.

it's tricky, now - he feels himself cracking. alright, he admits it. his will is weak-to-non-existent when it comes to you. he can hear his friends' "i told you so!s" already.

if that wasn't bad enough, the look on your face makes ethan's heart drop. he's taken too long to answer. it's worrying you now, your attempts of humor running out quicker than usual. ethan can see you desperately think of a plan b.

so he blurts out the first thing on his mind - the very thing that's been taunting him for days now - just to bring you peace.

ethan's sure it'll do the opposite as he watches your face adopt an expression he's never seen before. he realizes now, too late, that this confession could backfire very, very painfully.

"that's it?"

ethan's eyes are wide, body frozen in place as he watches you carefully. not that he'd be able to pick up on any micro-changes in your expression like he usually prides himself in - it's clear his head isn't quite working right.

he's too afraid to move, as if standing very still will trick you into thinking he's not there. better yet, he never existed.

"ethan?" you're laughing, waving your hand in front of ethan's face.

yeah. no such luck.

"eth?" your hands cup his face now and ethan wonders how he's ever survived you calling him that. "is that what's been bothering you all night?"

ethan manages to nod his head yes, his body unconsciously reacting to your touch. he's too comfortable in it, never ready to be let go.

"you didn't have to torture yourself," you grin knowingly. "don't think i've ever had it in me to say no to you."

ethan doesn't think reminding you of the time you said no when he begged you to see star wars: the phantom menace for the sixth time would help his case.

he lets you graze his jaw, sweet touches torturous to his heart. but all of it is relieved as you kiss him, silently telling him everything he's wanted to hear.

perhaps he has an excuse, now, to be in your arms for a little too long.

masterlist

buy me a ko-fi!

#ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #ethan landry fanfiction #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry #scream #scream x reader #v + ethan #v writes

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libraford · 19 days

Text

Was talking about potentially quitting the photo job with my girlfriend and I think we noticed... some patterns.

I typically leave jobs after 3 years.

I thought the problem was me and my inability to stay happy in one place for very long.

But 3 years is also long enough for a company to go through enough changes that it no longer reflects the company you may have joined.

I left the craft store after the boss started getting more abusive, they fired her and replaced her with someone else, subsequently fired like literally everyone else. They put me in a backroom position that worked me maybe 3 hours a day and my pay was garbage.

The flower shop had a very public change of power after the owner died suddenly, and in the second year they hired business consultants that micro-managed every aspect of the day to day. And when it got unreasonable to keep that kind of management up, the owners became unreasonable about certain numbers. So I quit.

Current company isn't really going through a restructuring, but a lot of the big wigs ARE leaving and the people who are staying don't appear too pleased with it so they're being Very Corporate about culture.

But there is another thing happening here.

My boss needed an office assistant and no one was applying to the job, so she hired her daughter- who is just 19 and had her first child. She has to take care of that child while she's working. Boss also does a lot of work outside of the office.

There is no separation between work and home.

Its difficult to turn off the mom-brain and see your employees as people who are not your family. So to her, she might see me as the child that doesn't listen and who acts out when scolded. Instead of the employee who isn't being given proper instruction and gets burned out with miscommunication.

In which case, we have a very unhealthy dynamic here.

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capslocked · 2 years

Text

UNRAVEL

male reader x kim jisoo

6k words

It’s all a mess honestly. You need her. She needs you. Just none of it in the same way.

It’s late as you arrive through the front door of your apartment. Just into the kind of hours that saw the lion’s share of your reckless decisions. So, it’s not unreasonable that you’d find her here now—sunk into the cushions of your sofa, finger against her temple, eyes halfway attending some novel she pulled off your bookcase—she more than knows what she’s doing.

Keys, wallet, phone all clamor and rattle as you set them down on the narrow table inside your foyer.

"I must’ve missed when we decided you could just let yourself in."

"Well if we’re splitting hairs," Jisoo says, waiting for the sound of a page to flip between her fingers, "You’re the one who gave me a spare key."

"If we’re splitting hairs Jisoo—it was for emergencies."

"And?"

"And." You shove your hands into your pockets.

She closes the book gently, no effort spent to bookmark or dog-ear a corner, and rests it on her thigh. "What if you’d gone missing? Drank yourself to death or got pushed in front of a bus. That’d be an emergency now wouldn’t it."

"So, just a hypothetical one then. Got it."

A humorless laugh and she smiles, the unmistakable glow in her eyes reeling you into her. "Don’t act too happy to see me."

You unsling your bag from your shoulder. "I don’t suppose you could’ve called?"

"Funny." Jisoo tilts her chin up at you. "I was about to say the same thing."

The step you take up into the living room as Jisoo rises from her seat is an apprehensive one. The lights are dimmed just barely bright enough to read by. And try as you may, Jisoo’s silhouette is the only thing your tired eyes can find a place to rest in. Maybe it’s how the moonlight catches her pale skin or the way she gets gently washed in those soft blues and greens of the city’s nighttime neon that pour diffuse through your windows. It’s almost necessary to remind yourself that it’s your apartment the two of you are standing in. Always there’s this precise, polished look about her—she owns every room she steps into.

Jisoo tucks a stubborn strand of midnight hair behind her ear before tapping a finger on the book she’d placed down on the coffee table. "It’s a good read by the way."

You glance at its cover and a derisive laugh blows out your nose. "So what was all that then—about not reading anything that isn’t at least a hundred years old—time tested you called it."

Jisoo hides a quiet smile as she lets her eyes wander a moment to her feet. "It’s close enough to a hundred isn’t it? Besides, it’s Gatsby, I can make an exception."

"Speaks to you, huh?"

"There’s just something so magical about the way he chases Daisy, ya know? That’s the kind of love I want. Waking up every morning knowing someone out there needs you."

"I’m willing to bet most readers end up sympathizing with Jay—all with the anguish of pursuing a woman who’s completely unobtainable?" You toss your work bag over the back of the sofa. "Just the kind of thing I’d hope mostly to avoid."

When Jisoo squares her shoulders to yours, you find yourself swallowing at an impossible thirst in your throat. Brains, beauty, wit. It’s probably the hundredth time she’s run through your thoughts today, and you can’t still figure out anything you don’t like about her, at least not on paper. So, you continue on, unfortunately thinking so very often about her—the way she smiles when you hold her, the way her eyes soften when her face is inches from yours, the way she runs her fingers through your hair—perfect. That’s how you’d describe her; if perfect could ever hope to be a pejorative.

"I think you worry too much." Her svelte figure finds itself easily in the space in front of yours and she wraps her fingers around the bottom of your necktie. She’s not even touching you and it’s making it hard to breathe. "Wouldn’t you say?"

Were you to flip through a calendar and search for the day you’d first undressed her in your apartment, you’d have to start by grabbing one more and then rifle back about eighteen months or so to put your finger on it. Only now should you have instead cut from those pages the time you’d actually spent together—most of it between the sheets mind you—you doubt it would manage to stitch together more than a few weeks. That was the nature of your relationship.

It’s not like we’re dating ya know.

Jisoo was always rather firm on this point.

And god, had you grown weary of hearing it. Usually a non-sequitur in its arrival, it would bounce and rattle around your thoughts for days, the warm voice behind it painfully clear and articulate. All because you’d made the mistake of bringing it up one time.

It really ought to be the kind of thing that closed more doors than it opened, answered more questions than it raised. The sentence probably deserved a period. Granted, there wasn’t yet an empty wine bottle in the sink nor were your clothes scattered about in different states of undress around the room, but you recognize the feeling—hanging on the end of a comma.

"I told you. I’m not going to do this anymore." You begin to twist your arms out from the sleeves of your coat. "I felt like I was pretty clear about it."

You were.

"What—in the hotel?" Jisoo sneaks behind you and helps coax the jacket off your shoulders, laughing to herself. "That conversation? The one you and I had just fifteen minutes before you pinned me against the wall, pulled my skirt up and—"

"Jisoo."

"Yeah. How presumptuous of me to assume you’d changed your mind," she adds, stressing a rasp in that ever-so-husked voice of hers. She ignores your protest, mostly because you let her; you always let her; she knows you always let her.

Quickly, her body against yours becomes a question, the racing of your heart its familiar answer.

"Jisoo," you repeat, finding it difficult to search for an authoritative voice all at the hand reaching under your chin, the heat of a short breath against your jaw, those parted lips dragging against your cheek. Dig your heels in. "I’m serious."

"Come to think of it—isn’t it a little late?" she asks, kissing you again just beyond the corner of your mouth. Her voice is cool, gentle breaths warm on your skin. "To just now be coming in the door? To be honest, I was starting to think you weren’t going to show at all."

"Well don’t act surprised." You gently pull her hand by the wrist away from your chest. "This is where I sleep."

Jisoo fixes on you, those sweeping eyelashes keeping a pair of narrowed eyes entirely unreadable. "But that’s not always true now is it? In fact, tonight you were counting on sleeping somewhere else, no?"

"How do you figure all that?"

"Because your clothes smell like tobacco and cheap beer." She raises an eyebrow and begins teasing the fabric of your shirt up from out of your pants. "Do you at least have a good excuse? Something creative maybe?"

"You really want a creative one?"

Her eyes become soft for a moment before narrowing again and her lips part into an all-too-alluring shape. "No, not particularly."

"Fine then. Work," you answer. "The team wanted to do a happy hour. Or maybe a few."

"At an izakaya?" Her face tilts until it finds a look of skepticism that matches the inquisitive tone in her voice.

"Something like that."

"Are you drunk?"

"Well I can’t say I’m sober."

"And Rosie," she says, blinking slowly, "you two met there or some place later?"

Chin up, you twist a confused eyebrow over the top of a dry laugh. "Now what might give you that impression?"

A smirk pulls up on the corner of Jisoo’s lip, and in one quick motion she pinches between her fingers at a long strand of golden blonde hair from just beneath your collar. "You’re still wearing her on your shirt, handsome."

A deep breath marks your response as you bite softly into the inside of your cheek.

"Thought so. Now, I’m not so brash as to ask for details, but considering you’re here, and she isn’t… I can’t imagine she invited you up for coffee after you kissed her outside her—"

"Has anyone ever told you you’re a little tightly wound?"

Jisoo takes a moment, slightly disarmed. "Once or twice."

"I’ve gotta ask—is this something you do just to get into bed with me?"

"Not at all." She smiles. Always it manages to distract from the way she inches ever closer to you. "Getting into bed with you is a completely separate affair."

Of course there’s some sort of game here. And one day you’ll learn how to win at it, or at least the rules, or even just how it’s scored (in spite of the fact Jisoo seems keen on changing all of it constantly). Too quickly however, before whatever prudent thoughts might rebuke them, it’s your hands that give you away. The thin fabric of her blouse beneath your fingers, you map the familiar shapes and curves where Jisoo’s waist meets her hips.

You shake your head across a series of breathy laughs. "And just what does that look like Jisoo?"

She leans into you, her palms sliding slowly up your chest. "From the top? Because right now, I’d guess we’re just getting into the real thick of it."

She stands close to you, her body now breaking all sorts of boundaries. The flavor of her perfume hits your nose and she’s resting a thigh against yours. Those parted lips hover just in front of your face—pink, narrow and wildly irresistible. Reach forward and you can simply take them.

You swallow again and your eyes shift away from hers before they might grab hold of you like quicksand. "You think I don’t know how it starts?"

"Oh?" She starts again at the skin on your neck, each kiss lingering longer and melting into your skin until finally she holds herself just over your lips. The breaths of her sultry voice crash onto your face, "Go on then, let’s hear it."

You straighten yourself out, earning you the fleeting remains of your personal space. "I mean it’s all more or less the same right? You sit down, we chat, nonsense mostly. I ask you how your trip was, you tell me about Paris, Milan, New York City or another."—always she was coming and going and coming and going—"I offer you something to drink, you ask if I have any wine, I bring out that bubbly stuff I keep buying even though you’re the only one who cares to drink it—"

"Ha. You know I had my suspicions." The soft, round tip of Jisoo’s nose drags across your cheek as she reaches up in her heels and finds her lips onto the bottom of your ear. In seconds, her voice fills your head completely. "And then what?"

Of course, your precocious hands can’t stop reaching further behind Jisoo—into the narrow ridge that runs up the center of her back, to the curve of her ass, the bottoms of her shorts inviting you to venture beneath them. You clear your throat before giving her the response she wants, "The cork comes off, clothes not too long after and tongues are in mouths I suppose."

Jisoo hangs off your shoulders with a hand slowly twisting up the length of your tie. A sculpted eyebrow dips and her expression nearly pouts. "Just mouths?"

"Well—"

"Maybe you ought to remind me—all those things your tongue can do."

It’s the same every time. Eighteen months of limbo, of seeing, not seeing, seeing, not seeing this girl who moved far faster than you could ever hope to keep up with. You’d promised yourself to have an ounce of resolve—something, anything, that even looked like resolve would do. Now of course, Jisoo was never going to outright put her lips to yours and kiss you. No, that’s something she leaves for you. Because she knows. When you’re in her hands like this? Inevitable.

If it had started slow, you missed it entirely.

The swell of her lower lip twitches, and you crash hard into her. The way her lips curve and arch—unbelievable, the pretty things—they remind you just how right it feels to take them in your own. The long lashes across her eyes tickle and tease you until you’re both staring into the stars behind your eyelids and struggling to breath steady. It’s entirely reckless, and absolutely dangerous, but somewhere in this tumultuous endeavor, you can only ever know the calming touch of her cool, wet lips against yours calling you home.

She’s small, her narrowed shoulders between your arms easy to hold yourself around. The staggered breaths moving haphazard through her chest push against you as she melts into your embrace.

You hold her tight, just underneath where her shoulder blades rise from the middle of her back, pressing further and pulling her into you until she gasps into your kiss. Before you realize it, you’ve got her bent back at the knees, holding on tightly to you with those dainty arms wrapped around your neck as you chase deeper into her lips.

When you’d heard she was in town, again, from a fashion show or a film festival (honestly it’s become impossible to remember), this was the exact scene you’d intended to avoid. Of all the girls you’ve never dated, Jisoo was intent on somehow being the most impossible to break up with.

"Mmnph…" Jisoo swallows down a choked breath and takes a beat to gather herself as a small distance comes to exist between your lips. You open your eyes and she’s staring right back into yours, these deep shimmering pools of dusty browns and grays. Her cheeks glow a faint pink. She bats her eyelashes. The corners of her eyes crease and she’s got this smile, it's always that smile, the rare kind you doubt you’ve stumbled upon more than a handful of times in your life. Effortless and delicate, it wraps you up into her. Even though its radiant and beaming for all to see, you swear when she’s here—like this—it only focuses on you with this ever-tempting prejudice in your favor.

She wets her lips and lets a sultry voice interrupt the moment, "Well, what are you going to do now?"

It’s been a long day. Your heart is tender, tired, sore. Fuck, It’s been a long eighteen months. Tugging at the shirt bunching in your fingertips, you answer her, simply taking her lips again.

She gasps when you push her into the wall and again when you place your knee between her thighs. There’s five buttons down the front of her blouse, two more at the waist of her shorts. Your hand feels slowly down the shape of her slim figure, and they all come undone while Jisoo’s tongue begins to slip gently between your lips.

She shifts her weight between her legs. And as if you’d cut some invisible thread holding the entire delicate assemblage together, those garments make their way to the floor. It’s instinctual the way your hands wrap around Jisoo, finding the perfect shape of her ass. Your fingers squeeze into soft skin and a hushed, accidental moan spills from her throat into yours.

A barely-there trail of spit between your mouths grows until it vanishes into the dark as you pull your face away from Jisoo—her eyes open slowly and rest weary in yours. She’s so beautiful it often takes the words right off your lips. You’d grown to know it impossible to ask promises or demands of her, but the way she holds you right now, her hands on your chest and back, her eyes soft and welcoming, it always manages to keep the embers of a fire—that cruel thing of hope—stoked and burning gently inside you.

She grabs gently at your wrist, guiding you sternly to where she really needs you—between her legs. Your fingertips brush the skin beneath her waist, atop her underwear and she places her words in your ear, "now come, feel me."

The loose fitting lace of her panties bunches in your palm the further you venture to reach into that smoldering warmth between her thighs. She grasps tight at your shoulders, lifts her chin and shudders as your finger drags across the pair of lips hidden beneath it all.

Again her voice rests atop a whisper, some silent curse or another.

Bathed in the soft light of the moon, Jisoo has this almost ethereal beauty about her. When she moves—and nearly imperceptible when she does—the dance of light and shadows scatters into these mesmerizing shapes across the pale skin of her body. The cast of those shadows, dark and unrelenting like India ink, tease her image through your head where your thoughts scramble to capture it however incomplete and grainy.

Sneaking under the loose elastic around her waist, knuckles tenting the hopeless fabric, you finally feel her. A wetness pools at her entrance. And just beyond it, the unmistakable heat that radiates from inside her. With a delicate touch, the rough pads of your fingers dip and play. Jisoo bites her lip at that chord you strike against her aching mound and a sharply sucked chestful of air tugs at the muscles in her stomach, scattering again those shadows the night had lain across it.

She swallows and closes her eyes. Lilting into that deepened register of her voice, Jisoo continues to reel you into her. "There you go. I love the way you touch me."

The strap of a black lace bra rolls between her fingertips and slides off her shoulder. She leans forward, pinching a kiss onto your neck as the garment begins to reveal more and more of that porcelain skin beneath her collarbones. The swelling roundness of her breast fills your hand and a stiff nipple finds its way amidst the grip of your thumb and finger.

Jisoo’s kisses again land in your ear. "C’mon. Don’t play."

It’s all a mess honestly. You need her. She needs you. Just none of it in the same way. So repeatedly, drawn inextricably and spiraling toward some spectacular cosmic catastrophe, the two of you find one another.

Seldom do you have even a moment to consider it—especially given all the ways Jisoo needs you. Sometimes she demands just the first two knuckles of a finger, sometimes your lips, the broad stroke of your tongue, occasionally it becomes the paradoxical freedom she finds in your hand around her throat. Even knowing few bounds, it’s impressive how simply she takes it all off you. Her fingers set tight into muscle behind your shoulder, and she moves, hips beginning to shuffle and rock against the forever reliable shape of your hand.

Her lips part and a moan punched through them sticks a humid breath against your face. "Ohhh my god—yes."

She knows it’s selfish, but she doesn’t care. Those words off her lips hit your ears and your heart drums at a dull beat from deep within your chest.

A yelp, and a sudden draw of cold air past her teeth, you find Jisoo quickly filling with want and need in your hands. Her nipple between your fingers becomes a second target of torment and her muscles jump as you find the aching bud atop her lips with a heavy touch of your thumb.

"This bad, huh?" you ask, feeling Jisoo’s body twist and unsettle in your grip. "Rough week?"

Jisoo’s lips break their kiss onto your neck, sighing. "No worse than usual."

"Yeah?" Your fingers dip again into that wet pool collecting into a sticky mess at her entrance. "Jisoo, you’re fucking soaked."

"Then maybe you ought to get down there and take care of it."

Just past where her aching folds surround her clit, you slip a finger into that tight warmth. Jisoo stifles a moan and you lift your chin, looking down your nose at the sight in front of you. "And how might I be able to do that?"

Struggling against your fingers, she answers, "If you’re—asking me to say it—you’re barking up the wrong—"

"Jisoo." Your shoulders drop and your head tilts into that angle—the one that pleads for a reasonable response—not that it ever has the efficacy it needs, no matter how meticulously practiced the look now is. "For christ’s sake, enough with that. You and I both know that you aren’t—"

"Your little slut?"

"Well—I was going to say a princess—but good on you to prove my point."

"You know it’s always my favorite part right?" Jisoo’s eyes narrow and a dangerous smile fills across her cheeks. "Watching you—pretend and toil like you don’t want to fuck me."

You can’t help but laugh, something about the way it cools your nerves. "Oh trust me—I know I shouldn’t—but I stopped pretending a long time ago."

"Well then, I suppose—if we’re not going to beat around the bush." Her voice in your ear becomes a command. "You can get on your knees. And give me your tongue."

Your hand out from between her legs, dragging a sheen of her wetness across her waist, you push her hip fast against the wall. A disgruntled whine leaves Jisoo’s lips, but the kiss you place on her neck is quick to pacify the complaint.

Slow, meticulous, every inch a purposeful destination, you dive. A trail from her neck to her collarbone, her soft skin meets your lips. The taste of it all—beyond her sweat, her scent—it quickly fills your thoughts, abstract but every bit as familiar. Your mouth latches around the tight bud atop her breast. The way your tongue and your teeth around it make her squirm sets a reminder in your head to visit the tender flesh again.

Now hovering beside her thighs, you chuckle at Jisoo’s hips beginning to search for you while you pull her underwear down the smooth curves of her legs. Your tongue clicks and you begin to chide her, "Jisoo—so needy—"

"Don’t start." She threads her fingers through your hair and pulls you into her. The breath you draw through your chest is moist, filled with the sweet smell of her excitement. Your nose brushes against her clit, your fingers tease the shallow depths of her entrance, and your tongue meets her lips, wanting.

She shudders. And her voice dips out of its usual composed timbre, meeting a contented sigh that shakes and moves her whole body. "Ohhhh."

The lips around her heat fold and twist under each slow, methodical, swirling pass of your tongue. Her hands pull you into her and your mouth forms kisses that suck and massage at her mound, finding again the familiarity of her reactions—a quick breath, a soft mewl, sometimes when you really find where she needs you, she curses.

When you look up, Jisoo’s eyes stare back at you with a heavy longing, her chin tucked and a hand holding the dark, wavy hair out of her face. The pleasure you brew between her legs has begun now to agitate these erratic waves of movement in the surface of her stomach, all as her muscles jump and her chest draws heavy gasps of air.

"That feels so good—"

You reach behind her, and a handful of Jisoo’s perfect ass helps guide her hips into your efforts while the other explores the wet mess you’ve created between her thighs. Her slick walls tighten around the length of your finger and Jisoo parts her lips, letting a muted whine spill loose from her chest as the shape of a second finger finds its way inside her.

Releasing your seal around her wet folds with a smack, you narrow your tongue, its firm tip quick to become a reliable partner for her aching clit—quick to become exactly the toy Jisoo needs.

Shuffling about, she turns her bra around on her chest and unclasps the stubborn thing before sending it careening to the floor. Completely naked for you now, the grind of her body against your mouth becomes more urgent, more selfish, seeking her own release on the shape of your tongue. Her lip caught between her teeth, she whispers, barely audible to you now in between her thighs, "right there—fuck your tongue."

Her knees begin to weaken and buckle. Locked in conflict, Jisoo’s building pleasure struggles against her desire to stand, holding her right where she needs to be, where your tongue can continue to deliver the swirling, tapping, teasing touches that race to bring her to the brink. When your fingers find the throbbing skin behind her clit, putting the poor swollen bud between a rock and a hard place, Jisoo begins to pant in fits and starts. The only thing clenching harder than her teeth are the muscles beginning to tense and lock around you.

You can feel your chin become slick, Jisoo’s wetness practically dripping onto your shirt, and those whispers become stuck in an endless loop, "keep going, keep going."

Ever since you’d known each other, and probably long before that, Jisoo’s very fabric had been stiffly woven into this spitting image of perfection—always concerned about the way people saw her, how people talked about her when she wasn’t listening, whether or not she might say something with even a hint of the wrong inflection. It has to be utterly exhausting. And you knew possibly better than her: where to find those loose threads that had been tucked and hidden away. A tap or a tease here, a pull and a twist there, and you see to it that Jisoo unravels.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god!—Fuuuuuck."

Sharp fingernails dig into the back of your head, pressing you tight against her wet, aching mound. Her legs lock, muscles tighten, and in a moment of brief triumph, you look at her—taking in the sight of Jisoo coming undone.

Holding onto a silent moan, her expression twists, all scrunching and wrapping around the knuckle she keeps tight between her teeth. Nearly folding herself in half, she holds most of her weight against you as she reels in pleasure. You study each quiver and shake that seizes her body as the walls come down around her.

It’s somewhat of a mangled heap you two finally connect into onto the hardwood floor of your apartment. You’re the first to rise considering that your recovery was just about complete when you’d wiped the excessively wet surface of your mouth and chin with the back of your sleeve.

"God." Her lungs still gasping for air, she catches your stare with a pair of half-lidded eyes. "You’re fucking dangerous."

You suppose that makes two of you.

Beads of sweat form where her dark, silky hair wisps into soft strands at her temples. Her legs continue to carry on a slight wobble, walking across the carpet in your living room. And through it all, her unwavering commitment to seducing your every thought remains entirely steadfast—each step offering you a clear picture of her elegant figure, completely nude for you eyes to enjoy.

She places the palms of her hands on the room’s single window, a tall simple piece of glass that stretches from the floor to the ceiling, and she creates this irresistible curve from where her neck meets her shoulders to where her waist flares into the perfect roundness of her hips.

Jisoo pulls her face over her shoulder, her eyes peeking over it and she tells you everything you need to hear, "Get those clothes off—and come fuck me."

She doesn’t have to ask twice.

Tie, shirt, shoes, belt, pants, underwear all make this hapless trail throughout the room as you follow in the sound of Jisoo’s voice. You’re like a moth fluttering its wings in anxious proximity to a flame, the way she just makes your body move without thinking.

"Tell me," she says.

You position yourself behind her, fingers gingerly pumping your own cock as if it could even get any harder.

"Tell me—just how far do you think you’d have gotten with Rosé?"

"What’s with that?" You lick your palm and dip it between Jisoo’s thighs, but you should’ve known without needing any confirmation—she’s as slick as can be. "What’s it to you?"

Jisoo laughs quietly, "I mean the girl’s a grade A prude—"

A gasp interrupts Jisoo as you press your cock against the lips of her pussy, presented neatly in between her creamy thighs in front of you. You watch as she grips onto you inch by inch and all but pulls you into her inviting heat.

"So?" you ask.

The girl in your hands finds herself looking again over her shoulder, her eyes begging you to fuck her. "So—I’m sure you're a hell of a lot happier now that you’re about to have me."

"If I remember correctly—" And you’re more than sure you do. You start pushing your cock past the hot, tight seal of her lower lips. You find her wet and ready and wanting you, but still she needs to adjust to something bigger than just the narrow width of your fingers. "Weren’t you more of the same?"

You press your thighs against hers and Jisoo moans, the airy sound becoming her only response. Her shoulders rise and fall as she settles into the shape of you. All the same it manages to yank a groan out of your chest, only it fills you with this yearning for more of the warmth and tightness that now surrounds you.

"Am I wrong here?" You ask, bending forward against the arch of Jisoo’s back. You mock the aloof sound of her voice, "Miss I-don’t-usually-do-this."

Your hands grip onto Jisoo’s waist as you drag yourself back and press forward into her again, and you watch her body move, a ripple traveling through her thighs to her hips.

"Tha-That doesn’t sound like me."

Teeth starting to clench and grind, you whisper under your breath at the ridiculousness of it all, "you’re right—it certainly doesn’t."

It’s a delicate motion made across the velvety skin of her sopping pussy, but you come to bury your shaft in that slick heat of her cunt again. The way Jisoo feels—so impossibly tight and hot around your cock—you swear as though she were designed specifically with you in mind. Like a fucking glove. Bent at the waist, the angle lets you bury yourself deep, and at the end of each thrust, you have to make an effort not to simply lose yourself right then and there.

Slowly, you work up to a tempo that makes it difficult to carry much of any meaningful conversation at all. And all too quickly the angle you find against her hips sends Jisoo into a satisfying fit of panting breaths. You watch each one as it draws through her chest and lands hot against the glass, quickly becoming fogged and littered with hand prints.

Each collision between your hips fills your apartment with its fleshy sound, her taut wet skin against yours making for a particularly satisfying clap.

"So - fucking - good," Jisoo manages through her gritted teeth.

You soak up the perfect hourglass shape in front of you, holding tight at its stem. The city lights on the other side of the window manage to paint Jisoo in this fantastic myriad of colors. Blues, greens, reds, all these unnatural tones against the pale skin of her face, her back, her ass—she looks as if someone had decided to paint her and let their imagination run wild.

You can’t help but wonder what it looks like from the other side. Your room is only a few floors above street level, and anyone looking up would undoubtedly see Jisoo struggling to maintain her ridiculous posture, the beautiful features of her face fast becoming wracked with pleasure—not that either you or her seemed to care.

"Fuck, Jisoo I swear—you are too tight!" you groan, but there’s never any real purpose to the complaint. The force of each thrust against Jisoo’s tight body sends her inching closer to the glass in front of her until her shoulders are pressed tight to it and your bodies nearly parallel.

Jisoo strains on the tips of her toes to meet your height, to where your cock delivered this impossible pleasure to the burning heat of her cunt. Her hands search on the window in front of her for something to grab onto, but quickly come up with nothing as the glass offers no such reprieve in its unyielding, bare surface. The best you can do to help is to hook your fingers around her elbows and pull her back, helping her stay upright

"Fuck me, you feel amazing Jisoo."

"You’re—Jesus—so hard right now ya know?" Jisoo labors to swallow again. "Don’t even think about cumming inside me just yet."

"Honest, I’ve been thinking about it since the moment I put my cock in you."

"Don’t you dare." She turns her to where you can see her face in profile, pulling you forward to kiss and breath heavy against her cheek. "Just shut up and fuck me."

There was hardly any room for misunderstanding in that.

The impact of your hips against hers continues to shake all kinds of curses and whines from her lips. She struggles to keep her head over her shoulder, eventually just resting one side of her face against the cold glass. But still she manages to hold you in her gaze, at least half of it, laboring fruitlessly to keep that usual cool expression from bending and yielding to the pleasure between her legs—incredible how quickly it all begins to fall apart at the seams.

"God! Right there!" she squeals, "it’s so fucking good—" All the words out of her mouth come in various states of composure, some of them airy, some rasped, others staccato and repeating—an utter mess pooling in your ears, but even still, they harmonize perfectly.

"Yes - god - fuck - that’s it." Struggling on her words, she sucks air sharply against her teeth and shuts her eyes tight. "Make me cum again—I’m so close!"

An intense heat smolders from deep inside Jisoo’s cunt, melting and aching around you. You recognize just how badly she needs to cum on your cock all because it’s the exact same chain reaction every time—muscles lock, lips part, eyebrows scrunch, and in a final desperate breath, she finds her lip between her teeth.

You lift yourself as much as Jisoo’s desperate grip on your shoulders will allow and search for her hips with your hands. She squirms as you hold her firm, pushing her tight, quivering body into the glass, and you take the opportunity that only the throes of orgasm might provide—to use her exactly how you need. If she’s going to cum twice, surely you’ve got the green light to have a crack at it once.

The muscles in your legs start to heat and stiffen as you push yourself into that tight warmth more urgent and frenzied than you could ever hope keep up with, but it doesn’t matter—It was never going to take a whole lot to fuck and pump yourself there.

"Jisoo," your voice strains, "I’m gonna—"

"Yeah—do it," she rasps, reaching her hands back and grabbing on tight to your thighs.

You drop your face into the silky hair behind her ear, selfishly taking in the addictive smell of her sweat and perfume. Your balls tense, you find a shallow breath to hold onto, and driving your cock into her again, you bury your cum deep into the tight depths of her throbbing heat.

"There you go. Let it out," Jisoo whispers against the window with a voice grown hoarse. "Cum in me like you always do—fucking fill me up."

You can count the seconds where you’re not sure if you’re alive or dead while you release yourself in Jisoo’s cunt—which by all means, is a warmth, a wetness, a tightness you could live in forever—but the ringing in your ears, the incorrigible knot in your stomach knocking on your throat, you feel yourself returning.

Your muscles burn, the curiously sour stench of sex fills your nose, and you collapse atop the mess you’d turned Jisoo into, the two of you gasping for breath and finding comfort in the cold touch of the window pane.

You share a moment of exhaustion between the two of you. Breaths heave midst your chests and sweat beads at your brow. As quick as it comes, the moment passes. Her hands relax from the makeshift handles she’d found on either cheek of your ass. And with two gentle pats to your rear, she more than makes herself understood.

Jisoo clears her throat. "Alright - get up - I need some water, and then I get to be on top."

—

When you wake up, there’s this mood in the room. Sofa cushions are on the floor, your clothes still trailing from the foyer entry to the window, the wrappers from a late night snack—but of course, as per usual, Jisoo’s nowhere to be seen.

You shuffle your feet from your bedroom door to the kitchen to find a note on the fridge.

"That’s new," you say under your breath, pulling the sticky note in front of your eyes and rubbing the sleep from out of them.

"Had to bounce. Borrowed that book by the way. I need to know what happens—does Jay get the girl of his dreams? Is there a happily ever after? Don’t spoil it for me. I’ll be back to return it soon enough.

Jisoo"

"That woman—I swear," you grumble, "it’s not a happy ending."

#jisoo smut #blackpink jisoo smut #blackpink smut #kim jisoo smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #male reader

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 2 months

Note

can you write about dave mustaine watching the fem!reader touching herself through a small space in the bedroom door, and then decides to take the reader by surprise and helps her with his big hands?

A/n: I love size differences, maybe because I'm short but just the thought of it even in a domestic sense like cuddling and stuff, I love it. Dave is half a foot taller than me so I very much enjoyed writing this lol

Warnings: Smut, fingering (f receiving), masturbation, squirting, if you think I missed something please let me know otherwise enjoy :3

You had been living with your parents for your whole life, bouncing between jobs but nothing ever seemed to stick. Thankfully, your parents were happy to have you around and understood the situation.

Everyday you would check the newspaper for job openings, you’d walk around town and hand in your resume.

One fateful day you were walking around. You were getting down on yourself pretty hard, all your friends had jobs, some had families. You were trying harder than anyone and it seemed to be getting you nowhere. Of course it just had to start raining.

Without an umbrella your only hope was to find a newspaper stand. There was one nearby and you got a random newspaper to hold over your head as you made your way back home. It wasn’t that far so the paper didn’t get soaked all the way through, you thanked your lucky stars.

You got your shoes off and headed into the kitchen. You fell onto a chair at the dining table and dropped the newspaper onto the table before planting your head beside it, completely drained.

Your mom came over and sat beside you, rubbing your back in a comforting manner. She looked over the newspaper and saw a job citing. “What about this one?” She asked, pointing to the small column asking for a tour manager, someone to help get this band you’ve never heard of what they wanted when they wanted it or something. They were paying a fair price and the criteria seemed easy enough so you gave it a shot and called the number. I man answered, walked you through the interview and like that you were hired.

You’ve now been working with Megadeth, an up and coming thrash metal band, for a few weeks now. You’ve been on tour for a week or two, everything has been going great and you were happy to be with this job. The band was nice, anytime anyone ever gave you any trouble they were right there with you, a group of menacing fellows who weren’t afraid to throw more than a few hits.

You were in your room the night before an early flight. The lead singer of the band had a suit and offered you the spare room because he didn’t want you having to pay for a whole room when he had a perfectly fine empty one, his words. That ‘spare’ room you took was supposed to be the bassists room, for whatever reason he decided to give Dave the whole room.

Whatever the reason you didn’t care all too much, you were more than happy to not have to pay for your own room.

You felt that this was finally working out for you, after all your struggle and hard work you’d finally made something, a good something. While lying in bed you figured you deserved a treat, a reward for doing so good.

You slid your hand under your waistband and into your panties, a nice lacey thing you got for yourself as another treat. Feel good, look good, right?

Your fingers circled your clit and teased your hole. Your body was so hot from the excitement you’d been keeping from it for so long that now every touch just drove you crazy.

Dave’s room was right beside yours, he couldn’t quite hear what you were doing but the walls were thin enough that he could hear you rustling around. There had been times during the tour that you guys had to take a flight, fairy or bus ride through the night and Dave had caught you up at unreasonable hours more than once so he figured it was just that, you couldn’t sleep and were tossing and turning to find a comfortable position that didn’t seem to exist.

He got out of bed and made his way to your room. The door was opened a crack and he could see you moving around on your bed. The way your fingers sunk into your hole, the way your back arched and your legs stretched out. He saw all of that, the way you pleased yourself.

He never planned on admitting it to you, he swears, but he didn’t hire you because of the interview. He hired you because of your voice, he didn’t think a more beautiful voice could exist and he knew your looks would match.

Before the tour started he found himself thinking of you late at night, he’d end up in the same predicament that you were in right now. His underwear bunched around his ankles, legs spread apart as he pumped his hand up and down his shaft.

He was given an opportunity right now as he watched you. He was already hardening in his pants at the idea of helping you get off. Your hands just weren’t cutting it, his hands were bigger, calloused from playing the guitar for years.

He opened the door and let himself in. You immediately went to cover yourself, tugging the blanket over your exposed body as fast as you could but it was far too late.

Dave paid no mind to it and just walked over to the bed as you tried to straighten yourself out. “Davie, I-It’s not what you think, I was just-”

“Shh, just let me help you.” Dave said with a soft smile. He sat beside you on the bed, putting an arm around your shoulder and pulling you to him. He slowly peeled the blanket off of you, revealing your naked body all for him.

Dave moved behind you, letting you lean back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around you. His one hand went to your chest, groping your chest and pinching your nipples while the other went to your cunt.

He toyed with your swollen clit a bit before pushing a finger in you. Your back arched against him and he loved it. He pumped his finger in and out of you, curling inside you and pushing against your gummy walls, searching for that perfect spot that made you see stars. When he found it he made sure to hit it over and over again.

Your mouth fell open in a waterfall of moans. His finger stretched you out more than your own did, the callouses felt so much better as they prodded your sensitive flesh. “Fuck, you’re so pretty.” Dave whispered in your ear. “Just couldn’t get yourself off, could you? Needed help, didn’t you?” You nodded, bucking your hips into his hand.

“Yes! Yes, fuck, yes, please!” You cried, gripping his arm tightly. Dave chuckled at you and stuck another finger into your hole, making your eyes shoot open and roll to the back of your head. Your body shook as it was taken over by climax, one you hadn’t seen coming until it coated your body.

It took you several moments to figure out why Dave was smiling so proudly down at the sheets. It wasn’t until you gained back your composure enough to look and see that you’d squirted all over the hotel mattress, soaking the sheets and comforter. Your eyes widened at the mess but Dave just chuckled. “What a pretty girl.”

#dave mustaine #dave mustaine smut #megadeth #megadeth fanfiction #megadeth smut #dave mustaine x reader #dave mustaine fanfiction #megadeth imagines #megadeth x reader

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mochi-owos · 1 year

Text

Meeting genshin men at your local grocery store?!

Childe, Itto, Kaeya, Alhaitham, Ayato x Reader

To be honest, the job itself wasn’t too bad. Pretty normal actually. Aside from the few weirdos that have been walking in lately..

Inspired by @abyssruler’s 7/11 Diaries! (One again written in the depths of night, so I apologize for the errors and tbh it’s kinda bad 😰)

Childe:

You could do this! Self belief! Stay awake! Your shift was almost done, 2am on the clock and two more hours to go. Everything was pretty mundane, occasionally mopping the floor, checking the stock, handling the (basically unused) register— all mundane with the lack of people. But today a real odd ball walked in: ginger hair, roughed clothing, tussled hair, and oh- the massive nose bleed dripping down onto his clothes.

He walks through the store so calmly - it’s almost startlingly - he strolls through the isles putting random items, then walks up to the counter. He grins, "Well hello there, I didn’t know such a pretty thing would be working at a time like this." He says, all while blood is still dripping down his nose.

You blink once, you blink twice, you take the basket and start scanning, "It’s too early in the morning for this.." You mumble, tired eyes fumbling with the unreasonably items. The prices of each individual item would send you into cardiac arrest, but all in all? Fucking nuts. How does he even have money? Have you seen the economics state of the world?

Your words only make him laugh, as you look up at him your gaze fuses on his bloody nose, "You’re bleeding."

"I know." He smiles.

"O," You blink slowly once more. "Want a tissues or something?”

He raises a brow, "Ha! You’re pretty funny, you know! Most workers get scared!" He laughs, watching intently as you pack away his items handing them to him.

You look him in the eyes, "I don’t get paid enough."

From that day since he’d often come to the store chatting with you, all while buying odd products. At this point you were starting to think it’s all to speak with you, I mean— Instant rice and pickles? You raised a brow, almost like a mind reader he spoke,

"My friend dropped his phone in the toilet so we’re doing the rice method, and the pickles is for me, nice snack."

Isn’t the rice method supposed to be bad? “Why don’t you just go to a repair shop?"

"Hes quirky like that."

"Just leave."

At some point you started seeing him outside the shop, he also goes to the same university as you. Which did make sense seeing at though he looked your age, but what surprised you the most is that he’s pretty well know. So now you started to wonder how you hadn’t heard about him. Maybe it’s because you have no friends— that’s a problem. You’ll need some of those.. you guess. Now that you think about it, you never got his name. How odd.

Itto:

It was very much valid for you to assume that the man before you was drunk. He was awfully loud (so much so you could hear him from five blocks down), he talked funny, and so did he act the same.

As you tiredly rub your eyes you to try shake yourself awake, there was still so much time until work was over. And with the shouting going on outside it was actually quite easy, most would be worried of a murder being what’s taking place outside but it was awfully normal for such screams, also the sound of drunk laughter easily disproves the thought of murder. A man -easily 7ft tall, White hair, super buff, his hair oddly whisked - trudges in, panic written all over his face. "WHERE IS YOUR RICE?" He asked anxiously.

"Excuse me?"

"I NEED RICE FOR MY PHONE." He jumped around in place, you point him towards the section and he runs off, few of his friends snicker while some look worried.

You wait around at the counter, it takes him a few minutes to gather what he needs, next time he comeback he has at least four small bags of rice and bandages. As you ring him up you hear the man speak with his friends,

"Do you think it’ll work?" One of his friends ask.

"I think so! I got the premium rice, and I think the bandages will work too!" He smiles.

"For.. your phone?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Nothing.." his friends mumble, stifling a laugh.

You simply shake your head at such idiocy, but then again you can understand, repair shops are unbelievably expensive and half the time it gets even more broken. But your action seems to have caught the man’s attention, gawking he turns to his friends, “THEYRE SO HOT.”

From that day forward he constantly visited the shop, goofing around in the store in attempts to get your number.

"So, you like jazz?" He has this odd smirk on his face, almost as if that was his attempt to finesse you.

"Yes."

"Ah. You were supposed to say no."

"Sorry?"

Soon, Itto (his name, he had written it on a piece of paper and whilst paying for his newest purchase slipped it in) started being able to spot you on campus, following you around like a lost puppy. Perhaps you’ll slip in your number next time you give him change.. perhaps.

Kaeya:

To Kaeya you were hot, really fucking hot. Though you were kinda invisible that added to your charm, that or he just had a thing for total losers, he couldn’t tell. And for the most part you weren’t entire invisible, often seeing your name on the first board after grades come out, or even seeing you enrolled in competitions, or he’d see you studying in the library - looking so adorable- writing away at your notes. He thought you were utterly ethereal, and the need to get to know you was insatiable. His friends quite literally needing to hold him down from running up to you and scaring you away. So come to find out lovely ol’ you works at one of his favourite convince place he already had a plan brewing.

You drearily watch the clock, your body feeling as if it's numb. Your hands lazily drawing circles on the counter, starting to regret the fact you decided to work the graveyard shift. The ringing of the store bell waking you from your hazziness, a man dressed nicely came in: blue hair, blue eyes (odd combo, to be completely honest), dressed in what looked like ballroom clothing, his expression of.. smugness? Unyielding.

As you wait to ring him up you take out your phone and start scrolling through it, but soon you here light steps approaching placing your phone back in your pocket and take the items and start scanning. All as you do so the man watches you intently, and little too much.

”Can I help you with something, Sir?"

He raises a brow, "Sir? You don't think I'm that old, do you?!" He cried.

"No, Sir. I'm required to do this."

"So you think I look nice?"

"Sure."

"Would you go out with me?" Was that really his attempt at rizzing you up?

"Please just take your items and leave, Sir." (I'm saving you the embarrassment -and myjob-)

He couldn't stand it, no, he was determined-- he will rizz you up. You have to give him a chance! And so whenever you had a free moment you would see him walk up to you, it’s not that you minded his unbreaking tenacity, it was quite admirable actually.

"Hey!" He ran up to you, waving his hand. He stops in front of you weaving, "Trying to run away from me?"

"No. I’m hungry."

"Ah! The allow me to do the pleasure and buy you lunch."

"If you have money, sure.”

You were oh so happy, free food truly did taste the best. So while he got to know you you got full - and happy - tummy. Maybe you’ll actually let him take you out.

Al Haitham:

See, typically you were fine with customers, but this time you were utterly enthralled by this.. this asshole with a stick up his ass. You’d love to hop over the counter and give him a wack, but you refrain from doing so— he looked rich, and he was buff, you most definitely could not take him in a fight.

"It’s 14.55."

"I’m aware."

"I am in a rush, please let me pay already."

"Im sorry, Sir. I’m required to ring this all up."

"But I already told you, it’s 14.55." His eyes looked a bit agitated, his arms crossed.

"Sir, I am just doing my job."

"K."

To be honest, you didn’t really know what was coming out of his mouth after that, nor did you care, you simply nod, most of the “conversation” you looked at his.. uh, breast(s) pocket. You’d never see him again, what’s the harm?

You were wrong, so undeniably, unbelievably, wrong. Exactly 5 hours later you’d see him at the gym, staring at you, approaching you- wait, approaching you?? You look around the room, what do you do? How do you seem like you’re busy? Pull out you pho-?!

"Hey."

"Hello..? Do you need something?"

"Do you need help?"

"No."

"I’m helping you anyway."

"O."

And workout buddies you came to be, often meeting him during your workout sessions. You never really needed his help, but with his insistence you agreed. Sometimes even studying together.

"Are you stupid?"

"I think so, I’ve been talking with my doctor lately and-"

"I didn’t mean it literally."

"Ah."

With exams coming up you’ve been seeing each other a lot more, and the study areas have been a lot more.. romantic? Close, cool mood lighting, cold- sometimes even his own house. But then again, maybe it’s just you.

Ayato:

This was absolutely fucking nuts. This guy was decked out— SO BAD. The Ayato Kamisato, one of the richest bachelors was before you, you couldn’t help but be a bad bit taken back. But regardless you tried your best to scan all his odd items.

For a hot bachelor his grocery items were really weird, and so fucking expensive you felt your heart clench.. you’ll need a break after this, maybe even a smoke (you’ve never smoked in your life and if you were to you were pretty sure you’d have an asthma attack).

His gaze wondered you curiously, has you handed him his groceries he smiled, leaving a.. 100$ TIP?? WHAT THE FUCK. WHERE DOES HE GET THIS MONEY? I THOUGHT WE WERE IN A RESCISSION. WHAT. Your eyes were massive, looking back up at him, "Uhm, Sir. I think you misplaced this bill.." as much as you wanted to keep it, you had morals (sadly), holding yourself to high principle.

"Oh, that was no mistake. I appreciate the fact someone like you is working at such an hour. Have a lovely morning." He waved and left.. someone like me? Is that an insult? Does he think I’m poor?

As you pondered what he meant you started seeing him more, and more. Always leaving a massive tip, does god.. love me? Your reactions always brining a smile to his face, and conversations with you always left him with a swelling in his chest, you were awfully funny.

"Here, a tip."

"Am I.. in more debt?" You tilt your head, "Do you want something from me?" Your eyes widen, "Is this perhaps your way of buying me? Is that what rich people do..? That’s what’s I heard.." mumbling the last part you look into the floor, bringing your hand up to fumble with your lip- in deep concentration.

He was so weird, people said he was cool. From what you can tell all he is a weirdo. Who tips this much? Who buys this much weird stuff? Isn’t he rich? Why doesn't he just get someone to get him groceries? Why does he look at you weird? Honestly, if he kept giving you this much money you might as well become his sugar baby (not that you would mind).

#genshin impact #x reader #genshin fluff #childe #childe x gender neutral reader #childe x reader #itto headcanons #arataki itto #itto x reader #kaeya x gender neutral reader #kaeya x reader #genshin kaeya #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato headcanons #genshin ayato #genshin x reader

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