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lay-z · 3 months ago

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✨️ Day 4 ‒ Mama's boy

Synopsis: Captain Price knows he can count on his team; no matter what and no matter when. He knows it and his soldiers know it, too. 1–4–1. Still, to say you were shocked when he’d asked you to play his darling girlfriend at his annual family Christmas gathering, is an understatement.

Pairing: John Price x fem!Reader Warnings/Info: No smut. | military!Reader; humour; fake dating (or is it???); awkward flirting; sexual tension; cussing; fluff; happy ending; teammates to lovers

Word count: 2.4k

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This is for the lovely @staytrueblue ! You've become the absolute Captain John Price expert to me. Hope you'll like it! 🩵

You pick at the hem of your dress; deep red velvet with elegant long sleeves, a tight top with a Carmen neckline which allows a peek of the soft curve of your shoulders, and a bottom that flows seamlessly into a skirt that reaches just above your knees.

A white pearl choker adorns your neck, along with the matching earrings. You’ve done your hair and make-up, and added a spritz of your most expensive perfume – and you don’t question yourself why you’re even doing this much, but perhaps it’s simply the all-consuming urge to please and impress your Captain, like an eager pup with its owner.

You’ve cleaned up nicely for tonight and you’d be more focused on that if it wasn’t for that tight ball of anxiety manifesting deep down in your gut since this whole ruse had taken root a few days ago. It didn’t help when Price gave you a genuine compliment after picking you up from your apartment on base, either.

Trying to relax back into the soft leather of the passenger seat, you decide to glance out of the window and distract yourself by watching the steady storm of snowflakes flutter furiously outside, covering the scenery in fresh powdery snow while the engine of the car purrs steadily.

Aston Martin Vantage. V8. British racing green. Jet-black rims. Sleek interior. Holy shit.

You’ve never sat in a car like this before, nor did you expect Price to own something fancy and flashy like this. Then again, you didn’t expect him to ask for this favour, either.

“Would you stop worrying, darling? You’ll be fine.”

Your eyebrow quirks as you glance at Price, giving him a side-eye as you hear how casually he drops that pet name in that gruff voice of his. It shouldn’t feel like this, this right, shouldn’t make the hair at the back of your neck bristle this pleasantly.

Darling.

“Getting into character already, sir?” You can’t help but ask teasingly, unable not to take the piss out of this whole situation you’ve found yourself in.

Your Captain and superior asking you, one of his Sergeants of all people, to accompany him to his annual family Christmas get together, and what a shit show it is going to be. You’re sure of it.

However, Price huffs, brows furrowing as he keeps his sharp eyes focused on the snowy road.

“Might as well,” he counters curtly, “and stop calling me ‘sir’, will ya? We’re not on duty and I need this – us – to be believable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you make a dismissive gesture with your hand, pondering for a moment before turning your head to really take a good look at him this time.

John looks handsome, too handsome and too civilian, wearing a dark grey chequered pair of chino pants that accentuates his firm rear a little too well, with black dress shoes and a simple black turtleneck sweater that stretches over his broad chest, shoulders and bulging biceps.

The cab of his car is cosy warm and filled with the scent of his tangy yet subtle cologne, a smell that makes you want to hook a finger into the hem of his turtleneck sweater, tug the fabric down to expose his neck and then bury your nose in it to take a sniff.

Yes, no, you’re absolutely normal about all of this.

Your eyelashes flutter as you blink those thoughts away at once, clearing your throat awkwardly.

“So, uh... W-What should I call you, then? Honey buns? Babe?” You quip and cringe internally at your own joke, though you’re gauging his reaction as he drives over to his parents' house.

“Baby? ... Good boy?”

His jaw clenches under his beard, you can see it in the way his temple twitches, and the leather of the steering wheel creaks softly as he grips it tighter. Interesting.

“John is fine,” he answers eventually, “Sweetheart or love if you’re feeling bold enough after a glass of wine, ya bloody lightweight.”

“Sweetheart... Love...” You repeat those pet names quietly, testing them out on your tongue regarding him, still your Captain and superior – and the man you’ve been harbouring feelings for, for the past few years, if you’ll finally start to be really honest with your damn self.

“Okay, I can do that.”

He reaches over and pats your knee; the warmth of his rough palm seeping through the thin fabric of your black tights, “I know you can, darling.”

The first few minutes were incredibly awkward, but that’s just you – being incredibly awkward in general.

Put yourself in any gunfight, jumping out of planes, fake dating Gaz or Soap for a mission, or stalking a target for days on end without a break – no problemo, – but social interactions outside of the field? One such as this?

Oh, boy.

However, you stick to the plan, to the detailed briefing John has given you prior to tonight, and it does seem to work.

His father, William, is surprisingly chatty, but you could also already smell the bourbon on his breath when he went in for a brief hug at the front door.

His mother, Margaret, though, she’s not an easy read, and you quickly realize where your Captain got his steadfastness from. A proper lady who’s obviously the head of this household. He’s got her piercing eyes and appraising look, and you know you’re being scrutinized thoroughly, but she’s friendly enough and gives you space, though you’re already anticipating the moment she’s going to herd you away from her son to put you through the wringer like a wet kitchen towel.

His older brother, Robert, wife Deborah, and two kids, Luke and Ben, are easy to fool, though it seems old Bobby gets a kick out of trying to make his younger brother and especially you flustered. It doesn’t work on John, but after a first glass of wine, you have to admit that it does work on you.

Robert is even less funny than John and that’s just because he’s trying too hard; trying too hard to make everyone like him, and you wonder why John lets him get away with it, but then again, Robert’s the firstborn son, so maybe it’s just the respect John is forced to have for his older brother that’s holding him back. Classical sibling and brother hierarchies, and all of that.

“Say, how did Johnny even manage to woe a woman like you? He’s as charming as an ice pick that one.” Robert dares to ask during dinner, and you actually get offended by that.

“Charming enough for me,” you retort, staring daggers at him and wishing you had an ice pick to throw right about now, “I prefer a straightforward man over some bootlicker.”

Deborah laughs while Robert looks bewildered, eyes flickering between you and John, who’s seated next to you. You cringe internally at yet another blunder, but then you see John’s smug smile out of the corner of your eyes, and his hand finds your knee again under the table, lingering there for the remainder of dinner.

His mother keeps watching and observing from her seat across from you at the long table, a small smile tugging at the corner of her red-painted, wrinkly lips.

John’s younger sister, Alice, shows up right after dinner, before everyone is moved back into the spacious living room to exchange presents; with the large, decorated Christmas tree looming in the corner next to the fireplace, where the birch wood is already crackling nicely.

Alice is an artist, a photographer, living in Paris. Her flight got delayed due to the weather, hence why she’s late. It’s clear by the way John pulls her into a tight hug while simultaneously calling her a muppet that he prefers her over Robert.

She’s a cold breeze of fresh air; a whirlwind full of buzzing energy, joy and kindness, and she would almost be too much for you in any other situation, but when she embraces you gleefully and welcomes you into the family, it’s too easy to get lost in that fantasy for a moment.

This whole ruse is starting to turn cruel on you, really.

Especially, when John’s large and warm hand comes to rest on the small of your back, just above the curve of your rear, once Alice demands to take a picture of you two in front of the Christmas tree. You glance up at him as he towers next to you, smiling boyishly at his little sister while he pulls you closer into his side, one arm curling around your waist and making you go somewhat rigid as you practically feel his strength and dominance radiating off his body, and there is a touch of possession in the way he’s holding you, too.

Or perhaps, you’re simply imagining it.

A sudden camera flash goes off, blindsiding you momentarily and you blink away the dots blurring your vision when Alice speaks up again.

“Alright, thanks for the mugshot, cherié,” she quips, snapping her fingers at you as if to wake you up, “Give me a good one now, aye? I need to capture proof that John actually brought a woman home for once. Look at your poor man; bloody sap’s completely infatuated with you.”

Infatuated? You blink dumbly and glance up at him instinctively as if to check for that yourself, acting as if you could tell how said infatuation would even look like.

And then, your stomach drops and the blood in your veins starts simmering, toes curling in your pumps to ground yourself as soon as your eyes lock with his slightly glazed, steel blue eyes, like a steady flow of ice melting in a rivulet.

Sometime, somehow, in this moment, your hand reaches up to rest on his chest, manicured fingers splaying over the fabric of his sweater to feel his strong heartbeat thudding against your palm–

... and then, Alice coos at you two – breaking the spell.

“Yes! That’s more like it, cherié!”

You excuse yourself after Alice gets the perfect picture to her liking, and before John can follow you, his mother urgently calls out to him, asking for his help in the kitchen.

Meanwhile, you almost feel bad that Alice’s family photo album will have a staged picture of a fake relationship in it, one that will taint it with a big, fat lie.

It shouldn’t be like this. You shouldn’t be here tonight and yet, you are, after having agreed way too quickly and eagerly to the Captain’s request to play his girlfriend and help getting his family to back off.

Now, you find yourself wandering the hallways upstairs of his old family home, where he grew up in, you’d learned; sipping your glass of white wine absentmindedly while you study the rows upon rows of pictures littering the walls, like a walkway through time.

It feels like overstepping a boundary, but John should’ve expected you, a trained special forces soldier, to sneak off at some point to snoop around a bit; he never explicitly told you not to, after all.

You get stuck on graduation pictures of all three siblings, though your eyes linger on John, standing at attention in his dress uniform; tall, handsome, very beardless and fifteen years younger, at least, and you catch your smile before it can spread into something too fond.

Taking another slow sip, you feel a familiar presence behind you; still, you wait for him to address you first and maybe chew you out for being nosy.

“Don’t get caught up in the past, darling,” his gruff voice cuts through the peaceful silence, “I’ve long lost that youthful charm and vigour.” He chuckles gruffly.

Darling. There it is again.

“You can drop the act when we’re alone,” you mumble into the glass as you take another sip, trying to get rid of that damn flutter of nerves deep in your stomach, “I’m positive we’ve fooled them well enough tonight, sir.”

His footsteps are dulled by the carpet covering the hardwood floor as he keeps approaching you from behind, and your grip tightens around the wine glass, nearly shattering the delicate glass, when John’s powerful arms come to wrap around your midriff from behind; his buff body moulding against your back like it’s meant to be.

Admittedly, you go rigid again, holding your breath, stiff as a board.

His breath is warm, a hint of smooth bourbon catching in your nostrils as he leans in to murmur against your ear while his arms tighten around your waist, “I told you to stop calling me ‘sir’, haven’t I? Mhm, darling?”

You shudder involuntarily in his sudden embrace, this forbidden intimacy, breath hitching as your brain begins to short-circuit at once.

“Yeah… You did,” you croak out, voice coming out too breathlessly for your own liking, “But there’s no one to fool here right now, John.”

His chest rumbles and reverberates against your back with something like a pleased hum when you use his first name.

“Not trying to fool anyone, love. ’s just you and me now. ‘sides–”

He then nuzzles his nose against the exposed juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, trailing the tip of his nose along the smooth curve while his beard scratches over your skin pleasantly.

“My bloody mother knew the moment we stepped over the threshold of this house. Thought I’d trained ya better than tha’, Sergeant, or were you not faking any of this after all, hm?”

Despite your better judgement, you allow yourself to lean into his embrace, feeling his body heat seeping through the velvety fabric of your dress.

“Were you?” You counter-ask overzealously, tongue loosened by the alcohol you’ve already consumed, before biting down on your bottom lip, though you can’t take your question back to swallow the words like you probably should have.

“Faking it… I mean.” You add, clearing your throat awkwardly as you continue clutching your wine glass.

There is a heavy pause, one that has your pulse thrumming violently in your neck with each passing second of his silence, until John’s low, gravelly voice murmurs, his lips brushing over that sensitive spot right below your ear.

“Thought I was already being terribly obvious, darling.”

#call of duty #captain john price #john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #john price #cod:mw #tf 141 #reader insert #cod advent calendar 2024

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lefteagleblizzard · 3 months ago

Text

𝔇𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔰 Until Dawn males x male reader

Summary: 4 smut scenarios featuring each of the men from Until Dawn. Each scenario exists in its own standalone world, completely unconnected to the others—distinct, isolated, and unforgettable.

Tags: He/Him pronouns used for the reader. Mike Munroe x male reader; Matt Taylor x male reader; Josh Washington x male reader; Chris Hartley x male reader. Set before the events of the game. All of these are separated and not connected. All of these with bottom male reader. Friends to lovers/ established relationships. Smut. Gay smut. Dom Mike Munroe. Gentle dom Matt Taylor. Dom Josh Washington. Submissive Chris Hartley. Pinning. Anal sex. Shower sex. Riding. Blowjob.

Recently reached 300 followers and i wanted to do something special <3

Words counts: 8000 words (around 2000 for each character)

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

ℳ𝒾𝓀ℯ ℳ𝓊𝓃𝓇ℴℯ

Cocky and relentless. Teasing that borders on merciless, using his natural charisma to push buttons and see you squirm and blush beneath him. He doesn't stop until he's left you utterly wrecked, trembling and begging for more. He'd enjoy having full control, alternating it with whispered reassurances or moments of tenderness.

Mike Munroe sat in the chair beside you, leaning back with his signature cocky grin plastered across his face, a textbook in front of him that he hadn't opened once since arriving. He had the look of someone who didn't really care about studying, which, frankly, was true. This entire night was a ruse, a flimsy excuse to be alone with you under the pretense of needing help with an exam.

The plan had seemed solid in his head. You'd sit close, explain things to him with that focused, determined look he loved and he'd lean in, let his charm work its magic and, eventually, your studying would devolve into something much less productive.

Mike had always been good at getting what he wanted. A flash of his smile, a sly remark and most people melted. But now, as you sat at the desk flipping through pages and genuinely trying to explain a concept he couldn't care less about, Mike was starting to feel… frustrated.

"You're telling me I have to memorize all this crap by Thursday? Who the hell needs to know about… what even is this—" he glanced down at the page in front of you, squinting as if the words offended him “—polynomial functions for real life? What, am I gonna solve equations at my job interview?"

You sighed, trying to ignore his dark eyes locked onto yours instead of the textbook in front of him. "You signed up for the class, Mike. I didn't force you to take it."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, waving a dismissive hand. "But that's why you're here." He leaned in closer, resting his elbow on the desk and his chin in his hand, his face mere inches from yours. "You make it all make sense. You're, like, my personal genius."

Your stomach twisted at the compliment, even though you tried to brush it off. This was just Mike being Mike, wasn't it? He was like this with everyone. Charming, flirtatious, impossible to ignore. You'd seen him in action before: the way he smirked at the girls in class, the playful winks he threw at random people in the cafeteria.

It was just his thing. And yet, being on the receiving end of it made your heart race in a way that was becoming harder to ignore.

"Your 'genius' thinks you should actually start paying attention," you said, nudging the notebook closer to him. "Try solving this one."

Mike groaned dramatically, dragging the notebook toward him like it physically pained him to do so. "You're cute when you're bossy."

"Mike—“

"I'm kidding." He shot you a lopsided grin before glancing at the problem you'd written out. He picked up the pen, twirling it between his fingers as his brow furrowed in mock concentration. "Okay, so, uh… the square root here is… this, right?"

You couldn't help but laugh at how off he was, shaking your head as you leaned over to correct him. The faint scent of his cologne, woodsy with a hint of spice, hit you as you got closer and you froze for a moment, suddenly all too aware of how close you were.

Mike noticed. Of course he noticed. His grin widened and he tilted his head slightly, his eyes flicking from your face to your lips and back again.

You cleared your throat, quickly retreating to your seat. "Focus, Michael."

"I am focusing," he said, his voice warm and husky now, enough to make your pulse race and your breath catch. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms behind his head, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a strip of toned stomach. He caught your eyes flicking down and smirked. "On you."

Your face burned and you buried it in the textbook, pretending to reread a section. "Don't you have an exam to pass?"

"Yeah, yeah, blah blah blah," he said, waving his hand lazily. "But it’s hard to concentrate when you're sitting there all cute and stuff."

Your heart stuttered, but you forced yourself to roll your eyes, words stuck in your throat as you kept your focus ahead.

He shifted on the chair, his eyes trailing to your lips as you read aloud from the book. God, you had no idea how good they looked, slightly pursed as you concentrated on the material. He could only think about how soft they would feel against his, how warm they'd be as they moved down his body.

His gaze darkened, drifting lower, watching the way your throat moved as you spoke. He wanted to trace his lips there, feel your pulse against his tongue. The idea made his pants feel uncomfortably tight and he shifted again, trying to will the thoughts away.

The study session continued, with you trying your best to keep things on track despite Mike's constant interruptions. He'd accidentally brush his hand against yours when reaching for a pen, his fingers lingering just a moment too long. He'd lean in close under the guise of needing help, his lips so close to your ear that his breath tickled your skin as he murmured, "Explain that one more time?"

The shift you made brought you closer, your thigh brushing against his and Mike had to work hard not to react.

"Here," you said, pointing to a diagram you'd sketched out earlier. "This is how you get everything right. Got it?"

Mike barely registered your words. He was too busy realizing how he could feel the faint heat of your body. His eyes dropped to your hands as you gestured toward the page, wondering what they'd feel like gripping his shoulders, his hips, his—

"Mike”

"Hmm?" He blinked, forcing himself to meet your gaze.

"Are you sure you're okay? You keep zoning out. You said you needed help with this, right?"

Mike sighed dramatically, flopping back on the bed. "Yeah, yeah, I need help," he muttered, though he wasn't talking about school.

As you leaned forward to grab some papers on the desk, his eyes traced the curve of your jaw, the line of your neck, the way your shirt shifted slightly to reveal just a hint of skin.

It was torture.

Sweet, delicious torture.

"Can we take a break? I feel like I'm not gonna retain any of this if I don't decompress a little."

You glanced at the clock. "We've only been at it for 20 minutes."

"Exactly!" Mike said, his grin widening. "That's, like, more than I've ever studied so far."

You rolled your eyes, doing your best at suppress the warmth rising at his warm gaze in your direction. "Let me at least finish this thing?"

"Alright, fine," he muttered, picking up the book with a theatrical sigh and flipping through it aimlessly. "Keep cracking the whip, Teach."

You smiled faintly and got up to grab another set of notes from your backpack. The second you stood, Mike's eyes trailed down the curve of your back, lingering too long on the way your jeans clung to your butt. He bit his bottom lip, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

Enough was enough.

With a quick sigh, he stood, ego hurt and curiosity piqued. He closed the textbook on your desk with a sharp thud. His lip curled briefly at the sight of the boring equations inside, a momentary flicker of irritation at how they'd monopolized your attention. Then he turned his focus back to you.

When you turned around, annoyed at now being able to find what you were looking for, you froze.

He moved closer until your back pressed against the wall. His chest rose and fell steadily, his lips curving into a soft, almost vulnerable smile.

"Can I ask you something?" His voice was low, the teasing edge stripped away, leaving something raw and earnest.

"Uh… sure?" Your pulse quickened as his hand came up, resting lightly against the wall beside your head. His tall frame radiating heat as he leaned closer to you. His dark eyes bore into yours, not with the usual teasing glint, but with raw, unfiltered emotion that made your heart race.

"Do you like me?" he asked, his voice low and intense.

The question hit you like a punch to the chest. "What?"

"You heard me," Mike said, his tone softening, though the intensity in his gaze didn't waver. "Do you like me? Because, damn it, I can't keep this up anymore. I came here because I wanted to be with you, not to study. I just… I need to know."

You stared at him, your heart pounding so loudly you could barely think after hearing the vulnerability in his voice.

"Just tell me the truth," he murmured, his hand lifting to cup your jaw. His thumb brushed lightly over your cheek and the tenderness of the gesture made your knees weak.

Your throat tightened and you felt heat flooding your face. "Yes, Mike. I like you. A lot."

His grin returned, slow and breathtaking, as though your words were the only answer he'd ever wanted. "Yeah?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to hear you say that."

He closed the distance, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that stole the air from your lungs. It was hungry, raw, as though he'd been starving for this moment. His hands found your waist, pulling you forward until you were pressed tightly against him as his tongue pushed into your mouth, exploring with urgency.

You gripped his shoulders instinctively, your fingers digging into the firm muscle as he deepened the kiss.

He pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, his voice rough and breathless. "Fuck, I've been wanting this for so long. You have no idea."

He bent down abruptly, his arms sliding under your thighs to lift you effortlessly. You gasped, your legs wrapping around his waist. Mike's lips moved to your neck, kissing and nipping as he trailed down to your collarbone. His light stubble scratched your skin, a delicious friction that left you squirming in his hold. He sucked a mark just above your collarbone, his tongue soothing the sting before he moved up to your jaw, his breath hot against your cheek.

"You taste so fucking good," he murmured, his voice a husky growl.

His lips found yours again, the kiss deeper this time, his tongue delving into your mouth as though he couldn't get enough. His hands gripped your thighs tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as he ground his hips against you. You could feel his hardness through his jeans, pressing insistently against you and making you ache with need.

With a grunt, Mike turned and carried you to the bed, laying you down carefully before crawling on top of you. His weight pressed you into the mattress, his sturdy frame caging you in as his lips found your neck again. His hands were everywhere, exploring your body with a mix of reverence and urgency.

You moaned softly as his teeth grazed your neck, his tongue soothing the sensitive skin before his lips claimed yours again. His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, tugging it off in one swift motion before discarding his own. His bare chest pressed against yours, the heat of his skin making you gasp as his lips continued their assault on your neck.

Mike's hands moved lower, unfastening your pants with a speed that made your head spin. He slid them down along with your underwear, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you fully bare beneath him.

His fingers found their way between your legs, teasing you as he leaned down to kiss you again. His other hand wrapped around your length, stroking you with firm, steady movements that made your hips buck into his hand.

"You like that?" he asked, his grin wicked as he watched your reaction. "I want to hear you, baby. Don't hold back."

He worked you with expert precision, his mouth returning to your neck to suck another mark. He was relentless, his fingers slipping lower to tease your entrance, his voice low and commanding.

"Relax for me," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I'll take care of you, I promise."

His fingers moving in and out with practiced ease as he murmured praises against your skin. His other hand continued stroking you, his thumb teasing your tip in a way that had you writhing beneath him.

"God, you're so tight," he muttered, his breath hot against your neck. "I can't wait to feel you around me."

When he finally replaced his fingers with the hot, throbbing weight of his cock, the stretch was overwhelming. You hissed, your hands gripping his shoulders as he sank into you slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size.

"Fuck," he groaned, his head falling forward to rest against yours.

Mike’s lips didn't stop their assault on your neck, alternating between wet, searing kisses and the light scrape of his teeth that left trails of fire in their wake. Each movement of his hips pressed his thick, throbbing length deeper against you, and the friction was maddening.

"Fuck," he whispered, "You feel so good. So fucking good."

His restraint snapped, his hips snapping against yours with increasing urgency. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he fucked you deeply, his groans mixing with your moans in the heated air.

His pace quickened, his thrusts hitting deeper as he angled his hips just right. You cried out, your nails digging into his back as pleasure overwhelmed you.

"That's it," he growled. "Let me hear you."

You couldn't hold back, your moans growing louder as he pushed you closer to the edge. His hand slipped between your bodies, stroking you in time with his thrusts.

"Come for me," he whispered, his voice strained.

His words sent you over the edge, your climax hitting you as you cried out his name. The way your body clenched around him pushed him over the edge, his thrusts growing erratic as he spilled inside you with a deep groan.

He collapsed on top of you, his body trembling as he pressed soft kisses to your neck, his arms wrapping around you as he held you close. "Worth every second," he murmured, his voice soft and full of affection.

ℳ𝒶𝓉𝓉 𝒯𝒶𝓎𝓁ℴ𝓇

He would seek constant reassurance as he takes tentative steps. However, once he gains confidence, he becomes surprisingly assertive. He'd focus entirely on your pleasure. His athleticism would lend itself to strength and stamina, ensuring you're worshiped and cherished. He would revel in making you feel safe yet utterly overwhelmed by the raw power of his passion, glowing with pride every time he draws out a moan or gasp.

The campus was alive with the lazy hum of an afternoon sun. Matt Taylor was out on the field, his athletic frame in constant motion as he jogged the perimeter.

The way his shirt clung to him, damp and snug from exertion, only highlighted the strength in his broad shoulders and the subtle definition of his chest. It clung stubbornly to his abs, outlining the defined ridges of his stomach. Every muscle in his body seemed to work in perfect harmony as he moved.

The sweat glistening on his caramel skin only made him look more enticing.

He stopped after a lap, bending slightly to catch his breath, hands resting on his thighs. The sight was enough to steal yours.

There were moments when his head would turn, his dark, warm eyes flicking in your direction. He always seemed aware of your presence, like you were a natural part of his environment. The way you looked at him was as essential as the air he breathed.

He'd catch your gaze just for a second, his lips quivering into a smile. It was like he knew you were watching and wanted to remind you that he saw you, too.

With a deep breath, Matt straightened, one hand pushing his damp shirt away from his torso, exposing the hard lines of his stomach. Wiping the sweat from his face and neck with a calm, unhurried precision.

Matt tilted his head just slightly, as if gauging your reaction. Then, without missing a beat, he pressed his hand to his lips and blew a kiss in your direction.

Your heart stuttered, the sheer casualness of it leaving you stunned.

He turned toward the bench at the edge of the field, where his water bottle rested and took a moment to hydrate. He poured some of the cool water over his head, letting it cascade down his face and neck before trailing over his chest. The droplets caught in the sunlight, gleaming as they traced the curve of his shoulders and the hard ridges of his collarbone. His free hand dragged across his jaw, wiping the excess water away in a move that was as unintentional as it was captivating.

The others called out to him, ready to start another round of drills and he responded with an easy wave. As he jogged back to join them, he passed by where you sat.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and warm, tinged with the kind of softness he reserved for moments like this. He leaned down, resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. "I was trying out some new moves. Gotta know if they're, you know, impressive enough." His tone was light and teasing, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in his expression, like he genuinely cared what you thought.

"They're impressive," you admitted, your voice quieter than you intended.

His smile softened and for a moment, he looked almost shy. "Thanks," he said, straightening up and running a hand through his short, damp hair.

You watched as he jogged back to his friends, the muscles in his legs flexing with every step. He jumped right back into the game, throwing himself into it with renewed energy. He made daring plays, diving for the ball in ways that sent his friends laughing and clapping him on the back. He'd glance your way after every particularly bold move, his smile growing brighter each time he saw you watching, eager to impress you.

The dim lighting of the locker room cast soft shadows over Matt's glistening body as he leaned against the lockers, phone in hand, his voice warm and playful. His towel hung loosely around his neck and his shirt was long forgotten, leaving his torso on full display. Every inch of him radiated heat.

The room was quiet now, save for the distant echo of running water in the pipes and the soft shuffle of Matt's footsteps as he paced near the benches.

"Yeah, I'm still here," he chuckled into the phone, his deep voice carrying a hint of teasing affection as he talked with you. "No rush, though. No one else is around."

He glanced at the screen, his smile softening before he made up his mind on what to do next.

"Want to hang out? We can talk later after I'm done here, if you want?" He murmured, voice low with a sweet and earnest tone.

"Turn around," you said.

Matt froze for a moment, processing your voice now coming from behind him. He spun on his heel, his eyes widening as they landed on you standing just inside the locker room door. A surprised laugh escaped him and he hung up the call, sliding his phone into the pocket of his gym bag.

"You're here," he said, his grin growing wider. His dark eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and shyness as he took a hesitant step forward.

"I wanted to surprise you," you replied, your voice soft but steady.

He moved closer, the heat of his body palpable even from a few feet away. The faint sheen of sweat making every curve of his muscles stand out.

"Let me—uh—just a sec," Matt stammered, rubbing the back of his neck as he closed the distance between you. He was so careful, leaning in slowly as though worried he'd overwhelm you. His lips brushed yours lightly at first, the saltiness of his sweat mingling with the sweetness of his breath.

"You don't mind the, uh…" He gestured to himself, his cheeks flushing slightly.

"Not at all," you murmured, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepened, his mouth moving against yours with a mix of gentle passion and restrained hunger. One arm looped around your waist while his big hand cradled the back of your head. His hands found your hips, his touch firm but tender.

He broke the kiss only to glance over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the empty locker room. Once satisfied you were alone, he turned back to you, his expression soft but smoldering.

"Shower's right there," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "Think we could, uh… clean up together?"

The corner of his mouth twitched in a nervous smile, but the desire in his eyes was undeniable.

You didn't answer with words, letting your lips find his again instead, this time with more urgency as he backed behind with you caged in his arms.

The shower stalls were humid and warm, steam curling in the air as Matt turned on the water, letting it cascade down his back. He stood under the stream for a moment, his head tilted back, droplets running over his shoulders and down his chest, washing away the sweat that clung to him.

He turned to you, his expression soft but filled with intent. "Come here," he whispered, holding out a hand.

You stepped into the stall, the warm spray hitting your now naked skin as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. His lips found yours again, deeper this time, his hands exploring your back, your sides, the curve of your hips. His touch was firm but gentle, every movement infused with the kind of care that made your chest ache.

His hands moved to your waist, lifting you slightly to press you against the cool tile wall. The contrast of temperatures sent a shiver through you, but Matt's body pressed against yours was a furnace, his heat keeping you grounded.

The water ran between you, slicking your skin as his kisses trailed down your neck, his lips warm and soft against your wet skin. His breath was hot, mouth lingering over every inch of you like he couldn't get enough.

"I want to make you feel good," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours, water dripping from his hair and into your eyes.

Hands broad and rough from years of training roamed your body with deliberate care. He started at your waist, his thumbs grazing your hips, then slid them down to cup your thighs, pulling you closer until every inch of him was flush against you.

His lips moved down the side of your neck, planting open-mouthed kisses that lingered, his tongue flicking out to taste the droplets sliding down your skin. "You feel so damn good." Matt murmured, his voice thick with need.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip before his tongue pushed into your mouth. His hands drifted lower, gripping your ass firmly as he hoisted you up, pressing you against the cold tile wall.

His hips pressed into yours and you felt the unmistakable hardness between his legs, the weight of him grinding slowly.

"Matt," you gasped, your voice catching in your throat as his lips found your collarbone, then moved lower, trailing down your chest. He paused at your nipple, his mouth closing around it, his tongue swirling as his teeth grazed just enough to make you arch into him.

The water streamed down his back as he continued his descent, his tongue and lips mapping a path across your stomach, his hands gripping your hips tightly, anchoring you. He looked up at you as he knelt, his eyes filled with a hunger that made your knees weak.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low, almost reverent.

You nodded quickly, your breath hitching as he kissed along your thighs, his mouth hot against your damp skin. His fingers traced delicate patterns, teasing you, making you ache for more. He submits his mouth to take on your length, his tongue flicking out to taste you, slow and deliberate as he traced every vein and ridge.

The sensation of his mouth on you was almost too much. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as you arched up against him.

His hands gently rested on your soft, supple ass. He circled the hole gently before pressing his finger inside up to the second knuckle. Your head tilting up as the finger went in deeper before adding in another finger.

When you were trembling beneath his touch, Matt stood again, pulling you into another searing kiss. His hands gripped the back of your thighs, lifting you easily as he aligned himself with you. The anticipation was overwhelming, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Tell me if I'm too much. I don't want to hurt you."

His sweetness melted into raw passion as he slowly pushed inside, stretching you in a way that made your breath catch. The pressure was intense, the fullness almost too much, but Matt paused, his lips brushing your temple as he murmured against your skin.

"You're doing so good for me," he said, his voice strained, his restraint obvious as he let you adjust.

When you nodded, giving him the okay, he began to move. His thrusts were slow at first, measured, each one sending sparks of pleasure through your body. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you steady as he found a rhythm, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the small, steamy space.

"You're so tight," he groaned, his voice barely above a whisper as he buried himself deeper.

His pace quickened, his control slipping with each thrust, his eyes watching you intensively, filled with unspoken adoration and need.

Matt's hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers stroking in time with his thrusts. The dual sensations were overwhelming, your body tightening around him as you felt yourself teetering on the brink.

"Come for me. I want to feel you," Matt whispered, voice a mix of command and plea.

His words pushed you over the edge, your climax ripping through you with an intensity that left you shaking, your cries muffled against his shoulder. The way your body clenched around him sent him spiraling, his thrusts becoming erratic as he groaned your name, his release spilling inside of you hot, heavy and overwhelming.

He held you there, both of you trembling as the water continued to pour over your exhausted bodies, his breath ragged but his smile soft.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice hoarse but filled with tenderness.

You nodded, your fingers threading through his damp hair as you pulled him into a soft, lingering kiss. "More than okay."

And with that, Matt grinned affectionately before wrapping you in his arms, his warmth and love enveloping you completely.

𝒥��𝓈𝒽 𝒲𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃ℊ𝓉ℴ𝓃

He would be almost hypnotic. His hands firm, guiding you like a puppeteer while he watches every reaction with piercing eyes. Touch that alternate between rough and tender. He'd seek absolute surrender, his lips tracing feverish paths across your skin as he demands every gasp, every shiver, until you're completely undone.

The basement was dimly lit, a warm glow from the single overhead bulb casting shadows over the eclectic collection of items Josh's family had accumulated over the years. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with dusty film reels, old cameras and props from Josh's endless experiments in cinematography. You trailed behind him as he rifled through a box, muttering under his breath about where he'd left the camera he needed.

"You've got enough stuff down here to make a whole trilogy,” you spoke amazed, picking up a fake severed hand from one of the nearby tables. "Let me guess, this was for some horror project?"

Josh turned, his smirk lighting up his face even in the shadows. "Oh, that? Nah, that was just Halloween last year. Dad thought it'd be funny to have it sticking out of the candy bowl." He rummaged through a nearby crate, pulling out a few props from old projects like the fake blood packets and a weathered script.

You laughed, shaking your head as you placed it back on the table. Josh returned to rummaging through his box of supplies and your attention wandered to a nearby shelf where a cracked clown mask hung ominously. This place is like a treasure trove, a mix of fascinating and unsettling, much like Josh himself. His mind always worked a mile a minute, brimming with ideas that danced somewhere between genius and chaos.

"Found it!" Josh declared, holding up a vintage film camera triumphantly. "This baby's gonna make my project an A+ for sure."

"Finally," you teased, crossing your arms. "I thought we'd be down here forever."

Josh's grin widened, that familiar mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. "Oh, don't tell me you're scared of basements."

"I'm not scared of this place," you replied, rolling your eyes while turning around to see again a cool looking mask that you wanted to try out.

"No?" he asked, his tone mock-innocent as he casually reached for something behind him.

When you turned around to face your boyfriend again, your eyes were met with a mask that resembles a skull-like style with a pair of thin black eyebrows, a cracked nose and rotten styled teeth. The dim light casting eerie shadows across the distorted features.

He lunged at you with a guttural growl, arms outstretched. Startled, you yelped involuntarily, stumbling back a step as he grabbed you with exaggerated ferocity. He gripped tightly your waist and hoisted you effortlessly onto a nearby table, pinning you in place.

"Gotcha!" he exclaimed, pulling the mask off to reveal his gleeful grin.

"You absolute jerk!" you gasped, swatting at his chest with your right hand in frustration.

Josh laughed, his deep, warm chuckle echoing through the basement. "You should've seen your face! Priceless."

"You're the worst," you muttered, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed how flustered you were.

"Oh, come on," he said, leaning closer. His hands rested on either side of your hips, trapping you. "You're even more handsome when you're scared. Seriously, it's not fair."

He leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, "Let me make it up to you for my genius prank." He concluded the line with a kiss to your neck, his lips warm and insistent against your skin.

"Trust me," he whispered, his voice low and rough, his hands sliding up your sides as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot just below your ear.

Your breath hitched, your hands finding their way to his shoulders as his mouth moved lower, trailing kisses down your neck and along your collarbone. His fingers tugged at the hem of your shirt, pushing it up to expose more skin, his lips following the path his hands carved.

"We’ve done it not even an hour ago," you murmured, your voice trembling as he nipped lightly at your shoulder.

Josh chuckled against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. "Perfect then! Means that you’re ready for me," he admitted, pressing his lips to yours into a kiss that was equal parts sweet and consuming. His hands roamed your body with a mix of confidence and care, his touch leaving trails of heat in its wake.

He broke the kiss just long enough to tug your shirt over your head, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you. "You look good," he said simply, his voice tinged with awe.

"Stop being sappy," you teased, though your heart raced at his words.

Josh grinned, his hands sliding to your waistband. "Fine, I'll focus on other things"

He made quick work of your pants, his lips finding yours again as he pressed you back against the table. The feel of his body against yours, the weight of him grounding you, sent a shiver down your spine.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and intimate.

"You," you replied without hesitation, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer.

Josh groaned softly, his fingers tightened on your thighs, his thumbs stroking the bare skin just above your knees as he stepped closer, pressing himself against you. His lips trailed along your jawline, soft and teasing at first, but the heat in his movements grew with each passing second.

He tilted your head slightly, exposing more of your neck and pressing his lips there, warm and insistent.

Your breath hitched as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot just below your ear, his tongue following in a slow, deliberate sweep that left you shivering. His hands roamed upward, fingers hooking under the hem of your shirt before tugging it over your head in one swift motion.

"God," he breathed, pulling back just enough to take you in. His eyes were dark, predatory. "You're fucking amazing."

"You don't look so bad yourself," you managed, your voice shaky but laced with a teasing edge.

Josh smirked, leaning in to kiss you again. This time, there was no pretense of restraint. His tongue slid against yours, the kiss messy and consuming as his hands pulled you closer until there wasn't an inch of space between you.

Your hands found their way to his shirt, pushing it up over his torso. He broke the kiss just long enough to yank it off, tossing it carelessly to the floor before returning his lips to yours. The heat of his bare chest against yours sent a thrill through you, his skin warm and slightly damp as your hands explored the defined lines of his back.

Josh's hips rolled against yours and you felt the unmistakable hardness pressing against your thigh. Your own erection makes your pants feel painfully tight. He groaned softly, his breath hot against your neck as he ground into you, the friction sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your body.

"You're driving me crazy," he admitted, his voice rough as his hands slid to the waistband of your pants. He hesitated for just a moment, his eyes meeting yours. "Can I…?"

"Yes," you said quickly, the word barely more than a whisper.

He grinned, his usual cocky demeanor softened by the flush in his cheeks, and tugged your pants down, his hands deliberate and firm. You kicked them off, your skin prickling with anticipation as he leaned back to admire you.

"You're perfect," Josh said, his voice husky as his fingers traced along your thighs, his touch featherlight but electrifying.

You reached for him, pulling him closer until his body was pressed fully against yours. The feel of him, hard and eager, against your own growing arousal made you gasp. Josh took the opportunity to kiss you again, his hands sliding lower to grip your ass, lifting you slightly as he aligned himself with you.

"Ready?" he asked, his hands voice soft but filled with intensity.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck as he positioned himself. The stretch as he pushed inside was slow and deliberate, his movements measured as he let you adjust to the fullness.

"Fuck," he groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as he buried himself completely.

The words sent a shiver through you, your hands tightening on his shoulders as you urged him to move. Josh pulled back slightly, his hips rocking forward again in a slow, steady rhythm that left you breathless.

He found a pace that was both gentle and intense, his thrusts deep and deliberate, each one drawing soft moans from your lips. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you as he pressed kisses to your neck, your jaw, your lips.

Your own voice trembling as the pleasure built with each movement.

Josh's pace quickened, his control slipping as his need for you overwhelmed him. The table beneath you creaked with each thrust, but neither of you cared. The only thing that mattered was the way he filled you, the way his body moved against yours like you were made for each other.

Your climax hit suddenly, a wave of pleasure crashing over you and leaving you trembling in his arms. You cried out his name, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body clenched around him.

Josh wasn't far behind. His thrusts grew erratic, his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself as deep as he could, groaning your name as he spilled into you. The warmth of his release sent another shiver through you, the sensation leaving you breathless.

For a moment, the two of you stayed like that, tangled together on the table, your breaths mingling as you came down from the high. Josh pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his hands trailing soothing patterns on your back.

"Am i forgiven now?" he asked, his voice hoarse but laced with his usual humor.

You laughed softly, nuzzling into his neck. "Yeah, I'd say so."

Josh grinned, his arms tightening around you as he rested his forehead against yours. "Good. Because I'm not done yet."

𝒞𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈 ℋ𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓁ℯ𝓎

Hesitant, nervous chuckles and self-deprecating jokes peppering the atmosphere before his passion takes over. He's the type to fumble slightly, then find his rhythm as he becomes more confident. He'd moan sweetly, almost embarrassed by how lost he becomes in you, whispering heartfelt praise and words that reflect just how irresistible he finds you.

The game's victory screen flashed across the TV, the sound of triumphant chiptunes filling the room. Both you and Chris collapsed onto the bed in an exhausted heap, the adrenaline of finally beating your highest score leaving you giddy. His laughter bubbled up first, that unmistakable mix of relief and joy that only he could manage and you couldn't help but join in.

"We actually did it," Chris said, breathless as he flopped onto his back, one arm draped lazily across his forehead. "I thought we were doomed when you missed that jump in the third level."

"Excuse me, you're the one who forgot to grab the power-up right before the boss fight." You shot back, turning your head to face him.

Chris groaned, dramatically rolling onto his side to look at you. His glasses were slightly askew and his hair was sticking up in every direction, but he looked so completely relaxed and at ease in that moment that it made your chest ache in the best way. "Okay, okay, my bad. But you have to admit I nailed that final combo."

You snorted, nudging his shoulder with yours. "Yeah, sure. But only because I carried us through the rest of the game."

His jaw dropped in mock outrage. "Carried us? You died twice in the first round, man!"

“And who revived you at the end?" you shot back, smirking.

Chris opened his mouth to respond but stopped, his grin widening as he broke into laughter. "Alright, alright. You're not entirely useless. We're gaming legends now! They're gonna put our names in the Hall of Fame or something."

"Right next to the guy who discovered cheat codes for unlimited lives," you quipped.

"Exactly," he said, grinning as his blue eyes sparkled behind his glasses. "We're pioneers of our time."

The two of you laid there, the laughter slowly fading into a comfortable silence. The faint glow of the TV bathed the room in soft light, illuminating the faint curve of his smile as he gazed up at the ceiling. His arm was still close to yours, his fingers just brushing against your skin in a way that felt deliberate but unspoken.

"It was fun," Chris said after a moment, his voice quieter now.

"Yeah," you agreed, your own tone softer. "I don't think I've laughed this much in a while."

He turned his head to look at you, his glasses sliding down his nose slightly. "From now on you'll be my good luck charm."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "You just needed someone to keep you focused. You do get distracted a lot."

Chris groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Don't remind me. I'm like a dog chasing squirrels. Oh look, shiny object—game over."

You both laughed again, the sound soft and intimate in the late-night stillness. When it faded, you found him watching you, his blue eyes catching the flicker of light from the TV.

"What?" you asked, your voice tinged with curiosity.

"Nothing," he said quickly, but his grin gave him away. "You're a lot of fun to hang out with, you know that? Like, even when you're roasting me."

"Glad to be of service," you teased, your own grin mirroring his.

His gaze lingered a little longer than usual, his expression shifting slightly. "No, but seriously. I mean it. You're, uh… you're really great."

You felt your cheeks warm at his words, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard.

"Thanks," you said softly. "You're pretty great too, Chris."

He smiled, a little shyly this time, and turned onto his side fully, propping his head up on one hand. "Have you ever thought about how weird life is? Like, one day you're just doing your usual things, then Sam one day shows up with someone like you and suddenly everything's a million times better. Boom. Butterfly effect."

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to be romantic at two in the morning? Because I think the lack of sleep is getting to you."

"Hey, don't ruin my moment!" he protested, but his laughter undercut his words.

You laughed too, the sound mingling with his as the moment stretched on.

You sat up on the bed and then crawled toward your destination, the TV's glow fading as you turned it off. When you turned back to the bed, Chris was sprawled out like a contented cat, his arms spread wide, his legs slightly apart. His glasses were back into their original place at the top of his nose.

"You just gonna stare, or are you gonna accept my invitation?" he teased, wiggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated fashion.

You laughed, shaking your head, but the way his smile widened when you leaned closer told you that you weren't fooling him for a second. You crawled onto the bed, resting against his side as he let his arm fall lazily around your waist.

"Happy now?" you asked, pressing a quick kiss to his left cheek.

"Getting there," he said, voice soft and a little breathless

You didn't stop, peppering more kisses along his cheek and down to his jaw, light scratches from his stubble against your lips. Your hand wandered lower, brushing over his stomach, then down to his pants, where you felt the beginnings of his growing arousal.

Chris chuckled, the sound nervous but filled with anticipation. His free hand moved to your back, pulling you closer as his breath hitched. "Wow, okay, uh… Someone's feeling bold tonight," he murmured, though his grin betrayed how much he was enjoying it.

"Aren't we supposed to be basking in our gaming glory?"

You squeezed him gently through the fabric, feeling him harden further under your touch. "Should I stop, then?" you teased, feigning innocence as your fingers lingered.

"Nope!" he blurted out quickly, his voice cracking slightly as his head shot up. His face was flushed, but his lips found yours in a soft, insistent kiss, his usual shyness tempered by a growing determination.

The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing yours as his hand slid under your shirt, his fingers warm and exploratory against your skin. You shifted, straddling his lap, and he let out a quiet groan as your weight pressed down on him. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you slightly as he rolled his hips up, creating delicious friction that left you both breathless.

"God, you're… You're really good at this," Chris muttered, his lips trailing down your neck, each kiss accompanied by a soft hum of approval.

"You sound surprised," you teased, grinding against him again just to hear the way his breath caught.

He laughed softly, though it quickly turned into a low groan. "No, no, I mean—I just—" He stopped, shaking his head as if words were failing him entirely. "Never mind. Keep doing that… please?"

You grinned, leaning in to kiss him again, your hands slipping under his shirt to explore the warm expanse of his chest. He was lean but toned, his body radiating heat as your fingers traced over him, eliciting small, breathy noises that only spurred you on.

Chris's hands slid to the waistband of his pants, fumbling slightly as he worked them down. "Help me out here," he said with a nervous laugh, his cheeks red but his smile never wavering.

You helped him and he helped you out, the two of you working together to peel away the layers until you were completely bare. Him beneath you with your naked body on top of his. His erection stood proud, flushed and eager and the sight of him vulnerable yet so clearly aroused made your own desire burn hotter.

"You're handsome, you know that?" you said softly, running your hands over his thighs as you sat back to take him in.

Chris laughed, covering his face with one hand. "Oh my God, don't say stuff like that. I'll die."

"Too bad. I’ll say it, whether you like it or not," you teased, leaning down to kiss him again.

His response was a muffled laugh against your lips, but it melted into a moan as you reached down to guide him to your entrance. He gripped your hips tightly, his eyes searching yours for confirmation and when you nodded, he let out a shaky breath.

"Okay," he said, his voice soft but steady. "Okay, just—take your time."

You did, slowly sinking onto him, the stretch intense but achingly good. Chris's grip on your hips tightened, his head falling back against the pillow as a low groan escaped him.

"Holy shit," he whispered, his hands trembling slightly as he held you steady. "God, you feel amazing."

You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest as you began to move, your body adjusting to the rhythm as you found a steady pace. Chris's eyes were half-lidded, his lips parted as he sat up from his previous laid position. His hands were guiding your movements but never pushing, always letting you set the pace.

"Is this— shit, is this okay?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly as his hips bucked up involuntarily.

"it's perfect," you murmured, leaning down to kiss him. "You're perfect."

His laugh was breathless, almost disbelieving, but he met your kiss with fervor, his tongue tangling with yours as his hands explored your body. The soft gasps he made, whispered curses, your name falling from his lips like a prayer… it all drove you closer to the edge with every thrust.

Chris's movements became more erratic, his hips meeting yours with increasing urgency. "I'm—oh God, I don't think I'm gonna last," he admitted, his voice high and strained

"Don't hold back," you said, your own voice trembling as your climax built.

With a choked groan, Chris buried himself as deep as he could and tightened his arm around your body, his release hitting him in waves that left him trembling beneath you. The feeling of him filling you, combined with the look of utter ecstasy on his face, sent you over the edge, your own orgasm crashing through you as you collapsed onto his chest.

For a moment, the two of you stayed in that position, your breaths mingling as you came down from the high. Chris's arms pulled you close as he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your temple.

"Best. Night. Ever," he murmured, his voice warm and content.

"Agreed," you said, your own smile matching his as you nuzzled against him.

If you liked this, please leave a comment. I love reading them <3. Let me know if you had a favorite one out of this four fine men ;)

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endless-ineffabilities · 6 months ago

Text

Chemical Override (bonus chapter three) - In the Modern World

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: I knew I wanted to do a fun bonus chapter after part seven, but I wasn't sure what about. Then came this music video, with this feral slimey cat, and the rest is history. Not to mention this brilliant anon further fueled the idea for the plot!

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Seems so hard just to be If it matters You complete me 🦎

This is set between part two and part three of the story. Right after the rumours of the reader with Jacob surface and she clarifies to Ewan that it's all just PR, and before he gets boozy and sends the voicemail.

Ewan

Martin’s room is typical of any unemployed and aimless outcast in their late 20s. Particularly, one with a penchant for conspiracy theories, reptilian critters, diorama building, and surface-level anarchy.

“So he’s just like a regular guy,” Ewan jokes, making the director Luna laugh.

“Sure, I bet this is how your own room is like back in… Derby, was it?”

“Yeah,” Ewan nods. “I actually have a place here in London now, too. The room is the same. But I’ve got more than one lizard.”

“Good one, mate,” she claps him on the back, before walking further into the room. She stops in front of the craggly stands that Martin passes off a workstation. “Here is where he keeps his pets. As you know, he’s got spiders, iguanas, and the rogue chinchilla.”

“Look at that little guy,” Ewan stoops down to inspect the grey rodent. “You lost there, buddy?”

“That one is our cameraman Eddie’s,” she remarks. “The bugs - we borrowed from the local habitat. All under code, of course.”

“Mmm,” he looks around the room. Maroon sheets, used up art supplies like glue and various unclean brushes, pieces of silver wire, old cables, duct tape, painted figurines, a scattering of old tickets for an underground fighting ring. Propped up on the headboard of his bed is a stolen street sign. On the wall is an assortment of posters - some of bands, some of comic strips, but mainly just scraps of art Martin finds from the internet. A rabid dog with its teeth bared. Grotesque humanoid figures.

Standard, regular pictures.

“You like the posters?” Luna notices him perusing the wall. “You know, I had the idea of incorporating something you like here. Maybe a band or… you like Metallica, I heard?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I love them. So I get to choose a poster that would fit Martin?”

“Sure,” she shrugs. “Something that represents both yourself and Martin, why not? Make up a backstory for it. It can be anything you set your mind to, really. Let’s start with - what would you have on your wall?”

He considers just taking her up on her suggestion of Metallica, maybe a live image of the band in their 2009 Mexico show. But he didn’t want to settle on that idea just yet. What is he fixated on at the moment? What film, what song, what popular character…

Then it strikes him, causing the blood to rise to the surface of his pale cheeks. Of course. There is you.

But if he props up a full-blown image of you, just you, maybe from a photoshoot or a candid photograph, would that be too much? Would he be crossing the line?

Last he heard from you, he found out that the supposed relationship you have with Jacob Elordi is but a ruse for the sake of publicity. Thank the gods, as Aegon screamed before Aemond set him ablaze.

But in this instance, Ewan’s relief is not entirely unfounded. You aren’t with anyone. He knows he should make a move, a proper one, and not just drop hints of his admiration in interviews like the one he just did for Vanity Fair. But what can he do? You’re all the way across the Atlantic, far from his desperate reach.

As selfish as it sounds, he couldn’t bear the thought of hearing you’re with someone else and knowing it’s true. The confession is yet to stumble out of him, but he knew he was already yours.

He calls you whenever he can, whenever he misses you, which is quite often, as evidenced by the lengthy log of long-distance calls on his phone, from England to America.

“What about something House of the Dragon related?” he asks. “Could serve as a nice easter egg for the fans, if they see this.”

“I don’t see why not? If you can convince us of Martin’s motivation for it, of why he would put that poster on his wall, then we can add it right away.”

He smiles shyly, glancing down at his sneakers. He knows his own motivation for putting your image up on his wall, but what about Martin’s? He tests some ideas out, gauging Luna’s reaction, “What if he’s a sci-fi, fantasy fanatic? If he’s a devout follower of George RR Martin, and so… naturally, he had a look at House of the Dragon as well?”

She purses her lips, tilting her head in thought. “That’s something right there, yeah. But we kind of saw him as being against television, you know? Against popular media in general, and he's a guy with an affinity for obscure dark video games and comic books.”

“Hmm, yeah, yeah,” he does his best to form the proposition in his mind. How does he offer the suggestion without being too obvious? “So what if, you know, he happened to see this one character in the show, and he’s just enamoured with them for some reason? This makes it remarkable, because he does admire her, but as an act of rebellion, he still doesn’t watch the show and only bothers himself with her scenes and the art style to her character, and - ”

“Wait, her?” Luna smiles, her confusion dwindling. She’s heard the rumours. Or fan theories. Or whatever the kids call it nowadays. She hasn’t been living under a rock, and Ewan definitely hasn’t kept mum about his crush either.

“Yeah,” he scratches the back of his neck, unable to look her directly in the eye, “I was thinking of having a poster for a character from the show.”

“I thought you wanted a poster of a dragon or something,” she jokes. “So, which character? Apologies, I’m not too familiar with a lot of them.” Ewan would recognise the knowing glint in her gaze, if he wasn’t too busy pretending to inspect a scrap of faux moldy wallpaper sticking out of the wall. Set design really outdid themselves in the details, all to give the impression that Martin is a negligent slob.

“Uhhm,” he dithers, a crooked smile breaking out despite him chewing on his bottom lip, “she’s, uhhh, one of the new characters this season.”

“Oh?” she plays along, nodding, “Which one? From what I saw, there’s two camps, right? And your camp is green, is she in that?”

“No, actually,” he shakes his head, “she’s in the opposing team, you could say.”

“That’s interesting,” she nods, slowly, trying to encourage him to simply spit it out. “You know, Ewan, mate, if you don’t actually tell me which character you want to put up, then this poster idea isn’t going to work out.”

His gaze snaps back to her, and he awkwardly titters under his breath. “Right, right. Uhhm, she’s called Alyna… Alyna Rivers.”

Luna’s mouth forms an O, as if she’s enjoying this little gotcha moment. She realises that Ewan, while reserved, wears his heart on his sleeve. What a lucky girl you are.

“And… why would Martin want her specifically up on his wall?”

The emphasis on Martin came off as superficial, her tone humorous, leading Ewan to believe that she actually pertains to him and not the character.

“He might see her as some sort of muse, you know… she’s a fighter, she’s got a fire in her…”

“And he’s got a crush on her.”

“Oh… well…”

“He likes her.”

“Uhhh… yeah I guess…”

“You guess?” she raises her eyebrows, grinning, “come on Ewan, what does Martin feel about her?”

“She’s his… his ray of light,” he decides. “His world is a mess. He’s lost. His one release entails getting beat up bloody every other day. But the idea of her is his beacon of hope. Untainted, you know. She’s… she’s perfect. She wouldn’t hurt him like the rest of the world already has.”

Luna nods in understanding, satisfied. She casually slings an arm over his shoulder, then says, “You know something, mate? That sounds a lot more than a crush to me.”

“Mmm,” he smiles, agreeing, the welcome image of you flooding his mind like always, “it sure does.”

The entire cast and crew for In the Modern World have the subsequent three days to accomplish filming.

Ewan sits in the makeup trailer, awaiting his cue, his vision now impaired by the unkempt strands of his long black wig. Spiky grunge cuffs decorate his wrists. He wears an ill-fitting pair of jeans and a t-shirt, the costume for the first scene to be filmed.

He has already gone through the process of trying to get in Martin’s head, seeing what makes him tick, what drives his actions, priming himself to jump inside his skin. He’s ready. At this point during filming, he has the habit of eliminating any distraction to maintain focus, and his phone is tucked inside his backpack on airplane mode.

Defying his routine, he retrieves his phone, nervous fingers clicking away until they land on your contact. He hovers over the voice call option, opting at the last second to do a video call instead.

The front camera turns on, catching him off guard with how messy he appears. Maybe this was not the best idea, he falters, what am I doing? I’m gonna scare her off.

“Ewan?” It’s too late to change his mind when your cheerful voice answers, your expression curious and inviting. His ray of light. “Is that you?”

He timidly brushes his hair - his wig - away from his face. “Hello, darling. I thought I’d ring you for a second.”

You laugh openly, drawing your face closer to your phone to get a better look at him, “Are you shooting the music video right now? Oh my god, look at you!”

He smiles sheepishly, teeth clamping over his bottom lip. “What do you think?”

“Wow,” you shake your head, the sunlight reflecting on your face from wherever you are. Likely walking around outside the studio, as he spots the white buildings in the background. “You look so… cool. This is like Aemond in the modern world, rebelling against his mother with the help of cheap hair dye.”

He appreciates your clever assessment, feeling much better about himself. “Don’t I look shabby?”

“Ewan,” you click your tongue, “judging by what you told me about your character, I think you’re supposed to look shabby.”

You’re right. He shakes his head, mostly at himself, for being so concerned if you still find him attractive even in this get-up.

“I feel like Kirk Hammett. Very rock n’ roll.”

You smirk, “I’d say this is your hottest look yet.”

He blushes profusely. You think he looks hot. It may just be a passing quip, a casual thing to say, but it has him in a grip. His reaction would nearly rival that of Martin’s, who would probably jump right on to making a mini-figurine of Alyna. After just a single interaction with you, Martin would probably spend the next few weeks occupied with objectionable fantasies. You and him, rolling around in the car. Only, car jitsu wouldn’t be the physical activity at play.

Ewan shifts in his seat, adjusting his trousers. In the end, he’s no better than Martin after all.

“Ewan?”

“Oh sorry, darling, I was just - ”

“I said that I have to go back inside,” you say, “I do appreciate your call, though.”

His face falls, despite the fact that he has to be on set soon anyway. “Of course, darling, go ahead.”

“Kick some ass for me?”

For you? Anything. “You got it, baby.” The name jumps out of him before he can stop himself, and he justifies it as a ‘Martin’ reaction. He’s in character, isn’t he?

You roll your eyes. It is your turn to blush and fail at hiding it, and you do. “Okay, rockstar. Talk to you soon, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, then adds, “Wait!”

You raise your phone again. “Oh, what is it?”

“I, uhhh, I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” you smile, and he commits the image to memory. This moment is his, just his; Martin can bloody wait.

Martin

Martin throws himself down on his bed, limbs limp and flailing about. It must have been the hundredth time for that afternoon - getting up, rolling back on the mattress, prodding his pets, jumping around the room to incoherent punk music, cigarettes burning out between his chapped lips.

He has nothing to do today, not until it’s time. Just like every other day, every other week, in this drudgery of an existence. Everything means nothing, and the twisted truth of it is that he thinks himself free.

Free of the cycle. Free of meaningless friendships. Free of love. Free of her.

The ghost of his ex-lover still haunts him, golden haired and rosy-cheeked, bundled up in her puffy coat like some cheap caricature of an angel. But she was no angel. Angels would not abandon someone they claim to love, with a mere snap of their manicured fingers.

But she haunts him. What they had, and what they could have had. Was it even his? Would it have come out with a thin sprig of dark curls? He did not care to know now.

She was his everything once. But isn’t that overrated? Falling in love is so overrated.

His fingers clumsily mess with the controls for his toy helicopter as he lays down. The apparatus hovers above head, filling the room with a buzzing noise. His lit cigarette stumbles from his lips, and the noise is joined with his frantic, fuck, fuck, fuck, as he tries to shake it out of his hair. He succeeds, but the helicopter teeters in the air, until it slams against the poster of Alyna Rivers displayed over his headboard.

He lets it fall, becoming distracted with her image. It’s a promotional still of her in her complete hunting attire - a fitted leather jerkin over a dark red tunic, tight breeches tucked into knee-high boots, a dagger sheathed in her belt. But his favourite addition is the longbow she grips in her hand, her fierce expression making it known that she is prepared to draw it back at a moment’s notice.

Martin gets on his knees on the bed. He kisses two fingers, then gently touches them to her poster in a gesture of reverence.

If only…

“Good morrow, my lady,” he says in a sing-song voice, “always a pleasure to come upon your visage.”

He leans closer, tracing her figure with precision, “I bet you can fix me. I bet you can make me feel alive.”

He chases after euphoria that night, over and over, fucked up and depraved and empty. But it hits different this time. It’s better.

As white spots flicker and dance in his vision, and the fog in his mind threatens to swallow everything, it’s not the vision of his ex that flashes before him - it’s Alyna he sees.

Her face is sharp and real, cutting through the haze like a beacon. She holds him together as exhaustion takes over him and the oxygen is slowly cut off from his windpipe. She anchors him, even on the precipice of oblivion.

The opponent is alarmed by Martin’s eyes rolling back revealing the whites of his eyes. He loosens his hold, letting go even if Martin refuses to tap out.

“Fuck, you alright?” he rasps.

Martin doesn’t hear him. His bloodstained, cracked lips curl into a ghost of a smile as his hand trembles, reaching out to press against the fogged-up windshield.

With a fragile sense of peace, he murmurs, “You fixed me.”

Taglist: @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @vyctorya @wildrangers @onlyrealjoy @hotdismylife @thepurplecrown @just-fics-station @clarkysblog @urmomsgirlfriend1 @misfitbimbosblog (continued in comments ... )

Some notes in the margins...

I know I said I would include the reader's reaction to the music video, but I decided to use the time to work on part eight... I still might get to writing this idea as a drabble though 🤷🏻‍♀️

Not Ewan having beef with his own character HAHAHA this lad I swear

Part eight out very, very soon! It'll be a wild ride. Oh, I'm not even kidding :)

#ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell imagine #ewan mitchell x reader #chemical override #in the modern world #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen x reader

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thepixelelf · 6 months ago

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warnings: coarse language. mingyu is jealous but doesn't know it. fake dating; roommates; childhood f2l. wc: 902

love triangle au requests

read part 1 first

[who's this guy who's everything I'm not? 2] There's a universe out there where Kim Mingyu is able to understand himself perfectly, knows exactly what he wants, and figures it all out right on time instead of when it's already too late.

But that universe isn't this one.

No, in this world, Mingyu blinks like an idiot when you go, "This is Jihoon. I've probably mentioned him before." He blinks and he straightens up and in his mind, he's kicking himself because of course he knows who this guy is.

He wishes he didn't, but yeah, he knows about your friend Jihoon.

Jihoon is the guy who wrote you a handmade valentine in eighth grade, well after most of the boys decided that kind of stuff was gross. (Although you're certain he has no idea you know it was him.) This, you told Mingyu with a smile on your face as you walked him out of his company's Valentine's Day Ritz. You recounted that sweet little childhood friendship story with your arm looped through Mingyu's while he smiled and nodded and chuckled, but mostly he kept glancing at the shiny rings on both of your fingers. They're simple bands, his a little more worn since he takes it to work every day, yours exactly the condition it was when he surprised you with it. "You're in too deep, Mingyu," you'd said through a hypnotic laugh when he went down on one knee in the kitchen you share -- before agreeing to go along with his ruse anyway.

Your ring stays pristine because when you're not playing his better half, it lives in this little ceramic dish in the cubbyhole near the front door. You love that little dish -- it stole your heart when you spotted it and its black cat pattern at the local art market you went to together. Mingyu might like it too, seeing how he smiles at it (or maybe the ring) every time he leaves or comes home.

Which could mean anything.

This guy in front of him bristled at Mingyu's proclamation of "husband," metaphorical hackles raised, like a... black cat.

Fuck.

"Haha, uhm, anyways..." Mingyu had put his hand out instinctively, but when the guy doesn't reciprocate, it's fine. He didn't want to shake your friend Jihoon's hand, really. "Did you want to come in?"

Your touch on Jihoon's arm becomes preemptively supportive, like the guy could keel over at any moment, and for unknown reasons, Mingyu wants to be the one who's gone pale. To be the one you're touching while your friend Jihoon watches on from the sidelines.

Which could mean anything.

Because your friend Jihoon is only the guy walking into his home -- your home, yours and Mingyu's home, the home where his and your wedding/non-wedding bands live in a cute little dish in the cubbyhole near the front door. He's only the guy who had a weird depressive/ghosting episode the last time you were in a completely fake relationship to save some guy's ass. You told Mingyu this with your brows furrowed and a cute, confused pout on your lips as you wondered why your old friend was acting that way back then, right after you agreed to come to Mingyu's high school reunion with that ring on your finger.

Of course, Mingyu would normally never ask you to join him for an event outside of his company -- and you actually only agreed to pop in for a few minutes -- but one of his coworkers happens to be in a relationship with someone from his graduating class, and word got around and...well. He just likes when you're with him.

Which could mean anything.

Internally, when you told that one story about "my friend Jihoon" (one of many, many anecdotes), Mingyu was sure he knew exactly why the guy went oddly quiet after you started "dating" someone he wasn't, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he asked what food from the reunion you'd want him to save for you when you show up.

Now, Mingyu doesn't have the luxury of brushing off some friend from your past who may or may not have absolutely definitely no-doubt-about-it had a thing for you. He can't just blow past it because that childhood friend is standing in his kitchen, eyes locked with yours over the huge glass of water he's chugging because you asked him to.

And you're laughing, endeared and with a sparkle in your eyes that Mingyu isn't sure if he's ever seen before.

You pat your friend Jihoon's head. A silent, good job, which Mingyu can't help watching.

He thought that was his and your thing.

The habit must've come from when you were younger...

Mingyu stands there, off to the side and feeling out of place in his own home.

My old friend Jihoon hates this stuff, but I'm obsessed with it. Jihoon, my friend from my hometown, once said I made the best belgian waffles, so you can trust me with the iron, I swear. You don't drink? My friend Jihoon doesn't either -- but not because he's sober or anything -- he's just got a major sweet tooth.

Oh, this is Jihoon's favourite song.

You go to the fridge to find something for your friend to eat, and while your back is turned, Jihoon looks over at Mingyu.

It's like an x-ray. Somehow, Jihoon's eyes land on him, and he feels bared to the world.

Mingyu knows Jihoon is in love with you. Could tell as soon as he saw him.

But, he realizes as your friend furrows his brow and looks at him with thinly veiled jealousy...

...Jihoon knows Mingyu is in love with you, too.

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vicariousresearcher · 2 months ago

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cw: 18+, choking, implied usage of sex magic, vaguely drugged sex but its consenual(?), fem!reader

Researcher!Reader who finds herself in the company of a handsome man. Rugged yet soft in the right places just enough to seem genuine.

You know it’s a ruse. A careful one, complex and intricate that started with too convenient food you scrounged in the panty and continued on to the still simmering fireplace nestled in the neglected library.

Traced with an almost discernible magic. Something to disarm the honest of their inhibitions and logic. You’re too experienced to not notice. But too curious to not play along, letting your head get spun into mush as the handsome stranger flickers in firelight.

Demon!Price that has you in his lap doing all the work. Leaned back in the armchair just watching you work yourself down on his girth. Hands tracing appreciatively over the lovely vessel you’ve sacrificed to him oh so willingly. Tail whipping lazily behind him as he watches those pretty tits jump with every movement.

Every ridge and vein was a tendril into your head, stirring up any possible hesistantion till you were bouncing yourself on his cock. An itching heat simmering in your belly just screaming for you to cum. Once isn’t enough. Nor is twice.

Your thighs are slick and sticky against his when you peel off. Hands clenched around his curled horns for leverage as you pry yourself up. Pussy squelching as you slammed back down again. Raise red crescents of blood line your hips as Price helps you move. While hand encompassing your hip as he fucks you on him. Your own personal dildo.

“You said you wanted to learn, explore the unknown yeah dovie?”

A smoke-laced chuckle left his mouth at how eagerly you nodded. So keen for his praise. Not even knowing what you were agreeing to.

Price is propping you up in his hands to give those soft legs of yours a break. Fucking up into your sopping cunt while his tail curls around your throat. Forcing your back to arch and pop those pretty tits out so he has something to drag his tongue over.

He can feel the way your pulse jumps, heart rabbiting in your chest as the cloying arousals cut with an undercurrent of fear. Of what if? For a moment he sees a crack, sees the young but naive researcher who is out of your depth. Nothing could prepare you for what you’ve set yourself up into. Why was a sweet thing like you out here in the first place? Curiosity? Something to prove?

Tears broke into your waterline as you panted, trying to keep going even as your muscles trembled and seized. Desperate eyes turned to him and who was he to say no?

The rough pad of his thumb pets at your clit while he croons at you, feeling you clamp up already.

“Are you going to write about this in that journal? Educate the world about what it’s like to fuck a demon? Hm?”

When you don’t answer, throat too stuffed with moans and gasps he fucks up into you. Tip bruising that soft cervix of yours. He keeps moving even as you cum, only stopping when you’re trying to squirm away from the overstimulation.

A forked tongue slicks over your ruddying cheek when fat tears start to spill from your waterline. Arms cradling over your body as he tucks you closer. Drinking in the storm of emotions swirling through your body. So strong it’s like they have a physical presence. It’s so easy to take a peak in your head as you twitch and melt through the after shocks.

Whatever Price finds has him pressing a kiss to your crown, thinking of how what he could say to let him place a sigil on you.

“Anymore questions dovie?”

Monster!141 Masterlist

#the main reason this au is a thing is bc i wanted to ride a demon while holding its horns for leverage #and i wanted to ride price whiles he's being vaguely condesending #and now have this #141 #john price #captain price #Demon!Price #monster!141 #price x reader #price x you #price smut #monster fucker

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4urvalidation · 1 month ago

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A CASE OF LIMERENCE | Chapter One

| NEXT CHAPTER

There's no one waiting for her.

With her phone in one hand and trolley full of suitcases in the other, Leni helplessly watches as a crowd of happy faces reunite with their loved ones, while she just… stands there. At first she thinks Rose might be running a little late and although this is rather uncharacteristic of her Godmother, Leni decides to give her some grace. The woman’s husband just died, be normal! But when fifteen minutes turns into two whole hours and her hoard of texts and calls are left unanswered, Leni has no other choice but to panic a little.

It’s fine.

You are fine.

You know this place like the back of your hand.

Her uber is chatty. He tosses her bags in the trunk like they are mere pieces of paper, but once he does a double check on her location Leni watches a million different emotions go through his face before finally settling on a rather unreadable one. She thinks he is about to ask questions regarding her connection with the Camerons, but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns up the radio and focuses on the long road ahead.

In the meantime, Leni tries calling Rose again, but is once again left with an unanswered call and what now seems to be a warning of a full voicemail. Her mood worsens; the prickling in the tips of her fingers sends jolts of anxiety in every inch of her body and - what if she’s overreacting?

What if, Rose is simply standing in the shadows of the ever daunting Tannyhill with Sarah and all their friends by her side, patiently waiting for Leni to arrive so they can finally throw that much needed surprise party she’s always been secretly hoping for?

There’s no point in panic calling Sarah now; not when Leni has perfectly convinced herself that all of these missed calls are just a silly little ruse; a cruel prank she is yet to be mad at and when the uber drops her off in front of a house shrouded in darkness, she becomes even more convinced in the delusion she has created for herself.

Even in the dark Tannyhill looks as glorious as ever. She remembers coming here for the first time as a doe eyed ten year old and being so impressed by its bigness that when she saw the pyramids for the first time in the following year all she could muster was: “I’ve seen bigger.” All of her best and most favorite memories were made in the halls and rooms of this giant of a house, but when she looks at it now, all Leni can feel is insurmountable pain.

There is no surprise party waiting for her inside.

With all her might, she tries convincing herself again; tries to read into the dim light coming from the random room on the ground floor, but despite all her attempts, Leni simply cannot escape from the truth: grieving people don’t throw parties.

Her heart pulses in the middle of her throat as she presses the doorbell and allows herself to wait again. She no longer knows what or who to expect, but much like the plethora of calls, this too is left unanswered.

Leni sighs and pulls her phone out of her pocket. It’s a winless fight, but perhaps this one last dial might be the one Rose finally decides to pick up-

“You came back.”

A rough, almost dehydrated voice captures her attention and almost instantly Leni swings her head around. Standing before her is a face she hasn’t seen in a while; the only face she dreaded seeing each time she stepped foot in Tannyhill. But the Rafe Cameron in front of her is nothing like the one she remembers loathing all those summers ago.

This one is frigid, with a pin straight back and even straighter shoulders. Hair buzzed dangerously close to the scalp and a suit so well fitted, it actually makes him look somewhat attractive.

“Hey.”

“Elena.” His voice sends a child down Leni’s spine and she can’t help but notice the way his entire face dropped when he realized it was her standing there.

“Yeah, I uh-”

“Sarah’s not here.”

“I know, Rose-”

“She’s not here either.”

Leni blinks. “What? Where… Where is she then?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me that.”

“Me? Why would I know where Rose is?”

Her heart is beating so fast and hard against her chest, she can barely hear her own thoughts, little alone pay proper attention to just how close she and Rafe have been standing until now. She watches as he silently retreats in the darkness of Tannyhill’s main corridor; his silhouette becoming one with the shadows and even though she can no longer see them, the coldness of his blue eyes lingers on her skin like poison.

“You comin’ or what?” He bellows, waking Leni from her trance and she’s about to go in when Rose’s warning from all those years ago starts echoing in the back of her head. Like police sirens they grow louder and louder; enhancing the prickling in her fingertips and tightening the knot in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m pretty tired actually, so I think I’ll just-”

“Fine. I’ll bring it to you.”

A wave of relief washes over Leni just then. She knows it’s far too soon to let her guard down, but she’s so tired… With heavy steps she marches herself over to Tannyhill’s surprisingly small stoop and allows her body to crash against it.

How can Rose do this her?

How can she insist Leni come visit and then not be here?

“Here.” For the millionth time, Rafe’s voice jolts her upward. “She left this for you.”

Suddenly wide eyed, Leni carefully snatches the small piece of paper away from Rafe’s hands. Gently, she grazes her fingertips against the curves of her name; Rose’s familiar handwriting unexpectedly brings a dash of warmth and comfort that grows even bigger once she realizes the letter is still very much sealed shut.

Her gaze meets Rafe’s again and she really doesn’t like just how tall and daunting he appears from the angle she’s looking at him from. And whilst he’s always been somewhat scary to her, this new and improved version of him is a far cry from the boy she once upon a time used to make fun of in the comfort of Sarah’s room.

The Rafe from before didn’t loom over her like some benevolent spirit. He simply made fun of the gap in her teeth and threatened to cut her hair in her sleep if she ever dared to step foot in his room again.

“You really don’t know where she is, don’t you?” She asks quietly.

“No.”

“I don’t understand… She said it was okay. She said I was more than welcome to come here and-”

“When exactly was this?”

Their eyes meet again.

“A couple of months ago.”

“And you and Rose haven’t spoken since?”

“No! We did. We… text. She, she…” Her hands scour through the mess in her bag, desperate to show Rafe all the text messages she and Rose have been sending one another in the past week, but much like most things regarding Leni, he seems uninterested. “She was supposed to be here.”

“Yeah well… she isn’t.” Rafe laughs bitterly. “Fucking bitch. She has my sister, you know that? Wheezie. She waited for me to finally be out of town so she can take my fucking sister away from me! MY FUCKING BABY SISTER!” He shouts and Leni practically jumps out of her skin. “Stupid fucking bottle blonde ass whore!”

Rafe’s fist collides with Tannyhill’s facade and if she didn’t know it then, Leni sure as hell knows that now is the time to fucking go. Her shaky fingers make several attempts to call an uber, but she’s in so much distress, she can barely press any buttons. And since her day hasn’t been shitty enough, Leni’s hands suddenly decide to stop functioning altogether. Helplessly, she watches her phone graciously slide away from her hands and fall onto the dirty gravel next to her feet.

“Fuck.”

Cold, cold sweat trickles down in every visible area of her body - this can’t be fucking happening - as Rafe’s heavy footsteps draw closer and closer. With a lump in her throat Leni watches him scoop up her poor little phone, before handing it to her with the same blase attitude he handed over Rose’s letter.

“Y’know, you shouldn’t be walking ‘round with a broken screen like this. You can get hurt or something.”

“Right. Thanks.” Leni blinks at him. “I’m gonna go now.”

“‘Kay.”

The sound of her beat up sneakers echoes across the entirety of Tannyhill and the grip on her suitcase is so strong, she can almost no longer feel the heat of Rafe’s fingers against her skin. Unfortunately the same can’t be said about his gaze. Those haunting blue eyes of his follow each and every single move of hers like a shadow. He should’ve been gone by now; retreated in the darkness of his hollow home and never think of her again and yet, there he is - watching her.

When she turns to look at him again, he doesn’t flinch like others might. He just stands there -shamelessly- with his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants.

“You want me to drive you?” He says in a tone so condescending, it almost feels like the old Rafe is back.

“No. Thanks.”

Rafe nods and remains unmoving until Leni is inside the uber and on her way to the address written on the letter Rose left her.

━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⸰ .° ☆ ° ☆ °. ⸰ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━

| NEXT CHAPTER

#rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron smau #rafe cameron fanfiction #obx fanfiction #rafe cameron x oc #original character #drew starkey #harriet herbig matten #outerbanks smau #outerbanks fanfiction #a case of limerence

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runningfrom2am · 1 year ago

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cold nights // part twenty-eight

summary: you were back in the capitol, and you would be damned if you didn't try your hardest to make it worthwhile.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.3k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: ahh hiii sorry i went ghost on yall i have been BOOKED and i am so sick and just,,, yeah. life is catching up to me omg

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

Coryo must have been running a few minutes late today, since he hasn't come to get you from your class yet. It was eating into your lunch, which you didn't mind, but still- it was outside of your very structured routine.

Looking down the now almost empty halls, books held against your chest as you wait for your boyfriend.

'Boyfriend'.

The term still felt weird, but you can't help the giddy feeling that manifests into a small smile on your face as butterflies flutter their way into your chest. Still, though, there was no sign of this boyfriend of yours.

"Y/N, hello." Your name pulls you out of the internal mantra, and you look up to its source; a boy who had just walked out of your class after staying back to speak to the professor. He had short hair, styled up the same way Coryo's was day to day now- but it wasn't nearly as blonde. This boy has kind eyes, and it relaxes you from the unexpected interaction.

"Hi there." You smile at the boy, trying to hide how furiously you're searching your head for his name. In classes of forty to fifty students, it was difficult for you to remember especially when you'd only heard their names once and never spoken to essentially all of them. "I'm so sorry," You say to the boy, smile shifting to apologetic. "You'll have to remind me of your name."

"Hilarius." He tells you, and seems to take it in stride.

"Yes! Oh, of course. My apologies." You laugh slightly, a force of habit pushing your hand out to shake his.

He grins as he takes it. "No worries." He adjusts his bag over his shoulder, looking past you and down the halls. "Are... are you waiting for someone?"

"Yes," You nod, and the confusion surrounding why you were just standing there clears from his features. "Coriolanus."

"Ah." Hilarius nods.

"Do you know him?" You ask, having that be your go-to for small talk with your new peers. So far, it's worked well. No one you've had the chance to speak to yet has said no.

"Yeah, yeah. I do." He rubs his jaw as he answers. "We've never been close, but we went to school together. He's in one of my classes now, actually."

"Really?" You smile. "Which one?"

"Poli sci."

"Oh, nice! That's his major. He knows an awful lot about it already- if there's any group projects he's definitely someone you would want working with you." You gush, adjusting your hold on your books.

"Yeah, he's pretty smart." Hilarius agrees.

"Have you decided on your major yet?" You ask. "Political science and English is a wide net to cast."

He shrugs. "Kind of, I don't know. My parents want me to go into business or politics, but I don't think that's what I want."

"The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream." You hum. "I think you should pursue what you want. Not what they tell you you should."

He tilts his head at you, a confused smile on his face. "You do really speak that way, don't you?"

"Well, yes." You laugh.

"I'll be honest, I thought you were playing us all for fools to try and get people to like you."

"Oh, no. I am not smart enough for a ruse like that." You giggle, shaking your head.

"Sure you are." He laughs. "I mean clearly, you are."

"I promise that's not it at all." You assure him quickly.

"Yeah, yeah I know that." He gives you a calm smile. "Hey, do you... do you have time before your next class? I have a little bit if you want to grab lunch together."

"I do, but I usually eat with Coryo." You explain, but he was fifteen minutes late by now. Maybe if you just went to the courtyard he would meet you there. "But we always eat in the courtyard between the buildings, so if we go there I'm sure he'll know where to find us."

"Then lead the way." Your new friend nods to you and you smile, heading off down the hall in the direction of the exit.

Coryo rushes out of his lecture hall as soon as they're done. How the professor had so little care for holding them back an extra twenty minutes just to "wrap up" on a lecture concept was unbelievable to him. Other people had other classes, and he had to get to you.

When he makes it to your building and your class, he assumes your professor must have done the same thing when he doesn't see you in the hall. Peeking into the classroom, he doesn't have the time to be relieved since another class has already started and you are not sitting there listening. He takes a step back and looks around, thoroughly confused.

Where did she go?

He doesn't know if you're comfortable enough here to be wandering off on your own, but you must be. Or you were with someone. Likely Sejanus, if you were to go off with anyone, but as far as Coryo knew Sejanus was in a class across campus right now. Or he was at least supposed to be.

Immediately he picks up his pace stalking through the halls. After ten minutes, it's clear you were nowhere in the building. He even ran the risk of checking the women's bathrooms after his second lap, scared that maybe you were sick or hurt. But no, you were just gone.

Okay, Coriolanus- think realistically about this. Maybe she just went to wait at our usual lunch spot.

That had to be it, so cursing himself for wasting more time, he heads outside.

Sure enough, he was right. He just wishes he had thought of that sooner- especially when he had neglected the possibility that you had been kidnapped.

"I do love it here, I really do." You smile, trying to be convincing enough to your new friend. "Of course, there is always so much to learn! I'm just really grateful for the opportunity." You say, covering your mouth with your palm as you speak and chew at the same time.

"Come on, Y/N. You can be honest with me." Hilarius says, raising an eyebrow at you. "That sounded extremely scripted. There aren't peacekeepers holding a gun to your head, so... just be honest."

You laugh nervously, looking around. "Okay... I mean, it's fine. I'm comfortable, and I love Coryo and everything don't get me wrong!" You defend quickly, and he just nods. "But... I miss my family and my friends, the music, the food... just, it's really not the same."

"I can imagine." He nods sympathetically.

"Here," You offer him your container of fruit in an effort to soften the subject. "Take some, it's far too much for me."

"Thank you." He agrees politely, taking a raspberry from the mix and popping it into his mouth.

"Please, though, don't tell anyone. I did that whole interview convincing everyone that I was happier than ever here and I just don't want to start any trouble."

"You have my word." Hilarius nods, holding out his pinky to you which you accept with a smile.

"Can I tell you a secret?" He says quietly, and you nod while you grab another strawberry from the glass in your lap.

"You kind of owe me one, now." You tease.

He laughs, but his smile fades quickly. "I feel like... Everyone here loves the games, but I hate them." He admits, taking you by surprise. "I want you to know that I think it's absolutely cruel. I mean, little Wovey... She was just the sweetest and- and I feel so guilty about it all. I wish I got to choose whether or not I wanted to mentor."

You nod, swallowing back the rest of the fruit in your mouth. Suddenly, the sweetness makes you nauseous. "She was." You agree quietly, closing your eyes for a moment and preparing for yet another distressing conversation. "I am sorry I couldn't save her."

"Don't be." He corrects you quickly, a worried expression greeting you when you looked at him again. "That's not what I meant, there was nothing more you could have done. You were a friend to her, she really liked you. She had someone, that's the best either of us could offer."

You nod slightly, chewing instead into your lip and leaving your lunch abandoned. "I-I..." You take a shaky breath. "If I could go back, I would have protected her more. She should have won." You choke your way through the statement, eyes burning from holding back tears. Every time you have one of these conversations it feels like you think someone else should have won. Never you.

"Don't cry, please don't cry." He pleads, placing a hand on your shoulder and you freeze under his touch.

"Don't, please." You say quietly, gently shaking off his hand. You couldn't be touched right now, but how was he to know that? This wasn't his fault.

"I'm sorry." Hilarius says, eyes wide as he watches you. "I didn't think, I shouldn't have said anything but I-"

"What the hell did you say to her?!" Your boyfriend's voice is the next one that rings in your ears, you look up to your right to see him walking over quickly, and Hilarius shuffles to get up.

"Nothing! Nothing, I- I don't know." He defends quickly. "I didn't mean to upset her, honestly."

Then Coryo is crouching in front of you, waving a hand in front of your face. "Hey, you're okay." He says softly, offering you a worried smile. "I've got you, alright?"

You nod a little bit, moving your things away from yourself with trembling hands. "I know."

"Is she okay?" Hilarius asks and you nod again, trying to smile in his direction.

"No. Get out of here, Heavensbee. I'll clean up your mess." Coryo spits at him, and he apologizes again quickly before grabbing his bag and disappearing across the grass.

"Coryo, he didn't-"

"Don't worry about it, love." Coryo smiles at you, suddenly less angry than he was a moment ago. "Just take some deep breaths for me, can you do that?"

"I-I'm fine." You breathe out, chest rising and falling quickly.

"Yeah, you're doing great." Coryo smiles, looking around quickly before adjusting so he's kneeling just in front of you. "Tell me about your readings. Anything good today?" He asks, already knowing the answer.

"I'm glad I went back to class today." You say cheerily as you climb into the car, your boyfriend right on your heels.

"Yes, I am too." He says as you buckle up in the middle seat and he closes the door before getting comfortable next to you. "You're getting so much better."

You nod, looking out through the tinted windows as the car begins to move into traffic. You weren't sure if "better" was the correct term- it didn't sit right with you. You weren't sick, not that you thought, anyway, but maybe he was right. The mention of the other tributes' names would have had you on your knees a matter of months ago; you would have been down for the count for days. Still, though, it felt unsettling to hear it said like that.

If getting better meant not being as hurt by their deaths, maybe it's best if you never recover.

"Hey, are you hungry?" He asks after a moment, watching your eyes glaze over as you stare across him and out the window at all the other young people walking by. "I was thinking we could go try that ice cream place I was telling you about on the train."

You blink away the disassociation, smiling up at him instead. "Yes, that sounds lovely."

"What kind do you think you'll get?" You ask, leaning into Coryo's side as you approach the shop. It was late afternoon, so it was a little busy, but really not all that bad. Crowds bothered you less and less, these days.

"I'm not sure." He replies. "Probably like... vanilla."

"Vanilla?" You giggle. "That's so boring! You said they have every flavour imaginable, and you're settling for vanilla?"

"Okay, well, what do you suggest?" He chuckles, pulling the door open for you as you step through.

"I don't know, I just think you should consider all your options first." You shrug, eyes already landing on the handwritten chalkboard menu that spans the back wall. "Oh, wow..." You say under your breath, eyes going wide.

Coryo watches you with a smile on his face, gently brushing his hand over your back. "Okay, I know what I want." You speak quickly, and he laughs.

"What? There's no way you read all of it just now."

"No, course not." You shake your head, eyes still locked on the board as the sound of people chattering surrounds you. "Coryo, what's white chocolate?" You ask, gently tugging on his sleeve and pointing to where you see it.

"Uh, it's chocolate, but white." He answers, really unsure as well. "Tastes a little different than regular chocolate, but hardly."

"Okay, yes. I want that. With raspberries, it says." You nod in finality.

"Yes, ma'am." He agrees. "Wait right here, love." He says and you nod as he walks over to the counter, and you get to look at the colourful paint on the walls and all the buckets of ice cream behind the glass barrier.

"You're Y/N, right? The victor?" A girl's voice asks you and you turn to instead give them your full attention, nodding with a nervous smile.

"In the flesh." You smile, tilting your head slightly. She must be just a few years younger than you, maybe Len's age.

"Oh, wow! We thought so!" She grins, nodding back to a group of other kids, all of whom are donning the same red uniform you always saw Coryo in earlier in the year. "It's so nice to meet you! Oh my gosh, you're so pretty in person." She gushes. "Not that you weren't on screen, but just- wow, I mean, sorry. I'm just nervous."

"Oh, please, don't be." You smile at her, trying to be reassuring as you press a hand to your chest. "I get nervous meeting people all the time. What's your name, hun?"

"Lexus." She answers with an excited smile and flushed cheeks.

"Lexus! What a beautiful name." You say, partially to fill the silence. "It reminds me of my little brother, his name is Lennox. He's about your age, too."

"That's really cool!" She smiles. "How old are you? I mean, obviously under eighteen, but I'm just wondering because I have an older brother so it would be funny if I was the same age as your brother and my brother was the same age as you. If that makes sense, gosh, sorry- I'm rambling..."

"No, no, you're alright!" You laugh slightly, honestly relieved that she was able to do most of the talking. "And I am eighteen. My birthday was during the games, actually."

Her eyes widen. "Really? That's so lucky! That must have felt so special. What a gift!"

A gift?

You almost choke on the air, patting your hand on your chest as you swallow it down. "Well," You clear your throat, looking over to your boyfriend while he's collecting change from the girl working at the counter. "Only because Coriolanus brought me an amazing gift."

"What did he give you?" She asks, and you still haven't torn your eyes away from him as he walks over, silently pleading for his help.

"What did who give you?" He asks, eyeing her as he walks back up to rejoin you.

"I was just telling Lexus that you gave me an amazing birthday present." You explain.

"Oh, well, no. It was very lame, I'm afraid." He shrugs modestly.

"No, it wasn't!" You laugh, swatting his arm before looking over at her again. "He gave me my favourite book, and his cousin even made me a cake. We had a little celebration just before the games, didn't we?"

"Kind of." He chuckles.

"No, hush. It was perfect, I couldn't have asked for anything better."

"I could think of a few better ways to spend your birthday-"

"You guys are really cute." Lexus cuts in before he can finish, and your cheeks flush pink as your attention is drawn back to her. You don't notice how his face pales.

"Oh, no." You laugh. "He's just a little stubborn sometimes, I think my birthday was perfect, and my opinion on it is the only one that matters, no?" You look up at him, raising an eyebrow.

Coryo collects himself quickly, raising his hands defensively with a smile. "Of course, you're right."

"I know I am." You smile, lifting your nose in pride.

He turns as his name is called, seeing the same girl with your ice cream cones waiting. "Did- did you want a picture or something?" He asks Lexus and she nods, cheeks red.

"If that would be okay, Y/N." She looks to you.

"Oh, of course it is!" You smile, following her back over to the table. Her friends were watching silently the entire time, eyes wide in awe. "Hi..." You say, suddenly nervous as none of them greet you. Lexus must have been the chosen one for being able to speak to you, and she was sent over because the others were too shy.

"Here," Lexus says quickly, moving her bag from the seat at the table and fishing a camera out of it. "Take a seat, I'll sit over here." She slides into her friend's lap across from you, making them all laugh as she holds the camera out to Coryo. "Would you mind?" She asks him.

"Not at all." He says, taking it carefully and turning it over in his hands to find the right button.

"It's that button on the top." She points vaguely and he nods, getting the gist of it quickly. "It comes in handy to be in photography right now, apparently."

You laugh slightly and lean over the table slightly, tilting your head as you smile.

"Ready?" Coryo asks and you nod, hearing mumbles of agreement as you raise your hand from where it rests against the table, holding your pinky under your thumb and raising three fingers.

The flash almost blinds you, but you try not to blink.

"Lovely." Coryo says as he passes the camera back to Lexus and she stands up to take it.

"What does this mean?" Her friend asks, mimicking the salute you did for the photo.

"Oh, we do it back home." You explain. "It means peace and unity, or something along those lines depending on context." Getting up from the seat, you shrug a bit. "Force of habit, I suppose."

"Oh, cool! I didn't know that." She replies and you just nod, eyes following Coryo as he quickly rushes over to grab your ice cream. "Well, I should probably go before that melts, but it was so nice to meet you!"

"Yes, of course, thank you!" Lexus grins. "Maybe we'll see you around!"

"I hope so!" You smile. "Adieu, adieu, adieu! Remember me." You wave, turning to go after your boyfriend.

"What's that from?" He asks when you reach his side, knowing your shift in tone.

"Hamlet." You answer as he holds the ice cream cone out for you and you take it happily.

"Ah." He chuckles, giving the kids a nod as he follows you to the door.

"She said I am so lucky that my birthday was during the games." You say as the door shuts behind you, and you resist the urge to look back in through the window.

"Oh, wow." Coryo laughs, shaking his head. "Yeah, I mean, kids around here don't get it. I don't think they understand what's really happening."

"Clearly not." You focus on licking up the drips that have begun to stray down the side of the cone. "This is really good!" You say excitedly, back to your normal self as you look up to him walking next to you down the sidewalk.

"Yeah?" He smiles.

"Yes." You hum, taking the first real lick off the top. "What did you get?"

"Vanilla." He chuckles, already knowing how you will react.

"Vanilla? Oh, Coryo, you need to expand your horizons a bit." You tsk, teasingly shaking your head at him.

"Hey, it's not my fault it's good."

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl , @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs, @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie, @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore , @strawberryflavouredkisses, @cascadingbliss

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

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nataliasquote · 10 months ago

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The Price of Perfection | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha will stop at nothing to be perfect, but what will it cost?

Warnings: body dysmorphia, negative self image, toxic thoughts, self hatred, tiny mention of SA

wc: 1k

notes: this is depressing as shit. I wrote it one go (again) and tbh I don’t think it makes sense. I just started writing and didn’t stop. Yeah… vent fic idk. Anyway, enjoy, you angst lovers :)

-⧗-

Mirrors.

A symbol of vanity, casting reflections upon the eyes of the beholder. They’ve seen the most lavish ballgowns and the sleepiest eyes, countless discarded outfits and miniature fashion shows.

Used with friends, with families, with loved ones, a way to see one’s favourite people in the same place. They brought so much happiness without so much as a second thought, so why did she hate them so much?

Whilst the rest of the world crowded to take pictures in the mirror, Natasha had hers concealed away like an antique. A pale sheet usually covered the large reflective glass on her wall, she couldn’t bear the sight.

It wasn’t the mirror itself that caused such repulsion in the Russian’s stomach, no. It was the figure she had staring back at her that left her paralysed in disgust. She avoided all reflections like the plague, far too afraid of what she would find if she looked.

Mirrors hid nothing. They were as raw as could be, every flaw highlighted like the freckles on her pale skin. Natasha never cared for the way her body looked, it served her just fine, but something had shifted lately, something small in her mind triggering an avalanche.

How do you even begin to understand something that has been objectified your entire life? How do you view it as anything more than a way to assist a mission, anything more than something for other people to break at will. The visible scars were one thing, but the invisible marks of the many hands that had slid grotesquely around her waist and pawed at her chest like pieces of meat were what stuck out the most as she obsessed over her reflection.

Perfection was a slippery slope.

And Natasha Romanoff craved perfection.

It was all she knew. But gone were the days of having instructors barking orders to ensure she maintained that divine perfection. She was on her own now, but was that a good thing?

Her self control was impeccable but her eyes told another story. They burned across the expanse of her stomach in the dim bathroom light, slender fingers tugging at the flesh on her hips whilst her jaw was set rigid. The cool air barely raised a hair on her arms as she picked herself apart, falling deeper and deeper into her nightmares as red lines began to form across her limbs and torso.

Where was the perfection she had been told she was?

Was it buried underneath the blanket of snow that coated her homeland in its icy beauty? Or was it simply a ruse, a false pretense, meant only to manipulate her further into the ultimate weapon.

Whatever it was, she couldn’t see it now. Even through blurry eyes filled with tears that warped her reflection further, Natasha still stretched and pulled at her skin, ignoring the burn that ignited just under the surface.

How can someone possibly want to love someone like her? A freak, a mess. Bile rose in her throat the longer she panicked, her eyes frantically darting between countless scars and layers of muscle she only perceived as extra weight.

Where had she gone so wrong?

Her mind, usually her sharpest weapon, unmatched in the face of the enemy, had turned on itself and left her the victim in the lonely battlefield. But who was she fighting, if not the figure who mimicked her every move and felt so familiar yet so horrendously foreign.

She didn’t know who she was anymore. Who did her body belong to, because it certainly wasn’t her. Would anyone want her in this state, or would they be just as repulsed as she was after mere seconds of inspection.

“But you’re beautiful.”

What lies. Her grip on reality may have faltered, like fingers slipping on sodden rocks, but she knew what beauty was. And yet now, face to face with the one so many people had admired, she couldn’t see the so-called beauty.

A breathy laugh escaped her lips, yet her expression did nothing to match it. It wasn’t that of happiness, but of desperation, of insanity, the final parts of her slipping away as dysmorphia finally took its hold.

She would never be beautiful, not to herself. Maybe for a fleeting moment when the sun shone just right and her chest felt a little lighter, but that feeling never lasted. All it took was one glance at her reflection in a window for the clouds to settle back inside her mind, reminding her over and over that she would never look the way she wanted. No matter how much she craved it.

The sheet went back up. Her eyes stayed glued to the sidewalk in fear of catching herself in a shop window, and slowly Natasha felt herself slipping away. Her close circle barely saw her anymore, she didn’t want them to see what she saw, and her fork only pushed her food around her plate instead of allowing her a taste.

She knew the price of perfection was high, but it felt astronomical as she scrambled after it, neglecting her life for a glimpse of that feeling. Yet it seemed the harder she tried, the further it felt, leaving her exhausted day after day.

But she never quit. That wasn’t Natasha Romanoff. If she wanted something, she got it, no matter the sacrifice.

But she was fighting a losing battle. Her clouded mind never once gave way to the idea that she was already perfect. How could it? She wasn’t happy with her body, no matter how much she lost or how far she ran.

To the rest of the world, she was the epitome of perfection.

But to herself, she would never be enough. No matter what.

And no compliment could fix that. Not when her self image was so warped that she couldn’t see straight anymore.

She was, and always would be, the reason for her downfall. No enemy could take her down quite like her own mind could and it was the only thing that gave her a sense of control.

But for the price of perfection, could she give it all up?

#natasha romanoff #marvel #fanfic #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanov #natasha x reader #angst no comfort #I can’t write anything but angst

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the-broken-truth · 6 months ago

Text

Return Home AU: "How I Accidentally Freed My Family From Servitude." By Jayden Viper

Summary: Gaining some breathing room from his elder brother due to club activites, Jayden tells his friends and Dorm Members at Ramshackle how he accident freed the Viper Family from Servitude & made them one of the riches familes in the Land of Scalding Sands.

@sweetbunpura - A Small Gift for ya, Boss. Hope you like it!

Note: Indented Slanted Text indicates Jayden's Narration during the flashback of the story.

|During After School Clubs| - |At Ramshackle Dorm|

Darius (Handing a cup of Lemon Tea to Jayden): Here you go.

Jayden (Takes the cup with a smile): Thanks. (Takes a sip) I swear this is someone of best tea I've had all week.

Marcus (Sitting in his favorite chair with a book in one hand and the other petting Grim who is using his lap as a pillow) (Looks at Jayden with a smile): You say that as if you are a guest and not a member of Ramshackle.

Yuu (Lodging in his chair with his feet on the table): Since he spends most of his time in Scarabia, he's rarely here.

Jayden (Points his finger at Yuu with a jokingly scowl on his face that matches his tone): It's not by choice and you know that, Housewarden Yuu!

Yuu (Chuckles as he waves his hand dismissively at Jayden's words): Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, I know, Small Serpent.

Darius (Taking a seat on the couch across from Jayden): I'm certain you are enjoying some time away from the overwhelming presence that's your elder brother.

Jayden: He's older than me by an HOUR. But, you are right, it's nice to have some time and space away from Jamil. (Exhales) He's just so overbearing since we got back from the Land of Scalding Sands...

Yuu (Raises an eyebrow): Just what the heck happened over there that made your brother cling to you tight than a noble grips his coin purse?

Jayden: Remember what happened during the Winter Holiday?

Marcus: Darius and I never heard what happened since he and I were with our fathers over the holidays.

Yuu: That Bastard Crow wanted me to do something, but Jay (Yuu's Nickname for Jayden) offered to do it for me and ended up running into Viper cooking with some of the other Scarabia Students.

Jayden: Jamil told me that Kalim was acting strange, turning into more of a tyrant and over-training the students, Jamil asked Grim and I for help to find out what was wrong with Kalim; but it turned out it was all a ruse. Jamil used his Unique Magic, Snake Whisper, to control Kalim into acting like that so the other dorm members would kick him out and Jamil would take his place as Housewarden.

Marcus: In other words, Jamil Viper attempted a coup. Did it have something to do with the Viper Family's Servitude that I heard about?

Jayden: Yeah...

Darius (Raises an eyebrow): How about you tell use what happened in the Land of Scalding Sands during the 3-Day Weekend?

Jayden (Exhales): Okay, get comfortable. I'll tell you how I accidently freed the Viper Family from servitude...

[Flashback:] [First Day of the Three-Day Weekend] [Land of Scalding Sands]

Jayden: A while after Jamil's Overblot, Jamil and our parents requested that I come meet them for the 3-Day Holiday; since I had nothing better to do and I was rather curious about where I was from that I couldn't remember due to my head injury. Thus, I accepted his invitation and joined him & Kalim to the place of our origin: Land of Scalding Sands.

Jayden (Looking around him with fasination & curiosity dancing in his silver eyes): This is the Land of Scalding Sands? (Looks up in the sun's direction without looking directionly at it) True to its' name, I feel like I'm standing under the Summer Sun during mid-day back on Earth.

Jamil (Looks over at Jayden): Earth?

Jayden (Looking at Jamil): The name of the planet where I was sent to. It's a lot like Wonderland but there is no magic there.

Jamil (Raises an eyebrow): When you disappeared, you were 6 years old. Just how have you been taking care of yourself?

Jayden (Smiles): A nice couple found me and took me in. They gave me my name 'Jayden', since I couldn't remember my real name.

Jamil: I could tell you your real name...

Jayden: It's okay. I love my Earthling Name because it's who I am.

Jamil: And yet you would cast aside the name given by your parents?

Jayden: I'm not saying that, Jamil.

Jamil: Then, why don't you just use your real name? The name our parents gave you at birth?

Jayden: It's... It's complicated, Jamil. I'll explain later. (Looks over Jamil's Shoulder) Kalim is coming.

Jayden: Kalim greeted us and welcomed me 'back home' but then he told Jamil that Mr. Asim wanted to speak with him & the Viper Family regarding what to do about me since I had been missing for so long that I was declared dead. Jamil gave me 1,000 Madol and told me to explore the place I once knew as home to become familiar with it again while he went t speak to Mr. Asim and his family. I decided to walk around until I found soething rather intesting: A Bookstore.

Jayden (Standing outside a shop called 'Bizzare Bargains' - A Discount Bookstore): Hm... What an interesting name.

[Jayden opened the door and walked inside the store, taking in the sights around him: books on the shelves sorted by genre with rather unique covers before his eyes drifted to a crate of books with a sign hanging on the edge: "Bargain Books" - Under 10 Madol. Jayden raised an eyebrow, walked over the the Bargain Books Crate and started looking through it.]

Store Owner: Are you certain you wanna look through those? No one really looks through those books.

Jayden (Searching through the books): If there is anything I know about book, the most interesting books are the ones that don't have the most appeal with other people. I always love looking through discount book crates. Hm?

[Jayden's eyes landed on a small book with a crimson cover made of a soft material that was torn in multiple places and faded from time. Wrapping his hands around the fragile spine of the book, he lifted it, his eyes trained on the strange symbol in the center of the book. The strange marking made his brain itch, it looked so familiar but he couldn't make the connection as to where he had seen it before. However, one thing was certain: This book was calling to him.]

Jayden (Walks over to the counter, places the book down before looking at the Store Worker): I would like this one, please.

Store Owner (Looks at the book): That one? It's been here for so long, I was gonna throw it away since no one wanted it but I kept forgetting about it. I'm not about to charge you for that. You can have it.

Jayden: Oh. Um... Thank you. (Sees a satchel on the wall with a sale sign on it) Can I buy that satchel behind you?

Store Owner: Sure. I'm give it to you for 300 Madol.

Jayden: Deal.

Jayden: After getting the book & satchel, I got a small snack but along the way, there was a stand hosting a raffle about an abandoned estate complex; apparently someone purchased it just to give it away in a raffle as a deed of karma. I thought it would be funny so I purchased a raffle ticket and went somewhere to ready the book and the moment I opened it, a piece of paper fell out from the eroding cover. What I didn't know...that was going to be the one piece of paper that freed the Vipers.

Jayden: Huh? What's this?

[Jayden picked up the paper and gently unfolded it: It was written in a language he didn't understand with markings on the bottom that appeared to look lik signatures and stamps, but with ink instead of wax. With a raised eyebrow, Jayden looked around before he happened to find the Scalding Sand Archive. He walked inside and lookd around for someone to aid him when a man walked up to him.]

Elder Man: Good afternoon, Young Man. It's quite rare to see a young soul in these halls of history and wisdom. What can I do for you?

Jayden (Holds out the strange paper to the Elder Man): I found this paper in an old book I bought, but it's in a language I don't understand; the same with the book.

Elder Man (Takes the paper): Let's see what we have here. (Adjusting his glasses and looks over the paper) Hm. I can understand why you wuld not understand this language - This is the Ancient Language of the Land of Scalding Sands when it was first being founded. The paper this is written on over 500 years old; it's no longer in production because the trees it was made from have long since been extinct.

Jayden: Really? Can you tell me what is says?

Elder Man (Looking at it): I would need to hold to this since I would need to brush up on my Ancient Language Translation. I should have it done in a few hours and, if you want, I can take a look at the book you found this in; it could be something interesting.

[With a nod of his head, Jayden reached into his satchel and handed the book to the Elder Man who asked where he would be staying so that he would return everything with the information. With a smile, the Elder Man walked off with the paper and book while Jayden left the archives to head to Asim Estate to meet the family he was born into.]

Jayden: I will admit that meeting Jamil's Parents... My Parents...and my youngest sister, Najma, was something else; I wasn't sure how to react to them. Sure, they had my blood but they were complete strangers to me. Then, I meet Mr. Asim - Kalim's Father & Head of the Asim Family; he was...interesting. He was kind, but at the same time, he was a businessman. He informed me that process of clearing my death was underway and he was debating what to do with me since I was a Servant's Son; however, before I could say anything, a servant came in and told Mr. Asim that someone from the Archives was looking for me, Mr. Asim. and Mr. Viper... It was major news. News that would change their lives.

Mr. Asim: And you are whom?

Elder Man: Good Afternoon, Mr. Asim. I am Issac Croft and I work in the Archives. I need to speak to you about the incredible discovery this young man found. (Gesturing to Jayden)

Mr. Asim: Which is?

Issac Croft (Holds up the paper framed with a authentifcation stick on the corner): This document. (Reaches into his bag and pulls out the book) And This Journal.

Mr. Asim (Looking at the Journal): That's journal bears the Asim Family Crest. (Looks at Jayden) Where did you get your hands on that when you have never been here before?

Jayden: At a bookstore.

Issac Croft: That's not important, Ms. Asim. What is important is the contents of this contract.

Jayden: It's a contract?

Issac: Yes. From what I have depicted, this contract was an agreement between the first heads of the Asim and Viper Families over 500 years.

Mr. Asim: What contract do you speak of? I've never heard of any kind of agreement?

Issac: You may not have but the owner of this journal did. This Journal belonged to Maxius Crane, The Attendant to the First Head of the Asim Family. He documented everything, including the signing of this contract which was an agreeent between the Asim and Vipers in regards to the Viper's Servitude to the Asim Family.

Najma: A Servitude Agreement?

Mr. Viper: I never heard of anything like this.

Mr. Asim: Nor have I but I can confirm the stamp is he Asim's Original Stamp.

Mr. Viper: And I can confirm our family's stamp. What was the agreement?

Issac: This contract stated that The Vipers were to serve the Asim Family for 200 Years with compensation to the generation at the end of the timespan on the contract.

Jayden: But, didn't you tell me that contract is over 500 years old?

Issac: Correct. Meaning the Viper Family has been serving 300 years longer than the alotted time.

Mr. Asim: If that is the case, the Viper Family are owed their freedom and compensation.

Viper Family: WHAT?!

Mr. Viper: Our freedom?!

Mrs. Viper: Compensation?!

Najma: We're free?!

Jamil:...

Ms. Asim: Mr. Viper. Mr. Croft. Follow me to my office, we need to discuss the compensation details.

[Jamil's Father, Kalim's Father, and Issac leave the office.]

Ms. Viper/Najma/Jamil: (Looks at Jayden)

Jayden:... Hey?

Darius: Ah. So,, that is what happened.

Marcus: And people say books are useless.

Yuu: What about the estate you told us about?

Jayden: Turns out I won the Estate Raffle and the old estate became Viper Estate.

Yuu: Damn. Went for vacation a freed your family by getting a book.

Jayden: Yeah, and Jamil has been hunting me ever since...

Jamil: I wouldn't call it hunting.

Jayden (Jumps out his seat and looks at Jamil): WHERE DID YOU COME FROM?!

Jamil: I've been here for 10 minutes just listen to you talk.

Jayden: You were just watching me?! You're such a stalker.

Jamil: Say what you want. Let's go, we're going back to Scarabia.

Jayden: No. I'm staying here.

Jamil: Jayden... (Tilts his head) When did I give you a choice?

Jayden::... (Makes a run for it)

Jamil: Excuse me. (Runs after him)

Yuu:... Damn.

[End]

@sweetbunpura - Thoughts, Boss?

#return home au #twst oc #Jamil Viper's Brother: Jayden Viper #twst yuusona #twisted wonderland

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kunasthiast · 10 months ago

Text

My God (3)

Everything's a negotiation these days. And, it's not something you'll pass up. After all, all of these will just be a ruse, right? Or not…

a/n: this is getting exciting for me T^T the characters are the ones writing this whole story for me sahdhsdah i swear i feel like Sukuna and reader's personalities are really shaping this story!!

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + angst, Yakuza AU, Enemies to Lovers Word Count: 2,548 All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

1 • <- previous • next ->

Taglist: @cr1sta11y @idk-bro-gay @tojis-ball-sack @thepurpleempath @fangirl-332 @jijijihanji @thedondiva45 @catobsessedlady @rebloggerist-extraordinaire @ho3forghost @toxicdiana @skunabby @villainsevilandhot

“No ring?”

Sukuna’s laughter rippled through the room, its timbre a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something you couldn’t quite grasp. His gaze bore into yours, a glint of genuine interest shimmering in the depths of his eyes.

You stifled a sigh, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like a heavy cloak. This wasn’t just a game anymore, was it? There is definitely something deeper, something unspoken between you and Sukuna. But for now, you have to focus on the very unexpected proposition at hand. Still can’t believe I said this one out loud.

Sukuna sauntered to the kitchen island, his movements deliberate and confident. As he perched on the edge and crossed his arms, his muscles rippled, drawing unwanted attention from you. Yeah, fuck those arms.

The tension in the air was palpable, like a taut string ready to snap. You know that this will be more than a simple proposition; it will be something full of deception and desire.

"Well, well, well," Sukuna drawled, his voice low and smooth tinged with curiosity. ”You certainly know how to make things interesting, princess."

His response was left you to wonder what lay beneath his confident facade. But one thing was certain—Sukuna was not one to back down from a challenge, especially when it came from you.

Meeting his gaze head-on you, matched his confidence with your own determination, refusing to let your emotions betray you. Emotions of desire, perhaps?

“And you know how to make things complicated, Sukuna,” you countered, your tone laced with equal parts annoyance and intrigue.

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Touché,” he conceded, his smirk widening into a devilish grin. Ruffling his hair in a casual gesture, he leaned in closer, his gaze unwavering.

And, of course, he has to ask one of the most dreaded questions you’re looking out for to solidify this ruse. Like a guillotine waiting to fall.

“So, what’s in it for me?”

Sukuna’s question hung in the air, tinged with anticipation. Biting your lip, your mind raced as you weighed your words carefully, keenly aware of the staked at hand. “Piss Gojo off,” you replied, your tone calm but laced with underlying frustration. You both know which Gojo you are talking about.

The mere mention of Gojo seemed to inject an unexpected tension into the room.

Sukuna’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes tracing the curve of your lips as you nervously bit down on the soft flesh. “Huh, you engaged to him or something?” Sukuna’s eyebrows raised in surprise, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. This is something that totally caught him off guard.

You sighed, the memory of your earlier confrontation with your father flooding back with a wave of irritation. “Father unfortunately had me arranged to him since forever and I only got to know about it today,” you explained, your voice tinged with resentment and bitterness.

To your surprise, Sukuna’s expression softened, a flicker of sympathy passing across his features. “I see,” he murmured, his tone surprisingly gentle as if he understood more than you realized.

Your heart skipped a beat (don’t worry, the pterodactyls are asleep) at the unexpected tenderness in his voice. “Before you agree, I have to negotiate this one with you,” you interjected, seizing the opportunity to lay down your terms before committing to this risky proposition.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, his eyes alight with curiosity. "I’m listening," he replied, his interest piqued.

“Firstly,” you began, laying out the conditions of your proposal. “We’ll need to secretly get married. And you’ll have to agree to bring me to every meeting, no questions asked.”

Sukuna’s expression shifted, a mixture of surprise and amusement flickering across his features. “You want to get married for real?” he echoed, his tone incredulous.

“It’s the only way to make it believable and divorce's easy nowadays,” you replied, your voice steady. “And it comes with other conditions, too. No other relationships, no hook-ups. Just us.”

Sukuna's smirk faltered, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. “You’re making me a celibate, princess?” he exclaimed, a hint of amusement coloring his words.

“It’s part of the deal,” you insisted, ignoring the waking up pterodactyls in your stomach. “And there’s one more condition: nobody can know about this ruse. Not even Uraume.”

His surprised expression quickly morphed into a smirk, amusement still dancing in his eyes as he processed your conditions. "Well, well, princess," he drawled standing up from the kitchen island with a newfound sense of intrigue. "You certainly don't hold back."

You met his gaze evenly, unwilling to show any sign of weakness in this dangerous negotiation. "I have to be thorough," you stated, your tone firm and resolute. "We can't afford any slip-ups."

Sukuna’s chuckle sent a thrill down your spine, his grin widening into a knowing smirk. "Fair enough," he conceded, his gaze locking with yours. "I can agree to those terms. But what's in it for me beyond just pissing off Gojo?"

You paused, considering his question carefully. There had to be something more to entice Sukuna, something that spoke to his ambitions and desires.

"We both know Gojo isn't the only one with a stake in this," you replied cryptically, your mind racing as you formulated your next move.

Sukuna's eyebrows shot up in surprise, a flicker of curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Oh? Say, it, princess,” he prompted, leaning in closer with an eager anticipation.

You held his gaze, your expression unreadable as you revealed your next proposition. "If we can pull this off convincingly, it could significantly shift the balance of power between our families," you explained, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. "And I have no doubt that you would enjoy being on the winning side."

Sukuna's grin widened into a smirk, a glint of excitement gleaming in his eyes. "You're playing a dangerous game, princess," he remarked, his voice low and smooth. "But I like it."

You returned his smirk with a confident grin of your own. "Then we have a deal," you declared confidently.

But Sukuna wasn't finished yet. "Is this an indefinite ruse?" he asked, a hint of caution in his tone.

You shook your head, clarity guiding your response. "Just one year," you confirmed, your voice steady and resolute.

Sukuna mulled over your words for a moment before another question arose. “So, when are we getting married?" he asked, his curiosity evident.

"In three days," you replied without hesitation, already formulating the plans in your mind.

Sukuna nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. "Alright, you got me in your hands, princess," he agreed, his tone filled with anticipation and a hint of excitement.

—

Sitting in his study bathed in the golden hues of late afternoon sunlight, your father's attention was drawn to the insistent ringing of his phone. The clinking of ice against glass resonated as he lifted his crystal tumbler, taking a measured sip of his scotch before answering the call.

“Is everything ready?” His voice, rich and commanding, filled the room with an aura of authority.

A brief pause followed, during which the silence seemed to stretch taut, only broken by the distant hum of the city beyond the windows.

“There has to be no mistake this time around,” he continued, his tone firm and unwavering. “You know what’ll happen if there is.”

The gravity of his words hung heavy in the air, emphasizing the seriousness of the situation.

—

Sitting in behind the wheel of your car, the weight of the day's events pressing down on you like a heavy cloak, you glanced at your phone for the time.

10:42 PM.

With a weary sigh, you rubbed your temples, feeling utterly drained from the tumultuous day you had endured. The thought of returning to your father's imposing mansion held no appeal tonight, not with the turmoil brewing within its walls.

Thank the heavens you made the decision a few years back to slowly carve out your own space in the world, purchasing a penthouse apartment near the bustling heart of the city. It was a sanctuary of sorts, a refuge from the expectations and pressures of your family's legacy.

As you shifted the car into gear, you knew that tonight, you would seek solace in the quiet comfort of your own home, far away from the echoing halls of your father's domain.

Navigating through the city streets, your mind wandered, replaying the events of the day. From the tense confrontation with your father to the unexpected proposition from Sukuna, and even the burnt orange chicken mishap—each memory added another layer to the burden you carried.

“Nice plan, self. Way to go and embarrass yourself,” you muttered wryly, a hint of self-deprecation in your tone.

Arriving at your penthouse apartment building, you let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. With a sense of relief washing over you, you parked your car at the underground parking and made your way to the elevator.

In the midst of this silent retreat, a message from an unwelcome sender flashed across your phone screen. Can’t this day get any more worse than last night?

Fucker: heard our wedding’s in a week, baby ♡

“Oh my fucking god,” you irritatingly exclaimed, a surge of frustration and rising within you.

With a swift motion, you deleted the message, unwilling to entertain Satoru’s attempts to provoke you. You blocked his number as means of reclaiming your peace of mind.

Entering the elevator, you jabbed impatiently at the button for your floor, eager to retreat to the sanctuary of your apartment. The doors slid shut, enveloping you in a cocoon of solitude as the elevator ascended. But as the elevator doors opened onto your floor, you were met with an unexpected sight—a figure clad in silk pajamas, leaning casually against the wall.

Your heart skipped a beat as you locked eyes with Sukuna, his presence sending a jolt of surprise coursing through you. A mixture of irritation and disbelief welled up within you as he quipped, “Oh, how interesting, can’t wait for our honeymoon, princess?" his voice laced with shock and sarcasm.

"Seriously?" you shot back, your tone dripping with exasperation. "What are you doing here, Sukuna?”

Dropping his shocked expression, he had his signature smirk back on his face with his casual demeanor only serving to frustrate you even more. “Honey, I live here,” he added with a chuckle, his tone dripping with amusement as he pointed at a door, opposite of yours.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise at his unexpected revelation, momentarily catching you off guard. "Wait, what? You’re my neighbor?!” you exclaimed, a mixture of disbelief and incredulity coloring your voice.

Sukuna's grin widened into a smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he watched your reaction. “You live here?” he taunted, his tone playful. "Didn't think you'd have your husband as a neighbor, did you?” Yep, he’s as shocked as you.

The absurdity of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. Sukuna being not only your soon-to-be husband (it’s a ruse, okay?) but also your neighbor felt like a twist straight out of a convoluted drama. You struggled to wrap your head around the surreal irony, feeling like you were trapped in some alternate reality.

As you stepped out of the elevator, Sukuna pushed himself off the wall, his smirk never faltering, you couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration bubbling within you.

“Wouldn’t this make our ruse even more believable, princess?” He teased, “you can't deny the thrill of it all. The universe has a twisted sense of humor, doesn't it?”

"This is ridiculous," you muttered, shaking your head in disbelief. Sukuna’s not leaving you anytime, he’s there to stay in your mind. In your family. In your plan. In your fucking apartment building.

You gritted your teeth, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at his cocky demeanor. "I am not amused and this is not some kind of twisted joke," you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest defensively and tone sharp with irritation and anticipation.

As Sukuna sauntered towards you with lazy confidence with a chuckle that sends a shiver down your spine for the nth time today. "Oh, lighten up, princess," he teased, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "We're in this situation together, whether you like it or not.”

You know what situation this is. The next family head. The one-year ruse. The hidden feelings, desires, and attraction. Everything.

You recoiled at his touch, feeling a surge of defiance rising within you. "Speak for yourself," you retorted, stepping back to put some distance between you.

Though Sukuna's smirk faltered momentarily, it quickly returned, his demeanor unchanged. "Well, you’re still as feisty as ever,” he remarked, amusement lacing his tone. "I love it a lot,” he added with a wink.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at his blatant flirtation, refusing to let him see how much his presence unnerved you. With a determined set to your jaw, you turned on your heel and headed towards your apartment, leaving Sukuna behind in the hallway.

As you closed the door behind you, you let out a shaky breath, feeling a mix of frustration and unease swirling inside you. The encounter with Sukuna had only served to heighten your sense of apprehension, leaving you more unsettled than ever.

Meanwhile, Sukuna chuckled to himself as he watched you retreat into your apartment. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him, and he couldn't help but find amusement in the twists and turns fate had delivered.

"Really funny how the universe works," he mused, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Yet, his amusement was short-lived as he felt a familiar sensation stirring within him, a primal urge that demanded attention.

"She'll be the death of me," he muttered under his breath, a wry smirk playing on his lips. Despite the gravity of the situation, a surge of desire coursed through him, igniting a primal need that demanded attention.

Suppressing the urge with practiced ease, Sukuna reached into the pockets of his silk pajamas and retrieved his phone. With a swift motion, he dialed a number, his voice laced with confidence and authority as he spoke into the receiver.

“Let Toji handle this one,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. Turning away from the elevator, Sukuna made his way back into his apartment.

—

“What a cold bitch,” a man with striking white hair and undeniably beautiful blue eyes exclaimed as he closed his phone, his frustration palpable in the air around him.

Gojo Satoru was not one to take rejections or being ignored lightly. His charismatic demeanor masked a temper that could flare up with little warning, especially when his advances were rebuffed.

With a flicker of annoyance in his piercing blue eyes, he pocketed his phone and leaned against the wall, his mind already plotting of his next move. Satoru was not one to be ignored, and he was determined to ensure that you would meet him, whether you liked it or not. After all, he certainly wasn't about to let it slide without a response.

#sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #writing #sukuna x you #yakuza!au sukuna #au sukuna #my god #jjk sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #gojo satoru #toji fushiguro

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shaunamilfman · 1 year ago

Text

when the sun came up

Summary: “So,” Jackie trails off sheepishly. “You, uh– You know how vampire’s need blood…?” A/N: the "jackie's a vampire 😍" fic in question

“What are you being so weird about, Jackie?” You ask finally, getting irritated by her constant glances. She looks surprised, almost as if she truly believed you wouldn’t notice. With a roll of your eyes, you lean back on the chair, setting your phone down on her desk as you give her your full attention. Jackie starts fiddling anxiously with her fingers as she glances around the room in a pathetic attempt to feign innocence.

Acting was never her strong suit, expressions always unconvincing and exaggerated; More reminiscent of a cartoon character than a real person. Despite her failure, there’s still something undeniably charming underneath it all even as Jackie’s awkward energy ends her ruse before it can even begin. While she hasn’t succeeded in fooling you she’s definitely succeeded in getting your attention.

Watching Jackie attempting to shake your attention is bizarre, to say the least. Never once have you seen her shy away from soaking up every bit of approval and attention you give her. Yet she seems almost eager for you to move on to something else which makes you grow more concerned by the second. You’re filled with a strange mixture of curiosity and unease, both vying for your attention.

“Jackie?” You prompt again, smiling invitingly at her as she finally meets your eyes.

She clears her throat awkwardly, fingers resting against her legs as she starts rolling the edge of her shorts back and forth between her fingers. “So,” Jackie trails off sheepishly. “You, uh– You know how vampires need blood…?”

You nod your head, lips twitching as you suppress your smile. You know exactly where this is heading. “Yeah.”

“Could I… Could I have some?” Jackie asks, quickly flushing with embarrassment. She watches you closely, hope evident on her face.

“Like… from me?” You ask slowly. Unlike Jackie, you were good at feigning innocence.

“Yeah. Just like a little bit,” She pleads, gesturing with her hands as she holds her thumb and index finger just barely apart. “You won't even know it was gone, promise.”

She's utterly fixated on you, staring at your neck like it holds the secrets to the universe. You hum in consideration, enjoying the way Jackie squirms in desperation as you pretend to think it over. After a moment you hold your arm out invitingly toward her and she's across the room and in your lap before you can blink, literally.

You forget just how strong and fast she's become, and sometimes you think she does too. The chair rocks dangerously on its back two legs as Jackie slides in your lap. You close your eyes in wait for the inevitable crash but Jackie's reflexes are just fast enough to plant her foot firmly, sending you crashing back forward as the chair settles. It rocks ominously for a second before stilling, Jackie quickly taking the chance to scoot up your legs.

Your hands rest loosely on her hips as you try to make sense of what just happened, just a hair too fast for your mind to fully make sense of. You can feel the thrum of your heartbeat in your fingertips as your heart races through your chest. Jackie makes an apologetic noise as she slips her arms between your back and the chair, pulling herself snugly against you.

You squeeze her hips in a gentle sign of affection as you slip your hands up the back of her shirt, wrapping your arms tightly around her bare back. If it has the side effect of pulling her shirt up, well that's no one's business but your own. You hear a snort of laughter that you'll know she'll deny later– and threaten to tell people about the incident if you don't keep it to yourself– which makes you grin as you bury your head into her neck. You breathe in the familiar scent of her perfume, slowly relaxing back against the chair as it calms your racing heart.

You bite lightly at her neck, barely grazing the skin before you hear a petulant noise coming from Jackie. “That's my job,” She complains, slapping at your shoulder as she leans back and pulls her neck out of reach.

“Oh? Is it?” You tease, a smile splitting your face as you watch her.

She nods eagerly, just a hint of her fangs peeking out of her smile. Your eyes narrow at the sight, leaning forward to get a closer look. She practically preens as she widens her smile, clearly appreciating your admiration of her fangs.

You reach up to cup her jaw and Jackie immediately nuzzles her face into your palm as she closes her eyes with a contented noise. You roll your eyes fondly as you end up supporting the weight of her head, adjusting your grip to press your thumb against her lips.

Jackie just barely peeks her eyes open as she presses a kiss against your thumb, the beginning of a question forming on her face. You press your thumb against one of her sharp fangs, sighing quietly as it pierces the skin and draws a drop of blood. You watch her expression closely as her tongue flicks out to taste the blood, teasing at the edge of the cut as she lazily draws the remaining drops in her mouth.

You shudder involuntarily as she swallows, the intimacy of the action catching you off guard. You’re not sure that you’ll ever get used to the sight of her drinking your blood. "Tastes good," Jackie finally says, licking her lips as she pulls away.

Jackie’s gaze flits down to your neck, her eyes filled with longing. She leans forward and inhales deeply as she buries her face into the crook of your neck. Her hand cups the other side as she tilts your head, her warm breath caressing your ear. “Please?” She whispers, voice a soft plea tinged with her desperation.

Jackie's lips just barely graze your skin, sending shivers down your spine as you feel the gentle pressure from the tips of her fangs. ��Go ahead, Jackie,” You say, hissing in surprise as she doesn’t hesitate to sink her teeth in. She presses herself impossibly closer to you with a muffled moan, her fingers clenched tightly at your shirt as she greedily sucks at the wound. You thread your fingers loosely through her hair, cradling her head as you relax limply against the chair.

“Fuck,” You murmur slowly, tilting your head back enticingly as Jackie makes use of the available space. With each drop of blood she takes from you a heady mix of exhilaration and vulnerability washes over you, both intoxicating and unnerving at the same time. It’s a strange intimacy, a connection borne in the exchange of life; the knowledge that your blood is what sustains her, what gives her the strength she wields over you.

It should make you feel weak to be entirely at her mercy, but you’ve never felt stronger than you do when Jackie drinks from you. You revel in her desire for you, eagerly embracing the weight of her unending hunger.

You'd majorly psyched yourself out the first time she'd asked this of you, thoughts of her teeth digging into your flesh had left you such a nervous wreck that your hands were visibly shaking as she descended on you. You were pleasantly surprised at just how good it felt once you got past the initial bite. There was barely a difference from Jackie's more possessive moments, intent to mark you up at the slightest sign of interest from someone else. You were sure that it could hurt if she wanted it to, but your girlfriend was steadfastly gentle in everything she did. With her arms wrapped around you, even the act of feeding became an intimate exchange, another bond that only the two of you would ever share.

You take a shaky breath as Jackie drinks her fill, trying your best to ignore her breathy noises of enjoyment in favor of keeping your eyes open. You get more lightheaded the longer she's attached herself to you, her lack of the need for air never more apparent than in these moments. She pulls away as you begin to slump back in the chair, soothing the bite with her tongue as she savors every last drop. You blink wearily up at her, faced with the impossible task of keeping your eyes open.

Jackie stands up happily, watching herself in the mirror over your shoulder as she licks at her thumb and rubs the stray blood off her face. A quiet laugh escapes your lip, more of an exhale than a sound. “Messy,” You murmur with a weak smile on your face.

“Shut up,” Jackie defends, pulling on your hand as she tries to coax you to your feet. You let her pull you up, but quickly slump into her arms as your shaky legs betray you. Jackie grunts as she catches you, grunting dramatically in exertion even as she effortlessly guides you back to her bed.

She climbs up excitedly to straddle your lap as you recline back against the pillows. You make a surprised noise as she leans down and kisses you, pulling back after a moment when she realizes you aren’t reciprocating. “Y/N,” Jackie whines, pouting down at you.

You lazily shake your head, not bothering to open your eyes. “Too much,” You accuse weakly.

“Did not,” Jackie protests. “You’re fine. Look!” She lifts your hand pointedly, staring in dismay as it falls limply back to the bed.

“Oh,” She murmurs sheepishly. “That's… That’s my bad, really.”

You make a vaguely amused noise in response that turns into a contented sigh as Jackie settles down on top of you. She buries her head in your neck, placing a tender kiss against the bite mark she’s left as she maneuvers your arms around to wrap around her.

#yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #jackie taylor x reader

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clairdelunelove · 1 year ago

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sunset boulevard

itadori yuuji x f!reader

genre: fluff! (blind date! one shot)

warnings: none, 2.6k words

synopsis: you don't do blind dates; too much risk with little reward. but your friends assure you that this time it'll be different. and when the epitome of 'the boy next door' starts talking to you at the amusement park– you think they're right.

a.n. haha, not my brainrot about itadori being so bad that I had to write this. and nu, I've never been on a blind date before but imma write about it :3

you created it on a whim. encouraged by your friends’ prodding and teasing about your love life- or lack thereof- so your fingers clicked on the newly downloaded app. meant to be just for fun. a silly topic for your girls’ night. “just for the plot,” you told them with a knowing shake of your head when they all impishly giggled. a generic dating app where most people on there had an ulterior motive and would do anything to achieve it. but you weren’t willing to accept that, promising yourself to keep boundaries. the limit that you’re willing to bargain on is a public date. emphasis on the ‘public’ part because your friends are already scheming. whispers about a netflix and chill type of date. but you sign into the app, choosing a couple pictures of yourself that are adequate enough to catch some attention, and write a creative bio. it’s impressionable. modest. wholesome. definitely not the route that your friends desired for you to engage in. “done,” you state matter-of-factly. a beat of silence passes. the realization that you’re actually agreeing to this sets in. much to your chagrin, your friends end up snatching your phone from your hands and adding their own spin to your profile. editing your pictures to the ones that they have on their phones. “we’ll set you up with someone good for you,” your friend reassures with a good-natured pat on your back. “real good,” your other friend slyly drawls and bursts out laughing with the others. you don’t know whether your stomach twists from nervousness or anticipation from their ruse.

ten minutes until your date is deemed late. twisting your wrist, you glance at your watch again just to confirm your suspicion and huff. you’d arrived half an hour earlier than the time your friends texted you. your motto was that it was better to be incredibly early than late, especially since you had no idea what your date looked like. but the fear of being deserted causes you to shift on your feet as you sidestep out of the way for a group of teenagers to pass. wouldn’t be the first time you’d get stood up. glancing upward, you double-check that you’re standing underneath the carnival’s main attraction– the ferris wheel. its bright, illuminated colors jump out at you, almost mockingly, as if to highlight the gloomy frown plastered on your face.

“waiting for someone too?”

the voice snaps you out of your daze and you’re left peering up at the person that seemingly appeared out of thin air. he’s attractive– the kind of appeal that leaves you breathless from his inquisitive eyes and easy grin. a slender hand is carded in his hair as he patiently awaits for your response.

“yeah,” you croak before hastily clearing your throat, “I am.”

it shocks you that he’s even conversing with you. clad in a yellow hoodie and denim jeans, he’s the epitome of 'the boy next door.' could probably win the role for starring in the newest coming of age movie that’s bound to gain revenue just from his visage. he’s adorned in vibrant colors that contrast your pastel-toned clothes and you self-consciously pull at your shirt.

“wanna check out that game right there? promise it’ll be quick!”

from the corner of your eye, you recognize that he’s angled towards you as the question leaves his lips. gosh, is he talking to you? almost like he’s inviting you to spend some time with him in the meantime.

dumbfounded, your mouth drops open as you point to yourself, “me? you’re talking to me?”

“of course!” he replies enthusiastically like it’s second nature for him to hang out with strangers, “might as well take advantage of the time, right?”

he adjusts his backpack by slinging the dark strap over his shoulder and turns to walk in the direction of the nearby carnival booths that have games lined up for customers. you note that he attempts to blend in with the crowd but his upbeat attitude is too perceivable. has a glimmer in his eyes that attracts the ogling of bystanders. luminescent signs light up the path to the section dedicated to the midway. wooden signs promising ‘fun’ and ‘a winner every time’ written in bubbly font. it’s enticing. it’s fun– an experience that you’ve lacked recently. and before you can argue that you’re waiting for someone, the blushy haired male ushers you to follow with a wave of his hand.

“c’mon!”

you’re lightly jogging after him, short strides compared to his long ones, and manage to catch up to him with an exasperated breath. he’s fit; not the type where his physique screams ‘gym rat’ but rather that he’s the epitome of good health.

catching sight of you beside him, he gleefully chuckles, “knew you’d be up for some fun! I’m–”

he breaks off to gawk at a booth that grabs his attention and instantly treads through the crowd to line up for it. the game has the typical objective of knocking over a pyramid of milk bottles. you stare at it expectantly, knowing that this midway game is usually fixed; bottles stacked on the bottom are filled with sand or lead that weigh in a couple extra pounds and the given ball is unusually light. he’s buzzing with excitement, though. hastily patting his pocket, he pulls out his wallet and whips out enough money to buy a turn.

“I’m itadori yuuji, by the way,” he finally continues his belated introduction while pushing the money into the midway worker’s hands.

“yuuji,” you repeat and savor the name on your lips, “these games are usually rigged, ya know.”

"are they?”

he doesn’t seem bothered by the carnival’s dirty tactic, however. merely chirps a word of gratitude when the worker tosses him the singular ball and deftly explains the rules of the game. the customary one chance to knock over all three milk bottles and you knowingly press your lips together.

yet, your eyes comically widen as he begins to strip his hoodie off and hands it to you, “can you hold this for a second? thanks!”

straight away, the movement coaxes onlookers to turn their attention to the both of you. steely gazes focused on the cuts of muscle on yuuji’s arm as he rolled his shoulder to stretch. you’re no exception. in fact, you take back what you earlier assumed about his physique. baffled by how his baggy clothes managed to cover his impressive build, you hurriedly turn your chin to hide the warmth that spreads across your cheeks and neatly tuck his hoodie under your arm. his physique is essentially out of a magazine— broad, beefy shoulders that taper off into a small waist.

your lips move before you can stop them. “you got this!”

an expression of shock paints his face due to your encouragement before he flashes you a lopsided grin; boyish before he concentrates. there’s a gleam in his eyes as he retracts his arm like he’s winding up to pitch in a baseball game. then, he lobs— no, hurls— it straight at the tower of milk bottles. the ball whizzes through the air and the targets come crashing down from the sheer power of his throw. it’s startling. dazed, you’re left wondering if the stranger you just met is secretly superhuman.

“we have a winner!” the midway worker roars to the enthusiastic crowd.

“yes!”

yuuji pumps his fist in the air as the worker and a couple people in the crowd come to congratulate him. he’s all smiles now. there’s a big, toothy grin plastered on his face when the worker hands him his prize; a large teddy bear that has a red bow on its chest and the sheer size of it has him grasping onto it with both hands.

“look!” he exclaims and gently shakes the stuffed toy in his grasp, “do you like it?”

you can’t help but giggle at the exhilaration behind his gaze, “it’s cute!”

he’s clearly pleased by your reaction, swiping a finger over his nose before bursting out into laughter and your heart fills. his habits are so endearing and wholesome that it’s heartwarming. abruptly, the teddy bear is pushed into your chest and yuuji's knuckles brush against yours from the maneuver. the stuffed bear’s big, beady eyes stare at you as yuuji deliberately turns to shrug on his hoodie again.

“it’s for you!”

his confession is a little muffled as he extends his arms through his sleeves and it occurs to you that he’s whirled away from you for a reason. a dust of pink washes over his cheeks and he runs a sheepish hand through his tousled hair.

“I won it for you,” he reiterates, almost bashful, “I mean, you did come and spend some time with me when you were probably busy but–”

it’s a stark contrast from the confident and affable guise that he’s shown you. a peek into his personality that you’ve yet to appreciate. he kicks at a stray pebble on the pavement while his hands are shoved into his pockets. the way his blushy hair is a similar shade to the tips of his ears causes you to inwardly melt.

your thoughts go haywire but a demure smile stretches across your glossy lips, “thank you, yuuji. I love it.”

he clears his throat, murmurs a comment about how it’s not a huge deal, and faces you. yuuji blinks— once, twice, and his gaze softens. then, he utters a compliment that goes straight to your heart.

“you look cute like that.”

it’s straightforward, candid but you still ask, “like what?”

“happy.”

you let him tug you to the next midway booth.

“aw, come on!”

yuuji’s droning is followed by the teasing nudge he gives you. the touch draws out a yelp from you and the sound immediately reduces him into a laughing fit. for now, the both of you agreed to do a little sightseeing before the amusement park closed for the day. it was already evening; the sky was a cascade of apricot and vermilion. a beautiful vision to match the day. spending time with yuuji was like being in a trance. time seemed to slip quicker when he was with you.

naturally, your fingers reach to pinch his cheek due to his antics.

“ow!” he cries and childishly rubs at the inflicted area, “not my fault I’m good at every game here.”

although the blushy haired male is telling the truth, you can’t help but pout at his words because yes– he was basically a professional at every game in the midway. you’ve tried your hand at a couple booths. yuuji insisted on paying for anything you touched and fondly watched. however, he was soon tagged in whenever you were unsuccessful and he managed to turn the game’s odds around. evident in the countless plushies that’s tucked in his strong arms. all of them were for you, of course. he just plucked them out of your grasp when you briefly mentioned how your arms were getting tired from carrying them around.

“you’re in denial!” he singsongs and grins wider when he hears you huff in exasperation.

“I am not in denial!”

“you are!”

“well, you’ve spent a lot on these games,” you pause to lower your voice, “and on me. you haven’t even known me for that long.”

unsurprisingly, he recognizes the concern laced on your words and stops walking. his brows furrowed. the teasing grin is wiped from his face and is replaced with a tender gaze. forever wise and dependable. he leans down, hooks a finger under your chin, and murmurs his reasoning.

“honestly,” his voice trails off in remembrance, “I barely have any time to do fun stuff like this so I'm taking advantage of it.”

the sentiment is supposed to be understandable, one that many individuals’ share in life. yet, you can’t help but assume that his words weigh heavier than the average person’s. it stabs at your heart to know that such a kind soul is no stranger to heartache.

“besides,” he interrupts your train of thought and gleefully grins, “I get to win a pretty girl some prizes. sounds like a win to me.”

with an affectionate compliment, yuuji cleverly brings back the light-hearted mood from earlier. he’s skilled at this– redirecting your focus through an optimistic point of view. one of his traits that you’re smitten with. fondly patting your head, he takes a step back and rises to his full height. he’s still gauging your expression, though. his eyes are like liquid honey from this proximity and you’re in awe. truth be told, you might never meet another person quite like him.

you can’t help but poke fun, “are you saying that you usually pick up girls at the amusement park, yuuji?”

“me? nah,” then he murmurs, a tinge of guilt coating his words, “I was actually supposed to go on a blind date here.”

the remark leaves his lips in a single, rushed breath like it’s been bothering him the entire time. he’s quiet. his arms tighten around the stuffed animals in his grasp and he tilts his head in contemplation. he’s internally battling himself. why did he have to open his mouth? is he ruining this and digging his own grave? frown deepening, he vaguely wonders if he should’ve brought it up in the first place. perhaps you would think of him differently and then–

from this angle you get a glimpse of his throat bobbing before he quickly adds, “but I liked this better.”

what the blushy haired male isn’t expecting, though, is how your face breaks into astonishment, “wait. a blind date? I’m supposed to be on a blind date too!”

you couldn’t believe your luck.

“you’re (y/n)?”

willingly nodding at his inquiry, yuuji sputters in disbelief and shifts the prizes under one arm so he can put a hand on your shoulder, “this is crazy! like, crazy in a good way but still– crazy! who would’ve thought, right?”

long arms blindly reaching for you, he wraps you into a hug that has your face squished into the hard expanse of his chest. he’s laughing wildly– a genuine sound that brings an emotion that knocks the wind out of you because he’s truly thrilled that you are his blind date. your fingers grip the back of his hoodie, allowing yourself to be engulfed in his warmth.

“and here I was dreading the blind date that kugisaki and fushiguro set up for me,” he thoughtlessly mumbles in your hair while retelling his own version of how his friends forced encouraged him to go.

pulling away, albeit unhurriedly, the both of you exchanged phone numbers and promises of keeping in touch were whispered into the evening air.

“you can text me whenever you want,” yuuji tucks his phone back into his pocket while sheepishly grinning, “even if you don’t have a reason to.”

cheekily texting him a greeting, for the fun of it, you grin when his phone dings at the notification, “I will.”

puffs of warm air swirl and intermingle into one. his eyes twinkled in the streetlights’ rays of light. it was romantic– sickeningly so that you wondered if you were dreaming.

yuuji ended up lending you his hoodie, chuckling when the bright, oversized garment swaddled you. he even walked you back to your place and waited in the chill until he heard the door’s lock click into place. there’s a bounce in your step when you waltz into your bedroom.

with all the stuffed animals neatly lined up on your bed, you instantly snap a picture of you and yuuji’s winnings. your fingers swiftly dropped the photo in your friends’ group chat before sending it to yuuji. and your lips curl into a smile when his text bubbles immediately appear on the screen. memorabilia of your first– successful– blind date with someone that was too good to be true.

#jujutsu itadori #jujutsu kaisen #yuji itadori #itadori x reader #yuuji itadori #yuuji fluff #itadori x y/n #itadori yuuji x reader #jjk x reader

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ussgallifrey · 1 year ago

Text

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?”

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#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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