#thank say american beers

[copingwithcomics]

[rabbitrah]

A continuation on my post about unloved foods, specifically this is my in-depth defense of root beer.

Root Beer isn't inherently gross, it's just one of those weird local flavors that's off-putting to people who didn't grow up with it. We all like different things and also we all tend to like flavors that are similar to what we grew up with. That's okay! But honestly root beer is pretty unique and, in my opinion, delicious.

One of the main complaints against root beer is that it tastes like medicine. Funnily enough, it was originally marketed as medicinal! This is true for most OG sodas actually. Pretty much as soon as carbonated water was invented, people were drinking it to soothe various ailments. A lot of the original soft drinks were actually invented by pharmacists. I just think that root beer is especially cool because the main flavor came from the root bark of sassafras, a common North American shrub. Because it's so widespread and aromatic, all parts of the sassafras plant have been used in food and medicine by many different Native American tribes throughout history and was subsequently picked up and used by European colonists. In the 1960s, some studies indicated that that safrole oil, which is produced by the plant, can cause liver damage. Whether or not this would actually remain true after it had been boiled and added to root beer is unclear, but it was really easy to replicate the flavor, so the sassafras in commercial root beer these days is artificial. Another fun fact about safrole is that it's a precursor in the synthesis of MDMA. None of this information has stopped my childhood habit of eating sassfras leaves right off the shrub whenever I walk past it on a hike. I'm like 85% sure it's safe and also mmmm yummy leafs go crunch.

Another root beer complaint is that it tastes like toothpaste. I think this is probably because another key flavor in most root beer recipes is wintergreen. I'm assuming that the people who think this are the same people who think mint chocolate chip ice cream tastes like toothpaste. I can understand and even respect that some people don't like mint and associate it only with brushing their teeth, but like. Mint is a pretty common flavor. I mean I think it's safe to say that humans have been eating mint flavored stuff for longer than toothpaste has existed... anyway!

Other common flavors in root beer (real or artificial) are caramel, vanilla, black cherry bark, sarsaparilla root, ginger, and many more! There's not one official recipe, and root beer enthusiasts often have strong opinions about different brands. Some root beer is sharper, with more strong aromatic flavors, and others are mild and creamier.

Another thing I think is cool about root beer is that it's foamier than most sodas. This was originally because sassafras is a natural surfactant (and why sassafras is also a common thickening agent in Louisiana Creole cooking.) These days, other plant starches or similar ingredients are added to keep the distinctive foam. Root beer foam > all other soft drink foams. That's why root beer floats kick more ass than like, coke floats.

If you've never had root beer before, imagine if a sweetened herbal tea was turned into a soda, because that's basically what it is. If your first response to that is a cringe, fair enough. That's why lots of people don't like it. If your first response to that is "interesting... I might actually like it, though" then I encourage you to track down a can of root beer today, hard as that might be outside the US and Canada. Next time you see an "ew, root beer tastes like medicine/tooth paste" take, know that there's a reason for that, but also the same could be said for literally any herbal or minty food/drink.

My final take on root beer is that it would be the soda of choice for gnomes. Thank you and good night.

[yanderenightmare]

Dabi x darling x Hawks

TW: NSFW, noncon, war, soldiers, married reader

AN: kinda inspired by when British Parliament passed the Quartering Act in 1765, and those in the American colonies were required to provide housing for British soldiers, and how they were also expected to provide food, firewood, and even beer.

fem reader

Thinking about old-timey soldiers Hawks and Dabi who knock on your door with their caps in hand, plastic smiles on both their faces when asking for a warm homecooked meal – knowing you can’t refuse by order of the King.

It’s a humble cottage more than it’s a house, but the two men make themselves at home while you slowly stir the stew you’ve whipped up for them – only halfway of your own free will. 

Hawks asks where your husband is, and you point to the love letters displayed on the mantle and tell them he’d been called away seven months ago. 

Dabi then asks if you’ve been lonely…

You try and laugh it off as though it was a charming thing of him to say – but you’ve been feeling apprehensive ever since you opened the door – seeing their hands casually resting on the weapons by their hip as though in silent threat.

You sit with your hands in your lap while they eat. They say they’ve missed the sweetness of a woman like you – that the lads back at base don’t know how to do it the same way. And you know they’re talking about the food, but still… you can’t help but feel they’re insinuating something else.

You scream when they grab you – but it’s not like they expected anything else from a married woman – of course, a good wife would give anyone who isn’t her husband some fight – but like any woman, you’re quickly subdued by the two of them. 

Their smiles are still eerily calm, even as you cry – utterly unmatched by their actions, where they squeeze into all your plush parts with unwarranted strength.

Hawks hugs you from behind, forcing your arms behind your back – his crotch planted firm against your rear, even through all the thick layers of your skirt. 

Dabi is in front of you. He ripped open your blouse in the struggle – now whistling at the pretty sight of your tits while stroking his revolver up the crane of your neck, poking it into your cheek before using it to brush a wisp of hair out of your face – pretty and riddled with tears while you snivel and whimper.

He takes your chin in a strong hand, his tone smooth while he tells you to calm down – as though he's not got his loaded fire weapon aimed at you. His nose brushes yours as he croons at you through a smile – giving your quivering lips a quick peck.

Hawks’ tone is just as suave – playful even, grinning toothily, chuckling out how they just want to thank you for the hospitality as he quickly tugs the wool of your dress up, balling it all around your waist. Petting your cunt through your bloomers with your wrists gripped firm in his other hand, pinned tightly to the small of your back.

Cutlery, plates, and cups crash to the floor when Dabi swipes to clear the table – sending you hips-first against it.

The nose of his gun jabs into your nape, forcing your head down until your cheek smudges the splintery wood.

He doesn’t bother retraining you, letting the threat of his bullets do to all the talking while he unbuckles his belt, letting his uniform drop around his ankles.

He rips a gash in the thin cotton of your bloomers. They look too cute to remove. Not frilly like rich maidens wear, like in those catalogs the men will pass around if not pictures of each other's girlfriends. Yours are worker class, probably sewn by yourself from some old curtains – not meant to be erotic, but made so erotic because of it. 

You’re just a simple farmer’s daughter making your country proud – is what he whispers in your ear when he has two fingers stuffed up your cunt.

It’s obvious you haven’t been fucked in a while – the two digits make you wince and, in turn, make him restless to give you the real thing. He can tell just by the buck of your hips it’s going to feel the same as fucking a virgin.

You’re quickly wet like one, too. Makes it easy for him to slide into your tightness despite your teary whines. 

He lets out a heavy groan when you’ve taken him to the hilt – stays nestled there for a minute – in reverence of the tight, wet warmth he hadn’t felt in a while.

Sure, he and Hawks might have done things on cold, long, lonely nights, but nothing can quite compete with the softness of a woman in his mind.

Those precious ways you tighten up and shake from the stretch, shuffling your thighs when he kneads into your womb – soaking him with wet velvet slick.

His gun goes lazy against your back, though still very much keeping you scared in place as he lolls in and out of you at a languid pace – his chin tipped up with a sigh.

But it’s only initial relief – and once it dies down and the hunger spurs anew – he’s got his lips at your ear and his gun in your mouth – crude things flying off his lips, hips thrusting against you with the same haste of a hound in his rut – saying if he were your husband, he’d never leave your cunt and cooking – that he’d pick being buried six inches deep between your thighs than six feet deep in the dirt – sucking your cheek while telling you not to fret long over your man – how he and Hawks will help you grieve when the love letters stop coming.

The blonde is busy looting the liquor cabinet while Dabi ravages your poor cunt – but he comes back to switch with him once he finds the most expensive bottle.

It was a wedding present you’d been saving, one you’d thought you’d open the day your love would return – but Hawks cares little for the etiquette and swigs it raw from the stem as he retakes his place behind you – bathing his thick shaft with the slick sheen on your inner thighs before pressing himself inside you.

He doesn’t bother to start slow – he’d been kept waiting long enough and goes straight to pounding you deep. Kicking your legs apart – a hand buried in the cake of your ass to steady you whilst the other grips the bottle.

The table is small. Meant for only you and your man – so perfect for bending you over – just intimate enough to allow Dabi to stand at the other end with his cock in your mouth.

The whole thing wobbles against the floor as the two men have their way. 

They deserted from their battalion a long time ago and have both grown pretty tired of house-hopping – and this place seems far enough removed from where anyone would bother looking for them. 

Who knows, maybe they’ll stay until the war is over. 

♡ DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA masterlist ♡ HAWKS - TAKAMI KEIGO masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[dearharriet]

American Honey; Steve Harrington ⛱️

summary: it’s summer, and you’re in love with your boyfriend, steve.

word count: 2K

warnings: implied fem!r, drinking, lots of pet names (honey, baby, pretty, beautiful), lord of the rings references (+ fellowship spoilers!!), tickling, suggestive language

authors note: rly missing summer after writing this one 😭 also I made a mental yarn map between st and lotr while writing this that i can’t unmake I fear

Steve Harrington is an American Treasure.

Fresh out of the pool, he strides toward you, a limber hand reaching out for the beer he entrusted you with. It made you feel special, and Steve certainly entertained the notion. He’s always calling you sweet things—baby, pretty, beautiful, or your favorite—

“Honey.” His shining body is enveloped in shade as he steps under the umbrella you’re using.

He’s an American treasure. Patriotic the way that Colonel Sanders or Bruce Springsteen are. Spangled with freckles and moles like stars, stripes of hot skin on display. Red-shouldered from the sun, blue-lipped from a rocket ice pop, but his teeth remain pearly white.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his warm fingers dampening yours as you hand the can off to him.

“‘Course,” you reply, breathless.

“You sure you won’t swim with me?”

You liked that. He never pretended he had the interest of the whole group in mind. Steve wanted you all for himself, and he wasn’t shy about it.

Smiling up at him, you shake your head.

“I don’t wanna get burnt,” you say. “And anyways, who’s gonna look after your drink if I get in?”

Steve steps closer to pet your hair. It’s a little awkward with his hands still being wet, but you accept it nonetheless.

“Lucky for you, I don’t really care about the drink. I only asked you to hold it ‘cause you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

A smile creeps onto your face, which has turned red—sunblock be damned.

That’s another thing you like about Steve. He’s not really coaxing you into the pool. He knows you burn easy, and further, he’s trying his hardest not to touch your face. He’d watched you meticulously rub sunscreen over it just thirty minutes ago, and he’s sweet enough to remember now.

Worst of all, he knows your anxiety about burning stretches beyond just you, so he ordered the kids to sunscreen up just to put you at ease. It has you thinking undeniably fond, hungry, and binding things about him.

Steve is none the wiser, setting his beer down and rubbing a pruny palm down his chest.

“Could you get my shoulders again, babe? Think the chlorine washed it all off.”

You both know damn well it didn’t, but neither complains as Steve perches himself on the edge of your lounger and you rub sunblock into his broad shoulders.

It’s hard not to love everything about him. Not that you’re trying to stop, but you haven’t admitted to it yet, so maybe you are. Everything is terribly simple and domestic with Steve, easily imaginable as a forever kind of thing, and you’re desperately trying not to jump the gun.

What’s stuck with you time and again—like now—is your contentment in committing unselfish acts, as long as Steve is happy. Everything you do for him is sublimely fulfilling, and you can’t help but imagine that he thinks the same about you. Why else would he happily swim alone and bake away in layers of sunblock, if not because you’re happy first?

Feeling intimidated by all of the commotion around, you amalgamate all of these big feelings into a subdued kiss on Steve’s sticky shoulder. Your lips come away tangy with sunblock, but it’s worth it.

Taking it as a sign that you’re done, Steve turns around and gives you exactly what you want, leaning over your bare legs to kiss your waiting mouth. You think it’s a thank-you kiss, but then he’s leaning in for another, and another, his hand holding steady to your ankle.

When he pulls away he’s like a concentrated UV beam. His shoulder is hot where you draw shapes into it.

“Y’still having fun? We could go inside.”

Your legs press together.

“I know why you want to go inside,” you tease, poking his cheek, “and it’s going to have to wait.”

“Who says,” he challenges, pouting, “s’my house.”

Your eyes leave his face to watch the action in the pool. The kids are reenacting a Tolkien-related battle very loudly and dramatically, with Eddie as Aragorn.

“Everyone is here,” you remind him, nodding at the pool just as Will flays an imaginary Orc. Steve doesn’t even glance behind himself.

“So?” He mumbles, kissing your bottom lip. “I’ll tell them to leave.”

He’s so hard to resist like this, all gushy and lovesick. You push your fingers into the hair at his neck to pull him away and he hums happily.

“You’re terrible,” you chide, but you’re smiling, anyhow.

“Is it a crime to love your girlfriend?” A shock zips through you, but Steve doesn’t seem to notice what he's admitted.

“Steve!” Lucas—who is using his recent growth spurt to play Legolas—calls over, saving you from responding.

“Stop sucking face and get over here! It’s time for you to die.”

“Uh-oh,” you laugh, patting Steve on the back. “Sounds serious.”

“How come they always make me play Boring-mir,” he complains, turning back to you. He doesn’t seem very motivated to get up at all, practically lazing beside your legs despite the gang of nerds waiting on him.

“He’s not so bad, from what I’ve read,” you argue, glancing at the closed book by your side. “Though I think they should let you take a crack at Aragorn.”

Grinning, Steve stretches up to kiss you.

“Honey, I think you’re the only one who believes in me,” he whispers sarcastically, and then presses in again.

“Steve!”The kids all throw their hands up. Eddie continues to swing a pool noodle like a sword.

“Coming!” Steve gives you the kiss they interrupted, though it's missing the sensuality it began with. “Jesus, you guys, you see what I’m leaving behind?” Steve gestures to you, and you swat at his arm.

“Steve, stop.”

“No! It’s an impossible task,” he declares, arms out, loud enough so the kids can still hear him. Then, quieter, “you’re too damn gorgeous, gorgeous.”

“Resist temptation, brother,” Eddie calls. “The power of the ring cannot be wielded!”

Steve waves him off as he gives you one final, lingering kiss. Then he's up, trekking back into the sun.

“Don’t think you’ll kill me so easily this time, brats. I’m fighting for Mordor!”

“You’re fighting for Gondor, thick head,” Dustin snips, but screeches when Steve tackles him.

Smiling from your shady oasis, you leave your book forgotten at your side. Steve puts on a good show, taking imaginary hits for Merry-Erica and Pip-Dustin, cutting off forgotten lines with groans and tears.

You shake your head ruefully as the kids cheer and applaud his passing, not sure they understand the sacrifice made. Steve just smiles and bows, and you think maybe he doesn’t, either.

When he finally slumps down next to you again—dripping and warm and happy to be discharged—you curl into him and throw your legs between his.

“Tired?” You lean your head against the springy elastic slats and look at him softly. He nods and pulls you closer, his free hand and his thigh working together to open a new can of beer. He takes a swig and hands it to you.

“I don’t know how they can keep going. I feel like I need an IV.”

You laugh around the rim of the can.

“Maybe I can get you a glass of water, then, and keep this to myself.” You swirl the heavy can in front of him. Steve shakes his head.

“You wouldn’t dare. Beer is, like, basically water, I’m pretty sure.” You raise a skeptical brow, but hand it back to him. “It is! It’s sterile, baby.”

“I love it when you talk sexy.”

Steve throws his head back laughing, nearly dumping the can into both of your laps. You never take your eyes off of him, chest light with the high of encouraging a sound so sweet.

“Where did you even hear that?” You trace his collarbone as you ask, and then his adams apple. Steve’s eyes are still squeezed shut as he attempts to talk through his giggling.

“E—hedd—d-iehee.”

Surely it wasn’t that funny, you think, watching him go red in the face. He’s working himself up more than anything, now. You don’t care. You add fuel to the fire, pinching under his ribs to watch him squirm and howl.

Steve practically throws the can onto the ground, writhing away from your menacing fingers.

“Baby—stop!” You’re laughing with him now, infected by his hiccuping voice. “Honey—honey, please——time-out, time-out!”

You stop, and he snags your hand to hold it away from him. Panting, Steve twists around to pin you on the chair, his free hand creeping towards your bare side.

“Payback…,” he whispers threateningly.

“No…Steve—“It’s too late, Steve’s hands are already working into your sides cruelly, and his mouth is blowing raspberries into your neck. You kick your feet wildly, pushing at his shoulder with your connected hands.

At your shrieking, everyone looks over, faces forming into a hash of reactions. Surprisingly—or unsurprisingly—no one intervenes. The boys boo at you, but it’s only as long-lived as the tickling itself.

“Sto-ho-ho-hoppp—“ you plead, and Steve yields, a satisfied smile on his face.

When you finally relax back into the chair again, chest rising and falling rapidly, Steve takes your hand into his and holds it over his torso.

“Hate you,” he puffs out, and then picks up the beer that started it all.

“Hmph,” you complain, and hold your hand out until he passes it over.

“I love you.”

You’re aiming for casual, but you miss the mark obscenely. It sticks in your throat and you end up saying every letter.

Steve is eerily silent, watching as you take a nervous gulp of PBR. When you try to pass it back, his receiving hand floats up to your face to wipe over your bottom lip instead.

“What was that?” It’s not a question so much as an encouragement, a request. You can’t even look him in the eyes, curling into his shoulder shamefully.

“Please don’t laugh,�� you whine, mortified. How had he made it look so easy?

Steve snakes an arm behind you and rubs your back comfortingly.

“‘M’not, honey. Just wanna make sure I heard you right.”

“You heard me,” you confirm grumpily.

He hums a warm laugh.

Smushing your face into his bicep, you laugh, too. Like magic, the ease flows through your body again, as if it never left. Like the water in the pool, your conversations always slip and slide from childish to heart-pounding and back again. So far, the scariest parts of being with Steve have been the anxieties you invented along the way, and he’s never been unprepared for them.

Propping your chin on his peck, you cuddle closer to him, the warm day slipping into evening chill. Steve waits, patient as a Saint, fiddling with your hair and your top and your mind.

“You knew, didn’t you,” you whisper, rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. The near-empty can is still wedged between your bodies, cool against your ribs.

“Sure,” Steve admits. “But thinking it and saying it are different things.”

“True.” You swallow. “Were you waiting on me?”

“Mm, I guess.” He shrugs. “I know it doesn’t change anything if you don’t, but I think I wanted to hear you say it back. Yknow, when I told you.”

Nodding, you kiss the closest patch of skin you can find. Steve continues.

“And then I realized I’d never know if you’d say it back, so I thought I’d wait for you to say it first, which is dumb—“

“S’not dumb,” you assure him, “that’s what I was doing, too.”

Locking eyes, you both peel into laughter at the same time.

“That’s why it’s dumb,” Steve emphasizes. You crawl closer still, giving him the can to put down so you can close the last gap between your bodies. Steve sighs as your nose presses into his neck. “What am I gonna do with you, honey?”

“Terrible, awful, horrible things, I hope.”

You can feel him smiling, sense it.

“Nuh-uh, we’re in love now. Only love-making from here on out.”

You look out towards the pool, at the kids drying off and getting hungry.

You could hardly wait.

+

thank you for reading! 🦢

masterlist

[stvrni0lo]

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬

matt sturniolo x reader (fluff)

summary: you accidentally reveal to matt’s stream that you’re his s/o

warnings/notes: none (?)

requested?: yes

> > >

Matt had been huddled up in his room all day playing games with Nick and Chris. After being cooped up inside for the first half of the day, the boys had nothing to eat - so you kindly offered to bring them some takeout on your way there.

Chris eventually fled to the living room, bidding goodbye to the stream they began, and leaving Nick and Matt to continue playing in their respective rooms.

Unlocking the door to their apartment you were met with Chris’ excited yelps as he runs towards you. He practically steals the food from your arms and sprints to the kitchen.

“So much for a ‘hello, thank you for feeding me!’” you joke as you hold onto the drinks you bought them. Placing the cans onto the counter, you split the food and give Chris his share.

“Thank you for feeding me!” he yells behind him as he ran to sit on the couch. Rolling your eyes, you divided Nick, yours, and Matt’s food also. You take your shoes off and leave them in the hallway before walking to Chris and plopping onto the couch next to him. He was watching some American version of ‘Love Island’ that Nick recommended him.

Since it wasn’t of much interest to you, you get up to let him to eat his dinner in peace.

“I’m gonna go bring Matt’s food up - do you mind letting Nick know his is on the counter?” you said.

All you got was a mumble of agreement from him. Deciding that’s as good as you’re gonna get, you take the brown bag of food upstairs. What Chris had forgotten to mention was that Matt was on stream currently. With his camera on.

It’s not that the viewers didn’t know who you were, or that you hated being on camera. However, your relationship with Matt was kept away from the public eye - and you both wanted to keep it that way.

You knock on his door and wait for his response before walking in. He has his headphones on, clicking random buttons and yelling at Nick to heal him.

“I brought you food,” you say as you placed it on his bed, throwing his can of root beer next to it.

“You’re a Godsend, thank you,” he says, turning away from his computer to look at you.

“Hey,” he mumbles upon seeing you, cheeks tinted pink.

You were out of shot, but the viewers recognize your voice in an instant. The chat fills with people speculating why Matt was blushing so hard, and people commenting how cute it was that you bought him dinner.

All of this was completely unbeknownst to you, as you still thought he was just playing with his brother on call.

Matt rolls his chair over to grab his beverage and the bag of takeout. Walking away from him, you look around the room.

“If you’re not too busy can you help me look for my sweater? I think I left it here last night,” you say absentmindedly as you opened his closet.

At this, the comments went crazy.

Matt’s eyes widened. He looks at the screen, and then at you, and then at the chat. The comments were flying in at 120mph, with people typing in all caps.

Various messages were sent from: ‘I knew it!’ to ‘WHAT’ to complete and utter shock and chaos. Matt bursts out laughing as one in particular caught his eye - ‘MOM AND DAD’.

“What’s so funny?” you quip, raising your eyebrow, “you want your girlfriend to freeze to death?”

At this point there was no going back. No way in hell was there a way to cover that up.

Matt guilty looks up at you, gesturing to the screen.

“I’m live,” he says plainly.

“Oh.”

He holds his hand out to you and you take it, moving into the camera’s view. You wave.

“Hi guys!”

You look over at the chat and you’re surprised to see many supportive comments. ‘This is so cute’ - ‘Dying rn’ - ‘We knew’. Your face turns hot as you look down at your boyfriend, completely bewildered.

“I’m sorry I forgot to tell you,” Matt whispers.

You shake your head, kissing the top of his hair. “It’s okay, they were bound to find out soon enough.”

And with that, you say goodbye to the stream and sneak back downstairs to bring Nick his food; you knew Chris would forget to.

The rest of the stream was filled with Nick telling the comments to get over themselves, and Matt blushing each time your name was mentioned.

Maybe being public wouldn’t be so bad.

- - -

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

@lollibumblebee

@dwntwn-strnlo

@gracietaylorsversions

@20nugs

@thetriplets3

@stxrniqlo

@sunshinewwx

@gwenlore

@gabbylovesreading

@ssturniolo

@opheliaofficial07

[maxlarens]

(last one for now) 🩷: Logan + (american 😤) football game 🥹

honestly this is how i think that me going to a american football game would go (at least re: not knowing whats going on). anyway loved this idea actually thank u 💝 can u tell i dont understand how american football works

cw: ummm slightly suggestive?

“Logan,” you sigh, “I’m sorry, I know this is fun for you, but what the fuck is going on down there?”

Logan laughs, tips his head back so you can see the line of his throat. Foamy beer sloshes over the rim of his plastic cup as he points an arm out, gesturing at players down on the field. You’ve got no real way to know who he means when he says words like Quarterback and Wide Receiver and Outside Linebacker. It’s a whole different language, never mind the way his accent has thickened since he’s been home. Vowels turning honey-sweet and long.

“You understand?”, he asks off the back of a long spiel that you definitely didn’t get.

You wince a little, shake your head, “All I got is that they’re chucking a ball around, Loges. Same as every other sport.”

Logan raises a blonde eyebrow at you, smile tugging charmingly at his mouth, “Every other sport?”

“Yuh huh. Tennis, soccer, footy— uh, padel. Even you guys, I guess.”

A snort, indelicate, childish as he waits for you to elaborate. Clearly intrigued to see how you’ll relate the two, “Go on.”

You shrug sheepishly, feeling a little embarrassed about your dumb joke, but persevering anyway, “Yeah, y’know. Twenty of you slinging your balls around the track every weekend.”

Logan, who’d made the mistake of taking a sip of his beer, bursts suddenly into laughter. Has to redirect the beer-spray that shoots out of his mouth onto the concrete steps below you. Not quick enough apparently, as some hits your bare knee. You can’t help joining in on his snickering as you wipe your knee dry with a napkin.

“Gross,” you complain.

“I’m gross?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Yeah. You spat on me.”

Logan’s cornflower blue eyes sparkle under the stadium light. You eye the smattering of blonde stubble as his jaw ticks. Mouth twisting in amusement.

He shrugs his broad, muscular shoulders, expression glinting with something familiar, “I’ve done worse.”

Something tingles down your spine as you bite the inside of your cheek. You raise both eyebrows at him in surprise, maybe just daring him to go on.

“Oh, have you?”, you bite, knowing for certain fact he has, just wanting to hear him say it.

He nods, a polite, perfunctory thing, says, “Yes ma’am,” pretends like he doesn’t know what that does to you.

You purse your lips like you’ve sucked on a sour lemon. Raise an eyebrow at him incredulously for what feels like the hundredth time today. Really, it asks.

His eyes are still bright and mischievous. Happy. The crowd erupts into cheers as some Quarterback or Linebacker or fucking whatever, scores a goal or a touchdown or something of that nature. Neither of you are looking— only at each other.

You grab for the plastic cup in Logan’s hand, in an attempt to stifle the electricity buzzing between you— it’s not the place, nor the time, “Gimme that.”

His lip curls up, satisfied, acquiescing the drink easily to you, “Sure thing, babe.”

A little breathless, a little warm, you gulp down lukewarm beer in an attempt to stifle the heat inside you.

“You’re fucken’ evil, Sargeant.”

He hums, “Yeah. You love it.”

what is it with logan and me making the drabble slightly h*rny. is it just because i’m writing it for u viv????? is it logan?????

[si1verghosts]

Hi!

3. A kiss on the forehead😌

helloooo dear anon!! i am sorry this took so long i could not for the life of me figure out to write but then ! i wrote this on the 4th and i realized it could work... maybe... sorta. this may not be what you were expecting/wanting but there's forehead kisses in there.... somewhere 🫡 also, if u are not american i apologize for giving you a july 4th fic 😭 but the holiday is relatively inconsequential here like theres no patriotism it's just a backdrop if u know what i mean.... anyway, i hope u enjoy <33

you taste like the 4th of july

di leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 3.5k

18+ | cw: mentions of drinking | tw: thoughts about death and dying

tags: established relationship; fluff (i guess??); slight changes to canon to suit author's headcanons

read on ao3

a/n: for the past few months i've been working on this very insane multi-chap post di leon fic 😵‍💫 this was written with that in mind But does not have a place in that story... probably.... idk!!! either way, i think it can be read as a standalone just fine

additionally, there is a scene in here where leon picks the reader up. i would just like to say like... he gets thrown into concrete walls on a biweekly basis and gets up and walks it off without issue so i think he can lift anyone no matter their size or shape!!

not beta read or proofread - sorry if any of it is gibberish i've had a wicked migraine the past few days... will maybe attempt to proofread once i can see correctly again 🚬🧍‍♀️regardless, all mistakes are my own

i do not own leon or any other resi character mentioned, etc etc, please don't sue me <3

please do not use my work to train any sort of AI chatbot and/or writing generator.

-----

"It was a good day, wasn't it?" Leon asks, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as you stand over the patio table, cleaning up the abandoned plates and platters.

You hum. It was; a beautiful, cloudless July 4th, spent with Leon's friends in the backyard of your home. The only ones missing were Ashley and Ingrid; the former having a standing family commitment and the latter planning to spend her holiday on the beach, away from the country and your fiancé.

Typically, Chris hosted the Independence Day cookout, but Leon offered up your new home as this year's venue, citing your in-ground pool and the plenty of extra space you have for guests to stay. In reality, he just wanted the chance to out-grill Chris - he'd been preparing since Memorial Day; testing different spice and sauce combinations as well as stocking your freezer full of large cuts of meat.

He'd started before you were even awake, chopping and seasoning in the kitchen, slowly loading up the smoker. You'd joined him on the patio a few hours later, watching from your pool floaty as he poked and prodded at various things.

You don't even eat meat, didn't know the whole thing was so involved, but you did enjoy the view; worn blue jeans hugging his frame as he crouched to check a thermometer.

You had taken a short break from the water, tying up lights and setting a few little decorations around before your guests arrived. Rebecca was the first, tucking her jugs of pre-made cocktail and platter of deviled eggs into your fridge before joining you on the patio.

Chris wasn't far behind, unloading two coolers filled with beer and containers of homemade potato and pasta salads. He'd handed one off to you, grinning, "Claire made one just for you this year."

You'd thanked him, making another attempt to get him to share his family's recipes with you. It was futile, you probably couldn't even waterboard it out of either of them.

Claire had arrived on her motorcycle shortly after, pulling a bundle of fireworks out of her saddlebags. "Sorry I'm late," she said - even though she wasn't - dumping the pile on the ground, thankfully far away from the grill. "Had to stop for these."

Leon had crouched down to inspect them, listening intently as Claire told him about all the different varieties she'd purchased while you relaxed back into the pool.

Sherry arrived next, Jake trailing behind her. She'd left both him and her bags of chips at the table, giving Leon and Claire quick hugs before immediately joining you in the water.

She'd slipped in right beside your floaty, grabbing your hand to get a look at your engagement ring - she'd yet to see it, having been so busy with work. Her eyes widened at the ring as she pushed her sunglasses up to rest on top of her head, "Leon picked this out? Our Leon? Leon Kennedy? Are you sure?"

You'd giggled at her astonishment, "Ashley helped him out; took him to one of her favorite jewelers."

"I should've guessed," She nods. "For my 20th Birthday, he bought me this crazy cute pink tennis bracelet and I was like, 'no way you picked this out alone.' He fessed up that he got a little help from a friend named Ashley.

"At the time, I thought it was just some girlfriend - or hoped, I guess. Back then, I spent a lot of time hoping that Claire and Leon weren't just… working; I liked to think they were taking time for themselves, that they were happy," she had trailed off then, looking off to the tree line behind your house for a minute. Blinking the mist from her eyes, she shrugged, continuing on, "Anyways, I'm thankful to Ash for that bracelet, it was there with me though… a lot. And I'm thankful to you for making him happy, like I always wanted him to be."

With that, you slid off the float to give her a hug, holding her tight as you whispered your thanks. You had worked to bite back your tears - if she didn't cry, neither would you.

Luckily, Jill had walked in a few seconds later, providing a distraction in the form of the most ridiculously large watermelon. "Hey, Kennedy," she shouted, pulling Leon out of his conversation with Claire as she gestured to the melon tucked under her arm. "Can't burn this, can I?"

Leon had thrown his head back with a laugh - in previous years, Jill had always brought boxed brownies with extra crispy edges and Leon invariably had to make a comment about them. "I don't know," he had shrugged, "When it comes to you, Valentine, I'll never say never."

Jill had reared the watermelon back, acting as if she was going to throw it at him. Leon had thrown his arms up, shielding his face, causing everyone to crumble into laughter at the scene.

"It was nice," you agree, reaching to pick up the barong machete he had given Jill when she asked for a knife to cut the melon. "We do have kitchen knives, you know," you scold mockingly, gently waving the blade around.

"I know," he says, releasing you to reach around and pluck the machete out of your hand. "It's good to exercise these every once in a while, though."

You roll your eyes at him, "It's a machete, Leon, not a horse."

He waves you off, slipping through the patio door to wash the blade in the kitchen sink. You take the opportunity to speed clean, knowing it'll be a much harder task once he returns and wraps his arms back around you.

Thankfully everyone had taken care of their own plates and cups - they'd tried to stay and do more but you had ushered them out of the backyard, wanting Chris, Sherry and Jake to depart before the traffic picked up with the crowds leaving the city following the fireworks shows. Jill, Claire and Rebecca had taken up on your offer to stay, at least, piling into your guest rooms. You were glad to have them, secretly plotting to drag them to brunch once you all woke.

You finish piling the platters as Leon makes his way back outside. Before he can get his hands on you and derail your progress, you point to the stack, "Take those inside."

He frowns, "Can't it just wait until tomorrow?"

"We'll get ants; come on, five minutes and it'll be done."

He sighs, but doesn't protest further, carrying the heavy plates inside as you follow him with the utensils. You stack everything by the sink before turning to him, "Is there any of Becca's cocktail left?"

He cocks his brow, tilting his head, "You really want to try that again?"

It's a valid question - you had given it a go earlier and despite everyone's warnings to take it easy, you had thrown back a large mouthful right off the bat. You ended up wincing in pain, "Fuck, that burns. What'd you put in there, Becca?"

She'd shrugged, "Oh, you know, a splash of this, a splash of that. And," she teased, drawing out the vowel, "A bit of my own creation."

"Your own creation…" You had muttered, trailing off before it hit you, "Test tube alcohol?"

She had giggled, grinning, "Takes some getting used to."

You had tried another, much tinier sip. You were able to enjoy the sweetness of the juice for a moment before the burn kicked in again, causing you to curse once more, louder.

Leon had shifted his attention from Chris to you at your exclamation. Seeing the jug of Rebecca's cocktail in front of you on the table, he quickly pieced together what was happening, calling over to Rebecca from his place by the grill, "You trying to kill my fiancé, Becks?"

"Absolutely not; that'd be a stupid thing for me to do," she'd shot back. "She's the only one who can keep you in line, and we kind of like you like that."

"Well," you start, rolling the word around your mouth, "No. But yes - there's gotta be some sort of trick to it, right? Everyone else drank it just fine."

"The trick is," he starts, voice low, reaching out to grab ahold of your hips, "To not drink it. Let me make you some tea instead."

"Fine," you pout, relaxing into his grip, not bothering to argue - tea won't make you hate yourself in the morning.

He moves his hands from your hips, sliding his fingertips along your spine. "Go wait outside," he says, releasing you with a featherlight kiss to your forehead, "I'll bring it out."

With a brush of your lips against his cheek in thanks, you slip away from him, heading back out to the backyard and pulling off your shorts, settling onto the ledge of the shallow end of the pool. The air has cooled with the setting of the sun, becoming a comforting warmth instead of an overbearing heat. You dip your legs into the water, thankful you insisted on having a pool when you and Leon were house hunting.

Someone is still setting off fireworks; they're a few miles away, though - you can hear them more than you can see them. Resting back on your palms, you close your eyes, imagining what bursts of color may be accompanying each sound.

Leon joins you a few minutes later - just after the fireworks had died down - sporting his swim shorts and carrying your tea. He bends, setting the mug next to you with a kiss to your temple, nosing at your hair. "Earl Grey," he reports before drawling, "How terribly unpatriotic of you."

"You going to arrest me for treason, Agent Kennedy?" You laugh, reaching up to squeeze his thigh below the hem of his shorts. "You're the one who made it; they'd nail you as an accomplice."

He falls into a crouch, leg muscles bunching under the pads of your fingertips as he shifts closer to touch his lips on your cheek. "They can hang us together, then," he remarks, voice a bit too serious for it to be just a joke. "Side by side, off the same branch."

You sit back just enough to get your eyes focused on him, reaching your other hand out to thumb at his bottom lip. "Dulce et decorum est pro cor mori," you whisper, tacking on a hum in question.

He cocks his head at the unfamiliar words, nipping at your nail playfully, "English please, baby."

You consider him for a moment, the translation of the true phrase running through your mind; how sweet and honorable it is to die for one's country. The old lie, it's come to be known as - fittingly.

It's a similar sentiment to one that's grown to become your fear; that he'll die for the sake of the country, under orders from the government, believing it was his duty.

But you think your spin on it may be true; would be willing to find out.

You don't want to weigh him down with the thought, though, choosing to reel him in for a kiss instead. "I love you," is the answer you settle on, laying the words down right on his tongue.

He seems content with your translation - the method of delivery likely having something to do with it - humming into your mouth. He kisses you back lazily for a long, languid moment before he pulls away, "As much as I'm enjoying this, I've been wanting to get in there all day," he says, nodding his head towards the water.

"Go," you chuckle, giving him a gentle push away from you with the hand still resting along his face.

He lays another quick peck against your lips before standing, padding around the edge to the steps. He pauses for a moment to pull his shirt over his head, skin honeyed under the soft glow of the lights you'd hung around the patio.

A second later, he slips under the surface without hesitation; kicking off the steps, moving quickly to the deep end. He almost shimmers as he glides along the floor of the pool, the rippling of the gentle waves he'd created making him seem like some sort of mirage as he passes by you.

He comes up for air once he hits the far wall, tossing his hair back, smoothing the water from his eyes. He doesn't rest long, though, beginning to swim short laps across the width of the deep end.

You observe him, sipping your tea slowly, appreciating the way his back and arms work with each stroke. He continues long enough for you to nearly drain your cup, stopping short when another trio of fireworks set off in the distance.

Setting your mug down, you eye him, preparing to slip into the pool to soothe him if you have to, but he relaxes once he connects the sound to the flashes in the sky. The tension that had flooded the line of his shoulders drains into the water as he shifts to wade backward, moving closer to where you sit.

You finish off your drink as he starfishes out across the surface of the water, floating just a few feet in front of you. You wonder if you could use him as a floaty, pinning up a note in your brain to try it out sometime.

"I'm glad you insisted on a pool, sweetheart," he sighs, breaking your companionable silence.

You hum, pleased, kicking your legs out gently and causing the water to lap against his skin. More fireworks sound out; he doesn't tense this time, but he does get his feet back under himself, moving to where you sit along the ledge.

Sliding his hands up your legs, he pillows his head in your lap, wet hair fanning out across your thighs. You shift your weight back onto your right hand, laying the other along his jaw. His eyes flutter closed as you brush your thumb along his cheekbone and the scar that runs beneath it.

He picks at the tie of your bathing suit absentmindedly, tugging at the strings when you slide your hand into his hair, scratching at his scalp. "Sherry said something to me earlier."

He makes a noise urging you to elaborate, not bothering to open his eyes.

"She told me that when she was younger, she hoped that you and Claire were living your lives; that you were doing more than just working, you know? She said she wanted you guys to be happy," you explain, working to keep your voice even.

He cracks his eyes open, picking his head up to watch you as you continue. "She thanked me," you swallow thickly, "for making you happy, like she always wanted you to be."

He smiles at your words, and it's a beautiful thing. You still get all twisted up inside with how gorgeous he is; neurons overclocking themselves with the thrill of being the subject of his attention.

"I owe you a thank you, too, baby," he starts, pausing to nose at your wrist.

"You don't owe me anything, Leon," you tug at his damp strands still between your fingers, highlights catching the yellow glow from the lights around the patio.

"I do," he says, the words sending a jolt through you. You never intended on getting married, yet here you are now, eager to hear the phrase on the altar.

He kisses the thin skin of your wrist, lips lingering as if he can feel the thrum of your heartbeat; knows that the pace has picked up under his affection. "All this," he pulls back, taking a hand off you to gesture to the pool; the backyard; the house; to you. "It's something I never thought I'd get.

"Sherry's right - you're behind basically every bit of happiness I have now, sweetheart; I owe it all to you." He reaches up, untangling your grip from his hair, thumbing gently at the ring he put there, "Thank you."

You can't respond verbally, will burst into tears if you do. In lieu of speech, you lean forward, pressing your lips against his insistently.

He seems to get the message; understands that the pleasure is all yours, that you'd give him anything and everything you can - knowing he'd do the same for you.

He gets his arms back around you, continuing your kiss as he lifts you from the edge of the pool and into the water with him. You wrap your legs around his waist, safe and secure in his hold.

His teeth catch along your bottom lip and the neighbors down the street set off fireworks, the bright bursts of color painting your backyard in reds and blues and greens and oranges. The sparks reflect off the surface of the water as he slides his nose against yours and not for the first time, you think this may all be a dream. Maybe you died four years ago and this whole thing has been some sort of afterlife; you aren't sure you'd done anything worth this treatment, though.

Maybe it's more supernatural in origin; an intricate hallucination weaved by a Djinn that's got you chained up in some dark, damp basement as it feeds off your blood. Or maybe you just went crazy and the pool is actually a padded room, Leon's mouth against yours a product of your mind working to distract itself from your reality.

Whatever the case may be, it certainly feels real when he shifts his hold on you, hoists you up higher to get at your neck, laying kisses up and down the column of your throat, nipping at your jaw.

But before he can venture much further, the neighbor's fireworks show grows into an extravaganza, the relentless popping and bursting becoming a nuisance, shattering the illusion of your teeny-boppy movie moment.

"Jeez," Leon mutters, breath hot against the saliva cooling on your skin, causing you to shudder. "Did they buy out a whole tent?"

"Did you check that Claire actually went to bed?" You ask, shaking yourself free of his hold. "She could've joined them; brought everything I wouldn't let her set off here."

He hums, letting you down into the water, considering your words - even though you said it as a joke, it certainly is a possibility. You seem to come to this realization at the same time, eyes narrowing at each other as the spray of fireworks continues overhead. "We should…" He starts, nodding towards the stairs.

"Yeah," you agree, already beginning to move.

You pause to grab your towels, wrapping your own around yourself, throwing the other over Leon's shoulders when you catch up to him at the patio door. Stepping inside, you hear someone knocking around your kitchen.

Luckily, it's Claire. She steps back from the cabinet she'd been rifling through to face you and Leon with a frown. "Isn't this shit ridiculous?" She remarks, pointing to the ceiling in reference to the fireworks.

"You're one to talk, Claire," Leon shoots back. "Didn't you just set off about five hundred dollars worth of them in my backyard a few hours ago?"

"Yes, a few hours ago," she reiterates. "Nothing should be set off after the show at the Capitol is finished - after that, you're done; you missed your shot; better luck next year."

"Exactly," you nod in agreement at her reasoning, "They should put you in charge."

She grins at your words, moving to continue on, but Leon cuts in before she can start; "What is it that you were clawing through my cabinets for?"

She sighs, displeased with his interruption, setting her hands on her hips. "Where do you keep the ibuprofen?"

Leon shoos her out of the way, padding across the kitchen to get the medicine himself. Claire relents without argument, attention immediately shifting back to you as she leans over the counter. "So," she wiggles her eyebrows, "It seems like that pool was a good investment, huh?"

You bite at your lip, ears burning with embarrassment that she'd seen you and Leon necking in the water like teenagers - even though you shouldn't be flustered; it is your house, after all.

Leon sets the bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water down in front of Claire, annoyance evident with the way he uses a bit more force than really necessary, causing the items to clack against the marble.

"What?" Claire questions, glaring at him. "It was cute."

Leon huffs in response, unable to hide the flush that crawls up his neck at her words. You can't help the giggle that bubbles out of you, enjoying the way they bicker like siblings.

Claire leaves Leon to stew, tossing you a grin as she collects the bottle and glass, bidding you goodnight once more before she leaves the kitchen.

You move around the counter to Leon, steps careful in an effort not to slip on the water that has dripped off him and onto the tile. The neighbors must've ran out of fireworks while you were distracted by Claire as it's silent when you wrap your arms around him, tucking your face into his neck. "Still a good day?" You ask, voice muffled against his skin.

He slings an arm around you, fingers fanning out along the small of your back, "Still a good day."

[britney-rosberg06]

guys can i be real for a second? Because as a fan of both Logan and Kimi i feel like this needs to be said:

Nobody benefits from giving Logan Kimi’s seat mid year.

No One

No not even Kimi.

If F1 is a business which it is, we’ll think about this in a business sense. Because by kicking Logan out in favor of Kimi just doesn’t make sense

Williams saw the sheer backlash to Australia. Their fans were angry at the mere idea of kicking Logan out in favor of Alex and some are still angry. They would lose a huge portion of their fan base (a fan base that is getting pretty American, may I add, thanks to their American sponsors) by kicking Logan out. No fanbase means no merch sales, no extra cash to burn that we know Williams needs

Secondly, Logan has obligations with Williams through summer break. Huge PR events like Lap of Legends which is sponsored by an American beer and stars Logan and Williams Racing ambassador Jenson Button. If you pull away Logan, the sponsors in Michelob Ultra will be furious as they funded a whole project to center around Logan. And Jenson, who has also spoken very kindly about him in the media will be angry as Logan is known as someone who has his backing/support. So Williams would lose a bit of Jenson’s trust and anger a huge sponsor? Right okay,

Of course there’s James Vowles. Who is struggling to come out from under Toto Wolff’s shadow. How will it look for James if he were to kick out one of his own juniors in favor of someone Toto Wolff is forcing upon him. Like he’s a lapdog who will roll over and do whatever Toto wants? Yeah, that exactly

There’s also the Prema of it all, which a lot of people are forgetting. Kimi is under Prema contract to be racing in F2. There is no reservist for him and there has to be to drivers in F2. Not one. Prema is not going to let one of their drivers—a driver who is getting them a lot of media attention might I add—go on to F1 when he’s only done three f2 races. That’s not how contracts work! Kimi is on contract and that contract states he had to race in f2 and compete in the championship. The whole championship. The championship Prema gets more money/funding/sponsors from the better they do. They can’t do good with only one driver. So no extra money.

Also, Prema has the power to deny Williams as Kimi is their driver and their responsibility. Kimi uses their trainers, engineers, gym, facilities etc, to take him mid season might make Williams or Mercedes or Kimi himself liable for that bill à là Oscar Piastri and Alpine as Kimi failed to fulfill terms of a contract while still benefiting from it.

I’m not saying it’ll work but I’m saying there’s a chance they could.

Now Kimi himself. He’d be entering in the F1 paddock as a pariah. Being granted an exception is sure to make him unpopular, just like Max was. The spotlight that was on Ollie Bearman in Jeddah? Yeah multiply it by a hundred and you’ll get somewhere close to the attention on Kimi. As previously established, PR-wise Williams would be in hell, who do you think they are going to take it out on? Yeah, the seventeen year old who has no control over the situation. He’ll be traipsed around as the new youngest whoever while also being hated on by a majority of people who think he doesn’t deserve that seat.

Speaking of Ollie Bearman. It’s worth noting that Ollie’s pain level after Jeddah was sky high. He was training for f2 races, not f1. Consistently racing in F1 could wreck Kimi’s body due to the sudden change and would have so many negative and lasting affects.

And when he inevitably doesn’t get points on debut because it’s a williams and it sucks ass, everyone will be screaming and crying about how Kimi is washed or how he sucks and so on and so on. What would that do to a seventeen year old’s confidence?

And when Toto wolff—the only guy presumed to benefit at all from this whole situation he allegedly cooked up gets reveals to have had a huge part in this kid’s life, way bigger than the general audience knows (seriously, he has a picture of baby Kimi in his office) everyone is going to be screaming at him for making a bad/questionable managerial decision that has deeply affected the mental health of a teen boy.

Mercedes as a team is already on the decline, this would be the Shitty PR move to end all Shitty PR moves.

Am i saying Logan is going to be on the grid next year? No. But the idea that it is a smart decision for any of the teams or drivers involved to replace Logan is insane.

[imaginesig]

"He laughs at all my jokes / and he says I'm so American"

Zak O'Sullivan x driver!reader

SMAU

Logans grid kid might be more patriotic than him. Reader is an American menace to the f2 grid, her bf included, who uses Oliva Rodrigo to cope (and Kimi has been demoted to f3 and Olivias release schedule for Guts is wrong). Based on this prema video

there is a criminally low amount of fics about this man

ynln

liked by zak.osullivan, kimi.antonelli, olliebearman, and 892,293 others

ynln totally sleighed it

tagged sister_username

dinobeganovic girl you slayed that house

ynln SLAY 💅

dinobeganovic slay 😵🔪

ynln oh

olliebearman mate what is that third picture? The dirt??

ynln chief I live in the southern US we dont get snow here

olliebearman what a sad winter

sister_username we ate the first pic up

ynln its a christmas miracle, my sister being the only one who's nice to me

zak.osullivan cant wait for you to see a REAL winter wonderland

ynln id take my dirt covered ground over your royal snow anyway 💪🇺🇸

zak.osullivan says the girl who flys out the 28th

user1 "were you silent or silenced" @/ynln

ynln gagged to silence ✋😔

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ynln posted 2 stories!

caption: (1) thoughts and prayers as I head into enemy territory (2) 🇺🇸→🇬🇧

replies

zak.osullivan

oh fuck off

haha

I can hear your gremlin cackle from here

heyyyy you're supposed to love me

I do

I love you and all your gremlin traits

im blocking you and visiting Harry Styles instead

like he would take you in

rude

anyway please call me when you land, I'll be waiting to pick you up anyway

but just in case

ofc baby

get some rest

I love you ❤️

I love you too❤️

ynln

liked by user4, prema_team, olliebearman, and 891,923 others

ynln theres snow-where better than this

tagged zak.osullivan

Logansargent beer in the snow 10/10

Ynln thank you thank you

Olliebearman “I’d take my dirt covered ground over your Royal snow any day” you sure girlie??

Zak.osullivan she’s been swayed

ynln I’m just a girl

Zak.osullivan my snow angel ❤️❤️

ynln ily 🤭🤭

Kimi.antonelli snow angels?? Are you 5

Zak.osullivan our entire yard was filled by her alone

Ynln excuse me, I’m enjoying my youth and I will grow into a happy adult with no regrets

sister_username nice to see you’re having fun without me

Ynln get a hot European bf then we’ll talk

user1 stop I love this

user2 if Y/nZak has no fans I’m dead

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zak.osullivan

liked by Ynln, user43, user32, and 828,992 others

zak.osullivan "I want your midnights"

tagged: ynln

artgp_offical new year, new us!!

ynln "but ill be cleaning up bottles with you on New Years Day" ❤️

Zak.osullivan ❤️

Ynln HOT DAYUM

ynln boy do i know how to take a photo 🥵

Ynln I can cook and clean

zak.osullivan no you can’t

Ynln I can bark

Zak.osullivan please don’t I believe you

user1 Y/n is a prime example of the duality of man

user2 she said what were all thinking

user3 this is so Y/n coded

user4 oh he def had help with this post

user5 thank you Y/n for the middle pic

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ynln posted 2 stories!

caption: (1) 🎶 New Years Day by Taylor Swift (2) New year, minimal headache

Replies

Zak.osullivan

Well hello

Didn’t expect to see my abs and underwear on your public story but here we are

let me show the people what they lost

How about you celebrate that win instead of dm-ing while laying next to me

sister_username

now I have to bleach my eyes

what better way to start the new year than with new vision

could've still done without your bf's stomach but ok

you'll live 😘😘

ynln

liked by user1, paularon_, user43, and 918,929 others

ynln shes back and ready to show these Europeans how its done

tagged no one

user1 QUEEN 🇺🇸🦅💪

Ynln “salute to me I’m your American queen” T.S

Kimi.antonelli nope

Olliebeaman absolutely not

Zak.osullivan keep dreaming babe

paularon_ id rather die

dinobeganovic I’ll crash myself into the barriers instead thank you

user1 ummm hello???? I didn’t mean to assemble the avengers💀

logansargent f2 grid menace is back 👏👏👏

Ynln gotta show them a good ole ‘merican time

user2 making that smoothie recipe rn

User3 omg update me on how it is!!

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zak.osullivan posted a story!

caption: I was bamboozled into matching

Replies

dinobeganovic

“Bamboozled” sure

Stfu 🙄

Ynln

I can’t believe you put up with it

rest assured I’ll be checking what’s under your sweatshirt from now on

Oh😏

No

I’m blocking you

f2_updates

liked by user3, user8, user32, and 819,929 others

f2_updates: Y/n L/n has won the first grand prix of the season!! Did you enjoy her victory radio as much as we did??

Tagged: no one

User1 PLEASE SHES SO PAINFULLY AMERICAN

user2 never a doubt she’s Logan’s grid kid

user3 at this point I think dating a Brit just eggs her on

User4 not the tik tok audio 💀💀

user5 her engineer is so done with her

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ynln

liked by paularon_, ollliebearman, user82, and 918,929 others

ynln first race back and WE GOT THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER PLAYING! Lets see if we can keep it going 🇺🇸🦅🎆

tagged prema_team

Prema_team perfect season start 🤩🤩

Logansargent OH SAY CAN YOU SEE

Ynln BY THE DAWN’S EARLY LIGHT

Logansargent you were great! Definitely a race to be proud of

Ynln thank you Lo!!!

Zak.Sullivan I’m proud of you love

Ynln ❤️❤️

user1 what is that last photo 💀

Ynln me dramatically blaring Dolly Parton

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Time skip-- a few races

zak.osullivan

liked by ynln, artgp_offical, user3, and 918,929 others

zak.osullivan MONACOOO COME ON 🏆🏆🏆

tagged artgp_offical

Ynln YESSSS SIR

olliebeaman you’ve never sounded more American

Dinobeganovic put this girl in a frat

Logansargent I have to agree…

ynln my own grid dad betrayed me

Ynln THATS HOW WE DO IT

ynln 15 to first??? YOU MAD MAN

Williamsracing we agree 👏👏

User1 get this man in f1

User2 id love to see it

ynln I LOVE YOU❤️❤️❤️❤️

Zak.osullivan I LOVE YOU TOO ❤️❤️❤️❤️

olliebearman congrats man!

dinobeganovic impressive race

paularon_ it was nice to share a podium

Logansargent calm down before you take my seat

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ynln

liked by sister_username, prema_team, user8, and 918,927 others

ynln MCDREAMY oops I mean ZAK GOT P1 IN MONACO!!!! I AM SO SO PROUD OF YOU!!! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH (oh and I got p4 yadda yadda…)

tagged: zak.osullivan, prema_team

Zak.osullivan even in my time of victory I lose to Shepard 😔😔

ynln someone had to keep me entertained while I waited for all your media to be done 🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️

Zak.osullivan thank you for all your support!! You raced a wondeful race, congrats on p4

Ynln I love you (but your race was better no need for a pitty congrats)

sister_username congrats Zak!! The Y/n family was cheering you on

ynln this L/n was also cheering you on!!

user2 I love that Y/n and her family were pulling for Zak more than Y/n 💀

user1 ugh we love a supportive gf

User2 God its me again🙏🙏

User3 when is it my turn

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ynln

liked by Oliviarodrigo, liakblock, elvirahallqvist, and 918,928 others

ynln Happy Guts release to those who celebrate! "All American Bitch" will be my personality from this moment forward

tagged: lettiemng, elvirahallqvist, hamdaalqubaisi_offical, liakblock

olivarodrigo wrote it just for you 🫶💜💜

ynln screaming crying throwing up I love you so much

olivarodrigo i literally love you!! My fav driver

user1 girlie just barley made the teenage cut

ynln 19 is still a teen ☝️🤓

paularon_ as if you needed any more reason to be more American

user2 omg this was a group I didn’t know I needed

user4 it seems so random but I love

user3 please give us content🙏🙏🙏

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ynln

liked by Zak.osullivan, user1, user3, and 918,829 others

ynln traveling the world with my world 🇪🇸

tagged Zak.osullivan

Olliebearman boo 🍅🍅🍅

Kimi.antonelli 🧀🧀🧀

ynln i can never win with yall

Olliebearman yall 🤠🤠

ynln get out of my comment section

Zak.osullivan I love you

ynln are you sure?? You said no to taking the cat

user1 “my world” I’m crying

user2 as much as i love American menace Y/n i LOVE soft y/n

user3 omg did you name the cat??

ynln ummmm of course, it’s Brick

user3 idk what i expected

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zak.osullivan

liked ynln, dinobeganovic, user43, and 918,892 others

zak.osullivan adventure buddies for life 🤝🤝

tagged ynln

ynln deal 🤝

user1 i love that they both posted a solo pic of the other

user5 top tier photography on both ends

user2 the middle pic 😭😭😭

user4 oh to be looked at the way either of them look at the other

user3 those olives looks good as hell

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ynln posted 2 stories!

Captions: (1) for the record I am NOT happy to be in Silverstone on 4th of July weekend (2) OLIVA YOU HAVE TURNED MY WEEK AROUND

replies

olliebearman

oh no

oh yes

and I thought the 4th was proper punishment for all your terrorizing

queen liv said no💜✨

call it good karma

GOOD KARMA FROM WHAT??

Elvirahallqvrst

im so excited

Me too!! I'm sad we won't get a listening party again

same 😭

hamdaalqubaisi_offical

my pre-race playlist just keeps getting better 😌

fr!!

zak.osullivan

liked by ynln, prema_teams, user4, and 923,029

zak.osullivan best way to end a home race?? his and hers 1-2

tagged: artgp_offical, ynln, prema_team

artgp_offical we agree!!

prema_team couldn't have said it better ourselves

olliebearman id rank that at bloody brilliant 👏🍾

user1 y'all live for a Ferrari 1-2, I live for a ZakY/n 1-2

user2 the "his and hers" has me crying

user3 strong race!! I hope you plenty of family and friends cheering you one

ynln what a race!! I was so nervous you'd overtake me in those last laps

zak.osullivan believe me I tried, if you weren't so damn good at defense

ynln 🤭😘

user4 I know she was just messing around for practice but Y/n looks so good in that blue suit

user5 the best part was she wore that to celebrate Zak's home gp

user4 stop thats so cute

user6 I agree she looks beautiful

user7 prema retire the red rn

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ynln

liked by olliebearman, user54, liakblock, and 928,924 others

ynln what better way to celebrate 4th of July than forcing the US national anthem to be played (I love you Zak and im so proud but Brits gotta know their place)

tagged: zak.osullivan, prema_team, artgp_offical

user1 I still cant believe she wore that sweatshirt around Silverstone

user2 see I want to be surprised but honestly im not

logansargent ultimate checkmake! You've made me proud kid

ynln ss this and hang it in the Louve 🥹

zak.osullivan you are incredible!! I'm proud to call you mine

ynln even when you lose

zak.osullivan fuck that im blocking you

olliebearman I despise everything you do

ynln screw me then for getting team points (and congratulating you on p3)

olliebearman the boys dont fw americans

ynln one of your boys fucks an american

olliebearman OK NOW WHERE DID THE PR TRAINING GO???

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ynln posted a story!

caption: My new national anthem has dropped!! 🎶 So American by Oliva Rodrigo

replies

zak.osullivan

did we finally find our song??

I think we did babe

dinobeganovic

am I gonna have to see you and Zak be all gushy to this song

🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

liakblock

its been on repeat

oh my spotify wrapped is messed up

zak.osullivan

liked by ynln, zak.osullivan, user43, and 923,923 others

zak.osullivan you're just so American

tagged: ynln

ynln screaming crying throwing up

ynln I didnt even ask you to do this

ynln I love you so much

zak.osullivan I love you (and your entire range of emotions)

olliebearman mission success?

zak.osullivan mission success.

ynln wot

user1 the Olivia quote???

user2 I think she knew deep down it was never her and Louis's song

user3 omg imagine Y/n and Zak dancing with Louis at an Oliva concert

user4 Y/n would die happy

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ynln

liked by sister_username, user4, user1, and 928,382 others

ynln "he's like a poem I wish I wrote"

tagged: zak.osullivan

user1 omg the 1D phone booth

Ynln I had to make my pilgrimage

Olliebearman glad to see you’re embracing real culture

Ynln a drink cup full of canes sauce IS real culture

user2 stfu I wasn’t prepared to a domestic ass today but where we are

user3 might sleep in traffic fr fr

sister_username if y'all dont get married I will kms

user4 same girl

user5 we got a L/n on our side

ynln oh hello to you too

zak.osullivan no pressure ig

[pollymorgan]

Teacher Negan - The Football Game - Part 1

Warnings: A very large age difference and of course, smut

Oh, and very important: It's all fiction of course! Please, my dears, use condoms and don't go with old men! :-P

That my mother has to move several hundred miles away with my aunt to open a beauty salon, especially before the last year of my high school, was initially a big shock for me, but now I also see the advantages it brings. First of all, I finally get out of my little town, and there's also the immediate proximity to my cousin. Cassady is 5 years older than me, to be exact 23, but we have always gotten along great. Another advantage is that I no longer have to see my ex-boyfriend every day, since we are no longer in the same class. Plus, I still have almost the entire summer vacation ahead of me to enjoy life to the fullest, like now at this football game. If I were to say I love football, that would be an understatement, because it feels like every American does. For me, it's an absolute dream to live in the city of my favorite team. That's why I'm wearing the appropriate hoodie over my dress and, of course, the matching cap at the game.

The atmosphere in the stadium is absolutely insane and totally captivating. Even if my cousin doesn't really see it that way and only came along because of me.

Now we just have to push through a horde of men to get to our seats. And then hopefully it will start soon. Even though the game will really become secondary. Because the atmosphere alone is reason enough to be here.

Getting to our seats, however, proves to be more difficult than expected. We each have two large beer cups in hand and somehow have to get through this crowd. But the line at the drinks stand was huge, and I didn't want to spend the start of the game waiting in line. So we planned ahead. I almost managed to get to my seat unscathed, when suddenly this guy turns around in a flash. Everything happens so quickly that I can't react anymore, and so I spill half of the beer on him and myself. The tall stranger initially looks at me very angrily and is about to scold me, but then his look suddenly changes as his dark eyes meet mine.

"What the hell.. oh, sorry.. I didn't mean to spill your drink, ...can I offer you a new one? Of course, only if you're already 21.." He starts to grin, and his perfectly white row of teeth shines through his silver-black beard.

I'm still a bit overwhelmed by the whole situation and look bewildered at the large wet spot on his black shirt under his dark jacket. Guys my age are never dressed so well. Only maybe for a funeral or a prom, and I've never been to either.

"I'm already 22.." I say somewhat defiantly, and according to my fake ID, that wouldn't even be a lie.

"Perfect.." he concludes.

He turns around to hand me a full beer from the drinks available behind him. I take it gratefully, and finally my cousin and I can sit down exhausted in our seats.

Immediately she whispers excitedly in my ear, "Did you see how that guy looked at you? He's at least twice as old as you and basically undressed you with his eyes .. pretty cringe..".

I look at her innocently, "Cringe? I actually find him quite cute!"

"Cute?" she asks in surprise, rolling her eyes.

The stranger sits down in the seat right next to me and toasts us.

"Thanks," I say again.

"No problem, pleasure to meet you, i’m Negan!"

"Sam.." I stammer somewhat clumsily.

Then everyone turns back to their groups. After a while, I'm engrossed in conversation with my cousin again, but the guy next to me has put on such an intense cologne that it lingers in my nose the whole time. It smells so ruggedly masculine that it almost drives me crazy. Whenever I have the chance, I shyly glance to the right, but he doesn't look at me anymore. I'm strangely disappointed, so I try to push that thought aside.

The game is running fantastically. My team is winning, which makes me so euphoric that I even infect my cousin with it.

After the game, as we're getting ready to leave, someone roughly grabs my arm. I startle briefly, then look back into the dark eyes that send a pleasant tingling sensation through my entire body.

"Do you and your friend maybe want to come with us to a bar to celebrate the victory a bit?" he asks with a deep tone, and I feel my stomach vibrating at his words.

Suddenly, my cousin's voice snaps me out of my trance. "No, sorry, we have to get up early..".

I look at her puzzled.

"Um, actually... apologize for us for a moment!".

The stranger seems to be thoroughly amused by this situation.

I turn to her and whisper in her ear, "That sounds fun... come on, let's go with them!"

"With these guys?!" she says a bit too loudly.

Startled, I turn around, but he is engrossed in a conversation again and apparently, thankfully, hasn't noticed. After a seemingly endless discussion, we agree that I will go to the bar with them without her. But only with the promise to be reachable on the phone at all times.

Reluctantly, Cassady bids me goodbye with a hug and whispers in my ear, "Take care of yourself... and don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Since my cousin has quite a bit of a checkered past, I don't even feel guilty promising her that.

When I agree to go with them, the stranger firmly takes my hand to guide me through the crowd out of the stadium. I'm initially a bit shocked by this strange situation, but fearing to lose him among the crowd, I interlock my fingers tightly with his and let him lead me out of the stadium.

The three of us, along with another man, take a seat on the backseat of a large black Audi. The men in the car are engaged in lively conversation about the game. Fortunately, I understand quite a bit about football and can engage in some discussion without sounding dumb, even though everyone else present is probably 30 years older than me.

After a short ride, we park in front of a small bar.

As we enter, the smell of smoke and alcohol greets me. The men take a seat at a round table, and I excuse myself for a moment to go to the bathroom.

There, I take off my sweater and am quite glad that I'm wearing a short black dress underneath. I take off my cap and let my hair down, then adjust it and try to fix my makeup a bit. I take a deep breath a few more times, looking at myself in the mirror. Then I go back, determined. But the table is empty. Startled, I look around, a thousand thoughts racing through my head.

But then I hear someone call out, "Here we are!" The voice comes from the billiard table. Relieved, I see Negan sitting on a sofa in front of the others. I walk purposefully towards them.

Two are already playing, and the clattering of the balls drowns out the conversations in the entire bar.

Since the couch is already occupied, I take a seat on the armrest next to Negan. He unabashedly looks me up and down and then offers me a beer.

"You look damn good..." he says directly, making my heart skip a beat and my cheeks blush.

After the men finish their game, I challenge him. He accepts with a smile, probably not expecting that I practically grew up at the billiard table. As he takes his first shots, he realizes it's not as easy as he thought, which pleases me.

Watching him concentrate more on the game makes me proud, and he looks even better doing it. As he leans closer to make his next move, he unexpectedly gives me a rather strong pat on the backside.

"Hey, unfair move!" I protest immediately, which only elicits a tired smile from him, but sends a strong tingle down in my lower abdomen.

But I manage to win against him, albeit very narrowly, which clearly annoys him. Afterwards, he has to endure some teasing from his buddies. Resignedly, he sits back on the sofa, and I proudly perch on the armrest again.

During the next round with his friends, we engage in animated discussions about their gameplay and continue drinking our beer. After a while, Negan starts touching my bare shin. At first, he just places his warm hand there, but then he starts stroking it slowly. The touches of his large rough hands are so gentle that they give me goosebumps. I enjoy this feeling and what it does to me to the fullest. I'm disappointed when he lets go of my leg, but only to offer me a vodka shot that the waitress had placed on a large tray in front of us. The drink is much needed, as my mouth feels incredibly dry.

We clink glasses, and I down the shot in one go. The sharp alcohol burns in my throat and then warms my stomach, shooting straight to my head. I can tell that Negan is watching my every move closely.

As soon as I place the empty glass back on the table, he puts his hand on my thigh.

"You look so damn sexy drinking it all in one go, do you like swallowing other things too?" he whispers unabashedly.

I almost slap him out of reflex, but as I look into his grinning face and his lustful eyes meet mine, my whole lower abdomen tightens, and I can't help but smirk. We gaze at each other for a while, and then I decisively say, "Why don't you find out.."

Without warning, he pulls me onto his lap, and before I know it, I'm straddling him, and he immediately starts kissing me. His lips are incredibly demanding. I place my hands on his cheeks to try to control the situation somewhat, while I completely forget everything around me and simply ignore the stupid comments from others.

His fingers trail down my back purposefully, immediately gripping my buttocks tightly. Then he presses me firmly against his pelvis. Excited, I breathe against his open mouth as I feel his penis getting harder and pressing strongly against me.

Sensing my hesitation, he whispers softly, "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Nothing.. it's just pretty big.." I grin, feeling a bit embarrassed.

He smiles contentedly and presses me against him again, then gently kisses the sensitive skin on my neck and says in my ear, "Oh, don't worry, pretty princess, I'll order a taxi for us now, and then we'll go to my place where I'll pamper you so much that your little pussy will get nice and wet for me, and then my big, hard cock can slide into you slowly and effortlessly. How does that sound?"

His deep voice and direct manner drive me crazy. I nod decisively and kiss him again. I then take his right hand off my butt and guide it under my dress, directly between my legs.

"I'm already so wet for you, feel it!" I reply somewhat shyly.

His fingers deftly shift my panties aside, while his eyes scan my face precisely, enjoying every reaction from me. Slowly, he skillfully glides his middle finger through my cleft, causing me to involuntarily flinch.

"You're such a naughty sweet girl!" he remarks amusedly, as his finger leaves my most intimate place again, moistening my lips with my wetness. He then kisses me again, passionately sucking my taste from my lips. "You taste incredibly good.." he says contentedly.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unorthodox 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you bring order to the disordered life of Captain Syverson.

Characters: Captain Syverson, this reader is known as Izzie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

You’re shown to a room of your own. It’s a luxury in your line of work. You often share the back of the truck or some cramped space with your boss. You look forward to a night without Syverson’s rumbling snores. 

As you remove your harness and vest, a knock thumps on the door. You answer and find a man with a pile of fabric in his hands. He gives it to you without a word and leaves, a rifle across his back. You frown and shut the door. 

The accommodations are acceptable. There’s a bed, a side table, and a fan. Nothing fancy but better than a cot or a car seat. Or your favourite, the ground. 

You hold up the patterned swath of silk and let it unfold. The long caftan is cool and sheer. It might not be your usual attire but it’s preferable to your dusty cargo pants and sweaty cotton shirt. You shake out your clothes as you undress then throw the swishy fabric over your head. You feel almost human. 

Another pounding comes at the door. You hear a snort as you approach and know before you answer it, who it is. Sy waits on the outside. He wears the same thing he showed up in; dirty cargo and camo. He blinks at you dumbly and grimaces. 

“What the hell is that?” He flicks a thick finger at you. 

“What?” 

“What’re you wearing, Iz? You look like my mammy.” 

“Shut up,” you jab him and turn back. You push your feet into your boots and tramp back to him. He chuckles at the clomp of the heavy soles. 

“Naw, I mean it, Iz, you pack that get-up or what?” 

“No, it was... given to me. I don’t know.” You cross your arms and look down with a shrug. “I thought... Well, it seemed nice.” You look up and narrow your eyes. “Wait, why’re you bothering me anyway?” 

“Hungry, ain’t ya?” He scoffs. 

“Sure.” 

“So come on, I’ll show ya the mess.” 

You cluck and step out into the hall. After settling from the jump, your stomach has turned ravenous. You wish you were at Retro’s, gnawing at hot wings and downing martinis. Alas, you have work. Well, you’ve had worse than this. 

“Thank,” you grumble. 

He’s quiet as you walk through the halls. Others pass or follow in your stead. He toys with a flap on one of his many pockets. 

“Tired?” He asks. 

“Mm? Oh, yeah. Kinda.” 

“Get that adrenaline kickin’ and you sleep like a black bear in winter.” 

“Well, I don’t know about that,” you chuckle. “Maybe you though. You’re pretty good at it.” 

“Good at what?”  

“Sleeping through the b—chaos,” you keep yourself from swearing. 

“Ah, I guess. Not much of a skill.” 

You shrug. He can be awkward sometimes. Mostly when he talks. When you first started, he didn’t say too much, now he tends to force himself too. 

“Here we are.” He points you to a door. 

You peer down the hall and step out of the way of the men in civvies milling around. Sy opens the door without knocking and nudges your lower back to urge you inside. You stumble in as a figure stands to greet you. Conrad smiles and tilts his head. 

“I don’t like to presume things about you Americans but it is rather uncourteous not to knock,” he reproaches. 

“Eh,” Sy grunts. 

“Then again, it is you,” Conrad snickers back. He moves around the table in front of him. There’s a bottle of wine and glasses, a few cans of beer, and food that isn’t served in tin or vacuum seal. “And you, I do hope the attire suffices. It was all I could scrounge, I regret.” 

“Uhhh, it’s good. Er, pretty.” You look down and touch the silk. 

“Feel free to take it with you. That colour is immaculate on you.” 

“Ha, er, thanks.” 

Sy marches forward and claims a seat with a huff. He shows no patience as he reaches for the dish of seasoned chicken. You come forward and Conrad rounds the table to pull out another chair. You thank him as you sit and your brutish boss glances over at the gesture. 

“Shiraz? Does that suit you?” Conrad grabs the bottle wine and a glass. 

“I’m not picky,” you assure him. 

“Yes, but I hate to leave a women disappointed,” he winks and pours you a glass. 

“What’s in here?” Sy interrupts as he holds up a bowl. 

“Olive? Rosemary, bit of red vinegar. How about a brew, eh?” He grabs a can and offers it. 

“I’ll have what she’s havin’,” Sy insists through a mouthful. 

“You may help yourself. As you have done.” Conrad clunks down the bottle between your and Sy’s plates. 

He sits and offers to serve you before he does himself. You don’t mind the attention though it does strike you as a bit overdone. You have an extra scoop of curry as the aroma drives you mad. 

Conrad watches as you taste the wine and Sy slurps from his own glass. Your boss tuts and puts it down heavily. He scrapes his plate loudly with his fork as you only just start to poke at your own fare. The other man is uninterested in the meal as he stares you down. 

“Please, you must tell me, how did you end up here at my table?” Conrad purrs. 

You chew slowly and look over at Sy. He narrows his eyes and shovels more food into his mouth, a dribble catching in his beard. You stir the rice with your fork. 

“I applied on a job board and interviewed and--” 

“Ah, that sounds rather proper. Syverson, I thought you more the type to snatch up beautiful women.” 

“Hm?” Sy grunts around a mouthful. 

“And yet, a creature like this should be cozened. To have her jumping from planes? Tsk tsk. Oh, don’t tell me he’s had you living on beans and sleeping in dirt.” 

“Her job...” Sy sneers over. 

“It’s exciting, actually. My old job was just the same desk, same walls. I couldn’t even get the time off to go parachuting for fun so... not so bad.” 

“Thrill seeker? Mmm, that’s intriguing. Have you ever been rock climbing? Not in a gym but on a real mountain?” 

“You got barbecue sauce?” Sy interjects. 

Conrad laughs again. He stands and goes over to the footlocker against the wall and opens the lid. He pulls out a bottle of a southern brand of sauce. The same you stocked for Sy. Hm. 

“I have to be prepared for anything, not least of all the way you get when you’re hungry.” Conrad struts back and sets the bottle at Sy’s elbow. “I must admit, I wasn’t ready for you, darling.” He sits again and you’re certain there’s a low growl from your other side. No matter the perks, managing men is never simple. 

[disneyprincemuke]

third time's a charm * fem!driver

notes: mocky rewritten now please leave me alone with that milo crap i just want rocky to have a boyfriend for the plot... the original mocky fics will still be up, they're just no longer relevant... i will be reposting a new version of mrs all american in a bit </3

everyone say bye to milo, hello matt cornett and also shoutout to the president of mocky nation her name is tine, thank you for helping me find the inspo and brainrotting with me to relaunch mocky <3

"why are you so pissed?" george frowns, turning around to pinch her cheek. "it's just a club. you've been to clubs before."

she huffs, folding her arms over her chest. "i wanted to stay in bed. remember how you had to drag me out of bed?"

george shrugs as he purses his lips together. "technically, logan dragged you out of bed. not me."

she scowls at him. "whatever."

she looks around the club with furrowed eyebrows and squinted eyes. while she's not one to shy away from a good party, it's just a bad night for her tonight. she'd already originally planned on staying in her hotel room with a pint of ice cream and watching a movie.

she's simply not mentally prepped for a party night.

"hey, where are you going?" george frowns, hand chasing after the girl that's already weaving through the crowd flawlessly. "don't leave me."

"i'm going to get myself a drink," she smiles slightly. "it's on you, remember? because i came to be your designated driver."

george throws his head back with a soft hiss. "but soda is crazy expensive in these places."

she shrugs simply. "should have thought of that before you dragged me out tonight."

"and we thank you for that, rocky," fernando grins, slinging an arm around her. he presses a kiss on her cheek before guiding the two towards the counter. "your sodas are on me tonight."

"thanks," she laughs softly. she looks around when they reach the counter. "what's with the last-minute visit to the club anyway? weren't you guys also already in bed like normal people were?"

"my friend said i couldn't leave vegas without visiting this place," george admits with an excited nod. "we're in vegas, mate, and we just finished the race. let's just have fun."

"but i'm your designated driver."

"you keep saying that but you know i offered, right?" logan snorts, coming up next to her with a beer bottle in his hand. "nobody forced you to be designated driver."

"yeah, well, you guys forced me out of bed. i'm not in the condition to drink," she mutters, dropping her head slightly. "and i don't feel like drinking tonight. i want to be in the hotel with my pint of rocky road ice cream and a trashy romcom on my ipad."

she grins when fernando hands her the can of pepsi and turns back around to scan the crowd. there has to be somewhere she can run off to find some silence to be with her own thoughts. one person in particular catches her eyes, another guy sitting on the couch in the far corner typing away on his phone.

he lifts his head momentarily and by some force, he turns and immediately catches her eye from across the room. he forces a small smile to his face, prompting one from her before he looks down at his phone again.

she shrugs and starts to pick up her feet to explore the club with logan.

and 20 minutes later, she finds herself in a quieter part of the club. a balcony up at the second floor overseeing some view of vegas that she's growing to like quite a bit.

if she's being honest, being the sober one for a change is nice. or is it because she's now collected an insane amount of blackmail content on her friends?

a breeze of wind gushes over her, startling the girl hunched over and leaning on the railing. she turns around with a soft gasp and a hand to her chest when a man stands with the door handle in his hand, looking just as shocked as her.

"i-" he smiles politely. "i'm so sorry, i didn't know anyone was out here. i'll just go."

she furrows her eyebrows as a soft giggle passes her lips. "it's a public space. you don't have to go just because i was here first."

he purses his lips together. "i was trying to be respectful and polite," he squints his eyes as he finally lets go of the door. he walks over to her with caution. "if you wanted company, you could have just said so."

"i was also trying to be polite," she shoots back with a small and sarcastic grin. "i think i saw you earlier. on the couch being gloomy. clubs not typically your scene?"

he shrugs. "not as of lately. i'm matt, by the way."

she introduces herself as well – first name only and stops at that. if he didn't go in-depth with his introduction, she doesn't see a reason why she should.

and they spend the entire evening together, up until logan stumbled through the same glass doors in fits of giggles because george had hit his head on a lamp and told her it's time to go.

she never gets his full name, which is just a shame. nothing to tie the evening back to him; not a social media handle or anyone in the group that she went to the club with could find his face in the backlog of their evening before it became a haze.

"lily, oh my gosh, there's no way," she mutters, eyes widening as her hand comes out to smack her friend's shoulder. "it's the guy i met in vegas after the race."

"what?" lily says, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "how sure are you that it's him? and, where?"

"over there," the younger girl slurs, covering her mouth as she giggles loudly. "at the bar. should i go and say 'hi'? do you think he remembers me?"

lily shakes her head and pushes her towards the direction of the bar. "it doesn't matter if he does. just go and say hi to him," lily encourages with a giddy smile on her face. "you've got your margarita, rocky?"

she nods with a soft huff. "you're right. i'm already shit faced – what's the worst that could happen?"

"well, you still have to be pleasant, you know that, don't you?" lily whispers in a firm tone. "just go and strike up a conversation with him."

with that advice, lily gives her one last push towards the bar. she turns back momentarily, raising her eyebrows at the redhead, pointing shyly at the boy's back turned towards her. lily nods and beckons her the other way.

she drunkenly tries to climb the seat next to him, sucking in a deep breath as she tries to find the words to say.

"that seat's take-"

"hey, gorgeous," she slurs, resting her elbow on the counter of the bar table, cheek pressed against her palm.

"ah, you!" matt immediately says, tilting his head with a wide smile. truthfully, he's remembered her voice for months since he first met her in vegas.

but her friend had yanked her out immediately, rambling something about an oscar needing to be taken home before he starts to projectile vomit everywhere. he remembers her giggle as she was pulled away by the blonde, turning around momentarily to bid him goodbye and thank him for keeping her company for an hour and a half.

he wasn't able to find her then. only got her first name and nothing else. he doesn't think of her as much as he did when they first met, but he does regret not getting anything else from her.

he should have. he just hadn't realised that their time would have been cut short so abruptly.

"yeah, me." she grins, biting down on her bottom lip. "we should really stop meeting like this. don't know what it says about us as individuals."

"well," he trails off, leaning back slightly, "you're kinda wasted this time around. i'm still sober – i was dragged out by my friends."

she laughs, "constant theme for you to be in places you don't wanna be. i quite like drinking; i'm typically the life of the party."

"then why are you here sitting with me at the bar? i've just been sitting here, you know," he says softly, looking around the club to try and find her friends for her, "you're not going to be the life of anything if you stay here with me."

"aw, don't want me around, malt?" she slurs with a giggle. she halts her giggles immediately, covering her mouth. "i'm sorry! i mean matt. your name is matt."

"new nickname just dropped."

"shut up!"

they share a laugh before they let the loud music overcome them. they sit in silence, the girl leaning forward to take a sip of her margarita. now she needs to find something to talk about before he gets bored of her.

"i like just sitting and talking with you, by the way," he starts softly, leaning towards her slightly to ensure that he could hear her. "you're pretty cool. and cute."

she hiccups, her body frozen in her seat as she stares at him with wide eyes. and she does the one thing she doesn't think she should have done: she makes fun of his accent.

now, she'd only typically do this with logan, who's very much accustomed to her defence mechanism of making fun of and mimicking his accent. but for a person she's only met twice and has spent a total of 2 hours with in her life, he's surprisingly taking it well.

they sit there for the next hour and a half – again – before liam comes stumbling with a film camera in his hands. he gushes sweetly, and drunkenly, muttering something about how the younger driver is finally finding a partner.

then he forces them together, snapping a picture and shoving it into the girl's forehead before padding away to terrorise oscar and lily once more.

"aw, i look so cute!" she squeals, scrunching her nose as she leans against matt's shoulder to look at it. "you should keep it, malt."

"what? no, your friend took the picture. i can't possibly take this with me," he laughs, offering her the polaroid picture. "you take it."

she shakes her head, eyes closed and lips pursed. "you should keep it to remind yourself how cute i am from time to time."

he raises an eyebrow, a small grin playing on his face. “are you sure? it’s really okay.”

she pushes his hand away and grins. “i don't forget cute boys that i meet – keep it so you don't forget how cute i am."

next to him, he hears somebody squealing. “oh, is that liam lawson? and logan sargeant?”

logan. now that’s a name he’s heard before, the first night they met in vegas, the young girl scolding the man who interrupted their time together to drag her out.

she winds up getting dragged away by her friends again, an older blonde man being the one to do it this time. she blows him a kiss as she is dragged out of the bar, waving at him as she’s yanked from the seat next to him.

and when he gets home, he searches for liam first. it was the easiest to misspell and google did its thing helping him correct it so he could find the driver.

it led to logan, the american's name being directly tied to liam's from the time being teammates in f2. and then oh–

she’s an f1 driver. with andretti. how could he not have connected the dots that evening they met at a club at the vegas strip?

he finds her instagram with no problem. and then he follows her.

there's a chorus of screams by the dj booth of the club, shot glasses and cocktails glasses up in the air before they take swigs of their individual drinks.

a race win for the sole woman on the grid – a truly monumental moment for everybody involved. so you can only imagine what it means for the 21-year-old to finally have her name added to the long list of race winners.

and here's matt, stepped into one of the random clubs in miami after attending the race.

so he attended the miami gp to see her. it's not weird, he was just interested to see her in action. seeing her race highlights from the 2023 season simply did not do her justice.

it's only a coincidence that she's won the race today.

but his luck had its cut out for him; he didn't come across her all weekend no matter what he did or where in the zones he went to. so, he'd given up. just let his friends drag him to some random club nearby, rumoured to house a couple drivers from the grid to party.

and would you have it: the race winner is standing at the dj booth sipping on a glass of cocktail with a pair of headphones on her head as she dances to the music.

he keeps an eye on her for the next 10 minutes, eager to finally introduce himself once more. when she finally leaves the dj booth, to get a refill of her cocktail he assumes, he stays at the bar where he sits.

but she doesn't see him. just stands quite a distance from him, rocking back and forth on her feet with puffed cheeks and drumming her hands against the marbled counter.

so he finally takes the courage to stand up and talk to her.

"well, well, well. look who it is." he sees her stand a little straighter, head tilting before she turns on her heel. she keeps herself steady with a hand gripping the countertop tightly. "third time's a charm, right?"

she clenches her jaw, trying to hide the smile that's growing on her face. "third?"

"right," he laughs, throwing his head back slightly, "you were pretty shit-faced that night. a club in new york? couple months ago in february?"

he sees her slowly realise and remember the second time they'd met, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. "oh, my lord! i remember that!" she shrieks with her hands over her cheeks. "we had to leave; we had a flight early in the afternoon when sebastian dragged me out. i didn't do anything embarrassing, did i?"

he makes a face, slightly contorted as he briefly looks up to the ceiling as if to think of it. "well..."

she hunches over. "oh, god! i'm so sorry! i can't imagine what i did!"

she turns around as her cocktail is refilled, thanking the bartender and letting him know which tab she's under. though, it didn't really matter – how can the bartender not know which tab to charge her under she walked in with max verstappen and lando norris?

"congrats, by the way," he says softly. "i saw you earlier."

she tilts her head again, turning as she sips on her drink, what seems to be a glass of mojito. "what?"

"the race?" he furrows his eyebrows with a grin, pointing over his shoulder towards the window. "you won, didn't you?

she looks down shyly, nodding. "right. i did. thank you." she takes a deep breath and takes a seat on the high seat behind her. "you were at the race?"

he nods, "just gave it a try. pretty enjoyable, actually."

"i hope you liked the show," she grins, making slight jazz hands. she lifts her eyebrows. "which reminds me – let me get your instagram before we forget and i never chance upon you again. i'd be damned if i'm dragged out again tonight without being connected with you anywhere."

so she pulls out her phone and hands it over, him typing his username in while he contemplates. "actually, i already follow you."

"oh?" she squeaks, tilting her head as she looks down at her phone and wide eyes. "you do?"

"yeah," now it's his cheeks that slowly flush, dropping his head slightly, "i'm friends with sabrina."

"carpenter! i love sabrina!" she celebrates and giggles. "you're saying you talk about me to your friends?"

he shrugs, "i did. she confirmed to me it's you in the polaroid picture – found it when she was ransacking my wallet."

"you kept our picture in your wallet!" she coos, hands patting her cheeks as she drops her head. she can't even ignore the way her heart is racing in her chest. "how cute."

"are you leaving soon?"

"i'm the race winner – nobody leaves until i do," she presses her lips together with a grin, "max's rules."

"i mean miami. are you leaving the country soon?"

she grins. "i'm here for another week. why do you ask?"

"are you doing anything tomorrow evening? i'd love to take you out on a date."

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @leilanixx @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore @notawc @sadg3 @kazuha-pista-badam @mellowarcadefun @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @a-disturbing-self-reflection @inejismywife @love4lando @louvrepool

[thetriumphantpanda]

LOST IN OUR VICES | ONE

Chapter Summary | A chance encounter with a handsome stranger sets off a chain of events that could all end in disaster. It's hard to say no when it feels so good though.

Pairing | Professor!Marcus Pike x Student F!Reader

Chapter Warnings | Dubious ethical relationship between a professor & student, Marcus tells a lie, mentions of food and alcohol, mentions of academia, academic failure and strained parental relationships, gratuitous descriptions of London because I live here and I love it, some heavy making out and some heavy petting, no use of y/n.

Authors Note | WELL HERE SHE IS. I have no idea how to tell you how much I am loving this so far. Professor Pike has well and truly rotted my brain so y'all have to suffer with me okay? It's gonna be fun, I promise. I would LOVE to know what you all think about this so feel free to scream at me incumbents, reblogs and asks! As always, a huge thank you to @undercoverpena for reading this over and making sure it isn't utter tripe. ILY. And to @saradika for the beautiful divider.

Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs for writing updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

He’s seen her there every day he’s visited the past month. Sitting on the bench, looking up at the same sculpture - a woman carved from marble - sketching into a notepad. He stands this time and watches as her finger tucks some hair behind her ear, brushing it out of her face. She looks up and tilts her head a little, eraser end of her pencil sitting between her teeth as she thinks, tracers a portion of the statue before her head is back down, looking at the page as she continues to draw.

She’s beautiful, there’s no denying it, she’s been beautiful every time he’s seen her. There’s something lonely about her too, the way she sits there on her own, artefacts and artworks for company. She’s just like him really, uprooted from a life he was no longer satisfied with, four years of a PhD and now the letters of Dr before his name. Moved to London, a new city, a fresh start as he’d coined it to his family, but he’s been here three years now, and not one thing that he wanted from his move have materialised. He knows the therapy was good for him, he knows that his haste to find someone was probably what was making him scare people off, but he doesn’t much like the other side of the coin either - a modest flat in London to himself, a small group of friends who sit around and drink beer and droll on about their academic passions, but no-one he can really call his own right now.

Dr. M Pike. Professor of Art History. That’s what his doorplate says, one of many in the small corridor at UCL. Three years and he’s still not quite sure how he made it here, or if it’s really what he wants, but it beats whatever he was doing back in D.C. that’s for sure. It had seemed like the best thing to do at the time, but when Lisbon had told him she wasn’t coming, everything about it seemed wrong, soiled somehow, by the life he’d built in his mind being torn up by someone who, looking back, had never really wanted him in the first place.

He thought about talking to her the first day he’d seen her, but then realised he was actually here to prepare for one of his teaching seminars, so squirrelled himself away to another room instead. The second time he’d seen her, she’d looked too engrossed on whatever she was working on, and then every other time, he’s convinced himself she’s here for peace, not to be bothered by some random man. But there’s something about the way she is today that makes the pull harder to resist, so he says fuck it, shoves his hands into his trouser pockets and walks over.

“You come here often?”

It’s an American accent that pulls you from your work. His voice jolts your hand, makes you press your pencil into paper too hard and at the wrong angle. You suck in a deep breath, try not to think about the hours of work he’s just ruined by startling you. You’re about to turn around and complain when he comes into your vision.

He’s tall, broad shoulders covered in a light dress shirt, two buttons undone so you can see a flash of tanned skin and a smattering of hair. It’s tucked into dark jeans, a belt keeping them tight to his trim waist. And then there’s his face - a beard, but only just and friendly brown eyes, a full mouth too. He’s handsome, there’s no way around it.

“Sorry, that was awful,” The mystery man scratches the back of his neck, “I just come here a lot and I think I’ve seen you here every time for the past month.”

You smile at that, that you’re someone he’s been picking out amongst the crowd of tourists who always come here, someone familiar to him, even if he’s not the same to you.

“I’m just working on something.” You shrug, letting your palm slyly cover the sketch you’ve been making.

The man walks in front of you slightly, takes a seat on the vacant spot on the bench and looks up at the woman carved from marble, “She’s beautiful.” He muses.

“She is.” You agree, looking over the curves of her hips, the way the marble has been carved to make it look like her clothes are wet, sticking to her breasts like she’s just climbed out of the Aegean Sea.

“You like sculpture then?”

“I do,” You nod, turning your body a little towards him, “It’s not my first artistic passion, but I’m studying for my PhD at the moment and it’s all about the female form in marble.”

“Brains as well as beauty,” He smirks a little at you, “Sounds interest though, where are you studying?”

“UCL,” You beam, because you’re proud, it wasn’t easy, you’d been rejected for your first choice research project the first time around, encouraged to choose something else from the feedback, but you were there now, and that’s what mattered, “What about you?” You ask, “What do you do that means you have to be here as much as me?”

He shrugs a little, “I teach.”

It’s vague but you don’t press, he owes you nothing, so you let it lie. You turn back to the sculpture in front of you, when your stomach grumbles. You look down at your watch. It’s 2pm and you’ve not eaten anything yet.

“Hungry?”

“Starving.” You reply meekly.

“Want to grab something to eat?” He asks, “I know a great Italian place in Soho if you fancy it?”

You look at him, eyes tightening a little. It’s been so long since anyone has shown you an ounce of interest, and now the beautiful man in a shirt and dress pants wants to take you for lunch, it all seems a bit too good to be true. But, you can hear the voice of your therapist tell you to say yes to more things, take more risks in life because not all of them are going to turn out to be bad, so you flip the front of your notepad over to cover your drawing and reach down to pick up your backpack.

“Lead the way.”

He doesn’t disappoint. Over the course of a glass of wine and a bowl of olives, you coax out his name. It’s Marcus. He’s got a PhD in Art History and moved to London from D.C. three years ago. He lives alone, near Notting Hill, he likes it because he can go searching for antiques on the weekend. He wants a dog, but he spends too much time out of the house to justify one. He likes to read and he can cook, but prefer eating out or ordering in because he’s not mastered the art of cooking for one.

When a waiter sets down your second glass of wine and your food - gnocchi with pesto and bacon for you and carbonara from Marcus, he turns the conversation back to you, sipping wine as he ask you where you live - Willesden Green, so not far from you - who you live with - myself, my dad was so proud I got into my course he pays for my rent, it’s the only way he can show he loves me - what you like to do with your free time - free time? When I have it, I read, or I walk, or I sit and draw sculptures in museums.

You don’t know whether it’s the wine or not, but the dark winter sinks in, outside cloaked in black, lights dimmed inside, and it makes him even more handsome than he was before. He makes you laugh, with his stories of his own PhD stress, how he would walk the streets of D.C. at 3am to get coffee and pancakes on his way back from the library and then collapse into bed and sleep for two hours until his alarm would wake him up and he would go all the way back to the library to do it again.

“If I ever get to that point,” You muse, stabbing a piece of gnocchi onto your fork, “I don’t think I’ll have the will to make it through.”

“You seem far too organised to me to fall into the bad habits I had.” He shrugs, looking at you over his own glass of wine as you take a bite of your food, too busy watching him to really notice the angle of your fork, green sauce smearing on the corner of your mouth as you fight it into your mouth.

Before you have a chance to reach down and grab the napkin from your lap, Marcus is reaching over the table, using the pad of his thumb to wipe the stray sauce away. It’s something that under any other circumstance would make you feel uncomfortable, but all it really makes you want to do is kiss him, especially when he apologises profusely for being so forward.

He pays for dinner, insists on it really, hidden behind the excuse that he knows how hard it is to live whilst studying. He takes you for cocktails at a bar on the end of Old Compton Street - orders himself an old fashioned whilst you opt for an amaretto sour. The bar is dark and busy, the only seats are in a corner, sat so close together your knees are touching and your shoulder is slightly leaned into his side.

“So, you said you got rejected from your first choice course?” He muses, taking a short sip of his drink.

You shrug with a nod, “I wanted to research the impressionist movement,” You start to explain, “I love Monet and Renoir but I think my research application was too broad,” Sipping your own drink you carry on talking, “There’s a great academic at UCL, Professor Pike, I was desperate to have him as my supervisor, but it wasn’t meant to be.”

You turn your head a little, watching as Marcus swallows on nothing, quickly taking another sip of his drink.

“It’s okay,” You hasten to add, “I guess if I’m not writing thousands of words about it, it won’t make me hate what I love most.”

“Smart,” Is what he says with a smirk, “You would have given him a run for his money anyway.”

“Do you know him?” You ask, “I know all of you academic types are familiar with each other.”

He swallows on nothing again, “I’ve heard of him but I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

You both order another drink, sit around talking about nothing much at all, slowly moving closer as the bar gets busier, you tell yourself it’s just so you can hear him better, but he smells good, some kind of musky cologne that suits him really well, so you don’t complain about soaking it up.

When it gets late, he offers to take you home, keep you company on the tube. You know it’s not really necessary, you’ve never felt particularly unsafe walking home from the station, but if it means spending more time with him, then you don’t really mind. He lets you take the only free seat on the tube, standing in the aisle just in front of your knees so he can keep talking to you, and when you reach the other side, he walks close to you, puts a hand on your lower back which you can feel through your jacket when a group of people walk past you a little too close. He even insists on walking you to your door.

It’s quiet in the building, like it usually is. It’s only recently been built and you think you’re one of only a few people who are currently living there. You pluck your keys from your coat pocket when you reach your door, leaning your back against it.

“This is me.”

“Nice place.”

“Yeah, although I usually prefer places with more character.”

He’s stood right in front of you, rocking on his heels, that same nervous hand on the back of his neck as this afternoon, “I know this might seem weird, but would you like to go on a date sometime?”

You can help but snort a laugh, shaking your head a little, before you meet his eyes, “This wasn’t a date?” You ask coyly.

He smirks a little, cheeks flushing a little, “Did you want it to be a date?”

“I wouldn’t have let you take me for lunch if I didn’t,” You say, “But there is one thing missing.”

“Oh yeah?” He hums, “What’s that?”

Instead of speaking, you take a step forward, hands gripping the lapels of his jacket as you press up onto your toes and plant your lips on his. It’s clumsy and it’s impulsive, but you’ve wanted to do it all day. You can feel his arms wrapping around your back, dragging your body flush to his as he opens his mouth against yours right as you do the same. He tastes like mint from the gum he’s been chewing and the whisky from his drinks - it’s all you can think about as he walks you back, presses you against the door as his tongue meets with yours.

You’re thankful no-one is around. Your arms move from his jacket to wrap around the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the curls there as you tilt your head to one side, a slight smacking sound from your lips as the disconnect, only to come back together seconds later. He’s good at this, you think, as his hands drop from your back to rest in the pockets on the back of your jeans, palms warm through the material. You can feel him squeeze you there a little, and you’re so close to saying fuck it and inviting him in, because if his lips are this good against yours, you can’t imagine what they’d be like in other places.

Marcus is the one that pulls away from you, resting his forehead gently to yours. You’re both breathless and you’re itching to press your mouth back to his.

“I should go.” He breathes against your mouth, pressing his lips to your in a chaste kiss.

“Yeah,” You agree, “You should.”

He steps back, takes the warmth of his palms with him, but reaches in to his pocket and hands his phone to you, “Put your number in here and I’ll call you.”

So you do, press the eleven digits into his phone along with your name and then kiss him once more before he’s turning on his heel and walking away, leaving you with a dull ache between your thighs that you’re working on relieving within five minutes of getting inside. You’re fucked.

Marcus curses himself as he settles into the seat on the bus. It’s late enough that it’s not too busy, no-one sitting next to him as he leans his head back and runs his hand over his face. He already knows he’s fucked up. The words Professor Pike and rejected from my first choice spinning around in his brain as he watches parts of North London flash past the window on his ride home.

Why hadn’t he stopped it then? He knows the rules, knows that even though he doesn’t teach her, any kind of relationships with students, no matter how mature, are off limits. And how is he supposed to keep the facade up now? It’s only a matter of time before she puts two and two together and figures out who he really is.

You’re sweet and you’re smart and you’re fucking beautiful and the best kisser he thinks he’s ever met. You have so much in common with him that it actually hurts him a little and one stupid choice to keep lying to you and the fucking ethics policy are going to keep him from something he thinks would actually be fucking good for him.

He thinks for a second, pulling out his phone and looking at your contact card that he should probably just delete your number. It’s for the best for everyone. He could avoid the museum for a while, keep his head low on campus, he knows he can avoid you. But with his finger hovering over the delete confirmation, he finds he doesn’t have the strength to do it. Stuffs his phone back in his pocket and tries to will his mind to forget the way you’d gasped into his mouth when his hands had squeezed at the swell of your ass, or the way your lips had been soft against his when he’d kissed you.

Then, led in bed, frustrations sorted by his own hand, he picks up his phone and damns himself to hell with a single text.

How about a walk around the National Gallery and dinner this weekend?

[writersdrug]

Ghost x Konig x Reader: I Don't Need You (Ch. 6)

<- Previous - Next ->

Summary: You (surprisingly) get more comfortable with Kortac, and slowly let yourself connect with the team. You subconsciously tether yourself to Konig, who is more than willing to help you fit in. The pain of the past begins to fade into the back of your mind like the end of a long chapter of your life.

Additionally, Konig starts asking the hard questions - it unearths a piece of you that you'd hoped would remain buried, but you still share the memories with Konig.

Chapter warnings: Mentions of violence, mentions of rape, cursing, google translate German, shirtless Soap, very EXTREMELY watered-down mentions of sexual themes (we ain't there yet, boiis)

Notes: Sorry it took so long, I've got a lot cooking in the kitchen now and I'm hoping to pump out a lot this week!

Additionally, I've had some comments on this work not being an x Reader. First off, I never want to mislead anyone. I label this as an x Reader because Bonnie is not an OC of mine. I've seen other x Reader fics include callsigns that refer to the reader, so I assumed using Bonnie similarly would be alright. I also mentioned a name ONCE in chapter 3, "Jane Morris," which I thought to be a very generic name, and I haven't used it since and don't plan to. I have a personal preference of writing longer, chapter-by-chapter fics in first POV because it feels more natural to me than second POV. The same goes for using y/n - I like to avoid it if I can because it feels unnatural.

Again, those last two thing are a personal preference. I'm not bashing any fics that use these things at all, I enjoy both ones that do and ones that don't, and I don't enjoy one over the other. When I say one feels more natural than the other, I mean it feels more natural to write, not to read. I'm debating changing the name I used in chapter 3 to just y/n l/n to make this a true x Reader. If you still feel like I should change this to an x OC please let me know and I'll be happy to adjust the tags, titles, and descriptions. Again, I never meant to be misleading, and I hope I didn't make anyone angry. If a mistake has been made I am happy to learn from it. Thanks!

Konig had cracked the code on me. He figured out that after a case of American beers and a long drive, away from the crowd of new faces, my outer shell began to soften.

There was still a wall that I was holding up between me and everyone else, even though it was significantly smaller than usual. When Roze and Castillo approached me at breakfast, I didn’t get up and leave. And when Juno used the empty spot in the gym room right next to me, dropping his bag on the floor and giving me a cautious glance as he set up for his routine - I didn’t grab my things and move to the other end of the room. That was my first instinct, but I fought it. Instead I huffed, facing the mirror in front of me and focusing on my sets.

I’d started going to the common area more often – maybe not every night, but often enough. We’d make it a habit to play poker on the nights I did show up. I was better than most of the group, since none of them were quite used to my mannerisms yet. However, Konig and Horangi still took the lead as the winners, despite most of us arguing that they shouldn’t be allowed to play if they were going to wear their masks. The argument would eventually turn into a casual conversation – I didn’t engage in it too often. I preferred to sit and listen, using the time to slowly learn more about the team. I typically planted myself between Roze and Konig, keeping my legs crossed on the seat and nervously fiddling with my Yuengling bottle.

Although I was ashamed to admit it, Konig had become a conduit for my interactions with the rest of the team. The way he engaged with their activities, yet still managed to stay reserved, struck a chord with me. I respected the fact that it could sometimes be difficult to find him on base, and that at the same time, he was always there when I started to feel overwhelmed. I didn’t need him, no… that was a stretch. But sometimes I felt grateful that he was so eager to accompany me places – especially when he invited me to go on “perimeter checks” with him, which mostly consisted of long drives off base.

I don’t know how I had grown to appreciate him so much – maybe it was because he felt similar to me, in the way that we both needed our alone time, and with how we often found ourselves slipping out of the common area around the same time, with the original excuse being that we were tired. Half of the time, we would sit in the mess hall and talk until the early hours of the morning.

“A sniper?” I asked on one particular night, fiddling with the mouth of my beer bottle. “You’re way to big for that – no offense.”

Konig chuckled. “And that’s what they initially told me.” He took a swig of his (nasty) German beer. “But, despite being handed other opportunities, I proved them wrong. I’m sill a damn good sniper.”

I huffed. “Nah, you should be happy you got promoted to Colonel; you’re lucky, you get to avoid being in the trenches – at least, as much as the rest of us.”

“Lucky? No…” Konig said, shaking his head. “I do not like being a Colonel. I’d much rather be doing the dirty work of soldiers than writing these stupid reports.” He slapped a large hand over the manilla folder that sat on the table next to his beer. “It keeps my head busy, and I don’t have to listen to myself think.”

I nodded while sipping my beer. “I completely get that – If I’m not actively doing something with my hands, my brain gets too loud. Like – like there’s a mini me in my head, and the only way to drown her out is by physically doing something. Anything, really.”

Konig laughed – almost a snort – “‘A mini you’. I like that, that’s good.”

I huffed a laugh through my nose, turning my head to hide the smirk on my face. Despite being a large, brutish man, he had a youthful essence about him. It was hidden deep beneath the thick exterior of a war-hardened soldier. But, every now and again, it rose to the surface, touching a part of my soul I hadn’t allowed to be seen in a long time.

I pushed my stack of bills into the middle of the table. “All in.” I said nonchalantly.

Gaz narrowed his eyes, leaning back in his chair and looking down his nose at me. “You’re bloody stupid…”

“Or really smart.” I retorted. I folded my arms over my chest, not wavering under his intimidating gaze.

It was unbearably hot in the room – whether that was from the tension of the game or the broken air conditioner (Price eternally insisted it would be fixed, “… by next week…”), I didn’t know. I was donned in my sweatpants and sports bra, Gaz was in a wife beater and sweats, Ghost was covered head to toe in a sweatshirt and jeans (one could ever rarely catch him wearing anything less), and Soap… well, Soap was Soap. Completely shirtless, with only a pair of gym shorts on. Typical for him to be so shameless.

Ghost looked at his cards, his jaw clearly tense underneath his mask. He wasn’t very good at hiding his unlucky hand – it was almost like he wasn’t even trying. Which was a possibility.

“Fucking hell… I fold.” He tossed his hand onto the table, revealing his sour bunch of cards. He walked to the fridge and cursed under his breath, rummaging through the contents.

“Jesus, you’re a load of dry shite.” Soap commented, leaning against the wall adjacent to Ghost. “You could’ve at least tried to intimidate ‘em.”

“You could try shutting your fucking mouth, alright?” Ghost snapped back. Soap raised his hands defensively, leaving Ghost by the fridge.

He flopped onto the couch near me and Gaz. “Miserable sap…”

I did my best to tune out their bickering. I stared down Gaz, tapping my fingers on the edges of my cards. I was relying on the river card – I had a chance at a four-of-a-kind, praying the last card on the table would be another seven.. It was risky, and Gaz was probably right in calling me stupid. But I was never one to back down from a challenge. I craved the thrill of it. Most of the time, I ended up getting lucky.

Gaz chewed his lip. He cocked an eyebrow, slowly pushing all of his cash to the middle of the table. “Call.” He said.

And I heard it – the telltale sign of his bluff. A fraction of a second where his voice had waivered, followed by him grinding his jaw. I knew I had it in the bag.

I was savoring the moment of triumph, watching Gaz stare at his cards, when I felt a hand on my back. I nearly spun around and yelled at whoever touched me, until I saw a gloved hand place a Yuengling bottle to my right, the lid already popped off. I faltered, staring at the bottle, feeling the hand on my back rubbing a thumb back and forth over my spine.

I glanced behind me, looking up to meet Ghost’s eyes. He was looking down at me with an empty gaze. His eyebrows twitched for a brief moment as he continued rubbing his thumb over the skin of my back.

I knew what he was suggesting. What he was asking. Put a woman on a compound with broken, touch-starved men, and eventually one of them will succumb to the temptation. Even so, I was shocked that it was Ghost. I would say he was showing a weakness here, no matter what he decided to call this – it was an admission that he needed something – something from me, specifically – which I never thought would happen.

He continued staring at me for another few moments, waiting for an answer. Keeping my eyes locked on him, I took the bottle and drank; my reply. He gave the tiniest nod, walking away and sitting down next to Soap – who was shuffling the remaining deck of cards, eyes narrowed at Gaz. He knew he was bluffing too.

I turned back to Gaz, smirking as he revealed the river card.

“You ever think about what you would say to those kids now?” I asked, tapping my beer bottle. “The ones who bullied you.”

Konig hummed. “Mm… not really. I don’t hold too much resentment.”

I chuckled. “If only we could all be a saint.”

“Well, it all happened so long ago.” Konig tried to justify himself. “We were only kids, bored and trying to stay on the surface. They just wanted to look tough so that no one would pick on them. Of course, I wouldn’t understand that as a kid. Maybe then, I would have admired what I’ve become, and I would have wanted to boast about it. But now that I am a Colonel – Ich habe besseres zu tun.”

I sarcastically rolled my eyes. “And that means?”

“Ehh…” he groaned, squinting his eyes. “How is it said… ‘I have bigger fishes to cook.’”

I sputtered, turning my head and laughing. Konig glared at me. “Gibt es ein Problem?” he asked, which I sort of understood. He sounded irritated, that much I could tell.

“No, Konig…” I said, standing up and giving him a pat on the shoulder as I walked by. “Just keep up the English lessons, ok?”

He scowled. “Verpiss dich… Start learning German and maybe I will.” He retorted, and I waved at him dismissively from behind my back.

I stuck my head into the fridge, grabbing a Yuengling and one of Konig’s beers. I walked back and placed them both next to him. Like instinct, he took each one and hooked their lid onto the edge of the table, then smacked the side of his hand down on the tops, sending the lid clattering to the ground. He opened my beer and handed it to me, then repeated the process with his, before reaching down and collecting the lids. He added them to the pile, totaling six beer lids so far.

If someone had shown me this image a year ago – Konig and I, sitting up late into the night, chatting like we’d known each other for decades… not to mention the fact that I was so unusually open with him… I would have been insulted. I would have laughed. No one would have been able to convince me that I would become so attached to anyone else after what had happened with the 141. Yet, all of this felt so natural. It was beyond how I felt that Konig and I were kindred spirits… it really did feel like I’d known him before. Maybe, he reminded me of a part of myself that I tried to bury away.

Or, maybe, I was just submitting to loneliness and trying to justify how quickly I clung to the first available soul. That was also an embarrassing possibility, one that I would rather not admit to.

“I have a question for you.” Konig’s voice and the clink of his beer bottle on the table brought me back to reality.

“I might have an answer.” I replied.

He looked off to the side, perhaps wondering whether or not he really wanted to ask the question. “Who did you kill? And why?”

Just like that, I felt the walls being built right back to where I had them. Bonding time’s over. Back to square one.

His inquiry caught me off guard. I froze, my bottle hovering in the air before I could take a sip, my eyes glued to the table. Just the mention of the incident brought the painful memories up to the surface, like claws scraping at the dirt, digging up the deepest roots.

“Lots of people.” I said, deflecting. I took a swig of my beer.

“You know what I mean.” He scoffed. “Why did you end up in military prison?” He leaned over the table – clearly not planning on letting the topic go.

I sucked my teeth, staring at him defiantly – moments ago, it was pleasant talking to him. Now, I was fighting back the urge to leave him at the table and go to my dorm. I felt ambushed at how he had changed the subject so abruptly. Like he had been waiting for me to carelessly stumble into the trap, and now he was watching me snarl from within it.

He leaned back with a sigh. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I just thought we were getting somewhere here.”

“Oh?” I said dryly, cocking an eyebrow. “’Getting somewhere?’ What’s that sup-“

“Hey, it’s ok.” He raised his hands defensively. “I get it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” His words were forgiving, but his eyes said something else – I knew what he was thinking.

Weak.

I gave him a hateful stare. Fucker know how to play his cards.

“I killed a sergeant.” I admitted. “My lieutenant’s right-hand man.”

That got Konig’s attention. He leaned forward again, putting his bottle off to the side. “Why?” he asked again.

I inhaled deeply, then exhaled, as I leaned back in my chair. My eyes fell to the floor as I forced myself to recall the memories. “In Egypt, a while back. Don’t ask when because I won’t tell you.” I warned Konig, and he huffed – but obliged.

I continued. “We were going in to retrieve a hostile target. Everyone was jumpy – me included. It was dark, and we didn’t know what to expect. After the hostiles started to engage, we were scattered. I got stuck in one tower, so I went upstairs to try and make a foxhole.”

I paused. It was now my own hands, covered in dirt, clawing at the roots of the memory. Each word I said was painful, yet somehow felt overshared. Like I was trying to get Konig to pity me. Except I wasn’t – I just wanted him to listen.

And that’s exactly what he did. No comforting shoulder pat, no soothing words… he just listened. He knew that if he stepped on the wrong spot, it would break my openness, like a branch breaking under his foot would disturb the silence of the woods.

“The sergeant – ‘Flare’ – he was up there, too. I thought we’d had the same idea, but… holy fuck…” I ran a hand down my face, feeling my heartbeat grow faster. “At first, I didn’t know what he was doing, I just heard him making those sounds and I thought he’d been hit, but… he was taking advantage of this – this woman – and with her kids right fucking there… she was probably just trying to hide, to hide them, she had to be so fucking scared… he didn’t even stop when I found him, I don’t know if he even heard me screaming at him.”

I paused, almost waiting for Konig to say or do something, but he remained silent. Despite my eyes never leaving the floor, I could see his blue ones watching me carefully. Concerned, patient, and calm.

“I didn’t know what else to do.” I said, my voice faltering the slightest bit. “So I shot him. In the head.” I unintentionally shivered. “Probably traumatized that poor woman and her kids, but… quick decisions aren’t the best ones.”

I ended my rant with a heavy sip of my beer. Konig continued watching me with wary eyes, which I ignored. I didn’t need consolation, or sympathy, or whatever he might try to offer. Somehow, he seemed to understand that.

“I would have done the same thing.” He commented.

Would you?

After a moment, he exhaled. “I don’t understand… I’d say you were in the right. Why did they put you in prison for that?”

I chewed my lip. “There was… some speculation, that I was jealous of his position. We’d been close throughout my time with the team, and when he got the promotion to second-in-command, I was a bit envious at first. People thought I was taking my anger out on him in what seemed like the perfect opportunity to lie.” I took another sip. “But I was happy for him. He worked hard, and he deserved it. But then the pressure got to him – Lieutenant was always depending on him for too much, and Flare couldn’t handle the responsibility. If he slipped up, it was a lot worse than if one of the rest of us did. I guess… the pressure is what got him in the end. Made him crazy in the end. He didn’t have any morals anymore.”

More silence. It felt uncomfortably loud – Konig’s stare seemed to make my head ring, making me fidget and bounce my knee. I wanted to snap at him. What are you looking at? Why are you asking so many fucking questions? But I was able to keep my anger at bay, justifying the situation by assuming his questions were fueled by nothing more than curiosity.

I figured I had said enough for the night, and finished off the rest of my beer. I slapped my leg, the telltale sign that I was getting ready to turn in.

Konig ignored it, or seemed to not notice. “Why did you kill him?” he asked.

I narrowed my eyes in confusion. “Why did I? What do you mean?”

“Why kill him? Why not just… disable him for the moment, and let your commander deal with him later?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but my voice was a second too late. “Again… in the heat of the moment, you don’t make distinctions like that. You think: ‘shoot,’ or ‘don’t shoot.’ And shooting him was the choice I made.”

Konig’s gaze became scrutinous. He knew I was lying about something… he was hellbent on figuring out what.

He’s going to have to wait a long damn time.

“Goodnight, Konig.” I said flatly. I collected my bottles, getting up from the table. With a clang, I tossed them into the bin by the exit, walking down the hall and leaving Konig sitting alone in the mess hall. I feel tears stinging my eyes, but that’s all they did. It’s all just water under the bridge, y/n. Get it together. You’re alright.

-----

Taglist: @igotmajordaddyissues @princekonig @vixionix

[crios31]

Chapter 3: Childhood friends

Story building and fluff

Length 2068 words

“Sana, I think you can release him, others also want to say hello.” says her father looking at the two girls waiting in the room.

“No! It’s been too long since the last time we saw each other!”

“You’re not the only one who misses him, Sana.” retorts one of the girls before pointing to the other, “Look, even Mina hurried to see him.”

“Alright, sorry Momoring.” She ends the hug and takes a step to the side to let the two other girls pass. You notice her cheeks are puffed, it seems she is sulking.

Momo is the first to approach, giving you a strong hug, “Three years, smartass.”

“Yeah, it’s been too long, airhead.” You both stay like this for a minute before letting Mina have her turn, she lightly hugs you and you just have enough time to put your arms around her that she steps back.

“Shy as always.” You pat her head making Mina look down but you can see a small smile while her cheeks get a pinkish hue. “So girls, this is Wendy, she is working for me. Wendy, those are Momo, Sana and Mina, my childhood friends.”

“Pleasure to meet all of you.” says Wendy in English.

The three of them greet her back with Mina asking, “If you are following him as he moves, do you speak Korean?”

“Yes, I was born there.”

Mina smiles and to your surprise switches to Korean. “Good, then it will be easier to communicate with each other.”

“We won’t have to bother Mina to do the translation because the three of us learned Korean” Rejoices Sana as she hugs Mina from the back.

“I knew you wanted to learn it before I left Japan but I didn’t expect both of you to do it too.” You say looking at Momo and Mina.

“Sana convinced me to learn Korean with her and Mina joined us saying it was interesting.”

The presentations now done, everyone follows Sana’s father to the patio where the family of the Japanese trio is waiting.

You greet everyone, starting with Sana’s mother, then Momo’s and Mina’s parents finishing with their siblings. The girls start talking with each other as Kai gets beside you.

“Do you want one?” Asks Kai bottles of beer in his hands.

“Yeah, thanks.” You take a sip. “How is medical school going?”

“It’s going well, I’m finishing general study so the real deal will begin next year.”

“Do you have a specialty in perspective?”

“I may follow dad’s footstep in orthopedics but I still have time to make a decision.”

“Still playing American Football?”

“Yes, I joined my university’s team and it’s a lot of fun. Play something on your side? I see you have a good build now.”

“I mostly played rugby and some basketball. Also started weightlifting recently, and I intend to continue in Korea.”

You continue talking with Kai until you hear Sana's voice. “Guys come here, Wendy has a question and you're both involved in it.”

You join them. “So what’s it about?”

“I wanted to know how all of you became friends? Because from what I understand your families don’t live in the same city.”

“The first ones I met were Momo and Hana. When I was in elementary school, we moved to Japan for my dad's work. Momo's family was my neighbor and the three of us were going to the same school.”

“For the first year he was in my class so we were going and returning from school with him. Furthermore, we played a lot together outside of school so we became fast friends. Then he began to skip some grades, and he ended up in the same class as nee-chan for some time. They got along well before but really became close following this.” Momo says. “ Wendy, I have some funny photos of him as a kid, do you want to see them?”

“Oh yes! I would love too.”

“Careful Momo, I also have some of you.”

“Really you take your photo album with you? I don’t think so, aunty most likely keeps it.” She then sticks her tongue out at you. You can only grumble in response because she is right about that.

“My turn now! So Dad worked under his father and they got along really fast.” speaks Sana. “We regularly meet each other when our parents invite the others for meals or during company events. Thanks to this, when his mother was working to open her first school in Japan, my mom joined the project because she is a teacher. Now Mom is the Headmistress of the private school of Osaka. Also, she got to meet and work alongside Mina's mother. I’ll let you explain this part Mina.”

“Alright, Mom is a lawyer, she was hired by his parents for all of their matters in Japan, for example, she is involved with his mother’s schools from the start. So Mom befriended his mother and later Sana’s, therefore we all got to see each other regularly.”

“At first, Mina was mainly close to Sana and Kai to me. As for Momo and Hana, they met the others when my parents organized a party with their friends and their families. So that's the story of how our little group was formed.”

With Wendy's question being answered, the group continues to chat during the afternoon. The parents join you for a time retelling stories about their kids, some were funny, others somewhat shameful depending on your role in it. When the sun began to set, they went into the house asking you to follow them.

Arriving in the living room, everyone takes a seat with Momo’s parents on your left, Mina’s on your right and Sana’s in front of you.

Mina’s mother begins to talk, “Seeing that this girl, Wendy is following you, should be the one your parents personally handpicked for you. Finally, they decided to explain the hidden side of the scholarship program?”

“Yes, they explained the basics when I met her and I learned the rest from a file Mom gave me before I left. But it lacked information on a specific point, the people running the program for her. I was expecting aunty to be involved with the program because she is in charge of one of the schools.” You say turning briefly toward Sana’s mother. “In your case, your firm treats every legal related topic for my parents in this country, so I was not entirely sure if you would have been in it or if it would have been someone working for you. So are you the only ones related to the program here?”

“Yes, the other only knows about it, nothing more.”

“Then, could you both explain your role in it, please?”

“My role in the program? Well my main task is to write the contract for each recipient of the scholarship when they join but only for those in Japan. I am also involved in the background check of candidates for the scholarship and sometimes to resolve some legal issues that come up.” Answers Mina’s mom.

“In my case, I became the head of the program in Japan when your family moved out. More specifically, I oversee the people in charge of different areas of Japan and the area of Osaka and Kyoto is under my direct supervision. Finally, I am part of the evaluation council in Japan and sometimes the one in Korea.” Explains Sana’s mother. “Do you want to know something?”

“Thanks for the explanation. I’m wondering if any of your kids are aware of this side of the program?”

“Well my daughter knows about it. One day, she read some of the documents I took with me at home. She was very interested in it, in particular the fact that it’s for you.” Sana’s mom gives you an amused smile before continuing. “I decided it was better to explain everything to her. Sana was still interested in my work and the program, so I decided to sometimes include her in my work. Well it’s only limited to asking for her opinion concerning girls of the program because she has a similar age as them, the goal being to avoid or resolve issues for them. And for the other kids…”, she strokes her chin in ponder. “If one of them knows, it would most likely be Mina.”

Hearing that you agree, Mina is the smartest of the group and she has always been very curious since childhood. From this combination results that whenever she wants to know about something, she will always find a way to get the information. Concerning Kai, he is very considerate of his parents' works and the privacy that comes with them. In Hana's case, she is unlikely to know anything because her parents, while aware of the program, are not involved in it. As for Momo, you're not sure because with Sana and Mina they share everything together, so she could have learned about it from them. 

“Alright if one of them learns about it, we’ll just explain it like in Sana’s case. Aunty, do you intend to involve more Sana in your work?”

“I’ll continue as it is for now considering the program. But for the rest of my work, yes it will give more practical experience as she’ll enter university to begin her teaching degree next spring.”

You continue to talk with everyone's parents about the running of the program in Japan, they then ask about how your student life was since the last time you talked to them. You answer their questions until someone puts its hand on your shoulders and rests its head on top of yours from behind the couch.

“So are you done with him? Can we have him back?” Asks Hina.

“Yes, yes. Take him with you, we'll have time to talk during the upcoming days.” Answers her father.

You stand just as you arrive before Hana grabs your arm and begins to drag you outside of the living room under the laughter of the parents watching a familiar scene. In the hallway Hina turns to you.

“It was easier to drag you before you got heavier.” She complains

“I build more muscle following my growth spurts.”

“Well yeah you’ve become quite big.” She traces the muscles along your arm up to your chest while looking in your eyes. “And very nice to look at.”

“Thanks, but I’m not the only one who got bigger and nice to look at.” You reply as you lower your eyes to glance at her ample breasts.

“Oh them, they may be bigger than you think.” She says, lifting up one of her boobs with her hand. “You’d like to find out, aren’t you?” She takes a step toward you.

“I would love that and more.” You also get closer to her making you feel each other breath with your noses almost touching.

“Is that so?” She puts a hand on your cheeks and pushes your head to the side. “Too bad it won’t happen and stay as a dream for you.” She then turns and walks toward the end of the hallway. “Let’s return to the other, now.”

“A dream? I like challenges Hina! We’ll see if it’ll stay as a dream or not

She chuckles,“Well if you want to lose your time, suit yourself!”

You both join back the group enjoying your evening. You only return to your hotel  far in the night.

For the rest of your stay in Japan, you go out multiple times with your friends. Doing sports with Kai or Momo with their friends, some that you already know. Visiting places you used to frequent in Osaka and Kyoto after a long time, like your old school. You also make the mistake of following the girls for shopping, well it was mostly carrying their bags but at least they were happy. You get to have dinner with the Hirai, the Minatozaki and the Myoui on multiple occasions where you had time to discuss with your aunties and uncles.

But every good thing has to end at some point because it was time for Wendy and you to leave Japan for Korea. Everyone took time to accompany you to the train station in the morning. And hours later, the plane lands at Incheon airport and both of you finally set foot in Korea.

[corroded-hellfire]

Just a Spark - Eddie Munson x Reader

A Collaboration with my beloved kindred spirit @munson-blurbs🤍

Summary: Eddie takes his sons to watch fireworks at Lover's Lake for the Fourth of July. But when he notices you there with some friends, including some male friends, he can't help but be jealous.

Note: Thank you to my dearest @joejoequinnquinn for loving jealous!eddie as much as I do and for coming up with this lovely idea! I still find it funny that it's a Fourth of July fic and you do not live in the US, lol. I hope you all enjoy and happy 4th of July to my fellow Americans 💙

Warnings: older!eddie, dad!eddie, babysitter!reader, eddie being jealous hehe

Words: 3.9k

[As You Wish masterlist]

It wasn’t often that Hawkins held activities that appealed to the whole town. The haunted houses around Halloween only appealed to the teenagers, the winter wonderlands at Christmas only mattered to young children, and the Thanksgiving Parade was something that everyone swears they got dragged along to against their will. Fourth of July in Hawkins was the one day a year that could be counted on to bring people of all ages out to Lover’s Lake for sunshine in the afternoon and fireworks at night. 

Kids would splash and swim together in the shallow area of the lake while their parents watched from picnic blankets spread out not too far away. Teens and college students would come with their friends, the college kids drinking beer out in the open while the teenagers had to hide sips behind a tree or behind a friend’s back. 

It was a tradition in the Munson household to grill up some hamburgers and bring them down to eat at the lake while they watched the fireworks. This particular year things seem to be off-track, though. Brittany had left the house early in the afternoon to run a few errands and pick up some charcoal for the grill so that Eddie could cook the hamburgers. After being gone far too long for just saying she was heading to a few stores, the phone rings and Brittany gives Eddie some sob story about how she ran into her sister who’s having a crisis and she needs to stay with her for a while. Eddie just sighed as he hung up, thinking to himself that at least Brittany wasn’t dumb enough to say it had something to do with work when banks are closed because it’s a national holiday. The only problem—because going out with his boys without his wife was certainly not a problem—he ran into now was that he didn’t have time to run out and get charcoal and make the burgers before they were going to leave for the lake. 

Improvising, Eddie swings through a Burger King drive-through on the way, making sure the three of them would still keep their tradition intact as much as possible. The boys don’t seem to mind the differences between this year and last, maybe just glad to have a chance to hang out with their dad while they did something as cool as watch fireworks. 

Eddie pulls his truck into the already-crowded parking lot and grabs the bag of fast food. As he and the boys get out, people walk by carrying coolers, picnic baskets, and a few types of inner tubes to use in the water. There are tons of people there—which Eddie expected. He takes Luke’s hand into his own and instructs Ryan to grab onto Luke’s other so they don’t lose anyone. 

“Eddie!” A familiar voice calls out and has Eddie whipping around to spot its owner. He quickly sees the Sinclairs; Lucas is waving with his left hand to get Eddie’s attention, with Tiffany on his right hip. 

Eddie nudges the boys. “Look who’s here!” Their eyes widen when they notice Uncle Lucas—who Eddie swears is his younger son’s namesake and certainly isn’t Luke Skywalker—along with Aunt Max and their baby. They practically pull Eddie across the lot to them. 

Clapping Lucas’s hand and pulling him in for a modified bro-hug so he doesn’t crash into Tiffany, Eddie offers his long-time friend a grin. “How have you guys been?” he asks as he gives Max a hug. 

“Good. Tired.” Max says with a laugh. “Tiffany slept through the night for about three days before she started teething.”

“Aww, poor thing,” Eddie coos, chuckling when Tiffany proves her mother’s point by grabbing Eddie’s finger and gnawing on it. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t last as long as it seems,” he reassures the new parents. 

“We’re just headed out,” Lucas explains, kissing his daughter’s cheek. “It’s this little lady’s bedtime, and we’ve gotta get home before the fireworks start.”

“We have no idea how she’ll react to them, and we’re not about to conduct that experiment in public,” Max chimes in, making Eddie laugh again. “But we’ll see you at Ryan’s birthday party next week!”

The Munsons and Sinclairs part with goodbyes and more hugs before Eddie and the boys head towards the lake. 

“I wanna sit near the water!” Luke insists, and Eddie winces at his high-pitched whine. 

“Think we might get a better view of the fireworks if we sit up a little higher.” It’s the truth; plus, he won’t have to worry about Luke flinging himself into the cesspool that Hawkins calls a lake. 

They find a shady spot right under a tree, and Eddie lays out three beach towels so they won’t have to sit in the dirt. He passes out the parchment-wrapped burgers and little bags of fries and sits back with a sigh. This is what he’d always wanted—family traditions with his boys. If only…

“Has anyone seen my sunscreen?”

Eddie freezes mid-bite, only remembering that he has a burger in his hand when his arm starts to ache from being in one position too long. He chews and swallows as though nothing happened, but his mind is racing. 

It can’t be, he thinks. He’s almost certain that this is all in his imagination—God knows he can’t get you out of his head—until he hears someone say your name. 

Just one look, Eddie convinces himself. A quick peek so I can see that it’s not actually her; just someone who sounds like her and has the same name…

His stomach flip-flops when he glances over and sees you in a low-cut red tank top and cutoff denim shorts. Oh, shit, it’s her. And she looks really, really good. He takes a deep breath, trying to gather his scrambled thoughts. He wishes he had a six-pack; a cold beer can always calm his jangled nerves. Okay, I can’t let the boys see. Once that happens, she’ll come over here and—

Eddie’s anxious thought is disrupted by the sight of one of the three guys you’re with applying sunscreen to the back of your neck. He’s got long, light brown hair—though not as long or luscious as his own, Eddie notes wryly. 

Long Hair spends far too much time massaging the lotion into your skin. Calm down, Buffalo Bill. She doesn’t need that much sun protection. 

The only other girl there plucks the lotion bottle from Long Hair’s hands, much to Eddie’s relief, and Eddie turns his attention back to his boys. “You guys ready for the fireworks?” He tries to keep the enthusiasm in his voice. “Sun’s setting, so they’ll be starting soon.”

Ryan nods, chewing on a fry. “I wonder what colors they’ll have,” he muses. 

“Well, I wonder what would happen if I sat on a firework!” Luke pipes up with a mouthful of burger. “Like, would I fly into the sky? Or would it blow up in my butt?”

Eddie laughs loudly. “My money’s on the second one, little man.”

Your laughter floats over to Eddie on the breeze blowing off of the lake. He mentally berates himself, thinking of how he should be enjoying this family tradition with his boys and not be wondering if any of those guys you’re with are your boyfriend or if you’re sleeping with any of them or if…

“Daddy, what’s wrong?”

“Hmm?” Eddie looks up at Ryan’s worried face and frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Your lip,” Ryan says, pointing at the bottom half of his father’s face. “You were chewing on it, and it started bleeding.”

“Silly me,” Eddie says with a forced chuckle. He grabs one of the napkins from the Burger King bag and dabs at his lower lip. Luke has shifted to watch a game of volleyball happening on a court that someone set up and it gives Eddie the opportunity to scoot closer between his boys, so his back is to you and your friends. Maybe now he’ll be able to focus. 

It works for a while. The three of them finish their burgers and Luke is immediately complaining that he’s still hungry. Eddie tells the five-year-old he has to wait and tries to play a game with them to distract his youngest son from his rumbling tummy before the fireworks start. 

“Simon says put your hands on your head. Simon says give your brother a high five,” Eddie instructs as the boys eagerly await the next command. “Simon says stand up. Sit back down. Ah! I didn’t say ‘Simon says!’”

“I win!” Ryan cheers as Luke sprawls out on his beach towel with a groan. The familiar twinkling tune of an ice cream truck approaching has him bolting up, though. 

“Ice cream?” Luke stands up and balances on his tippy toes to get a better view at the parking lot. When his suspicions are confirmed, he hops up and down. “Ice cream! Daddy, can we get some? Pleeeeease?”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says as if it’s a hardship for him to indulge his boys when in reality he’d already planned on getting ice cream for them at some point tonight. “Get me some too, okay?”

“Cookies and cream?” Ryan asks, citing his dad’s favorite flavor.

“Atta boy,” Eddie says, handing him a ten-dollar bill. Luke starts to walk away and towards the truck, but Eddie stops him with an, “ah-ah-ah. It’s crowded here. I don’t want you to lose each other so hold your brother’s hand.” When Luke opens his mouth to respond, a frown creasing his forehead and his nose wrinkling up, Eddie halts the whining before it even happens. “Hold your brother’s hand.”

“Fine,” Luke huffs and offers his hand to Ryan in the most limp, unenthusiastic manner possible. 

The two walk off and Eddie adjusts his position so he can keep an eye on his sons as they snake their way through the crowd and over to the ice cream truck that already has a line of a few kids in front of it. But from this new angle, Eddie can also see you out of the corner of his eye. A breath rushes out of him as if he’d been holding it since his eyes were last on you. Seeing you makes Eddie calmer and more tense at the same time. As always, your presence brings him comfort and happiness. But you’re with a bunch of guys your own age and the jealousy monster is rearing its ugly head like nobody’s business. Eddie looks down at his lap and his eye catches on his wedding ring, glinting in the fading sun.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite, Munson,” Eddie mumbles to himself. 

Unable to not look in your direction—I swear to God she’s got something magnetic about her, he thinks—Eddie sees you gazing out over the lake. You raise your hand above your eyes to shield them from the bright, falling sun and look around the whole area where people have settled in to have fun. Eddie’s just about to look away, not wanting to risk being caught staring at you if you spot him, when he sees one of your guy friends walking over to you. It’s not Long Hair from before. This guy is shorter and as muscly as the other guy was scrawny. Eddie can hear him calling your name, but you must be too caught up in your thoughts to hear him. Muscles reaches out and touches your arm to get your attention. As if seeing him just touching you isn’t bad enough, Eddie watches as you turn around to face Muscles, but the guy still doesn’t take his hand off of you. The tanned, muscular hand is slowly moving down your arm and a knot grows in Eddie’s stomach. If this asshole takes your hand, Eddie feels like he might throw up the burger he’s barely started digesting. 

Luckily, you move to walk back towards your group of friends before Muscles’s hand could reach yours. Eddie feels twenty pounds lighter. He turns back to look towards the parking lot and sees his sons approaching, Ryan holding an ice cream in each hand, and Luke holding one and holding onto the back of Ryan’s red t-shirt with the other hand. By the way his youngest son is rolling his eyes as they approach, Eddie realizes it was Ryan’s idea that Luke holds on to him. 

Ryan hands Eddie his scoop of cookies and cream, plopping back down to enjoy the mint chip cone he’d bought for himself. 

“DAD! OH MY GOD, DAD!!” Luke shouts, and Eddie nearly drops his cone. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

Luke points down towards the left. “Look at that doggy! He’s so cute!” Sure enough, a middle-aged couple is walking a golden retriever along the lake. Both boys sit up a bit straighter and watch as the owners toss a tennis ball into the water and the dog eagerly paddles after it. 

As Eddie’s heart rate steadies to a normal pace—seriously, he’s going to have to talk with Luke about using his “emergency voice” when it is not an emergency—he finds his gaze drifting back to you. He’s just in time to see Long Hair take the baseball cap from his own head and put it on top of yours. Eddie silently wills you to take it off, chuck it into the lake, set it on fire…but he’s utterly disappointed when you adjust it to your head and wear it proudly. 

Would she wear something of mine if I gave it to her? He silently wonders. He’s so engrossed in whatever flirtatious games you’re playing that he barely hears his older son trying to get his attention. 

“Daddy, your ice cream is leaking over the cone. Daddy! It’s getting runny and gonna drip! Daddy?”

“And whaddya keep looking that way for? The lake is that way!” Luke chimes in, face covered in cotton candy ice cream. 

“Y-Yeah, sorry, guys,” Eddie mumbles, but he keeps his gaze locked on you. A blonde guy wearing a puka shell necklace like he’s on Hawaii Five-0 points to a beach volleyball net that’s just been vacated, and you and your friends follow him. 

It’s two versus two; Muscles is serving as a referee for this game. You and Puka Shell are on a team, and Long Hair and the only other girl in your group stand on the other side of the net. You serve, the girl returns it, Puka Shell lobbies it to you, and you spike it back, surprising yourself. 

Eddie clenches his fist until he feels the ice cream cone begin to break when your teammate wraps his arms around you in a hug. Jesus H. Christ, whatever happened to high-fives? But he knows that he’d envy any little touch these guys got from you. 

He tries to distract himself, asking Ryan if he’s excited for his birthday, but he’s only half-listening. 

“What do you want for a gift?” he asks, raising his eyebrows when his sons look at him curiously. “What?”

“I just said I wanted a new Lego set,” Ryan says. He’s not annoyed, just confused. “Are you feeling okay, Daddy?”

“Maybe he has scurvy,” Luke suggests, “like the pirates in that movie we watched.”

“‘M fine,” Eddie reassures them. It takes a second for him to register what Luke’s suggested. “Did you just say I had scurvy?”

There’s no time for Luke to elaborate—not that Eddie necessarily wants him to—before your joyous squeal filters through the air. It seems as though you and Puka Shell won the game, because he’s twirling you around triumphantly. 

Does she want him picking her up? Touching her? Eddie’s inner monologue runs wild. Okay, she’s laughing and smiling, so that’s good. She’s fine with it; yeah, so that’s fine. Everything’s fine. We’re all fine here. She’s with her friends, I’m a married man here with my kids, and that’s all there is to it. 

The whistle and boom of the first firework lighting the sky is a welcome distraction. Ryan lets out a gasp as he stares in awe of the red shooting through the dark sky. Luke scoots backwards and plops himself in Eddie’s lap. He leans against Eddie’s chest and lays his head back on his shoulder as he becomes engrossed in the spectacle. It’s been a while since Luke’s sat in his lap like this, so it brings a smile to Eddie’s face. 

Mixtures of red, white, and blue fireworks crackle through the air, occasionally making shapes other than the usual spherical pattern that shimmies down. Eddie looks over at Ryan, who has a bright grin on his face. The red firework currently popping off leaves a scarlet shadow behind on his older son’s face. Beyond Ryan, Eddie glimpses a view of you watching the fireworks. You’re still with your friends, but you’re sitting a little bit in front of them with your legs crossed and your elbows resting on your knees. There’s a peaceful joy on your face and it makes Eddie’s heart give a few thumps harder than usual. Your friends behind you are talking but you couldn’t seem to care less about what they’re saying. You’re solely focused on the show in the sky. Eddie looks back at his kids and sees them just as mesmerized by the bursting colors. Luke snuggles back against his chest and Eddie is filled with warmth. He wraps his arms loosely around Luke and rests his head against his son’s smaller one as he looks up and joins in watching the celebration. 

By the time the fireworks are done, Eddie’s pretty sure his hearing is damaged. Didn’t I used to play in a metal band? Jesus, I’m getting old. Luke springs up from his dad’s lap and Ryan stands up and stretches his arms out over his head, releasing a long yawn. 

“How was that?” Eddie asks as he collects the beach towels they had been sitting on.

“So cool!” Luke says, jumping as if to emphasize his point. 

“I like the ones that make the fizzy noises as they go out,” Ryan says as he picks up the empty Burger King bag and balls it up in his hands. 

“My favorite are the ones that go pheeeeew,” Luke attempts to mimic the whistle, “then BANG!”

“What about you, Daddy?” Ryan asks. 

“Hmm,” Eddie hums as he considers the question. “The ones that were shaped like circles. They looked pretty cool. Okay, now come on and take my hands, guys. It’s gonna be like a stampede getting out of here.” Eddie tucks the towels under one arm and offers a hand to each son. 

They only make it about five steps before Luke is groaning. “It’s going to take forever to—hey! Look!”

Both Eddie and Ryan turn their heads to look in the direction that Luke is pointing. Eddie’s heart stalls in his chest. Luke’s grinning from ear to ear as he notices you walking with your friends. Ryan gives a gasp of delight when his eyes land on you as well. 

“I’m gonna go say hi!” Luke exclaims, and he’s already halfway to you before Eddie can even open his mouth. 

“Luke, I—ugh, shit.” Eddie mumbles the last part under his breath as he leads Ryan by the hand over to you and your friends. Luke is already in your arms by the time they get there. 

“And then the red one went higher than all the others! And I think it had the loudest boom, too,” Luke is saying. You look up and the brightest smile lights up your face as you see Eddie and Ryan standing there. 

“Hey, strangers,” you greet and Ryan dives in for a hug. You chuckle and wrap your arms around him too. 

Long Hair is standing to the side, slightly closer to Eddie than he is to you, and the rest of your friends are behind you. He gives a small chuckle at the intensity of the hugs the kids give you before turning to Eddie and saying, “You want a hug, too?”

You jab Long Hair in the ribs with your elbow, but that only makes him chuckle more and wrap an arm around you to pull you back against him. This time, Eddie notices, you don’t have the same enthusiastic grin that you had earlier in the evening. It takes everything in his power not to pry you from his arms. 

“I’ll see you guys on Monday, yeah?” you ask the Munson men, desperate to fill the silence. 

“Usual time and place,” Eddie says. The words would usually be accompanied by a wink or a smirk, but something about being around these college guys is grating on his nerves and it’s the closest he’s felt to being intimidated since he was a senior in high school—the first time. 

“Bye!” both boys call and wave at you before walking away with their dad. You wave in return, but it looks pitiful compared to their enthusiastic ones. 

As soon as they’re out of earshot, you pull out of your friend's arm and spin around to face him. “Peter, do you ever shut up?”

“Calm down,” Peter says, exhaling a sound that’s a mixture of a laugh and a scoff. “This guy’s old enough to be your dad.”

Tony smirks and rests a muscled arm on Paul’s shoulder. “Maybe she’s into the whole ‘daddy’ thing.”

The eye roll you give them is involuntary. “You guys are assholes!” 

Turning on your flip flop heel, you spin in the other direction and jog a bit until you catch up with Eddie and the boys. 

“Hey! Where are you going?” Paul asks.

A soft, gentle hand lands on Eddie’s shoulder and he looks back to see you offering him an apologetic smile. 

“I’m sorry if my friends were weird…and I’m sorry if I’m making this weirder.”

Eddie’s entire demeanor changes; despite having to watch you flirt with those douchebags—and then being mocked by them—he can’t help but soften towards you. “Nah, Sweetheart, you’re good. Be safe tonight, okay?” Be safe? Seriously, Munson? What are you, her grandpa?

You don’t seem to notice the way he bites his tongue, trying to quell the surge of embarrassment. “I always am,” you say reassuringly. “See you Monday?”

Eddie nods as you turn around to head back to your friends, utterly oblivious to the way your natural beauty outshines the brightest firework tonight. You’re everything he could ever want, but you’re young and gorgeous with a million better prospects than an old married man. 

He takes one last look at you before he brings the boys to the car. The passenger seat is empty, and he wears a sad smile when he thinks about you sitting there, excitedly chatting with him and the kids about the evening. Eddie would rest his hand on your thigh while he drives back home, and once Ryan and Luke are sound asleep, you and Eddie could make some fireworks of your own. 

Shaking his head, Eddie pulls out from the parking spot and braces himself for the holiday traffic. He grumbles some swear words under his breath, flicking on the radio to the first station that doesn’t have commercials. 

“…say I’m not so tough, just because I’m in love with an uptown girl.”

He leans back in his seat and taps out the rhythm on the steering wheel. Funny, he’s never really been a Billy Joel fan, but something about this song reminds him of—

“Dad! Luke’s looking at me!”

“He looked at me first!”

“Both of you close your eyes,” Eddie orders. He can’t see whether or not they listened, but the squabbling stopped, so he’ll consider it a victory. 

“Uptown girl, she’s my uptown girl…”