#which is often just whatever i think would be cool / interesting

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢 CHEST PAIN ( I LOVE ) yu jimin x reader

♪ ❝please, I wanna see what we would be if you were by my side❞

⭢ moonstruck good luck, babe! (lowkey don’t need to read these but it might give small context to things)

↳ warnings paranoia!yn, pre debut paranoia, fluff, angst, idol/trainee au

jimin always thought yn was a pretty cool girl. she was rebellious, but that just made her even more intriguing. during her training period, jimin couldn’t help but notice how yn and the two boys she was always with had a different approach to training. they were constantly separated from the other trainees, which only made jimin more curious.

her curiosity grew even more when she found out the reason they were always apart. they weren’t just training. the three of them were creating music for the artists under the company.

to be honest, she didn’t like that the company kept these three talented trainees hidden away in a basement, creating music for already established artists.

then she became one of those artists.

there was something different about yn, that was the only thought running through jimin’s mind as she glanced over the lyrics for i’m unhappy. she couldn’t ignore the nervous flutter in her chest under the girl’s steady gaze.

“you sounded good before, I don’t know why you feel like you need to push yourself even more.”

jimin scoffed, rolling her eyes as she set the lyrics down on the table. “I’m literally a singer. pushing myself is the job.”

yn hummed, a small smirk playing on her lips. “sounds exhausting.”

“so is making songs for people who barely acknowledge you exist.”

yn let out a short laugh at that, shaking her head. “you and I both know that’s not true, everyone requests me.”

it was easy, this kind of back and forth. jimin had always admired yn from afar, but it was different now that they were sitting across from each other, actually talking. yn wasn’t just a name on a credits list anymore she was real, tangible, and somehow even more intriguing up close.

but what really got to her was the way yn spoke. she wasn’t like other producers jimin had worked with. she didn’t sugarcoat things or tiptoe around egos. she was blunt, but not in a cruel way just honest.

it was refreshing. and maybe a little bit dangerous.

because jimin was starting to think she wanted more.

it wasn’t like this was the first time they’d worked together. yn had been making music for the group since their debut. but this was the first time jimin felt something more, felt attracted to her.

maybe it was because yn was still technically a trainee, with her own debut coming up, yet she carried herself with the kind of confidence that made her stand out even in a room full of idols.

or maybe it was because jimin was just now allowing herself to acknowledge how drawn to her she really was. whatever the reason, she found herself making excuses to be around yn more often, finding ways to keep the conversations going after their recording sessions. she wasn’t even subtle about it.

“you wanna hang out?” yn had stared at her like she’d just asked her to commit a crime. karina almost laughed at the expression.

“what? you scared of me or something?”

“no,” yn replied quickly. then, after a pause, “maybe.” that did make jimin laugh. “c’mon. I don’t bite.”

yn hesitated, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “why?”

jimin blinked. “why what?”

“why do you wanna hang out with me?”

jimin tilted her head, pretending to think about it. “hmm. maybe I just think you’re interesting.”

yn scoffed. “that’s a lie.”

“so what if it is?”

yn exhaled, shaking her head. “fine. but just so you know, I don’t do relationships.”

karina shrugged. “that’s perfect. I’m an idol. I don’t need the weight of a relationship either, and your band or whatever is debuting soon so it’s a win.”

and just like that, it started.

their fling started as a casual thing something unspoken but understood between them. jimin was an idol, yn was debuting soon, and neither of them needed anything serious.

but casual didn’t explain the way jimin found herself lingering after studio sessions, watching yn with an intensity she couldn’t even begin to explain.

“you always stare this much?” yn asked one night, barely looking up from her laptop as she adjusted the levels on a track.

jimin scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “I’m not staring.”

yn smirked, finally turning her head to look at her. “you’re literally staring.”

jimin shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “maybe I just think you’re interesting.”

yn arched a brow. “hmm. that’s a lie.”

“so what if it is?”

yn’s shook her head as she returned her focus to the screen. “you’re not as smooth as you think you are, y’know, you’ve already pulled that on me before.”

jimin rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

late night convenience store runs became a routine. sometimes it was because jimin was craving something specific, other times it was because yn needed a break from the studio.

“ramyeon or kimbap?” jimin asked, standing in front of the shelves.

yn, crouched by the ice cream freezer, glanced up. “both.”

jimin snorted. “you eat like a guy.”

“I do not.” yn shot back, tossing a carton of ice cream into the basket.

jimin grinned. “you do, it’s not your fault babe I blame wonbin and jay.”

“shut up.”

they sat on the curb outside the store, eating in comfortable silence. the streetlights cast a soft glow around them, and for a moment, jimin let herself forget that this wasn’t something real.

that it couldn’t be real.

“you ever think about what you’d be doing if you weren’t an idol?” yn asked suddenly, voice quiet.

jimin thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know. it felt like I was training forever. this is all I know.”

yn hummed, twirling her chopsticks between her fingers. “I think I’d be a producer. like, full time. not just a trainee stuck in a basement.”

jimin frowned at that. she never liked the way yn talked about herself like she was just some hidden secret the company kept locked away. “you’ll debut soon.”

“yeah.” yn’s lips curled into something unreadable. “but even then, I think i’ll always be more useful behind the scenes.”

jimin didn’t like that answer.

she nudged yn’s knee with her own. “you’re gonna be big, you know.”

yn gave her a skeptical look. “oh yeah?”

“yeah.” jimin grinned. “and then you’ll be the one barely acknowledging the people making your songs.”

yn laughed. “you suck at pep talks, and you know I would never letting anyone anyone but me and the boys touch our tracks.”

jimin just smiled, but she meant what she said.

it was small moments like these quiet, intimate, real that made it hard for jimin to pretend this was just a fling.

but she knew better than to cross that line.

except… sometimes it felt like they already had.

like when yn would adjust jimin’s mic during recordings, her fingers grazing the side of her neck just a little too long.

or when they were packed in a van after a late night session, and yn leaned her head against jimin’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

or when they were watching a variety show one night, and wonyoung popped up on screen.

“isn’t she so pretty?” jimin said, not thinking much of it.

yn tensed. it was subtle, but jimin noticed.

“she’s okay,” yn muttered. “i’m more of an irene girl.”

jimin raised a brow. “ohhh, you’re into older women.”

yn smirked, turning her head to look at her. “yeah. that’s why i’m hanging with you.”

jimin choked on air. “shut up.”

yn just laughed, leaning back against the couch with that same confident ease that always drove jimin a little insane.

it was in moments like these when jimin’s heart skipped a beat, when she found herself wanting to reach out and pull yn closer that she realized she was in trouble.

she was catching feelings.

and it scared her.

she knew what yn had told her from the start. she knew. but that didn’t stop her from wanting.

and that was dangerous.

so a few days before paranoia’s debut under sm, jimin made a choice.

she ended it.

yn was quiet for a long moment, then she simply nodded. “okay.”

but jimin saw the way she tensed the way her fingers curled just slightly, like she was bracing for impact. and suddenly, jimin was remembering the only other time she’d seen yn react like that.

jimin swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing a small smile. “good luck on your debut.”

yn nodded again, and jimin turned, leaving the room before she could change her mind.

the second she was alone, the tears finally fell.

if only jimin had just told yn how she felt.

because fortunately no, unfortunately  yn felt the same way.

maybe she should’ve just been honest.

and maybe then, her tears wouldn’t have seen a single day.

[ptr-sqloint]

Do you think angels are made more mechanical, of intangible light, or of flesh?

yeag 👍

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

why didn't they just use franziska for literally all of this.

[exopelagic]

talking to him more very much achieved. we just talked for like 4 hours in the kitchen holy shit I need to sleep

[secretmellowblog]

People who try to analyze what happened on Tumblr on November 5th, 2020, often really overstate how much it was actually “about” Supernatural. As someone who has never been in the supernatural fandom ever but dID join in on the hysterical destielposting—it was really more about the stress of the pandemic and the 2020 presidential election.

The two biggest Youtubers I’ve seen try to dissect “what happened that November 5th” in video essays both weren’t American—- and I think that explains why they both tried to explain the hysteria primarily via analyzing the Supernatural fandom/the original show, rather than through the lens of the election. And while those videos are cool, valid, informational, and make lots of really well-considered interesting points— I can tell you that me and almost all my mutuals had literally no knowledge or interest in the fact that “oh supernatural had made nods at the ship in the past but the creators were adamant that I wouldn’t be canon” or etc etc etc etc. the first time I learned about any of that context was way later, watching videos where people claimed that fandom history context (that I did not know anything about) was the actual reason for the hysteria.

But the reality is that people latched on to the Destiel stuff because it was a piece of big useless inane zero-stakes fandom news in a time when we were desperately waiting for serious high stakes election news. We were latching onto a “positive “ piece of inane stupid fandom news in a time of great stress, with all the desperation of a drowning man who latches onto whatever piece of wood will keep him afloat.

The core of the hysteria was that Americans (who make up a huge chunk of tumblr’s userbase) were currently glued to their laptops watching the live presidential election vote counts come in. These vote counts were taking an extended amount of time due to the pandemic causing high numbers of mail-in ballots, resulting in a constant state of Election Day Stress for multiple days straight.

This was also during the height of the Pandemic. People had predicted Trump’s presidency would be bad; no one had predicted it would be this apocalyptically bad. No one had predicted pandemics and lockdowns and hospitals overflowing with bodybags. remember Trump spreading Covid lies and conspiracies?? There were so many Qanon conspiracies about democrats being Satanic child traffickers who had to be put to death, and coup threats were mounting from the right wing side. It seemed like this election was a choice between ‘centrist democrat’ and “apocalyptic right wing conspiracy theory authoritarianism,” in the midst of pandemic conditions that people feared would never ever improve— and it seemed like a close election.

Another major point was that Trump voters were more likely to be antimaskers/Covid deniers, while Biden voters were more likely to take the pandemic seriously— so Biden voters were more likely to send in mail-in ballots instead of risking the in-person voting crowds, which meant their ballots would take much longer to count. And so, in many state electoral vote counts, it would initially seem like Trump was very far in the lead— only for Biden to slooooowly build up an agonizingly small lead as the mail in ballots came in, and then defeat Trump at the very end.

So you’re just watching these news sites giving live election updates, refreshing the page every 2 minutes to see if you’re going to live under a spineless centrist democrat or a literal Qanon Dictatorship. And then you go on tumblr to distract yourself, and there’s more election posting, and more agonizing over the votes, and more stress and despair—-

And then it’s been days and we’re right at the crucial tipping point where it’s anyone’s game and the next few hours will determine whether Trump will win, so you need to keep your eye on the vote count, because the next hours will determine the future of the pandemic and your country and your plans for your entire life—

And then stupid Destiel becomes canon! And it becomes canon in the silliest way possible!

If Destiel had become canon at any other time, it would have been a big goofy tumblr celebration? But we wouldn’t have gotten the insane explosion of hysterical interaction.

The entire core of it was the contrast between the inane meaningless stupidity of fandom news vs the actual stressful election news you wanted to hear! It really is best conveyed in that meme where Castiel says “I love you” and Dean indifferently responds with a piece of important election news.

It’s about the contrast between the low-stakes inanity of fandom and the massive life-destroying stakes of a terrifying election. There really was no reason it had be Supernatural specifically, except that Supernatural was a thing everyone knew basic things about from dashboard osmosis— it could’ve been any other equally huge silly fandom ship news about a ship everyone *knew of* but might not necessarily be invested in (ex. Stucky becoming canon, Johnlock becoming canon, Kirk/Spock becoming more canon somehow, etc etc etc.)

I think it’s true that people who weren’t paying agonizingly close attention to the American election news got swept up in it, and that non American Supernatural fans also were extremely excited for purely fandom reasons — but the entire reason it blew up to an unprecedented degree was because of that core of stressed out terrified Americans glued to their computers watching election results and suddenly receiving stupid fandom news instead, and deciding to just hysterically parodically hyper-celebrate this absurd useless zero-stakes news.

I think it was also all elevated by the fact that, as I said before, this happened at the crucial “tipping point” of the election where the next few hours would determine the winner. The fact that Biden began to slowly develop a lead in the hours after made it feel, hysterically, as if the hours after Destiel became canon was somehow the turning point where he began to win; so celebrating Destiel felt like celebrating that slow turn towards victory.

The tl,dr is that it’s so important to Remember the Fifth of November …..in preparation the inevitable hysteria that will happen in the presidential election on November 5th of next year. XD. Personally I’m rooting for Johnlock or Frodo/Sam to somehow become canon in the eleventh hour right before the democrats win

[xo-adeline]

Just wanted to say amazing work on Ruggie's fic! I can see the time and effort you put in and it's wonderful!

I wonder how Leona would court? 🤔

"You'd think I was in love..."

⋆°• ☁︎ - Courting Rituals

Feat. Leona Kingscholar

AN: Thank you so much for the request, and I hope you enjoy!

When you had first come across Leona sleeping in the botanical gardens it was a sight to behold. It wasn’t like this was a very often occurrence for you, back in your world there hadn’t been any beastmen. Getting closer to him you could see the way his tail flicked around and the way his ears twitched slightly due to the cool breeze coming in from the windows. It wasn’t until a few times that you had come to that same spot that he eventually noticed and grew a small interest in the random person who happened to be so interested in whatever he was doing. It started as a simple peek here and there whenever you came over before he started to fully wake himself up at the normal time you would show up. With a sly smirk on his face, and trying to coax you into having a conversation. After a few days of him talking to you, there was this weird urge that he had to follow you around, and so that’s what he did. For the first few weeks of this, it seemed a little strange, the way he would walk you to class, even if his normal napping spot was on the whole other side of the campus. The way he would take you back to your dorm, even if Ruggie was on the verge of murdering him because his students were in another fight. But lo and behold, he didn’t care. He had this weird draw towards you he couldn’t explain, whatever, must’ve just been the warmer weather getting to him.

This was when Ruggie started to notice something that much different with his housewarden. The fact he was trying.

It wasn’t super obvious to the naked eye, but there was a small hint of… effort… that Leona was showing. The way he would actually show up to class, the way he tried a little harder when it came to spelldrive practice, and even the way he started to do his work?? It was a shock for the (un)official vice housewarden. Over the next few weeks, it only got worse, the way he was all over you, and even the way he started to stand as a more authoritative figure behind you, scaring most of the other Savanaclaw members away. Maybe that has something to do with the female lion normally picking the strongest among the pack, but maybe it’s also because he likes it when you compliment him on his skills, but who's to say? Once the compliments finally start to get to him, and you openly like him being around you, he starts to develop more of a touchy side. Constantly having you be his pillow when he wasn’t in at least attempting in class, nuzzling into your neck whenever you were sitting up slightly, and constantly having an arm on you in some way.

It seemed normal to you in some ways, almost like he was just being kinda nice! Until some of the guys had called out for Leona before seeing you and then were shocked to find just you, instead of the dorm head they had smelled. It wasn’t until a few days later you ran into Ruggie instead of Leona at the entrance of their dorm.

“Ah, (Name), Ya’ here to see Leona?”

You nodded as the hyena led you into the entrance and towards Leona’s room, where he was already dozing off in bed, the sun from the balcony of his room shining in. The second that you walked in he slightly opened his eyes and lifted an arm towards you, which you came over as Ruggie let out his signature laugh and headed out of the room, door closing behind him. Within a few seconds, he had you in his arms and he was nuzzling into your head.

“…Ya’ not so bad for a herbivore…”

You knew that there was no way in seven’s hell that he would actually ever say he liked you, but this was close enough, so from that point on you two had stuck together like everything was normal, even if he had never outright confessed to you<3

[aleskie]

YOU DON'T NEED TO LIFT A FINGER | Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: When a guy just cannot get the hint, Jack makes sure to put him in his place. He's got your back. Always.

Warnings: none!! pure fluff and jack gets protective!! Full discloure, this is for realsies Fem!Reader!! Author's Note: This was supposed to come out a dayyyyys ago but Tumblr was NOT letting me post my drafts 😭😭 my poor therapist spent an hour watching me crash out about it najsjsshjjk

You were beautiful.

Of course you were.

In Jack’s eyes, you were the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth.

Which is why he understands why you get hit on. He really does. Hell, once upon a time, he was hitting on you. And he still hits on you, even now, years into the relationship, because you’re worth it. Because you light up rooms without even trying. Because he’s always been a sucker for the way you roll your eyes and smile at his cheesy attempts to be smooth with you.

You’re beautiful and smart and funny, and you’re so effortlessly charming—of course people would want you for themselves. He gets it. He really does. And honestly, there’s a part of him that loves it. He loves that people notice those qualities about you, that they see in you what he sees every day. It feels like validation, like the universe itself is confirming that he’s the luckiest guy alive. He basks in the knowledge that no matter how many people give you those hungry looks and shitty pick-up lines, he’s the one you're coming home with, his hand resting possessively on your hip as he gives all those people a smirk, his claim laid without him even lifting a finger.

What he doesn’t love is when people don’t take the damn hint.

And you give a lot of hints.

Take this guy right here—Dave, or Doug, or whatever his name is—He’d somehow wiggled his way into the booth you guys shared with your friends for a night out and, while he seemed harmless at first, he was now solely focused on you. And your legs that were highlighted by the body shimmer Jack helped put on you earlier tonight (his fingers still slightly shimmering to prove it—a badge of honor, in his opinion).

You’d been giving him that polite, fake smile since he joined in—the one Jack knows so well and that always makes him chuckle, the one you use when you’re being patient but are clearly not enjoying yourself—and you’ve barely paid him any attention, save for a few fake laughs and an “Oh, that sounds cool” every so often as Darren, or Dino, continues to brag about himself, not even trying to ask about you (a grave mistake, Jack thinks, since you were the most interesting person he knew).

Jack wonders if this guy even realizes you’ve been leaning against Jack this entire time, your head on his shoulder and his hand resting on your upper thigh, or if he’s chosen to ignore that in favor of trying (and failing) to shoot his shot. Better yet, does he even recognize Jack is here, drink untouched and jaw tightening as he watches Danny (or was it Dylan) lean in just a little too close?

Jack glances at you. You’re still handling it with grace, of course you are. You always do. But he knows you. He sees the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way you lean further against him to put some distance between you and Dexter, the way your fingers tighten around your glass, and he knows you’d rather not have to deal with this.

He shifts slightly and stands, leaning forward to smile at the intruder, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, Diego, right?” he says. His tone is casual, even pleasant, but there’s steel underneath it.

“It’s Dave, actua—”

Jack extends a hand, cutting through the guy’s attempt at small talk. “Right, yeah. Sorry to interrupt, but I think my girlfriend and I are gonna go dance now.”

He puts an emphasis on girlfriend, just to make sure this guy gets the point.

Jack gives you a soft look, the kind that makes your breath hitch just a little, and you immediately stand up, reaching for him. His arm wraps around you instinctively, his touch steady and familiar. You can already feel the tension in his body lessening now that he has you close, now that he’s leading you away from whatever-his-name-is and back into the safe, easy rhythm of you and him.

But before you can leave, the guy speaks again.

“Sorry, man, didn’t realize she was yours. You know how women are. With that dress and those legs, she was totally leading me on.”

Jack freezes.

For a second, the world seems to pause, almost like he couldn’t believe what was coming out of this guy’s mouth, like he didn’t want to believe anyone could be that stupid.

Slowly, he straightens, turning back toward the guy—Dave or Doug or whatever his name was—with a look so calm it’s almost serene. Too calm. And that’s how you know Jack is angry.

Not the playful kind of angry, where he pretends to pout when you steal the last fry or kiss him everywhere but his lips. Not the frustrated kind, like when he can’t find his keys for the third time that week or when he’s had a particularly bad game.

No, this is something deeper. Colder. Controlled.

His fingers graze your arm lightly, a small, grounding touch meant just for you. It’s subtle, but you know what it means. I’ve got this. You don’t need to lift a finger.

Jack tilts his head ever so slightly. “You wanna say that again?” His voice is so even it borders on soft, a quiet thing wrapped in steel.

Dave—or Dino or Darryl—seems to think Jack is inviting him to elaborate, which is perhaps the worst decision he’s made all night.

“I’m just saying, y’know,” Dave shrugs, his tone shifting to something almost conspiratorial, like he thinks Jack might actually agree with him if he just explains it better. “When women dress like that, you can’t blame a guy for—”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need you to shut up before I do something we both regret.”

Jack doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. The weight of his words alone is enough to send a ripple of silence through the space between them.

Dave blinks, the beginning stages of intimidation creeping onto his face. He glances at you, as if expecting backup, but you’re already leaning back against the wall, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised as you watch Jack dismantle him.

There’s a small smirk on your lips. Because this? This was a sight you didn’t get to see in public too often.

Many times, people assumed your lovely boyfriend—so easygoing, so effortlessly charming—would lack the sharpness to cut someone down when needed, would stick to uhmms and ahhhs and crassness.

They mistook his laid-back nature for passivity, his warmth for softness. But you knew better. Your Jack could be quite a wonder with words when he wanted to be. He didn’t need to be loud to command attention. He didn’t need to throw a punch to land a hit.

So you hang back and let him handle this one, finding comfort in the thought of his arms around you later, his breath warm against your ear as you danced the rest of the night away.

“Listen, buddy,” Jack continues, stepping closer. His tone is light, almost conversational, but there’s no mistaking the edge beneath it. “You don’t talk to anyone like that. You definitely don’t get to talk to her like that. You hear me?”

“God, c’mon, man! No need to get all—”

“I already told you to shut up.” Jack’s scowl deepens. His words are slow, deliberate. “The fact that she was polite enough to give you the slightest bit of attention doesn’t mean she was hitting on you. Whatever you thought was going on tonight? Not an invitation.”

Dave—Dino? Derek?—opens his mouth, probably to dig himself into an even deeper hole, but stops when Jack leans in slightly, just enough to make his presence feel heavier. Like a storm cloud about to break.

“She’s kind,” Jack says, voice quieter now, deadlier. “So she tolerated you. But she doesn’t owe you a fucking thing.”

The last of Dave’s bravado starts to crumble. His shoulders inch inward, his gaze flickering around the booth, searching for an exit, for reinforcements—for anything that might save him from this moment.

Jack watches him for a second longer, then exhales sharply, like he’s already bored. “You think being desperate and cocky gets you the girl,” he says, shaking his head. “But I don’t need any of that to keep her by my side.” His fingers brush against yours, finding their place like they always do. “And we don’t need to waste any more time entertaining douchebags like you.”

Jack steps back, his hand sliding fully into yours as he finally tears his gaze from Daniel? Don?—who cares?—and looks at you instead. The shift is immediate, his features easing, the sharpness in his eyes softening into something familiar. Something yours.

“Let’s go, babe,” he says simply, his voice lighter now, more like himself.

And just like that, the moment is over.

As you stand, letting Jack guide you away from the booth, you hear Dave mutter something under his breath—something weak and defensive that doesn’t deserve acknowledgment. It’s the kind of parting shot people throw out when they know they’ve lost. Neither of you glance back.

The music swells around you, the bass thrumming beneath your feet, but Jack doesn’t lead you straight to the dance floor. Instead, he pulls you toward a quieter corner, away from the crowd, where the lights are dimmer, the world a little smaller.

He exhales, then wordlessly nestles his head in the crook of your shoulder.

You smile, running your fingers through his hair, your nails lightly grazing his scalp. He sighs at the touch, his arms slipping around your waist as he lets himself melt into you for just a moment. You press a soft kiss to his hair, breathing him in, grounding both of you in something steady, something real.

After a beat, he tilts his head up, a sheepish grin playing at his lips. “Did I go overboard?”

You roll your eyes fondly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You were absolutely perfect,” you murmur, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

His grin widens, boyish and bright, and just like that, the weight of the night lifts. He tugs you closer, his arm tightening around your waist as he starts to sway you to the music. You laugh as he spins you unexpectedly, sneaking in kisses between the DJ’s transitions, his lips catching your temple, your jaw, the curve of your shoulder.

The man who bothered you is forgotten. The tension, the sharp edges of the night—gone.

All that’s left is this. You and him and the music. The warmth of his hands on you, the sound of your laughter melting together, the rest of the world fading into nothing.

[yandere-romanticaa]

I feel like I'm 15 again. Todoroki was my first BNHA love, it's only fair that he gets a little something.

Shoto, who has had his eye on you ever since his UA days. He was enrolled in the hero course while you were in the general course, leading a completely separate life from his own. You had your own interests, hobbies, friends.

It was so beautiful to admire, from a safe distance of course.

Shoto was aware of his popularity amongst the student body due to his powerful quirk and impeccable grades. Whenever he would walk down the hall to class the murmurs of hundreds of students would follow, their beady and curious eyes either glaring daggers of envy or were in absolute awe of him.

Either way, he did not care, not for any single one of them. He was never too keen to call the people around him "extras" in the same way Bakugo did but whenever he would catch sight of you in the hall, every single possible distraction really did become a hassle. His cool mask was always under the dangerous threat of melting at the mere sight of you, it would even triple if you talked to, or if God was feeling merciful, accidentally touch him. His mask of indifference would slip for a brief second, dual eyes widening in shock as he would get a whiff of your perfume and would curse the fact that there were so many people around.

If he could die with his nose buried in your neck, it would be the sweetest way to go.

Shoto would become paranoid of the thought of being discovered. Sometimes, just sometimes when he was feeling just a little bit bolder than usual, he would press himself just ever so closer to you in the cramped hall and would take in every nook and cranny he possibly could. The average student would think nothing of this as he was probably just in a rush to get to class. He would also always apologize politely, Shoto would even try giving you a sweet smile while doing so.

However. The people who knew Shoto were not your average students.

Bakugo was not known for his subtlety and that legacy still lives on. On a Friday evening when the last bell had rung and the classroom was empty, the hotheaded lad trapped Shoto in a corner.

"Just say how you feel dumbass." Bakugo had said, his gruff tone slightly quieter than usual.

At least he had enough grace to not be a complete jackass.

With his eyes closed and lips pressed in a thin line Shoto had shook his head in defiance. Bakugo made the entire situation sound so easy, as if Shoto could just walk up to you and ask to hang out. You were a kind person and would most likely say yes, but Shoto was not so sure if you could handle the sheer intensity of his feelings. This, whatever this was, was all consuming, it left Shoto feeling breathless and restless, for who knows how long. You made him lose focus but you also made him so much stronger at the same time. He would space out in class a bit too often for comfort, which lead to Aizawa scolding him until the tips of his ears turned red.

This was so much more than a simple crush.

Bakugo shrugged his shoulders and exited the classroom. "Whatever you say icy hot. Just don't start crying if things don't go down the way you want them to."

Time passes, you all graduate. Shoto still pines helplessly from a distance but he has gotten just a little bit closer to you. Sometimes you meet up and hang out, he could always feel the tips of his fingers twitching in anticipation, eager to hold you but he kept his distance.

He didn't want to scare you off.

Even more time has passed and Shoto is a professional hero now. He is an honest worker and has built up a strong reputation. Everyone wants to be him or be with him.

But he still wants you.

Even after all these years, he still longs for your touch. He longs to be the only man in your life, the one you come home to.

Shoto watches you from his office window, his eyes glued to you and the person you were so lovingly fondling over. He grits his teeth and clenches his fist so tight that his knuckles turn white as snow.

That should be him down there. He should be the one who gets to hold you, touch you, kiss you.

It should be Shoto Todoroki who you love. Not whoever that extra is. He swiftly turns his gaze away from the window, a sick amusement coming over him. "Extra" really was a fitting term for whoever was down there.

Shoto should have listened to Bakugo all those years ago. He should have listened to him. He may be a cocky loudmouth but he was right and you had slipped right away from him.

Finally, it was time to take matters into his own two hands. He was done longing and lingering in the shadows. He wasn't too keen on manipulating the hero system he swore to protect but damn it all. It had to be done.

Killing your little lover was so easy, it came to him like breathing. The beauty of his quirk that it was so versatile, he could come up with so many creative ways into disposing that pesky thorn in his side. Hot flames and horrid ice marred the flesh of your little lover but Shoto was clever. Oh yes, Shoto was indeed so clever as he made sure to keep the physical torture to the minimum, just in case someone decided to get smart and start suspecting him.

Besides, it was so much more impactful to gloat over his victory. He was the one who was going to take care of you for the rest of your days together.

Not even death could tear you away from him.

Shoto watched the life being snuffed away from the poor sucker as he cried and spat out pools of sweat and blood. There were no heroes here that could help him, not a single soul was in sight.

He was completely in Shoto's mercy. And he was not going to give him a single drop of it.

The pro hero tossed the lifeless body aside and hid it sloppily, because he knew that you would be worried, that people would come looking. He cleaned up the scene of the crime and secured himself an alibi, just to be safe.

Shoto started walking towards his office but the adrenaline of the encounter still pumped in his veins, his mind was all over the place.

And your face was front and center.

Instead of his original plan of waiting it out, Shoto made the hasty decision to just.... Take you. He had waited for years, and years and years. He would be gentle, naturally.

And with time, he was positive that you would come to appreciate him.

And just like that, he was at your front door, ringing the doorbell like crazy. You opened the door in a worried frenzy, dressed in your comfortable pj's which Shoto just adored.

Suddenly, he had pushed you inside of your apartment and closed the door with his foot, freezing it ever so slightly with his quirk. He pinned you to the ground, both of your arms in a single tight grip as the other ever so gently caressed your face. His gaze was wild but focused, so utterly lovesick that there wasn't a single word which could describe the range of emotions he was feeling.

Finally, after all these years Shoto had you where he wanted you. And there was nothing that could change that.

[shawtylex09]

⋆˙⟡ Breathless. Izuku Midoriya x Fem!Reader ⟡⋆˙

⋆.˚✮ Valentine’s Day story 8/14 ✮˚.⋆

Warnings; swearing.

Masterlist

Enjoy my lovelies ✧˖°.

🌸

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚

What was a good way to describe how you left Izuku?

Breathless.

You were gorgeous, so so so sweet, and had the most pure heart. You were talented, drawing people in with your passion for what you loved, whether that be music, art, writing, or whatever else you may be interested in, Izuku loved how you were.

He often spaced out in class thinking about you, gazing at your soft hair and gentle eyes. You had no idea just how much this boy admired you. He practiced drawing you in his notebook, each wave of your hair, each curve of your face, everything.

Izuku knew his feelings were silly, he’d never truly felt love before, but he just knew this is what it was. It wasn’t some silly crush- no no no. He’d had a few crushes on a few boys from middle school, but none of them compared to his feelings for you.

Izuku would stay up late on the phone with you,

“You think? Dude, I’ve never even thought about it that way” you mumbled, looking up at the ceiling as your phone laid next to your head. Izuku’s soft laughter came in from the other side “I know right? I’ve gotten that reaction quite a few times, I know it’s nerdy.” You sighed and smiled softly. “Just cause it’s nerdy, doesn’t mean it isn’t invalid.”

going out to the arcades with you;

“Woah! You’re so good at DDR Midoriya!” You gushed with wide eyes, gaping as Izuku’s feet tapped against the colored squares on the DDR pad. “Go Midoriya!” You laughed and cheered, making the boy’s heart race at seeing your smile.

He’d even been vulnerable with you.

Izuku looked up at the stars, curfew long passed and most of the dorm asleep. You padded out and looked over at him “can’t sleep?” You asked softly. Izuku sighed and ran a hand through his messy curls. “You could say that” he said softly. You could sense the tension in the air, so you being the considerate and kind person you were, you gently wrapped him in a hug, which he reciprocated. Izuku let out a soft sigh and felt a few silent tears slide down his cheeks. “Thank you..” he whispered quietly.

The point was, Izuku was attached, his heart clinging to your smile, your laugh, your skills and your friendship with him.

You were so..amazing.

Izuku felt like he was leagues behind you, like he had to over-compensate, and that he did.

The boys were sparring out in the grass, the sky was dark and cloudy, the air cool against their hot skin.

Izuku looked up at the clouds and frowned. He didn’t want to get sick if it started to rain, and the thunder rumbling in the background didn’t seem to ease his worries.

You sat on the steps with Tsu and Uraraka, watching as the boys wrestled, cheering for them.

Izuku smiled sweetly as he saw you, however, he felt a drop of rain hit his skin, then another, then a third, until it was pouring. He shuddered as the cool water fell onto his skin.

“Guys! We should go in! We could get sick!” Izuku called to the boys, who were now slipping on the growingly wet ground.

Kaminari laughed, Bakugou groaning in disdain as the rain pelted him “fuck off Deku. I’m not letting some shitty rain stop me from kicking dunce face’s ass! Don’t be a pussy!”

Izuku blushed embarrassedly and looked over to you, who looked unimpressed with Bakugous words. He didn’t want to stay out in the rain, but with none of the other boys- not even Bakugou -going inside, he decided to follow the crowd to seem tough like them.

He definitely regretted that.

Izuku sighed softly as you blotted his forehead dry, his hair slightly sticking to his sweaty skin. “I’m sorry Y/n” he mumbled, his nose stuffy and voice nasally.

You sighed and smiled, shaking your head “it’s okay Midoriya, I know how dedicated you are to your training. Just, try not to get soaking wet in the cold rain next time, okay?”

He nodded and blushed as you gently cupped his cheek, tilting his face up to gently wipe away the sweat from his feverish skin.

In his hazy-ish, state of having a fever, his brain thought it acceptable to look up at you and smile softly, words slipping out before he could stop them “you’re..you’re amazing..Y/n..” he said before letting out a few nasty coughs.

You blushed a little and smiled, feeling a small flutter in your chest “aw..thank you Midoriya-“

“Izuku.”

“H-huh?” You paused your motions and cocked your head to the side. Izuku looked at you with furrowed brows. “Call me Izuku” he clarified.

Your eyes widened slightly and you felt heat crawl up to your ears “wait- that’s like..intimate..right? First name usage I mean..” you said as you tucked some of your hair behind your ear, looking away as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt.

Izuku nodded, smiling softly at your shy demeanor “I..I want to be closer with you..Y/n..I want you to use my first name..please..?”

You swallowed dryly, before smiling a little at him. “Alright…if you say so..Izuku”

His eyes widened and his heart raced in his chest.

God, there it was again.

That feeling you always gave him. That feeling of love and adoration.

The feeling of being breathless.

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚

I would have gotten this out sooner if I wasn’t being a nerd and trying to figure out how heavy the steel beam Izuku was lifting during his fight with Gentle Criminal was. Spoiler alert, 1,933.34 lbs - 2,400 lbs. you’re welcome.

[animeafro]

mha boys x black! reader :3

HOW MHA BOYS WOULD INTERACT WITH YOUR NATURAL HAIR

ꕥ summary: all of the mha boys are (presumably) unfamiliar with black hair, so i thought it'd be fun to headcanon their behavior with a partner who has natural hair!

ꕥ includes: izuku midoriya, shouto todoroki, eijirou kirishima, denki kaminari, katsuki bakugo

ꕥ warnings: slight nsfw for bakugo and kaminari, otherwise just fluff :)

Izuku: 

Is curious about your hair but doesn't wanna ask too many questions for fear of sounding disrespectful, so he conducts his own “research project” by spending hours on YouTube watching natural hair creators and learning how your hair is cared for

He takes notes on the different hair types, determines which kind yours must be, and curates his remaining research based on that

Randomly shows up one day with a bunch of expensive natural hair products that he thinks might work for you since you often complain about how hard your hair is to maintain and how you don’t wanna invest in expensive products that may not work for you

Follows you into the bathroom and convinces you to let him do your wash day for you

It takes some guidance from you (the detangling process is not as easy as they made it look in the videos) but he does great!

You're shocked at how well he managed to define your curls. Your hair damn near looks like you went to a curly salon to get it done!

He even learns how to define his own curls in the process! But you both end up preferring his signature fluffy style instead.

Shoto:

Doesn’t mention anything about your hair for a while, but secretly wonders about it

When you talk to Momo and Mina about your routine during a conversation about hair care, his ears perk up. He listens intently, but still doesn’t say anything

The next time he comes over, your hair is in braids. “Your hair is different,” he observes. “Do you like it?” you question. “Yeah, you look… gorgeous. How did you do that?”

His curiosity gets the best of him, and the next 10 minutes is a flurry of questions he's been holding himself back from asking. “So why'd you put it in braids? What's a protective style? How long can you keep them in? How do you wash it? Why do you have to put oil in it?” He can't help but be in awe at how different your hair is from his own

Since he’s so interested, you offer to give him a few temporary braids, just for fun. After scrolling Pinterest for a while for inspiration, you both agree on giving him some cornrows on the top of his head

He is incredibly tender headed. He winces every time you pick up a new piece of hair to add into the braid, even though you’re braiding rather loosely

After you’re done you show him in the mirror, and he falls in love with it. “It looks so cool,” he beams, his usually deadpan tone taking on a hint of an excited lilt.

“Can you do it again for me tomorrow?” he turns to you to meet your gaze, his eyes wide with admiration. how could you say no to that face?

Denki: 

Loves everything about your natural hair

You always have to swat his hands away because he’s constantly reaching up to play with it, saying it feels so soft like a pillow and it’s not fair for you to keep it all to yourself

When you put your hair in long box braids he’s confused as to how it grew so fast, but he just assumes it’s something that black people can do and doesn’t question it. Maybe it has something to do with that “shrinkage” you’re always complaining about…

When he sees you braiding your hair, he insists that you should do his next. He doesn’t care about how his hair is styled nearly as much as he just likes having his hair played with

Gets hard every time you put on your bonnet

Kirishima: 

Tries to convince you to dye it red so that you two can match

Part of your morning routine with him is you both standing in front of the bathroom mirror, him spiking up his hair with ungodly amounts of gel and you working on whatever curly style you’ve chosen for the day

One lazy Saturday, you guys decide it’d be fun to do each other’s hair

Since the gel is available, you decide to try giving him finger waves. His hair is super thick, and on the longer side, so it’s not easy to get the waves right, but eventually you manage to finesse it into a style that looks close enough to finger waves. He won’t know the difference anyway, you think to yourself

Meanwhile, he sculpts your afro into a star shape. He marvels at how your hair can stick up on its own, without any gel. He wishes his hair would do the same so he wouldn’t have to spend so much money on product

When you reveal each other’s hairstyles in the mirror, you both overflow with giggles, admiring one another’s artistic visions

Of course, he insists, the session is not complete without a backyard photoshoot!

Bakugo: 

Won’t really ask questions but when you’re in the bathroom, styling your hair with the door open, he’s off to the side, observing with bated curiosity (unbeknownst to you)

He’s always careful not to touch or mess up your hair since he knows how much effort you put into it

That’s why he prefers when your hair is in a protective style– because then you let him pull it

He likes to buy you things for your hair– silk scarves, braid jewelry– he even pays attention to when you’re running out of your favorite products and buys refills for you since he knows you always forget

One day he buys you a pair of hair clips with his signature orange & black explosions on them. Gets a good chuckle when he notices that you’ve been wearing them nearly every day, the other hair pieces lying neglected in your cabinet

But why wouldn't you want to rep your man every day?

POST FORMAT CREDIT TO @rumisgf i haven't figured out how to make pretty posts myself yet lol

[bluexiao]

#monsieur neuvillette’s relationship headcanons

NOTES. finally a work after months. i missed this, tbh. but hey, here’s my new husband for you. might also have a part 2 of this i feel like i haven’t written everything yet

WARNING. real identity spoilers (nothing too explicit from the current archon quest i haven’t even done it yet oops)

NEUVILLETTE

(Before)

Before the relationship began, it took a long while for him to truly process what he had been feeling towards you—to be frank, he even thought he was getting sick (which was impossible. He never got sick.), though that thought comes to an end the moment he realizes that the effects only happen when he is around you. Only you.

He had heard of love before. Had seen love. Had read about love. Not just the platonic or familial ones, but also romance and more. And yet, he does not understand them, simply because he considers them as something someone like him would not eventually feel.

And yet, it all changed when he first saw you. Curiosity turns to admiration, and admiration turns to anxiety—which is never good; the sweating on his hands and the back of his neck, and the pressure on his chest whenever your presence comes.

He was only reminded of the term romance when he consulted Sigewinne about it.

“Does it only happen around a certain person, Monsieur?” “Monsieur, I think you are simply in love,” she says. “Humans do tend to have the same symptoms but it does not necessarily mean you are sick. It appears to me that you feel the same as well. Does their presence give you happiness?”

He did not even need to ponder over his answer. What he does ponder over is how he should deal with it. The evidence is overwhelming, and there is only one verdict. And yet, where does this lead to?

Contrary to popular belief, he will confess as soon as he is sure of his feelings. He is an honest and honorable man. He would confess his feelings if he could, but it did take some time knowing how busy his schedule was.

The only thing that probably was able to push him to go through was the Melusines. It took them weeks to have him clear his schedule up for a nice little dinner date that they had planned and suggested to the Monsieur.

“Recently, I have come to realize that I have developed a romantic interest with you, Y/n.”

“I do not intend to put pressure on you. I shall accept whatever judgment you make. I do not wish for you to change how you treat me in any way.”

“If you may… I can only ask to indulge in this meal with you for tonight. Your company eases me greatly.”

Brutally honest. It may even drive you crazy how this all seems so easy on him.

But in reality, his palms were sweating underneath his gloves and the slightly cool sensation of the utensils as he blurts out his intentions for setting up such an occasion. His heart was pounding but he could not process whether this was about how you looked especially good tonight or his nervousness with finally confessing his feelings for you.

Or maybe both. Either way, all evidence of such leads to only one thing—you.

Bonus; I do think he’ll reveal who he is first before he gets into a relationship with you but that really depends on how observant you are.

(During)

It was a surprise to him, at the very least, how he had managed to keep you as his lover despite what he lacks. He knew how he was not well-versed with “feelings” per se (just in his mind), but you, the angel that you’ve always been, chose to be with him.

The sudden change did not occur to him much, actually. But he did notice how much his mind lingers to you more often than not, and how he will end up recalling how you are now his one and only lover.

It takes time for him to adjust, but it all started with frequent conversations (much more than before), then sending flowers to your place every other day (constantly), though most of the time they’re delivered by someone else, knowing how busy he is as the Chief Justice.

Or when he started to first brush his gloved fingers to yours.

When he does something, it will be constant. (Maybe this also comes from being responsible and disciplined as shown by being the Chief Justice). All the things that he did before, he still does them now—unless you’ve told him no, of course.

He is definitely a man of his honor!!

And would always ask for your permission first before he touches your hand, or holds them, or hugs you, or kisses you.

He does like pampering and showering you with “offerings” though.

Stuff like buying your favorite flowers or trinkets once or twice a week, making sure you have enough supply of the best water out there. And even with how he always has an umbrella or parasol for you (ones he got ever since you got together; one in his office, one that’s foldable for him to carry under his coat, and one he gave to you for every time you leave the house.

Through the course of the relationship, he learned about the beauty of life, which is how he sometimes brings you flowers despite its short life. However, he still secretly prefers giving you trinkets for your hoard of gifts from him, mostly because it symbolizes his everlasting love for you. (He’s very romantic like that, even if he does not know he is)

He will also introduce every single Melusine in Fontaine. At first, it may surprise you how he knows all of their names, but it will surprise you even more the moment you realize you could do the same. If you do, he’ll love you even more (which he thought was impossible at first as he knew he already loves you very much).

The Melusines will treat you as their other parent the moment it is known amongst all of them that you’re his lover. Sigewinne, for one, would always give you a personalized gift. She would also always send you letters to ask how you are and probably be quite excited whenever you accept an invitation for a cup of tea.

Monsieur Neuvillete is not jealous, but he is possessive and territorial. It’s a dragon instinct, forgive him.

It also comes with being protective. Though he’s not feral, he would make sure to always shield you away from any harm, or anything that might take you away.

One time, he had to deal with a bunch of… shameless individuals who had tried to make a move on you, and though he has great trust on you, he cannot help but have the same self-deprecating voices in the back of his mind.

Though instinctively, he finds himself buying you trinkets or flowers again.

“Hm? You just gave me one earlier, didn’t you?” You look up with a confused look but still hold that smile that stirs butterflies in his chest.

He nodded. “The flowers reminded me of you, mon amour. I could not help but feel the urge to give it to you.”

It does not stop him from giving you offerings.

Of course, he cannot just give up on you. The ruling of whoever deserves your love and affection the most. Of course, he is at an advantage knowing that he’s already your lover.

“Is there something wrong?” You looked up to him, hearing the pitter patter of the rain outside through the taps on the windows. You had your hands on his shoulders, gently rubbing them with your palms.

“It’s nothing, mon cœur, no need to worry.” He flashes you a reassuring smile, and yet, at the back of his mind, he wondered how you could have thought to check on him. Is it perhaps the gloominess in the atmosphere?

You frown as you look at him intently, “There are times when you’d shower me gifts with a saddened look on you. I’m worried, is all.”

He stares at you then. Ah, so you noticed, he thought.

He chuckles as he shakes his head and stands right next to you. “May I?” He opens his arms and you nod and dive right into his chest. He enclosed you into an embrace, relishing the feeling of your warmth.

He kisses your forehead then. “Allow me to bask in your presence for a while.”

For short, one of the best. Definitely a 100/10.

[joostsblog]

i loved to be desired sm omg. Could i request a joost x reader where reader is partying with joost and friends. they meet ski aggu and are chilling and they tell ski that they are super into joost but joost isnt into them and they are sad about it. The ski aggu makes it his mission to make joost jealous to get them together and there is a lil angst but reader and joost end up together and making out.

loved writing this request!! i love shy!joost in this, hope you enjoy!!❣️❣️

is this as good as it gets? ~ joost klein one shot

My masterlist here ✨💌

Pairing: Joost Klein x female!reader (also Ski Aggu x reader if you squint ig)

Description: When you almost lose all your hope getting with Joost, Aggu proposes an interesting idea to get the two of you together.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: title and also vibe inspired by as good as it gets by fizz so i highly rec giving that song a listen! again, you can still send in requests 💌

Warnings: consumption of alcohol and cigarettes, not proofread

You should write Mel a thank you note, really. For one because she always lets you crash at her place whenever you visit Berlin (which happens to be very frequently, actually) but also for tagging along to her party nights with her Berlin friends which also include the famous German rapper Ski Aggu and his dutch friend Joost who you couldn't seem to keep your eyes from. Ever since you first met last time you were in Berlin (which was only three weeks ago) you were crushing on the man - hard. And suddenly you were pretending you knew more about music than you actually did just so you could try to hold a conversation with Joost. And you stepped out one time too many to smoke a cigarette with him when you usually smoked maybe two cigarettes within one year. And overthinking whatever you should wear to go out with Mel and all her friends without even knowing if Joost was gonna be there that evening as well.

And when you decided to visit Mel again just three weeks after having been the last time ("Already?"), maybe Joost was a deciding factor as well. You didn't even know if he was gonna be in Berlin around the same time as well but you were in luck when you and Mel walked into the bar and you could see Joost's figure sitting beside Aggu. You tried to play it cool as you greeted everyone and finally got to Joost.

"So nice to see you again," you said earnestly as you both hugged.

"Likewise," Joost said and gently rubbed your back. You hoped that he wasn't just being polite and actually remembered you.

You were also in luck when there was a free spot beside Joost which you could take as you tried to casually open a conversation with him, talking about whatever the two of you had been up to in the last few weeks. You talked about his hometown, your hometown, why you were visiting Berlin so often and how you were thinking of moving here. You could tell that Joost was taking interest in the conversation and by extension you, but it wasn't enough for you. You knew that you wanted Joost in other ways and you wondered how and if you could persuade him of you.

"I'm getting a new drink," you announced. "Does anybody want anything?" you asked and hoped Joost would say something or offer to come with you to the bar.

"Actually, I'll go with you," Ski Aggu offered instead.

"Alright," you smiled and you two headed off to the bar.

The bar was incredibly crowded and you could already tell that you would have to wait a while until the bartender would get around to take your orders. You leaned against the counter.

"So, does Joost visit here often?" you asked and immediately regretted it as it came out way too obsessively as you had intended to. Aggu laughed.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked amused.

"I don't know, just because I don't live here as well," you tried to casually explain.

"Yeah, well, he's working on new music currently, so he comes here a lot," Aggu said and paused as he seemed to contemplate for a moment. "Joost is cute, right?" he tested you. Blood rushed to your head.

"I suppose," you shrugged nonchalantly.

"Nah, come on, he's very cute, we can agree on that," Aggu pushed jokingly.

"I imagine most girls would agree," you said.

"Maybe, but I'm talking about you," Aggu said and poked your shoulder as he said the last word. "Do you think he's cute?" he asked again. "Or sexy or dreamy or whatever?"

"Yeah, I think Joost is very cute," you blushed. "Is it obvious?" you asked.

"Well, I think Mel mentioned how you're not a smoker when we first met and suddenly Joost is here and all of a sudden you're out with him for a smoke every hour or so," he teased and you hid your face behind your hands in embarrassment.

"Oh god," you groaned.

"Nah, come on, it doesn't matter," Aggu said. "Nothing to be embarrassed about," he insisted and removed your hands from in front of your face.

"Yeah, but Joost definitely doesn't like me," you explained with a saddened expression on your face. Aggu raised an eyebrow.

"How do you know that?" he inquired.

"I don't know, I just feel like he's deliberately treating me like a friend, you know, in a very platonic way only," you tried to explain. "Like he's very persistent about me just being a friend - if that," you said. Aggu looked sceptical.

"Listen, I don't know if Joost likes you back but I do know that he's a little awkward about flirting and expressing his feelings and whatever," he said. "He might need a little help to push him along," Aggu said with a knowing smile. You looked at him with a confused expression on your face. "You can say no to this if you want, but I have an idea for us," Aggu said and you nodded, indicating for him to keep going. "What if we both do a little thing to make Joost jealous?" Aggu proposed and your heart started racing.

"What do you mean?" you asked.

"Let's just try for tonight to spend a lot of time together, laughing a lot, sitting very close to each other, touching, flirting and just rubbing it in Joost's face that you're having a great time with me?" Aggu explained. "In fact, I saw Joost looking over at us standing here a few times already," Aggu pointed out and you looked over to the table where all your friends were sitting and as your gaze crossed Joost's eyes he immediately averted the gaze and looked in another direction. "We've got nothing to lose, either way the outcome, we'll just have a fun evening together," Aggu concluded.

You contemplated Aggu's idea for a second before you decided that he was right - you had nothing to lose. Aggu obviously was a nice and handsome guy so you wouldn't mind having a fun evening with him as well.

"Alright, it's a deal," you said with a smile and extended your hand before Aggu took it for a handshake.

"Alright, let's start with me buying you a drink," Aggu grinned and moved to stand closer to you. You casually rested your hand on Aggus bicep as you kept talking until the bartender finally took both of your orders.

"Is this okay?" Aggu asked as his arm wrapped around your waist to hold you.

"Yes," you said and you wondered whether Joost could see you right now, what he would feel at the sight of you two being so close to one another. "Thanks for the drink," you said and cheered your cup to Aggu's after you got your drinks.

"Scoot over," Aggu directed Joost as you got back to your table. You could read a confused expression on Joost's face for just a second before he darted his eyes back and forth between you and Aggu quickly. As Joost moved over from his spot Aggu could now sit beside him and you could take your seat beside Aggu.

As you were talking with Aggu you made an effort to seem careless and laugh at every joke he made, softly grazing his arm if the chance occurred or bite your lips as you watched his face. It took everything in you to look to the left of Aggu to check on Joost. You were so desperate to see whether he was fazed by your spiel. But you knew you needed to ignore him for the time being. Aggu took the biggest leap so far when he casually wrapped his arm around your shoulders to bring you closer to him as you giggled.

"Alright, I'm going for a smoke," Joost announced almost immediately after. Aggu's arm dropped from your shoulder as you both had to move over to let Joost out of the booth. After Joost got out he stood there for a moment looking down at you with a blank expression. Did he wait for you to join him for a cigarette as you always had in the past? Surely not, you thought before Joost turned around to get outside alone.

~

Joost leaned against the wall outside as his cigarette was slowly nearing its end. Usually, you would be leaning against the wall beside him as well and he would intently listen to whatever story you were telling him, always grateful that you were so good at making conversation. If it weren't for that fact you might as well would have never talked to each other. And although Joost tended to be a little quieter around you, he was hanging onto every word you said. The truth is, Joost was a little shy around you because you mattered to him. Because he liked you, he was way too afraid to mess something up. So he stood back instead.

But now he was cursing himself for doing so. Because apparently now you had enough of him and instead you were attached at the hip with Aggu. And the situation was made worse by the fact that Aggu was Joost's friend. He was annoyed at Aggu for snatching you away from him but he knew he shouldn't feel angry and instead be happy for his friend.

Joost flicked his cigarette to the ground and stumped it out before he decided to get back inside. As he looked over to the table where you and your friends sat he caught your gaze. You were sitting on Aggu's lap, your arm wrapped around his shoulders. Joost stood still, the sight really making him not want to sit back down beside you. Aggu leaned into you and whispered something into your ear as you were still looking over at Joost who couldn't hide the sad expression on his face.

Joost felt uncomfortable and looked down at his phone before he decided to step out again instead of sitting back down at the table. Time for another cigarette or just maybe go back home already. As Joost lit the cigarette in his hand, the door to the bar opened again and you stepped out into the cold.

"Hey," you said softly.

"Hey," Joost replied with a nod. "Want one?" he asked and held out his hand with his pack of cigarettes. Your arms were crossed in front of your body because of the temperature. You looked down at his offer before you declined.

"You know I usually don't smoke," you admitted.

"Really?" Joost asked with a raise of an eyebrow. "That's news to me," Joost said although it really shouldn't come as a surprise to him as he noticed that you never carried your own pack of cigarettes.  

"I know," you laughed. "Are you having a good evening?" you asked.

"Not really," Joost admitted honestly.

"How come?" you asked and Joost didn't answer. Instead, he just shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal. You could feel an aura of sadness radiating from him and you suddenly felt really bad for the spiel you and Aggu had been doing tonight. Although you still didn't know how Joost felt about you, you wondered if you had somehow contributed to his bad mood tonight.

"How long are you staying in Berlin for?" Joost asked after he released a puff of smoke.

"Another two days," you said. "You?" you asked in return.

"'M leaving next week," Joost said. "You should come back soon," Joost tried nonchalantly, giving you a sign that he cared about you in some way.

"You think?" you said with a smile.

"Yeah, you're fun to have around," Joost said.

"Well, I'm sorry if I haven't been around you tonight a lot," you said earnestly.

"It's fine," Joost said. If he had the confidence of Aggu, Joost would only have to take one step forward to engulf you in a kiss. "Can't blame Aggu," he said and immediately realised the implication of his words. He looked up at you again and saw a smirk on your face.

"You know me and Aggu aren't actually-," you tried to explain. "We're just friends," you said and Joost could feel a blush creeping on his face.

"Oh?" Joost said.

"Yeah, I'm interested in someone else actually," you said.

"Oh," Joost stated.

"If only he would notice already," you said and looked Joost deeply in the eyes.

"Maybe he's too shy," Joost offered.

"He doesn't have to be," you said and stepped towards Joost. You reached out for his hand and took the cigarette before you put it to your mouth to take a drag. As you let it fall to the floor Joost slowly and carefully reached out his arm to your hip without actually laying his hand on there. You stepped just a little closer until his hand touched your hip and you were standing so close you had to look up to him. "He could just kiss me," you said and it wasn't long before Joost leaned down, his hand finding the back of your neck, and his lips attached to yours.

You approvingly hummed into the kiss. Joost's lips tasted of beer and smoke but it was a divine taste to you as your lips started moving against each other in sync. You rested your hands on Joost's chest where you could feel his calm breathing. Joost's hands tangled in your hair as your lips parted to taste each other on your tongue. Your head was spinning, heart racing as you finally got what you had been looking for since the night you first met Joost.

As you pulled back from the kiss Joost cupped your face and looked down at you with a sheepish grin on his face.

"We should've done this way sooner," he stated.

"That's what I've been saying!" you laughed before you leaned back in for another kiss.

[thewulf]

Lost and Found || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - I was wondering if I could request a Jake x Reader. I was thinking a good friends situation where they were both interested in the other but didn’t want to mess up their friend group dynamic and so they never said anything. And of course they were each oblivious to the fact they were into each other,.. Read Rest Here

A/N: Ahhh sorry anon, this took forever to write as I was feeling uninspired. Turns out I just needed to watch TGM and whew! I forgot how much I love Jake Seresin and the TGM crew :) Hope you guys enjoy!

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.2k +

T/W : Angsty in the beginning

The air in Virginia was thick with the scent of saltwater and fresh possibility when you first noticed the cocky Lieutenant who was making a beeline towards you. It was a humid afternoon on the naval base, and you, a newly hired trauma surgeon, were immersed in your work, lost in the world of medical charts and patient files. And just as you were about to get up, he walked in with a cocky grin and an air of self-assurance that demanded attention. You knew the type, he had to be a pilot. They just had the air about them.

"Hey there, beautiful," he greeted you with a wink, his voice carrying across the room with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. Yeah, he was a pilot. Only they had the reassurance to be so fearless on a first interaction.

You raised an eyebrow at his boldness, unimpressed but intrigued by his approach. "Can I help you with something?" you replied, your tone cool and collected. You knew how to deal with his type. Be dismissive. Ignore them and eventually they’ll get bored enough to leave you alone.

The blonde-haired man slid into the seat opposite you, his grin never faltering as he leaned in closer. "Just couldn't resist the chance to introduce myself to the most captivating woman on base," he said smoothly, his words dripping with charm.

A chuckle escaped your lips, though you tried to suppress it. That was a new one for sure. "Flattery will get you nowhere Lieutenant," you responded, a hint of amusement in your voice.

He grinned in response, undeterred by your playful resistance. His eyes flashed down to your chest which displayed your rank and last name. "Ah, but I'm not just trying to flatter you Lieutenant Commander. I genuinely want to know the name of the woman who's been keeping me up at night," he admitted, his tone sincere but laced with playful arrogance.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his persistence. "Well, in that case, I suppose you'll have to earn it," you teased, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. For whatever reason you were having fun with this interaction. It wasn’t often you would give these Navy boys much time but there was something about him. Something that had you setting down your charts to get a good look at him.

Jake leaned back in his chair, his expression turning thoughtful. "Fair enough," he conceded, his gaze locking with yours. "I'm Jake, by the way. And you are?"

You maintained a playful smile, keeping him guessing as you decided to reveal just a fragment of yourself. "I'm a trauma surgeon," you replied cryptically, letting the mystery linger in the air. It was then that you noticed how handsome he was. Blonde, clean-cut hair and deep green eyes… who wouldn’t swoon for that?

Jake's eyebrows lifted in genuine surprise, his cocky demeanor momentarily faltering. "A trauma surgeon? Now, that's impressive," he remarked, a newfound respect coloring his tone. "Here I am, just a pilot, and you're out there saving lives and I take them."

You chuckled softly at his dark humor, appreciating the humility that so rarely came from the pilots you had known in the past. "It's not a competition," You assured him, feeling a sense of something beginning to form between the two of you. No wonder he was so cocky. He was striking and a pilot to boot? It should’ve been over then and there, but he drew you in further than you had ever intended.

Jake nodded, his gaze lingering on you with a newfound sense of admiration. "I know, but still...what you do is pretty incredible. Badass even.” he said earnestly, a genuine warmth in his voice.

As the conversation continued to flow between you, a comfortable exchange began to form, fueled by mutual respect and a shared sense of adventure. And though you kept him guessing with your playful evasions, there was a part of you that couldn't help but feel drawn to Jake – to his confidence, his charm, and the undeniable spark that crackled between you. And so, as the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the mess hall and the sounds of laughter filled the air, you found yourself fascinated by Jake, captivated by his irresistible charm and magnetic personality. Little did you know, this chance encounter would be the beginning of a friendship – and perhaps something more – that would change the course of your lives forever.

Over time, you found yourself drawn to him in ways you couldn't quite explain. Despite the demands of your respective roles on the base, you made time to see each other whenever you could – stolen moments between shifts, late-night conversations beneath the stars, stolen glances in the dimly lit corridors of the barracks. Everyone knew of the two of you. Clearly in love but too stupid to do anything about it.

But beneath the surface, there was an unspoken tension between you, a lingering sense of longing that neither of you dared to acknowledge. You were both fiercely independent individuals, committed to your careers and reluctant to jeopardize the fragile balance of your friendship with something as unpredictable as love. So, you buried your feelings beneath layers of professionalism, convincing yourself that it was better this way – safer, more practical, less likely to end in utter heartbreak. But no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, the spark between you refused to be extinguished, flickering to life with each passing glance, each fleeting touch.

Then, on a random Tuesday afternoon, Jake dropped a bombshell that shattered the delicate equilibrium you had worked so hard to maintain. "I'm being reassigned after this deployment," he confessed, his voice tinged with regret. "To Miramar."

As Jake's words sank in, a heavy silence enveloped the room, suffocating you with the weight of what his departure truly meant. You had been through so much together over the past three years. The highs and the lows, the laughter, and the tears. And now, faced with the prospect of his absence, you couldn't help but feel as though a piece of your heart was being torn away.

"Miramar? To Top Gun?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper, betraying the ache in your heart. You knew it was everything he had been working towards. And you knew how damn good of a pilot he was. It just surprised you how soon he was getting sent there. He must’ve been the best of the best.

Jake nodded. His expression somber. "Yeah. It's everything I’ve been working towards, but..." His voice trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken, hanging in the air like a heavy cloud of regret.

But all you could feel was a sense of loss. For the friendship you had built, for the moments you had shared, for the possibility of something more that now seemed out of reach. "I'm so happy for you, Jake. You deserve it. You deserve the whole world." You forced the words out, though they felt like shards of glass tearing at your soul. A single tear escaped your eye, tracing a silent path down your cheek.

Jake reached out, gently wiping away the tear with a look of utter despair in his eyes, as if he couldn't bear to see you cry. "I wish you could come with me," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with a longing you knew mirrored your own. He grabbed for your hand joining his fingers in with yours.

Tears welled up in your eyes once more, threatening to spill over at any moment. "I know," you replied, your voice thick with unshed tears. "But I'm still in the middle of my fellowship. I can't just drop everything and leave. No matter how badly I want to." Another tear escaped as you realized what this meant. Your little bubble of happiness was going to vanish in an instant.

Jake nodded in understanding, his grip on your hand tightening as if trying to hold onto the moment for just a little while longer. "I know," he murmured, his gaze filled with a mixture of sadness and longing, mirroring the storm of emotions raging within your own heart.

Then, as if trying to lighten the mood, he flashed a small smile. "You know, I used to dream of being a Top Gun pilot when I was a kid," he confessed, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. "Never thought I'd actually get the chance to fly jets like that."

You couldn't help but smile through your tears, touched by his vulnerability. "You've come a long way from your childhood dreams Jake. I knew you’d be able to do it. If anybody could, it’s you," you remarked softly, a sense of pride swelling within you despite the ache in your heart. Because he did deserve it. He may have come off as an arrogant asshole at first, but he was anything but that. He was your best friend. The man who looked out for you over himself time and time again. You loved him but you held it close to your chest. Because you did love him you had to let him go. Let him go live his dreams.

And as the reality of his departure settled over you like a dark cloud. You couldn't help but wonder how you would ever find the strength to say goodbye to him. As you sat there together, holding hands beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the barracks, you realized that no matter where life took you, no matter how far apart you may be, the bond you shared with Jake would endure – a constant reminder of the love and friendship that had blossomed in the unlikeliest of places.

After Jake's departure, life on the base took on a different rhythm. The days stretched into weeks, and the weeks into months, each passing moment marked by the absence of his laughter, his warmth, his unwavering presence by your side. Despite the distance, you and Jake still found solace in occasional phone calls and sporadic messages, though never as often as you wished.

On an ordinary day, your world was turned upside down once again. Your commanding officer called you into his office, his expression serious as he delivered the news. "Doctor Y/L/N. I have some important news for you," he began, his tone solemn. "Due to some unforeseen circumstances, we've had to make some adjustments to our staffing plan. You're being reassigned."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a sense of unease settling over you. "Reassigned? But I thought I was heading to Austin for my next rotation. Replacing Doctor Warmack." you replied, trying to mask the anxiety in your voice. You had plans. You were moving to Texas. You had a house picked out. A life you were planning to start. But then again, you were in the military. You should’ve expected this.

Your CO shook his head, his expression unreadable. "Plans have changed. Chula Vista is in urgent need of a trauma surgeon of your caliber," he explained, his words sending a jolt of shock through your system.

Upon hearing the news of your reassignment to Chula Vista, a whirlwind of questions surged within you. "Sir, may I ask where Chula Vista is located?" you inquired tentatively, your voice betraying a mix of curiosity and apprehension. You hadn’t heard of that base. And you could’ve sworn you knew all the potential bases you could’ve been assigned to.

Your commanding officer, a seasoned veteran with a weathered expression, glanced up from his desk, his gaze thoughtful. "Chula Vista is a city just south of here, part of the San Diego metropolitan area," he explained as he pointed to the map of the states, his tone carrying a sense of gravitas. "It's home to several military installations, including Naval Air Station North Island and Naval Base Coronado. It's also in close proximity to Marine Corps Air Station Miramar.”

The mention of North Island and Miramar sent a jolt of emotion through you, memories of Jake flooding your mind with a bittersweet intensity. "Chula Vista also supports Top Gun operations, among many other military endeavors," the CO continued, his voice steady as he provided further context.

You were heading to exactly where Jake was. A shiver of anxiety ripped through you as you processed his words. “Thank you, sir," you replied, a mixture of gratitude and anticipation swelling within you.

As you turned to leave, the weight of the news settled over you, mingling with a newfound sense of purpose. Chula Vista, a city steeped in military history, a place where your path will intersect with Jake's once more. And though uncertainty loomed on the horizon, there was a glimmer of hope shining through. The possibility of reconnecting with Jake and the chance to explore what the future held in store.

As the days passed and your departure drew nearer, you found yourself grappling with a dilemma: should you reach out to Jake before making the move to Chula Vista, or should you let fate take its course and surprise him? The months of silence between you weighed heavily on your mind, leaving you uncertain of where you stood with him. Would he be glad to hear from you, or would your sudden reappearance only complicate things further?

Part of you longed to reach out, to bridge the gap that had formed between you and reconnect before the distance between you grew even wider. But another part of you feared rejection, feared that your efforts would be met with indifference or worse… that Jake had moved on without you.

In the end, you couldn't shake the feeling that fate was leading you back to Jake, guiding you toward a reunion that was long overdue. And so, with a leap of faith, you made the decision to keep your plans a secret, to let the element of surprise be your ally. With each passing day, your anticipation grew, your excitement mingling with a touch of nervousness as you prepared for your move to Chula Vista. And as you boarded the plane bound for your new home, you couldn't help but wonder what the future held in store for you, for Jake, and for the bond that had endured despite the trials and tribulations that had threatened to tear you apart.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the Hard Deck. You found yourself seated at the bar, engaged in conversation with Penny, the owner of the establishment. The ambience was relaxed, with the murmur of chatter and the clinking of glasses providing a soothing backdrop to your discussion.

Penny, a vibrant and charismatic woman with a penchant for storytelling, leaned in with genuine interest as she got to know you. "So, what brings you to the Hard Deck? I haven’t seen you around here before," she asked, a playful twinkle in her eye.

You offered her a warm smile, appreciating her genuine curiosity. "Just got here a week ago. I've heard so much about this place from my coworkers," you explained, gesturing to the bustling bar around you. "They all recommended it as the must-visit bar in Miramar."

Penny's eyes lit up at your mention of coworkers. "Ah, you must be part of the base personnel then," she observed, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her lips.

You nodded, a sense of camaraderie forming between you. "I am! I'm a trauma surgeon over at the hospital in Chula Vista," you confirmed.

At the mention of your role, Penny's expression shifted, her eyes widening with recognition. "Wait a minute... are you Y/N? Doctor Y/L/N?" she asked, her voice tinged with excitement.

Surprised by her sudden enthusiasm and knowing of your name, you nodded cautiously. "Yes, that's me. But how did you...?" you trailed off, curious about Penny's sudden change in demeanor. Her excitement was palpable, you could feel it in the air.

Penny beamed at you. "Oh, Jake talks about you all the time! You're one of his favorites," she revealed, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes.

A warmth spread through your chest at her words, touched by Jake's apparent fondness for you. "He does?" you asked, unable to conceal the smile that tugged at your lips.

Penny nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely! He's always mentioning how talented and dedicated you are. He won’t admit it… or he doesn’t recognize it, but that man is head over heels for you, Doctor," she added with a playful wink.

You couldn't help but chuckle at Penny's teasing, feeling a flutter of anticipation as thoughts of Jake filled your mind. Little did you know, your reunion with him was just moments away, and the excitement of seeing him again filled you with a sense of joyful anticipation. Penny's mischievous grin widened as she caught sight of your reaction. "Oh, don't try to hide it, Y/N. I can see that spark in your eye," she teased, nudging you playfully.

You couldn't help but laugh, feeling a rush of nervous energy coursing through you. "Alright, you caught me," you admitted with a grin. "I'm looking forward to catching up with an old friend."

As you sat at the bar, lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice the door swinging open, admitting a group of pilots. It wasn't until Penny nudged you once more and whispered excitedly that you looked up, your heart skipping a beat as you caught sight of Jake among them.

Before you could react, Jake's eyes locked onto yours, a look of sheer astonishment crossing his face. In a flash, he broke into a wide grin and dashed toward you, weaving through the crowd with purpose. You barely had time to register what was happening before Jake was upon you, pulling you into a massive bear hug that lifted you off your feet. Laughter bubbled up from deep within you as he spun you around in a whirlwind of joy and excitement, the world around you fading away as you surrendered to the moment.

"Y/N!" Jake exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine delight as he held you close, his grip on you tight and unyielding. You couldn't help but laugh along with him, feeling the warmth of his embrace enveloping you like a familiar cocoon. In that moment, it didn't matter who was watching or what anyone else thought. All that mattered was the sheer exhilaration of being reunited with Jake, of feeling his arms around you once again.

"What the hell are you doing here without telling me, Doc?" Jake exclaimed, his voice filled with mock indignation as he held you close, refusing to let you go.

You laughed, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you at the familiarity of his embrace. "Surprise?" you replied, unable to keep the grin from your face as you met his gaze.

Jake shook his head, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, consider me surprised," he admitted, his tone playful as he finally set you back down on solid ground. “I have to say, this is the best surprise I've had in a long time." As you stood there together, wrapped up in each other's arms, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. Despite the years that had passed since you last saw each other, it felt as though no time had passed at all. As though you had simply picked up right where you left off.

As the warmth of your embrace lingered, Jake's eyes remained fixed on yours, a softness settling over his features as he took in the sight of you. His hand remained firmly on your shoulder, his touch comforting and reassuring.

"I've missed you, Y/N," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke. "More than you'll ever know." You felt a swell of emotion rise within you at his words, the sincerity in his voice stirring something deep within your heart. Despite the distance and the time that had passed, the connection between you felt as strong as ever – a testament to the bond you shared.

Before you could respond, Jake's gaze softened even further, a flicker of determination shining in his eyes as he made a decision. Without hesitation, he reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours in a silent gesture of solidarity. "Let's catch up," he suggested, his voice filled with a quiet determination. "There's so much I want to tell you, so much I want to share."

You nodded, a smile spreading across your face at his eagerness to spend time together. "I'd love that," you replied, feeling a surge of excitement at the prospect of reconnecting with Jake.

As you stepped outside into the cool night air, the sound of laughter and music fading into the background, Jake turned to you, his expression earnest. "Y/N, there's something I need to say," he began, his voice tinged with nervousness.

You looked at him, curiosity piqued by his serious tone. "What is it, Jake?" you asked, concern flickering in your eyes.

Jake took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "I've thought about this moment for so long, wondering if I'd ever get the chance to tell you how I feel," he confessed, his gaze unwavering as he met your eyes.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, anticipation building within you as you waited for him to speak. "How you feel?" you prompted, unable to contain the hope in your voice.

Jake's lips curved into a tender smile, his eyes shining with sincerity. "Y/N, I've been wanting to tell you for so long, but I've been too afraid," he admitted, his voice filled with vulnerability. Before you could respond, he took a step closer, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek gently. "I want to be with you, Y/N," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "I want to make up for lost time and see where this goes."

Your heart fluttered at his words, and as you gazed into his eyes, you found yourself lost in the depths of his sincerity. His vulnerability touched you in a way you hadn't expected, and you felt a surge of affection for him that was impossible to ignore. But before you could respond, Jake took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving yours. "May I kiss you?" he asked, his voice soft but filled with determination.

Your breath caught in your throat at his question, surprised by his respect and thoughtfulness. You nodded eagerly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Please, Jake," you replied with certainty, your voice barely above a whisper. "Of course."

As Jake's lips met yours, a surge of warmth flooded through your entire body. It was as if every nerve in you ignited with a newfound energy, responding to the tender, loving touch of his kiss. Your senses were overwhelmed by the sensation of his lips against yours, soft and yielding yet filled with an undeniable passion. Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the sweetness of his embrace. His lips moved against yours with a gentle rhythm, each kiss sending sparks of electricity coursing through your veins. It was one of those kisses filled with longing and desire, a silent confession of the feelings that had been building between you for so long.

Your knees threatened to buckle beneath you as the intensity of the moment washed over you, but Jake's strong arms wrapped around you, holding you close and steady. His touch was both comforting and electrifying, grounding you in the present moment even as you felt yourself swept away by the sheer emotion of it all. His hands roamed over your back, pulling you closer to him as if he could never bear to let you go again. They were warm and reassuring, tracing the curves of your spine with a tenderness that left you breathless. For the first time in your life, you felt utterly and completely cherished, as if you were the most important person in the world to him. Because you were and he was determined to show you that.

As the kiss deepened, the world around you faded into nothingness, leaving only the two of you in your own private cocoon of love and desire. It was a moment you would treasure forever, a testament to the depth of the connection you shared with Jake.

When you finally pulled away, your lips still tingling from the sweetness of his, you found yourself lost in his eyes once again. As you gazed into Jake's, feeling the weight of his gaze and the depth of his love, a sense of peace washed over you. It was as if all the pieces of the puzzle had finally fallen into place, and you knew, deep in your heart, that this was where you were meant to be.

With a gentle smile, Jake pressed his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered softly, "I am never letting you go again." His words filled you with a sense of warmth and belonging, reassuring you that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. While you gazed into the depths of his soul, you knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in your story together.

Jake Seresin/Top Gun: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @mamachasesmayhem @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @illisea @jessicab1991 @guacam011y @dempy @mrsevans90 @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @missxmav @kajjaka

[sylvesterelle]

Meditations in an Emergency Part 1

Fem!Reader/Simon "Ghost" Riley/John "Soap" MacTavish

“Like it feels so good to get and give a compliment and we should normalize doing it more often. Strangers reaching out across the great abyss for a moment of connection,” you say, leaning back and gesturing broadly. “Ships passing in the night with naught but a toot-toot of mutual appreciation.”

“I don’t think that’s how the shipping industry works.” Or: How to live well and get railed through the power of compliments.

Part 1 of 3, 5.8k words, mature, cw: alcohol, cannabis, bisexual lusting in every direction

Read on AO3 I Read part two | Read part three

"I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love. "

Frank O'Hara, "Meditations in an Emergency"

“I just think people should compliment each other more, that’s all,” you declare, biting the cherry off the plastic sword that Kat, the bartender, had stuck in your Dirty Shirley. “Like we think these things all the time. Her scarf is pretty, or that guy’s got a cool haircut or whatever. We notice them, we think about them, but so rarely do we sayit, you know?  Even though being complimented is the best,” you say emphatically, using the tiny sword to punctuate your words.

Kat nods and gives you a second cherry because Kat is good people. Kat serves you doubles while charging for singles and listens to you ramble and lets you spread your notebooks and laptop on the bar when it’s slow, like tonight.

It’s early on a Friday evening which means you’re supposed to be writing. You pay the bills as a ghostwriter during the week, and you like it, you do. The flexibility to work strange hours late into the night, remote so you can write in coffee shops and cocktail bars and anywhere loud enough to drown out the more distracting of your thoughts. 

The problem is you devote so much time to other people’s work that you’d promised to use weekends for your own ideas. Easier said than done, without an irate publisher on the other end setting deadlines and demanding pages. The other problem with your ideas is that you just have so many of them; find it hard to complete one without getting distracted by another, your hard-drive a graveyard of drafts in various states of decomposition. But routine helped, so there at the bar you’ve sat every Friday night for almost two months, even if you’ve spent proportionally less time writing than people-watching and sweet-talking Kat into making you interesting drinks off-menu. (“This is a dive bar,” she’s told you more than once. “We don’t have a menu to be off of.”)

It’s not not part of your writing process, you reason. You’re a firm believer that life is stranger than fiction and many of your most delightful ideas have come from chance observations and surprising interactions—the very reason you’d been thinking about the importance of compliments in the first place.

“I just think we should be more intentional about finding joy in each other. For example, what would you say, darling Kat,” you begin, batting your eyes at her sweetly, “if I told you that you look fucking incredible now and always, you’re so hot it gives me hives if I look at you straight on, and more specifically that little curl that’s coming out of your ponytail is particularly fetching and I like it a lot?”

She rolls her eyes, which is as good as a smile from Kat. “I would say you should slow down on the Shirleys.”

You wouldn’t say the two of you were friends, not really, but there was a familiarity and ease in the relationship now that warmed you. You’d met her your very first night while on your usual ramble to learn a new place, strolling until you make sense of its curves and corners and spirit.

The neighborhood you’d found an apartment in wasn’t the best, but it was furnished and month-to-month and good enough for you. Best of all, you’d only needed to wander in the late fall snow a couple blocks before you’d struck gold: drawn like a moth to a blinking neon sign and a door just opening, spilling warm light and the sounds of overlapping laughter into the night. 

Inside it really was a dive, all sticky floors and dollar bills pinned to the ceiling, a jukebox that took dimes and a blonde bombshell behind the counter who served with a decided lack of smile. But a week of you showing up and chattering at her had cracked that icy shell enough to get a name and a few raised eyebrows, instead of complete silence. By the time you’d earned your discount as a regular around the third week, she’d occasionally deign to comment on your more interesting trains of thought; offer some piercing observations of her own if she was in a good mood.

Fast-forward a month and change, and now you know her well enough to bring a second iced coffee when you breeze in for the evening, Kat pulling a bottle of Irish cream from the well as you pop off the lids in a dance thrilling in its routine.

Your coffee’s slowly melting beside you, abandoned in lieu of the syrupy-sweet mess Kat had waiting for you. She sips at the dregs of her own as she considers her verdict on your compliment, hip propped against the side of the bar.

“I don’t know if I’d particularly appreciate a stranger saying that to me. Don’t want strangers saying anything to me, really,” she frowns, “but particularly the bit about the hives.”

“I might have gone too hard out the gate with that one,” you admit. “But more importantly, I think you might be in the wrong profession for strangers not talking to you.”

She flips you the bird causally as she goes to greet the two regulars slipping into place at the end of the bar. It’s early in the night and still mostly empty; only a few singles and two-tops stopping for an after-shift drink, giving you and Kat plenty of time to talk. It’d get rowdy enough later on—the voices louder, the jukebox queue a little more violent—but you’d found among the chaos was when you were at your best.

“Hives aside, you know what I mean though, right?” you pick back up when Kat returns. “Like it feels so good to get and give a compliment and we should normalize doing it more often. Strangers reaching out across the great abyss for a moment of connection,” you say, leaning back and gesturing broadly. “Ships passing in the night with naught but a toot-toot of mutual appreciation.”

“I don’t think that’s how the shipping industry works.”

You wave this aside, already mentally on a sailboat somewhere sunny, tropical, salt-air in your face. “I always thought it’d be fun to be a sailor,” you say dreamily, propping your chin on your hand.  “Kerouac was a Merchant Marine, did you know?"

Kat makes a face. It’s upsetting how prettily she pouts.

“What, you didn’t like the book?” You’d loaned her a copy of The Dharma Bums the week before, slim and beloved enough that you carried it with you instead of borrowing a copy from the local library, like you usually did. You kept a collection of those library cards rattling around in an old Altoids tin—the only souvenirs you kept from all the various cities you’d visited in your travels.

“It was fine. Good, even, if you’re into that sort of thing,” Kat offered, swirling her coffee around. “He’s just so fucking mopey. I wanted to shake him, like c’mon man, you need to stop thinking about your life and actually fucking live it,” she finishes, as animated she ever gets. Which, admittedly, is only slightly more expressive than usual: eyes narrowed a touch further, three degrees more derision in her tone.

Kat prefers nonfiction. History. Facts. Still reads everything you recommend, but rarely finishes one without getting frustrated with protagonists making dumb decisions and whining about their life choices. And while some of the books she recommends to you are a little dry at times, they’re certainly illuminating—and the last one about organ harvesting was surprisingly catalytic for story ideas.

You shrug, acknowledging the point. She’s not wrong, but you live most of your life in your own words and your own worlds, so it doesn’t quite bother you in the same way. Although, now that she mentions it…

“You know, all of that is kind of to my earlier point. Giving someone a compliment is like the ultimate shortcut to living outside your head. You’re not all wrapped up in your own thoughts and issues, but appreciating the world and the people around you. Even if you don’t say it—which you should—it means you’re paying attention. Noticing.”

You drain the last of your Shirley, swapping it out for the coffee and swirling around the diluted ice. “Proposal: we make a game of it, tonight. We notice.” It wouldn’t be that different from what you and Kat normally did: share little observations about other patrons, trade theories on this person’s job or that person’s backstory. They’d just be a little more…intentional about it tonight.

"Keep your eye out for any interesting hats or weird pins or extremely sexy noses and come and tell me. That way we can both enjoy it,” you entreat her, clasping your hands together in anticipatory delight.

You know better than to suggest Kat actually compliment anyone. You’re optimistic, not delusional.     

“What constitutes an extremely sexy nose?” she asks, frowning at you beautifully.

“Oh Kat, some things can’t be taught,” you tell her with a pitying shake of the head.

She rolls her eyes and heads to the other end of the bar, greeting a nicely-dressed couple as they sink onto the cracked vinyl stools. Looking around like they might be feeling just a wee bit out of place. You catch the gaze of one of the women and smile. “I love your dress,” you tell her, and feel the joy of her answering blush bubble sweet and bright in your veins.

…

You pride yourself on having excellent ideas, but this is easily one of your best. You get a tremendous amount of writing done, unusually productive riding the high of giving out compliments left and right. Not so many that it feels insincere and never any you don’t mean, but Baader–Meinhof is a real sonofabitch because it’s true that the more you look the more you see to appreciate. 

Like Bobby, the union electrician who wears his name in blue, embroidered on the pocket of his work shirt. Not machine-stitched but hand-made, the careful stitches illuminated when he leans over to call out his order. His wife’s handiwork, he shares when you ask. “Paid special for her embroidery but still makes time to do all of my shirts. So I can carry her love around all day,” he tells you proudly, unabashed even when his friends rib him good-naturedly. 

After Bobby comes the lady whose leopard print nails match her furry coat, the one who winks at you when she catches you looking admiringly from across the bar. Then there’s the burly biker who sits down to share a themed photoshoot of their toy poodle when you compliment the photo on their lockscreen. Others in between, some you speak to, some you don’t—but all you appreciate in a way you vow to do more in the future.

Inevitably, little pieces of what you observe trickle onto the page, fleshing out bits of characters and sparking ideas you jot down in bursts of inspiration. You won’t know until later if you’ll end up keeping any of it, but you like the thought that that you’ll always have some part of this moment—the people, the place, the time—woven into your writing. A little souvenir in-and-of-itself.

Though the night gets progressively busier, Kat swings by from time to time to share her observations: money fished from strange locations, custom bank cards, funny pins she spies when customers lean close to shout their orders over the music—partially your fault, after you compliment an old geezer’s song choice and spend twenty minutes combing through the catalogue with him, cackling as you feed dime after dime and queue enough yacht rock to last a fair few hours.

All told, you’re feeling fucking incredible as synth solo from Toto’s “Rosanna” sends you wriggling in your seat. You’ve a few thousand words under your belt and the high off all those little moments of kinship is making you feel sparkling and happy and well, which, historically speaking, can sometimes be a challenge for you.

Not tonight, and you grin at Kat when she slumps next to you, enjoying a brief reprieve from new customers.

“Whatcha got for me, killer?” you ask her, fishing in your bag for a granola bar. She takes it with a grateful look, shoving half of it in her mouth and words mumbled as she chews.

“You’re gonna fucking love this. A mohawk, dude. In 2024.”

You perk up. It’s pretty packed now, but you can’t believe you missed a cut that attention-getting. “Liberty spikes?” you ask hopefully. You adored the punks of your acquaintance—always had interesting thoughts and insider tips on the local music scene.

Kat shakes her head. “Nah, it was short. Gym rat type, I think. Good tip, nice accent. Scottish,” she clarifies around the last of the granola bar. “Talked some shit about the ‘self-evident superiority of whisky over bourbon’ as he ordered a Maker’s for his friend.”

You hum, craning your head. “See where they sat?”

She shakes her head. “Asked about smoking though, so probably on the patio.”

Calling it a patio was generous—a small bit of grass with a couple white lawn chairs and an ashtray, mostly. But there was a heat-lamp that worked roughly sixty percent of the time, which made the bar very popular with those in the know on cold nights like this.

“Speaking of, ‘bout time to take your break?”

If it wasn’t too busy Frank, the bouncer, would watch the bar while you and Kat split a joint in the back, sitting in companionable silence and pointing out shooting stars and passing satellites—clear skies a benefit of the city’s frigid nights. Kat knew a startling amount about astronomy but absolutely zilch about astrology; could tell you the history of the universe up to the surface of last scattering but only blinked when you’d asked if she was a Capricorn or a Scorpio.

Kat pushes her bangs off her sweaty forehead and checks the clock, then whistles to get Frank’s attention. You shove your laptop into your bag but don’t bother with a coat—your cheeks are flushed from the warmth of the crowd and you don’t mind the cold, not really. 

The patio initially looks abandoned, silent but for the wet sound of car tires moving through the snow-choked alley. Not totally surprising; most balk at below-zero temps even with the lamp. Snow clumps heavy and wet on the plastic chairs and the overturned garbage pail that serves as a footrest, but the sky is clear—a thousand tiny pinpricks visible in the heavens.

You breathe in until the night air fills your lungs and you feel fresh and clean and cracked open wide, just pouring out love into the world.

Movement in your periphery catches your eye and oh, Kat was right, not a punk at all.

You’re not quite sure what to make of the two men standing half-shadowed near the lamp. Big is the first word that comes to mind and perhaps that’s sufficient for now, since you can’t seem to stop ogling the breadth of their shoulders and the curve of those mouthwatering thighs long enough to bother with anything else.

Kat had thought gym-rat but you’d put money on those muscles not being just for show—there’s too much strength, too much potential for carnage disguised in that plush softness that comes from power in repose.

“Why hullo there, barkeep,” the one with the shaggy, soft-looking mohawk greets Kat, his accent just as charming as promised. “And barkeep’s friend,” he nods warmly to you as you come close enough to get a good look at his face. To latch on to details like the too-blue shade of his eyes and the too-sharp canines in his smile, the silvery-white starburst of a scar across his stubbled chin.

“Christ you’re pretty,” you hear yourself say. This happens sometimes, your mouth just venturing off on its own to get you into trouble.

Kat groans overlap with the man’s chuckle. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing,” he purrs, propping the lit cigarette between his lips and sticking out a hand. His palm is broad and callused against your own as you properly introduce Kat and yourself.

“I’m Soap, this here’s Ghost,” he offers in turn, nodding towards his friend who steps forward, murmurs a quiet greeting. He’s enough in the light now to reveal dark eyes shadowed under a hood, skeleton gloves and a matching skull-print balaclava pushed up far enough to accommodate a lit cigarette.

“Fuck me, that’s cool as shit,” you grin goofily at him, immediately charmed by the weirdness of it all.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” the man says affably, his voice a rumble deep in his chest. He doesn’t smile but there’s a little twist of his mouth that could be amused, if you squint.

“Jesus Christ,” Kat’s eyes shut briefly in second-hand embarrassment. “She’s on a mission about compliments tonight. Noticing people,” she tells them with bemused emphasis as she clears off the chairs, kicks snow off the garbage can.

“I just think it’s important to be more open with our affection, even with strangers. Especially with strangers,” you argue, dropping into one of the seats.

You pull out the battered Altoids tin that holds your stash and a few pre-rolled joints.

“Will this bother you?” you ask the men, holding one up.

They shake their heads, amused.

“Good, because it’s my fucking bar,” Kat snorts, plucking it from your fingers and dropping into the chair next to you.

“What, you own this place?” you say, flabbergasted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Kat holds the joint in her mouth and cups a hand around her lighter flame, coaxing it to life despite the wind. She takes a deep drag, tilting her head up before releasing a thick cloud of smoke into the air.

It looks wicked cool right up until she folds in half, coughing desperately on the tail end of the exhale. You can’t fucking blame her; you’d bought it off your teenage neighbor, a science prodigy who claimed to have developed the perfect strain. Ivy League, he called it, since it had paid for his entire college fund.

Kat straightens up, red face feigning composure as she passes you the joint. “You never asked,” she finally says, voice a little strained.

And that was just…well, fair, actually.

“Huh,” you say brilliantly, struggling not to cough on your own exhale and bidding adieu to any dreams of looking cool in front of all the fucking fashion models around you. “You know, I did wonder when you’d get in trouble with your boss about the free drinks thing. And the drinking on the job thing. And the this on the job thing,” you say, frowning as you contemplate the joint.

You offer it up to the men and Soap takes it, your hands brushing long enough to send a little frisson through your blood.

“You’ve known each other long, then?” he asks, taking a puff. Turning a vibrant shade of red as he heroically—and futilely—tries to hold in a cough.

“Oh, we go way back,” you say very sincerely. “I helped her bury the body of her ex-husband years ago, a mafioso named Jimmy the Janitor because he cleaned up, if you know what I mean.”

“I met you two months ago. And I’m a lesbian,” Kat contradicts blandly.

“I didn’t know that, either!” you exclaim, smacking her in the shoulder. “What the fuck, dude, I would have started flirting with you ages ago.”

“You’re not my type,” she says devastating, and Ghost snorts when you mime a dagger to the heart. The joint glows red between his full lips, crossed with scars that shine silvery in the moonlight and trail up beyond his mask. Exhales in one long, smooth breath and looks suitably smug about it, the fucker.

“I do seem to remember you saying something earlier about me being ‘so hot I give you hives.’” Kat reminds you. “You telling me that wasn’t flirting?”

“Nah, that’s just being neighborly,” you beam at her.

“I shudder to think what your flirting does look like.”

“That’s the appropriate response, honestly.”

Ghost barks out a laugh and you shoot him a cheeky wink before turning back to Kat. “Alright then killer, gimmie the goods. What is your type?” you prod, hooking your ankle around her own. “Is it a black cat, golden retriever thing? I can bark, babe, just say the word.”

Soap damn near chokes on his drink but Kat only sighs, more fond than exasperated. She takes the joint and leans in, bringing your faces only a few inches apart. You watch, riveted, as she brings it to her cherry-red lips and inhales deeply. Holds your gaze and leans ever so slightly closer, the moment stretching into eternity as she releases a slow, deliberate cloud of smoke directly into your face. You bring a hand to your mouth, think you might actually be drooling.

“MILFs,” she answers finally, devastatingly. She tucks the joint between your fingers before patting your hand and heading back inside—as good as a kiss on the mouth from anyone else.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” Soap's voice is rough as the door closes behind her.  

“You’re telling me, pal,” you sink comically in your chair. “I think she broke me.” You’d already been drunk off the night’s joy but now you feel lightheaded with desire, literally dizzy with it.

This is not an uncommon response to Kat, you suppose. Nor, you expect, to the pretty lads that remain.

You summon your forces and sit back upright, kicking over the newly empty chair in offering. Ghost takes it, the plastic frame creaking under his bulk while Soap drops down on the garbage pail, resting his elbows on jean-clad knees. You pass around the rest of the joint in companionable silence, and it’s just…nice, all of it. The cold at your back and the heat of the lamp on your face, the fading alcohol buzz replaced by the sweeter, steadier high of the weed, always better at gentling your nerves and clearing your head. The easy camaraderie of smokers cast out into the cold, the same thing in almost every city and country you’d ever seen. You smile, thinking back on all those shared lighters and bummed cigarettes over the years. All those ships passing in the night.

“Gettin’ us a refill,” Soap finally says, standing up and snagging Ghost’s empty glass, hooking their pinkies together briefly in the action. You note it and immediately drop the thought, scalded. Know you will literally, actually combust if let your brain run-rabbit imagining the two of them together. All that muscle, all that strength, curved around each other, curved around you…

“What’ll it be, bonnie?” Soap’s warm voice snaps you out of your reverie and you flush, sure from his smirk that he can read the direction of your thoughts. You were legendarily bad at poker—couldn’t keep a neutral expression if they paid you to.

“Dealer’s choice, please and thank you,” you grin at him despite your embarrassment—turning down a free drink was against your moral code.  

He gives you that shark-like smile and Ghost tsks as he heads inside. “You’ll probably regret that, birdie. Johnny’s got atrocious taste.”

“Ah can fucking hear you, you Manc twat,” Soap calls from the door, a little extra Scottish in his snark. Ghost chuckles low, stretching his feet out into your space.

“It’s Manchester then, our kid?” you ask, kicking your foot playfully against his boot. Leaving it there when he lets you. “Whose your fighter then, Liam or Noel?”

He considers for a moment. “Liam. I like his spunk.”

“‘A man with a fork in a world of soup,’” you quote, nodding approvingly. “I get that.”

You toy with the Altoids tin, debate lighting up another one. Ghost fishes a pouch of rolling tobacco out of the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie and holds it up questioningly.

“Clever boy,” you praise, and he leans forward to pass it to you, big hands dwarfing your own.

When he settles back in his chair, he tangles his feet with yours properly and you feel a little flutter low in your belly.

You prep the blunt in a practiced motion, balancing the tin on your knees as you sprinkle the peaty tobacco overtop the flower evenly. “I’ve always been more of a Blur than Oasis fella, myself,” you finally offer to distract from the weight of his gaze. “Damon Alburn, the man you are,” you murmur, putting a fervent hand to your heart.

“Oi, we talking about the Gorillaz then?” Soap calls out, juggling glasses as he kicks the door shut behind him, muffling the chatter from inside. “Fucking choon after choon, them,” he declares, dropping back onto the pail.

He passes Ghost a rocks glass filled with an inch of amber that matches his own, his eyes tracking where your tongue runs across the filter paper, wetting it. He trades you the finished smoke for a glass with something alarmingly orange in it, a pink plastic sword stuck with three cherries on top.

You sniff skeptically, all sweet and citrusy and strong. “This must be off-menu.”

“Dive bar innit, no menu to be off of,” Soap points out, and you smile at the familiar response.

You take a curious sip, looking up in surprise when you taste a bright splash of orange and vanilla across your tongue. “That’s fucking incredible,” you say, eyes wide. “What is it and why haven’t I been having it all night?”

Soap grins at you, looking suspiciously pleased with himself. “Had a feeling you were a lass that’d enjoy a slow, comfortable screw against the wall.”

Ghost groans, and you squint skeptically at Soap. “Who doesn’t, what’s that got to do with my drink?”

Soap laughs, delighted. “That’s the name of the drink, bonnie. A Slow Comfortable Screw Against The Wall,” he says with emphasis.

Ah. Well. That’s—oh, motherfucker. “Does Kat know that?” She’s probably laughing her ass off in there, the sadist.

“Oh, aye. She seemed amused. Though she made a fucking unnerving amount of eye contact while stabbing the wee cherries,” he says, eying the garnish. “Scariest fucking thing I’ve seen in a minute. Reminded me of a friend of ours, actually,” he says, giving Ghost a wry look as he takes a sip and sets the glass down.

He pulls out his own lighter to coax the blunt to life, a battered Bic with SOAP scrawled in thick, Sharpied letters. He lets out a pleased sigh as the opaque smoke curls through the cold air, then leans forward to rest his elbows back on his knees.

“Now, as for why you weren’t getting it slow, comfortable, or otherwise before now, I couldn’t say,” he tells you, blue eyes glinting with mischief. “But I think I speak for both of us when I say we’re more than happy to provide for the rest of the night. Isn’t that right L.T.?”  

“Right enough there, Johnny.” Ghost’s voice is closer to a growl, setting off a delightful curl of heat in your belly.

You nibble on your straw and pretend their attention isn’t going straight to your head, twice as good as the drink or the drugs. “You know what they say about variety and spice of life. Might get bored with just a screw against the wall. Got any thoughts on horizontal surfaces?” you tease, enjoying the way Ghost smirks around the blunt.

But oh, is that a dimple you suddenly see carving out of one scarred cheek? Before you’re even conscious of it you’re leaning in for a closer look, balancing with one hand on his thigh. “I adore your dimple,” you tell him sincerely, undoing any hope you had of appearing cool and hard-to-get. “It is very cute.” You give him a businesslike pat on the knee and start to pull away, but he catches you gently before you get too far.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he purrs, petting over the soft skin of your wrist with an adoring thumb. “We’ll keep you entertained, don’t you worry. Bored is the last thing you’ll be, right Johnny?” Ghost say. He squeezes gently once before letting go, settling back with a satisfied smile. You try to play your delighted shiver off as one of chill, but you suspect your violent blush isn’t selling it.

“Oh, I fuckin’ swear to it, L.T.,” Soap answers, winking at Ghost before unfolding his big bulk from the garbage can. “We’ll give you what need, bonnie, promise. Starting with this.” Then his arm is around your waist and you’re in the fucking air and—

Oh, that’s not so bad, actually.

Soap sinks into the lawn chair and settles you across his lap, surrounding you with delicious warmth and a scent like whisky and salt air. Your brain goes a bit soft and cottony for a moment and you latch on to the gentle pressure of his arms. Manhandling has always been a shortcut to your most devastated self, the kind of stupid and sweet and sated that you’ve only found once or twice through chemistry or luck or sheer fucking determination, and it bodes very well for the night to come.

Besides, for all he wears only a bomber jacket, the Scotsman is radiating heat like a furnace and it’s the perfect sensory foil to the plummeting temperatures, a few clouds coming to fleck the sky.

“Saw you shiver. Couldn’t let our girl be cold now can I?” Soap says, chucking you under the chin like a kid. Should be stupid but you fucking like it, can’t help but smile up at him. Can’t remember the last time someone treated you so sweet, like you were something to protect. To indulge.

Ghost’s eyes are fond on the pair of you, reaching out to trap Soap’s feet the same way he had yours a few moments before. One of his hands reaches to splay possessively over your thigh, resting it there and turning your insides liquid.

There’s no reason it should be as easy as it is, getting all wrapped up in each other as the night stretches on and the clouds continue to gather, chatting quietly and smoking through the rest of the blunt and finishing your drinks just as the first fat, fluffy flakes of snow begin to fall.

You watch, delighted, as the storm kicks up in a sudden flurry; a magical, glimmering coat that turns the world into one whole thing. Untouched and perfect and silent except for the tides of your breath and the slight hum of the heat lamp, small sounds within a vast, quiet night.

You sigh in Soap’s arms, totally and unexpectedly content, luxuriating in the way your blood hums in anticipation of the night’s inevitable conclusion.  

People asked if you got lonely, sometimes, traveling the way you did. Never staying anywhere for more than a few months, only occasionally breezing through past towns for a few loved-up reunions before the wind starts pressing at your back.  

And though it’s true you’ve been seeking a place of your own, a place where you could belong, this, too, means something. To have these beautiful, fleeting moments of connection with once-strangers, to lose yourself completely in the headiness of such quick intimacies, no less passionate or kind or devastating for their brief duration. All those countless moments of connection—romantic, sexual, platonic—coalescing into a kind of soft sweetness to hold on to long after you’ve forgotten a name or had a face grow fuzzy with memory.

All of that sweetness is swirling inside you as you nudge Soap’s chin with your head, drawing his attention from where he’d been conversing softly with Ghost, one hand petting absently at your waist.

“Take me home?” you ask softly, and his eyes melt at the question, his hand coming up to thumb a little desperately at your mouth.

“Oh, the Cap’n would love that,” Ghost drawls. “Fall arse-over-tits over a sweet thing like you walking through the door.”

“My home,” you clarify, though you’re not opposed—especially if their friend (captain?) is anything like them. “I live like four blocks that way,” you chuck a thumb vaguely over your shoulder.

“Well why didn’t you say so, bonnie’,” Soap says, standing up and dumping you on your feet. Before you can be too offended, he grabs your chin and presses his mouth against yours, searing hot and leaving you breathless when he pulls away too soon. You look up at him a little dazed and he pets his thumb across your chin, grinning. “Ghost is right. Too sweet for your own good, darlin’. T’wouldn’t be right for us to let you walk home alone, sweet thing like you. Not in a neighborhood like this.”

“Au contraire mon frère, I’m fast as shit,” you tell him, narrowing your eyes. This occasionally happened when you got crossfaded in particularly the right way, became possessed with the urge to tear off down a darkened street; drunk on the feeling of wind against your face and your heart hammering in your chest. Feeling like you could fucking fly. “No bad guy’s gonna catch me, no way.”

“That right, little rabbit?” Ghost moves as silent as his name, a sudden warmth at your back without you even noticing he’d left his chair. He curves that big body around you, nipping at the soft skin at your neck and caging you in against the firmness of Soap’s chest. “Gonna let us chase you?” he near growls.

The thought sends goosebumps rising along your arms. To be wanted, to be chased. To be caught.

Ghost groans when you lean back against him, tipping your head back to nip at his jaw in return. “Home. Now,” he commands lowly, pulling down his mask.

You can’t help your shit-eating grin as you tug them through the door and the thinning crowd to collect your long-abandoned things from the bar.

Kat eyes the three of you suspiciously. “If I find cum anywhere on that fucking patio I will have your balls in a bear trap,” she threatens.

“No promises,” you wink at her, laughing when she flips you the bird. You shrug on your coat and pick up your bag, which Ghost immediately appropriates, slinging it over one shoulder. He ignores your amused tug on the strap, looking over your head to plot the swiftest exit.

“Don’t wait up, babe!” you say, blowing a kiss to Kat as Ghost tows you and Soap toward the door.

“Call me if you need help burying the bodies,” Kat offers in response, and you cackle at the uncertain looks the late-night crowd shoots you both.

And then it’s just the three of you and the cold and the night, pressed together like you’re one body in the snow-crowned streets. 

Read part two

[leidensygdom]

The ways in which being asexual feels isolating

I've been pondering whether to post this or not, but I figured out I wanted to explain a bit of this experience.

So, I could go on a very long tangent on how being asexual is usually a lonely experience, and how much I've been otherized here and there- Specially in real life. How the same people that claimed to be queer (or allies) had been much weirder about my asexuality than they were about me being bi/pan or whatever.

But I think I wanna talk about how something like that bleeds in every aspect of socializing, even down to something like fandom. I stay away from fandom usually- I like to look at cool fanart and that's about it. I hate discourse, I hate drama, I hate reading people getting worked up because they're treating fanon as canon. But there's one thing I've noticed, over and over, that just sends me off my rails.

And it's how fandom tends to treat asexuality (or aromanticism). So, you get a character in some piece of media that explicitly, unequivocally, states they're either ace, aro, or both. "I do not have interest in a partner", "I don't desire to have sex nor do I enjoy the topic", whatever. And as an ace person, I do appreciate being able to see myself in media- There isn't many chases where something is established that bluntly.

Now, you decide you want to check some fanart for that. Fandoms have this tendency to make absolutely everything about shipping, even when the media they're basing it in does not revolve about that (and it's annoying, because a lot of times people aren't interested in the actual themes- It's all reduced to shipping). Suddenly, you notice people treating the aforementioned character as anything but aro or ace. It's all about shipping. "This person interacted with this other person in a way two friends would, but we gotta make this their entire personality now". Some people may instead go for "well, maybe the character is not having sex, but they're probably an absolute freak about it, studies it extensively, has encyclopedic knowledge about it-"

Now, there's of course sex-favourable aces, and that's completely valid, but it's already straying from what, canonically, the character had mentioned. Asexual or aromantic characters aren't really allowed to exist as themselves. People often see them as a blank slate to fill, to change, to fix. I could talk forever about how people react to real life aces like that. I've had people asking me incredibly invasive questions because they saw my lack of sexual attraction as something broken, something they could fix.

And I hate that! I think I'm allowed to say that I hate that! It's hard and unusual for media to cement an aro/ace character, because they're defined by the lack of interest for something, which is often hard to show. But when it does- No one seems to care. It's all shipping, it's all "well, he's gay in denial", "well, she's probably super repressed". If you took a canonically gay character and made them straight on a fanfic, you'd get angry people. Which is bound to happen when you erase representation that people identify with. But aro/ace characters are NOT even seen as queer, they're not even seen as "representation" by most people. You can erase that bit of it, put some god awful shipping on top, and people will applaud you. And it sucks!

I wish people would see being aro or ace as an identity worth respecting, not an identity that needs overwriting. It feels a bit too close to how people often treat aro/aces irl, and it sucks. It reeks of this sort of exclusionism, where "aro/aces are technically queer but it's queer lite at best, it's less interesting than being gay, and we kinda don't want them near us anyhow". Again, I've had far worse experiences about being ace than I have about not being straight.

Sorry if the post got long, but I hope this experience may at least resonate with other people who have been struggling with this, too. It has always felt just kind of lonely to be ace, and see how little people do even consider it an identity, even when it comes down to something like fandom.

[mack-mack-mack]

Very Demure, Very Mindful-Toto Wolff

First time posting on Tumblr. I think you all would appreciate this more here than on AO3.

Summmary: Mr. Wolff was the…most interesting person to work with. He was always willing to participate in a trend, but he always took extra convincing. I have to basically beg on my knees every time I step into his office asking for content. He seemed to enjoy watching me struggle and I still don't know how to handle that. It felt like I was losing a game I didn't quite know I was playing.

or

Toto is very mindful, very demure (We all saw the video).

I love my job. I swear I do. I mean how many get to say they follow the Mercedes Formula One team around, convincing them to participate in social media challenges and trends?

Unfortunately, some days it was an impossible task. On other days, it was the best job in the world. Today was one of those rough days. 

George was the easiest person to make videos with. He was charismatic and funny. The audience ate him up every time. Lewis was an enigma. I was terrified of the man. He was way too cool for TikTok let alone casual conversation with the social media manager. The crew was always eager and the junior divisions often came up with their own ideas…that they would send me at all hours of the day, begging me to do whatever it was the next time they were together. 

And then there was Toto. 

Mr. Wolff was the…most interesting person to work with. He was always willing to participate in a trend, but he always took extra convincing. I have to basically beg on my knees every time I step into his office asking for content. He seemed to enjoy watching me struggle and I still don't know how to handle that. It felt like I was losing a game I didn't quite know I was playing.

He flusters me. He makes me blush and I have to fight the giggles that try to escape when he speaks to me. And then he makes this really intense eye contact and I forget how to breathe. Every. Single. Time. 

It wasn't right to have a crush on the Team Principal. But honestly, who didn't? Have you seen him? Can I be blamed? No. 

I had already collected footage of George, Kimi, and a few others for the day. That was easy and it was fun. Lewis wasn't in today so his photoshoot from the last race weekend would suffice. Huge weight off my shoulders, really. If I had to work with both Lewis and Toto today I don’t think I would have survived.

Maybe I’ll post a Roscoe slideshow and count that for Lewis. I’ll text his agent later. 

I nodded and wrote down a few notes on the outline attached to my clipboard, noticing the limited content I gathered while at headquarters. It was race weekend so everyone was heading to Zaandavort in a few days. I knew I would end up with more footage over the weekend and plenty to edit before we left. 

It was time to visit Toto though. Which meant I had to stop avoiding the office at the end of the hall on the top floor and actually speak to the older man. I checked the watch on my wrist and saw it was 4:30. I had an hour to get up the nerve, talk to him, film things, and not melt into a puddle at his feet. Easy.

Most people had left the office already, preparing to jet off the next day, so it was silent as I made my way to the elevators and up to the top floor of the building, turning left at the landing. I took a deep breath, shaking out my hands as I approached the end of the hall. I stopped in front of his slightly ajar door and gave myself an internal pep talk.

You're a bad bitch and you will not succumb to Toto. He is just a man. You eat men for breakfast. 

I rapped on the door three times, waiting for the response from inside.

I heard the tapping of keys cease after a moment and then an accented voice spoke, “Yes?”

I pushed the door open with shaky hands, “Hi, Mr. Wolff,” 

He smiled when I walked in and shook his head, “I’ve told you to call me Toto,”

“And I told you I can’t do that, sir,”

The man stared at me from behind his desk, his head tilted and the same small smile on his lips. Very kissable lips.

Stop it.

“Very well. Come in. Shut the door.” He motioned me into the room.

I walked in and stood in front of his desk and closed the door behind me. I walked to his desk but didn’t sit down on any of the plush chairs. I was far too jumpy to take a seat. 

“How can I help you, dear?” Toto asked standing from his seat, coming to the front of the desk, and leaning a hip against it.

Did he just call me dear? Why is he so close to me?

I resisted the urge to take a step back, maintaining the foot of space between us. He was close enough I could smell him and it was already starting to cloud my senses. 

“Umm,” I had to remember the question. What did he ask?

He arched an eyebrow at me but said nothing as I stuttered in front of him. Was he smirking? Did he think this was funny?

“I-uh. I need some social media content from you if that's okay. There's this trend that everyone is doing right now and the crew thought it would be the most funny if you were the one to do it. And I have to listen because they are so right. It would be hilarious. Really it would. But only if you want to, Mr. Wolff. It’s silly really,” I was rambling. I shut my mouth mid-thought and stared up at the man in front of me.

“It would be funny if I did it, you say? And why is that, darling?” He was fully smiling now, his eyes sparkling with something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. 

“So there’s this trend, right? And it's really silly,” I was repeating myself. I want to crawl into my skin, “Basically there was this creator on TikTok who made a video and it blew up and now everyone is making videos saying ‘very, demure, very mindful’ and it would be funny if you did it cause y’know…um,” I trailed, fidgeting under his unrelenting gaze.

“Because I’m so very demure, very mindful,?” Toto cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

“I mean, I um well...I mean do you feel demure and mindful, Mr. Wolff? I can’t tell you how you feel so do you feel demure and mindful? If you don’t want to we won’t make the video and I’ll leave you be. It’s really okay, I’ll ask George to do it this weekend. It’ll be funny too,” I couldn't stop talking. I always word-vomited in front of this man. Have since I was hired. I am praying for the day he finally decides to shut me up.

He just stared at me, that same look still dancing in his dark eyes. I stared back at him, frozen in place. I could feel my cheeks getting hot. 

Please stop looking at me like that or I’m going to combust.

“What was that, darling?” Toto asked, licking his lips and leaning back onto his hands. He looked at me from foot to head and came back to rest on my face.

“What was what?” I asked quickly, too quickly.

“You’re going to combust if I look at you like this? How am I looking at you, then?”

I said that out loud. Shit, I said that out loud. 

My eyes widened and I felt my mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land, “I am so sorry, sir. I just meant. I mean I. I-. Shit. Shit, I can't say shit in front of you. I’m going to stop talking and I am going to leave. Have a great day, Mr. Wolff,” I placed a foot behind me, ready to turn and run out of the office and go home. I wanted to crawl into bed and never come out.

It could've been worse. I could've said a lot worse.

“Wait,” Toto reached out and grabbed my hand.

I froze staring down at my hand in his. 

What the fuck? Why is he holding my hand? 

I looked back up at him and released the breath I had been holding.

“Yes, sir?” I whispered, my voice barely audible through the tightness in my throat.

“You need to stop calling me sir or I might be the one to combust,” He whispered back, equally as quiet.

What? Did I hear him right?

“Sir, you're my boss. It’s kinda the thing to call you,” I replied, confused.

“Ah, ah. I am not your boss. I do not give you directions or sign your paycheck. I already feel wrong enough, do not call me your boss and make it worse,” Toto tugged me closer, taking the gap between us from a foot to mere inches. 

I gasped sharply at the movement, afraid to look away from our hands resting on his lap.

“Make what worse…sir?” I looked at him through my lashes, pulling my lip into my mouth.

He tracked every movement, his hand tightening around mine.

“You don’t want to know, dear. Somethings are better left unsaid, yeah?”

We were whispering in the quiet room as if someone nearby would hear us. As if the building wasn't empty at almost 5 o’clock the day before race weekend began. 

“But what if I do? What if I want it to be said? What if I want to make things worse?” I met his eyes finally, nerves or butterflies churning in my stomach. I couldn’t tell. I don't think I cared all that much. The way he was looking at me was enough to clear any anxiety I was feeling. 

“That’s a very dangerous thing to say, dear. Only say things you mean not things you’ll regret,” Toto’s eyes were hooded, as he looked at me, brushing his thumb over my hand.

“I like living on the dangerous side, Mr. Wolff,” I did not recognize the voice that came out of me.

I do not do dangerous. I don’t ever do dangerous. What am I saying?

”I told you not to call me that,” His voice had gone deep and husky and it was doing something to me that I didn’t want to admit. 

“Make me, sir,” Who the fuck was she? That couldn’t have been me, no way. 

Toto made a noise in the back of his throat and it sent shivers down my spine. He pulled me closer, placing one of his free hands behind my neck. I was inches from him. I could feel his breath on my skin, “I am going to kiss you now, is that okay?”

I nodded, my eyes falling shut, my head tilting up. He pressed his lips to mine and every thought left my mind. He was so gentle, nothing like I thought he would be but somehow so much better. His hand was firm behind my neck, keeping me in place. We were still holding hands and he continued rubbing his thumb over mine. 

He slowly explored my mouth with his, moving his lips with mine. He lightly licked my bottom lip, requesting entrance. I opened my mouth, letting him in, begging him to take me. 

The kiss deepened. He removed his hand from mine and moved it to my hip, squeezing gently and pulling me close. I was standing between his open legs, hands at my side, still in shock from what was going on.

Wait what was going on?

I pulled away, somehow, “Wait, wait, what is happening, Mr. Wolff?”

He looked at me and chuckled softly, “I am kissing you. I would like to continue to kiss you and much more if I am being honest with you, darling. Is that okay?”

”Yes but why?” It took all of me not to fall back into him but I needed to know. I couldn’t just let this man kiss me out of nowhere without some kind of explanation.

”Because you are beautiful. And you are strong. You are kind to others and very funny. You are excellent at your job and I admire you. I want to do this because I want you and I have for a long time. And I see the way you look at me. I see how red your cheeks become and the way your breath catches when I get close. I know you want this too. Am I correct, darling?” His gaze didn’t move from mine, captivating me in its intensity. He was being honest that much I could tell.

I nodded taking a shaky breath, “Yes. You’re right. I do. I really do, Mr. Wolff. I-“

He kissed me again, crashing our mouths together, an effective way of shutting me up. He tugged me to his body, his chest and mine pressed together. His hand on my waist went around to the small of my back, pulling me until our bodies were completely flush. I could feel every inch of him against me. Every inch.

I laced my fingers into his hair, moaning quietly. He bit into my bottom lip, then licked into my mouth. We stayed like that, pressed together, exploring each other for a while. I couldn’t tell how long I was lost in Toto’s embrace.

He pulled his mouth and pressed it to my ear, “What can I do to you?” He pressed a wet kiss to my neck as I took in what he said.

”Anything, sir,” I was breathless, his lips leaving flames everywhere he pressed them.

”Anything?” He asked in my ear again.

I nodded, choking on another moan.

”Lovely,” He stood from his desk and turned us around. He put his hands under my thighs and lifted me onto the desk, pushing things out of the way. Some pens and files fell to the floor and he made no move to pick them up. I placed my hands on his chest, fiddling with the buttons on his white shirt. He nodded and made a soft noise, urging me to take it off. I slowly unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his strong shoulders. I dragged my hands down his toned chest, taking in every hard plane and soft angle. 

Toto tilted my head to the side to gain better access to my neck. He continued his journey off my neck and down my shoulder, pulling the neckline out of the way to reach my skin. The hand that wasn't in my hair was fiddling with the bottom of my shirt, silently requesting me to take it off. I promptly yanked my shirt over my head and I heard him let out a low chuckle.

”What do we have here?” He asked, raking his eyes over my naked abdomen and breasts still trapped in the dark lace of my bra.

 He ran his hands up my hips and sides and back down, his calloused thumbs a perfect contrast to my soft skin. His mouth was warm as he pressed his lips to my collarbone, working his way across my chest. He hovered his mouth above one of my nipples, his warm breath raising it to attention. He took it into his mouth and bit down lightly with his teeth, then licked it to soothe the sharpness. He moved his mouth to the other side, leaving a wet splotch in his wake, and did the same thing, until my breasts were aching to be set free. I arched my chest, begging him to touch me, please me, anything. 

“Someone’s eager, isn’t she?” Toto’s hands were on the top of my thighs and he slowly spread them further apart. 

He fell to his knees in front of me, and I stared at the top of his head in shock.

Toto Wolff, team principal of Mercedes, was on his knees in front of me kissing my thighs. What the fuck was happening?

“What are you doing, sir?” I asked, placing my hand in his hair and the other on the desk behind me. 

“I plan on eating a little snack. Is that okay?” Toto looked up at me, a smirk on his swollen lips.

Holy fucking shit. He wants to eat me out. How the fuck is this happening right now?

He pulled off each of my shoes one by one, cradling my calf in his hands as he did so. Toto raised his hands to the waistband of my pants, popping the button and slowly taking down the zipper. He let his hands drift back up to the bare skin of my stomach again, gentle fingers dragging across my skin, leaving goosebumps behind. I let out another shaky moan at his touch, fisting the hair I held in my hand.

He drew his mouth down from my belly button over the open seam of my zipper. He used his hands to start shimmying my pants off of me. I lifted my hips so he could continue pulling them down and off my body. He drew a hand up my leg from my ankle to my knee to my thigh and back down. Then his mouth followed a similar path on the inside of my leg. I was in a daze, his mouth had me entranced. My breath was ragged and my hands were barely holding me up. I let out a louder moan as he licked a long strip up my center and continued kissing down my other leg. He let out a hungry growl as he did it. 

I panted quietly, feeling the wetness I knew he tasted through my panties. I needed him to hurry up,  “Mr. Wolff, please, sir,” 

“I love when you beg for me, darling,”

I softly moaned at his words, feeling myself clench around nothing.

”Please,” I said again, reaching for him, to drag him closer to my middle.

”So needy for me,” He whispered on my inner thigh before brushing another kiss there.

He tucked a single finger into my underwear, feeling the desire gathered there. He traced his finger down my slit, gathering some of the slickness, removing it, and then sticking his finger in his mouth, maintaining eye contact the entire time, “So fucking good, baby,”

My thighs tensed around his head and he turned his head to press another kiss to my thigh. I placed a hand in his hair, tugging him forward.

He kissed me through my panties again with a breathy laugh. He placed a finger on each side of my hips, under my underwear, and tugged them off, until I was completely bare before him. 

I should be nervous. I really should. But I wasn't I just needed his mouth on me as soon as possible. 

Toto looked up at me again, waiting for my nod of consent.

”Please, Toto,” I said. 

”Sir. You call me sir,” He pressed his mouth to my core, kissing directly onto my clit, sending a shock through my system.

”Fuck! Yes, Sir.  Mr. Wolff, I need you,” I moaned loudly, my hand clenching in his hair. 

Toto licked a stripe down my slit and back up, circling the little swollen bundle of nerves. He took it into his mouth, sucking lightly before releasing it and going back towards my entrance. He dipped his tongue, lapping up the pre-cum already collecting. He grabbed one of my legs and placed it over his shoulder, changing the angle and driving himself deeper into me. He moved his hand from my thigh and dragged his thumb from his tongue to my clit. His thumb pressed against the bud and worked it in circles while his tongue was moving inside of me.  

The noises I was letting out were filthy. He continued his silent assault and I felt my orgasm building. He removed his mouth and pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh. He took one long finger, inserted it in me, and curled it, immediately hitting a spot deep in me that made my hips buck in response.

Toto tsked me and lightly bit down on my thigh as his finger continued working me. He added a second finger and brought his mouth back to my clit.

”Mr. Wolff, I’m not going to last much longer,” I panted out, feeling the precipice approaching rapidly.

”Good. Come for me, darling” He curled his fingers again and took my clit between his teeth. That did me in.

My entire body tensed and I exploded on Toto’s fingers, walls clenching around him. 

“That’s a good girl,” Toto purred, continuing to draw the orgasm out of me. 

My body stopped shaking after a moment and he removed his fingers from inside me. He took them into his mouth and licked them clean. 

I stared at him wide-eyed, breaths coming rapidly, watching him clean up. He stood and reached over his desk to grab a tissue. He patted the inside of my thighs, removing the dampness there. He reached down to the chair by his side to retrieve my panties before gently sliding them back up my legs. Neither of us had spoken yet.

He stood up and stepped between my legs, placing his hands on either side of my face.

”Are you okay?” Toto whispered, thumbs brushing my cheekbones.

I nodded and he pressed his lips to my forehead before wrapping his arms around me. We stayed there for a while, wrapped in each other. 

We pulled away when I shivered as the air conditioning kicked on, realizing I was still in my panties and bra.

Toto bent to help me collect my discarded clothing and handed it to me. I pulled on my shirt and pants and tugged back on my shoes. Toto stood watching me the entire time and I glanced up to meet his gaze when I was done.

“Yes, sir?” I asked, a blush warming my cheeks.

His eyes flashed at the word choice and he shook his head, “I want to do that again soon,”

I giggled and looked down, “Okay, Mr. Wolff,”

He shook his head at me, stepped forward, and placed another kiss on my forehead. 

“Mr. Wolff?” I said a moment later when he pulled away.

“Hmm?” 

“We still have to make that TikTok,”

He threw his head back and laughter erupted from him, “Maybe at the paddock we can do something, yeah?”

I nodded and smiled at him, “We can make that work. I’ll draw something up for us to do,” 

Toto stared at me a moment longer, “Do you want to go get dinner, darling?”

I looked at him, slightly shocked, “Dinner?”

Toto nodded and moved behind his desk to grab his things and shut down his computers.

“With me?”

“Yes of course with you. I know it’s the wrong order but I figured we could go out to eat,”

My mouth dropped open “Like a date?”

Toto looked up at me, confused at my confusion, “Yes like a date,”

I nodded slowly waiting for him to say Nevermind.

He did not.

“Okay. Well. Okay. Yeah, let me get my things then. I need to stop at my office,”

Toto grabbed his jacket and his bag and came around the front of the desk, “Let’s go then,”

He took my hand in his and started tugging me out of his office. 

“Yes, sir”