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woso-dreamzzz · 23 days

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Surgery VIII

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You go to the cat shelter

If Ingrid was getting you a cat then she would do it properly.

She'd researched cat shelters. She'd found one that had a recent intake of kittens.

A cat was a lifelong friend and you and your cat deserved to grow up together.

She'd contacted the shelter and arranged a visit.

Ingrid knew today would be the day you got your cat so she'd prepared with a carrier and some blankets. She'd expected you to get attached to the kittens, to want to keep all of them and she'd already planned out a speech on why you could only have one, two if they were particularly closely bonded.

Somehow, the alternative was much worse.

You hadn't gotten attached to the kittens at all. You'd had a lot of fun playing with them but none had sparked a bond with you.

So, Ingrid resigned herself to you having a full grown cat as your companion. It wasn't the growing up together idea she had planned but that was okay.

Ingrid watches as you go through the rows of enclosures full of cats. She's content to let you and Mapi take the lead, equally as excited as each other and feeding off each other's energy.

You gasp and Ingrid looks up from her phone.

"I love them!"

At first, Ingrid is glad that you've found a cat that you seem to like but then she looks at Mapi and goes pale. Mapi's eyes are wide and she's furiously shaking her head at Ingrid.

Mapi can deny you nothing so Ingrid knows it's up to her to guide you away from this decision.

Though she isn't quite sure why Mapi isn't happy that you've found your forever friend.

Well...maybe because it's not one forever friend but two.

Ingrid's face mimics Mapi's perfectly as she peers into the cage.

Two cats sit inside.

One is truly a monstrosity. It's massive with long, ginger fur and a tuft that reaches all around its neck like a mane. Its face is reminiscent of a lion as well, all regal and judgemental.

The second is also a ginger tabby but the size of a regular cat. Or, it would be if it wasn't the fattest cat Ingrid has ever seen. It's practically a circle and she wonders briefly how it's even supporting its own weight as it wanders over to where you've stuck your fingers through the arms.

"I see you've found our gingers."

Ingrid nearly screams as one of the shelter workers approach.

"They were surrendered by a nice old lady who couldn't care for them anymore."

Mapi scoffs. "Yeah, looks like she really cared for them." She's pointedly looking at the chunky cat that has now rolled onto its back for belly tickles that you strain through the bars to give it.

The shelter worker winces. "Yeah, he's a little fat, isn't he?"

"Not fat!" You snap," Cuddle sized!"

The worker laughs a little bit. "He does give good cuddles. But he's on a weight loss program. Believe it or not he was much larger when he arrived."

Ingrid can't believe it because this cat is truly round and she can't imagine it being fatter than it is now.

"And of course, we've got his young friend there. They were surrendered together so they're very attached. They're bonded so we can't let one go without the other."

"Here that, cub?" Ingrid decides to break it to you now. "We can't bring one of them home without the other. Say goodbye now and we'll go and look at the kittens again."

You pout, drawing your hand away from the fat cat. "Bye-bye."

You turn to leave, Mapi already halfway across the room to see the kittens again before a loud yowling chirp freezes you in your tracks.

The big lion cat keeps warbling until you turn to face it.

"Sorry," You say," Mama says we can't take you away from each other."

As if he knows who to blame, the lion cat hisses at Ingrid before purring as he rubs his body across the bars of the cage. His fat companion remains flopped on his back in invitation (though Ingrid's ninety percent sure it's because he's so fat that he can't actually get up again).

Ingrid tries to guide you away but the lion cat keeps calling for your attention and the fat cat stays on his back for belly tickles.

She looks at Mapi for help.

"No," She says, catching Mapi's apologetic look," Mapi, no. He's fat and the other one is a monstrosity."

"Ingrid..."

"Mapi! You can't be serious!"

"We agreed on getting her a cat."

"Yes, a cat! One cat!"

"You said two at a stretch," You say quite unhelpfully. Over the course of the argument, you've somehow gotten into the cage and are sitting on the floor happily as you give the fat cat belly tickles while the monster sits in your lap.

"Oh, yeah, you did say that Ingrid."

"Mapi, whose side are you on right now?"

"Er...I'll be quiet. Cub, if you want the cats you need to convince Ingrid."

"I won't be convinced."

You stay silent for a long while even as Ingrid tries to get you moving.

Eventually, you stand and approach her. The fat cat is dangling from your hands as you present him like baby Simba. The lion cat sits at your feet, teeth bared in warning should Ingrid deny you.

"I love them!" You tell Ingrid earnestly," They're both cuddle sized and I love them a lot!"

"Cub," Ingrid says," They might be mean to Bagheera. You don't want Bagheera to feel sad, do you?"

"Actually," The damned shelter worker says," They're both perfectly good with other cats."

"Well..." Ingrid desperately tries to come up with another excuse.

"Mama," You say," Please?" Your eyes glisten with unshed tears as the fat cat mews pitifully at Ingrid.

She sighs.

"Cub, if I let you-"

"Mami! Mama's letting me keep them!" You tell Mapi triumphantly who gives you the biggest fake smile in the world.

"That's great, Cub!" She tells you before muttering under her breath to Ingrid," How could you let this happen?! The monster is going to kill me in my sleep! And the fat one is going to eat all our food!"

"How is this my fault?!" Ingrid hisses back, already reaching to take the paperwork," You're the one that left it up to me!"

"Because you're meant to be the strong one! We both know I would have caved much earlier! Why couldn't you be strong, Ingrid? Why?"

Ingrid signs her name on all of the papers and sighs. "Because she was about to cry and the monster looked like he was about to bite me."

Both of them turn to look at where you're still cuddling with the fat one. The monster is staring back at them, unblinking as it flicks its ear dismissively.

"Are we sure that's a cat?" Mapi checks," I think we should call the zoo."

"It might eat us before that..."

You seem happy though, a beaming smile on your face all the way home.

Both cats make themselves at home. The fat one finds Bagheera's usual sunspot and flops down. His whole body stretches out as he snoozes easily.

The monster immediately jumps onto the kitchen counters to survey his new kingdom and you dart around setting out the new bowls and toys before grinning at Ingrid and Mapi, who are awestruck at how brazen these new cats are.

Bagheera seems to be similarly shocked and a tad judgemental as she pokes her head out of her cat tree to stare.

"He is Garfield," You point at the fat one," Because he is round and cuddle sized." You point at the monster. "And that's León because he is my little lion."

In no way would Ingrid describe that cat as little.

Mapi, for the first time today, decides to be helpful. "You can't call him León," She says," That's our surname. He's León León."

You nod. "I know. It's a pretty name for a pretty lion."

Ingrid wouldn't describe him as pretty either.

"Garfield and León-León," You say with an air of finality," Mami, Mama, thank you for my kitties!"

#woso x reader #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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pucksandpower · 9 months

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Gilded Cage

Charles Leclerc x heiress!Reader

Summary: when a girl who craves for freedom meets a boy who knows what it feels like to race at the speed of light

Warnings: overprotective (but loving) father

The first time you tried to escape, you were seven.

“Y/N, let go of the bird!” The nanny’s frantic voice echoed as your small fingers clutched the delicate cage, trying to unlatch it.

“I just want to see it fly!” You cried, tears streaming down your face, looking at the trapped canary. Its golden feathers seemed dulled, its tiny beak opened in a silent plea for freedom.

The cage slipped from your grasp, crashing onto the pristine marble floors. The sound was deafening in the otherwise quiet mansion. Your nanny rushed forward but not before the canary took off, its wings catching the sun, radiating a blinding brightness.

You watched, mesmerized, as the bird soared above, circling once before disappearing into the vast blue sky.

“It’s gone …” your nanny muttered, distraught at the loss of such a valuable creature.

But you, young and innocent, whispered with a smile of pure joy, “It’s free.”

From that day on, you knew one thing for certain: no amount of gold or jewels could substitute for the glitter of freedom.

***

“Again!”

The shout echoes through the cavernous halls of your palatial home. Somewhere outside, the splashing of the water from the elaborate marble fountain merges with the faint humming of gardeners trimming the intricate mazes. The walls, lined with gold-trimmed tapestries and priceless paintings, feel more like prison bars than luxuries.

"Again!"

Your fingers, stiff and aching, try to mimic the piano instructor’s exact movements. Every wrong note feels like a physical blow, another reminder that you are trapped in a world of perfection and expectations.

“I don’t want to play anymore,” you whisper but it came out stronger, more defiant than you intended.

Madame Lucille, your instructor, raises an eyebrow, unaccustomed to your resistance. “Your father wishes you to be well-versed in the classics,” she reminds you with a patronizing tone.

A voice, deep and commanding, interrupts the tension, “Let her be, Lucille.”

Your father stands at the doorway, his expensive suit impeccably tailored, matching the stern look on his face.

“But Sir, she—”

“I said, let her be.”

Madame Lucille gives you one last disapproving glare before hurriedly packing her things. Your father watches her go then turnes to you with softer eyes. “I just want the best for you,” he murmurs, walking over to sit beside you on the grand piano bench.

You take a deep breath, “I know, Papa. But I want to breathe, to live. Not just exist inside these walls.”

He sighs, looking tired. “The world out there isn’t a nice one. There are those who would want to harm you, to use you.”

“I would risk it,” you admit quietly, “For a taste of real life. For a moment outside this golden cage.”

He takes your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re my everything. I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

The weight of his love and the prison of his protection bears down on you. “One day, whether you like it or not, I’ll have to face the world. And when that day comes, I want to be ready.”

He leans back, looking up at the ornate chandelier. “What if that day was sooner than you thought?”

Confusion marrs your features. “What do you mean?”

He smiles cryptically, “There’s a Formula 1 race across the country next week. I sponsor Ferrari. Thought you might like to come with me, see something different for a change.”

You blink, taking a moment to process. “A ... race?”

He nods, “Yes. It’s not freedom but it’s a start.”

You look into his eyes, seeing a glimmer of understanding. “Okay,” you whisper, “Let’s start there.”

***

“The roar of the engines, the energy of the crowd ... there’s quite nothing like it,” your father begins, his usually stern voice tinted with boyish enthusiasm. You find yourself watching him, intrigued by this rare display of passion.

Sitting across the opulent dining table, which was rarely used to host anyone but the two of you, you play with your food, pushing it around the plate. “Cars going in circles? I don’t see the appeal.”

He chuckles, taking a sip of his vintage wine. “Oh, it’s much more than that. The strategy, the risk, the sheer speed ... it’s ballet at 300 kilometers per hour.”

You raise an eyebrow, interest piqued despite yourself. “Ballet? Really?”

He nods with a smirk. “Don’t tell me you’re not curious now?”

You hesitate. “I mean, maybe a little? But why the sudden interest in taking me? I’ve never even seen you watch a race.”

He leans forward, his gaze intense, searching yours. “I sponsor Ferrari and have an open invite to every race. Now that one will be hosted nearby, I thought maybe it’s time you see a bit more of the world. Not just through the glass windows.”

You blink in surprise. This was unexpected. “A public event? With crowds and other people?”

He nods slowly. “With crowds and other people.”

You weigh the options in your mind, the yearning for freedom battling with the anxiety of exposure. “And you think I’m ready for this?”

He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing yours. “I think we’re ready for this. It will be an unforgettable experience, I promise.”

You look into his eyes and realize that this is as much a leap for him as it is for you. Taking a deep breath, you reply, “Alright, Papa. Let’s go watch some ballet.”

***

“The red ... it’s everywhere.” You can’t help but blurt out, momentarily overwhelmed.

Your father chuckles beside you. “Well, it is Ferrari. Red is their signature.”

You gaze down, the red soles of your Louboutins now seem almost camouflaged against the vibrant Ferrari decor. “Feels like I’m stepping into another world.”

“Just stay close,” your father advises, his protective instincts rearing up again.

Promising him with a nod, you’re soon lost in the kaleidoscope of sounds and colors. The hustle of engineers, the chatter of excited fans, the roar of engines being worked on.

Suddenly, a man clad in a racing suit accidentally bumps into you, causing your drink to splatter.

“Mon dieu! I am so sorry!” He exclaims, eyes wide.

You find yourself staring not at the stained dress but into the most expressive eyes you’ve ever seen. “It’s ... it’s okay,” you stutter, taken aback by the unexpected jolt of electricity at the brief contact.

He looks genuinely apologetic. “Let me make it up to you? Another drink, perhaps?”

You laugh, “Only if you promise not to spill it.”

He grins, the smile reaching his eyes. “Deal. I’m Charles, by the way.”

Hesitating for a split second, you reply, “Y/N.”

He raises an eyebrow, “No last name?”

You smirk, “Not today.”

Charles chuckles, intrigued. “Alright, Y/N-with-no-last-name, let’s get you that drink.”

You follow him, weaving through the crowd. Every now and then, someone stops Charles to shake his hand or pat him on the back, throwing in a “Good luck, Charles!” or “Can’t wait to see you on the track!” He greets everyone with a genuine smile and a word of thanks. It’s clear just how loved he is here.

However, you remain a mystery to him. He sneaks curious glances your way, the playful teasing evident in his eyes. “So are you a big Ferrari fan or just here because you look particularly fetching in red?”

You laugh, the sound more carefree than you’ve felt in ages. “Let’s just say I’m here to explore something ... different.”

Charles nods, handing you a fresh glass from the bar. The bubbling champagne mirrors the effervescence you feel inside. “Different can be good,” he muses, taking a sip from his own plastic water bottle. “Sometimes it’s the unexpected moments that change everything.”

The weight of his gaze, the intensity of the moment, makes your heart race. “Tell me, Charles,” you begin, leaning in slightly, “What was the unexpected moment that changed everything for you?”

He looks taken aback, clearly not expecting such a question. He takes a thoughtful pause, “Every time I get behind the wheel. Each race is a new story, an unexpected twist waiting to happen.”

You nod, appreciating his sincerity. “It’s brave, you know. Facing the unexpected at such high speeds.”

He smiles warmly. “It’s not bravery, it’s passion. When you love something deeply, risks become challenges instead of threats.”

Your fingers toy with the stem of your glass, his words resonating with your own yearning for freedom. “I envy that,” you admit softly.

Charles tilts his head, studying you. “Why?”

You search for the right words. “I’ve lived in a world of certainty for so long. Every step planned, every move calculated. It’s ... suffocating.”

Charles reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “Then maybe it’s time to take a risk, Y/N-with-no-last-name. Even just a small one.”

You smile, the promise of the unknown beckoning. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time.”

***

“Do you trust me?” Charles’ eyes search yours, intense under the paddock lights.

You blink, taken aback by the sudden question. “We just met.”

He grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “That’s not an answer.”

Drawing in a deep breath, you reply, “I might. What are you proposing?”

His gaze drifts momentarily to the track. “After qualifying … how about a drive? Not here,” he adds, seeing your hesitation, “Away from all this. The city at night, the open road. Just two people and the world.”

You tilt your head, contemplating the offer. A spark of excitement ignites within you. “A midnight drive with a stranger? Sounds reckless.”

He chuckles, leaning in closer. The scent of leather and adrenaline wraps around you. “Life’s best moments usually are.”

As his name is called by his press officer, Charles straightens up. “I have to go. But think about it, Y/N-with-no-last-name. The invitation stands.”

Before you can respond, he jots down something on a piece of paper and hands it to you. An address. “Meet me here if you’re in. Midnight.”

You watch him stride confidently towards his garage, the weight of the decision pressing on you. Risk, freedom, the open road — its all you’ve always yearned for.

Hours later, as Charles places his car on pole, you find yourself gripping that piece of paper. The thought of the city lights and the wind through your hair is too alluring to resist.

You whisper to yourself, “Midnight it is.”

***

The ornate curtains rustle as you inch your way onto the balcony of your suite. The sheer drop below sends a thrilling chill down your spine. You’ve never snuck out before but the thought of the night ahead and Charles’ invitation propels you forward. You hitch up your dress, carefully lowering yourself onto the ledge below. The soft grass cushions your landing and you take a moment to steady your racing heart.

“You’re even crazier than I am,” a familiar voice observes from the shadows.

You whirl around, finding Charles leaning against his car, an impressed grin on his face. “I had to make a discreet exit,” you explain, cheeks warming.

He chuckles, pushing away from the car and walking over to you. “Glad you made it. Ready for our adventure?”

You nod, the proximity of him, the thrill of the night, everything heightening your senses. “More than ever.”

The car roars to life as you both settle in. The city lights blur past, the nocturnal beauty of the world unfolding around you. The road beckons, the possibilities endless.

Charles casts a sidelong glance at you, a playful smirk on his lips. “Ever driven with no speed limit?”

You laugh, “Not in my daily commute.”

He grins, “There’s a first time for everything.”

The car accelerates, the wind whipping through your hair, the night alive with potential. The city skyline fades, replaced by an open stretch of road, illuminated only by the car’s headlights and the soft glow of the moon.

Charles’ voice breaks the comfortable silence. “There’s something freeing about the night. The world sleeps, and for a few hours, you can pretend you’re the only ones alive.”

You glance over, sensing the depth of emotion behind his words. “Is this why you race? For that freedom?”

He nods, his profile bathed in moonlight. “And more. Every time I’m behind the wheel, it’s a battle against my doubts, the world, and myself.”

You understand, the weight of your own gilded cage pressing on you. “I’ve been trapped for so long. But tonight, with you, I feel … alive.”

He reaches over, entwining his fingers with yours. “Then let’s live. For tonight, let’s forget the world.”

***

“Why are those men watching us?” Charles’ voice is low, almost a whisper, as he subtly gestures towards two figures in dark suits, positioned at opposite sides of the bar you found yourselves at.

You follow his gaze discreetly, feeling a familiar dread settling in. Security. Your father’s men. “They’re ... they’re just protective, that’s all.”

Charles narrows his eyes, piecing things together. “Protective? Y/N, who are you really?”

A pang of guilt washes over you. You had hoped for more time before this moment, more stolen moments under the veil of anonymity. “It’s complicated,” you admit, hesitating.

He leans forward, his intense eyes searching yours. “Try me.”

You take a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. “My life ... it’s not what it seems. I live in a gilded cage. A cage built by my father’s wealth and influence. A beautiful cage, yes, but a cage nonetheless.”

He processes this, watching as one of the security approaches your table, handing you a phone. “Your father wishes to speak with you,” the man says tersely.

Charles’ gaze sharpens, suspicion evident. “Your father?”

You nod, taking the phone with a sigh. “Hello, Papa.”

“Y/N,” your father’s voice is a mix of relief and sternness, “I’ve been so worried. You just disappeared.”

“I needed some time,” you explain, glancing apologetically at Charles who is watching the exchange closely.

“You should come back now.”

“I’m not a child anymore,” you argue gently, “I need to live my life.”

A heavy silence follows. “Just ... be safe,” he finally murmurs.

Hanging up, you face Charles, the weight of the world pressing on you. “I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner.”

Charles leans back, his expression unreadable. “So, the mysterious Y/N-with-no-last-name turns out to be the daughter of …?”

You sigh, “A very wealthy and overprotective man.”

He processes this, the playful teasing from before replaced by deep contemplation. “You know, secrets have a way of catching up with us. But,” he adds with a hint of a smile, “I’m interested in who you are, not your family name.”

You smile, relief washing over you. “Then let’s leave the secrets for another day.”

***

The morning sun paints the Ferrari garage in a wash of golden hues, every glinting reflection a dance of radiant red. Charles stands out despite wearing the same color as he eagerly waves you over to show off the helmet in his hands.

“It’s beautiful.” Your fingers trace the lines of the design, the light catching on its glossy finish.

Charles spins the helmet so you can see every detail. “Not just the design. It’s the weight, the feel. When I put this on, I’m stepping into another world. Everything else fades away. Just the track, the car, and me.”

You smile, fascinated by his passion. But as your gaze slides over the helmet, you freeze. There, emblazoned on the side, is the unmistakable logo of Y/L/N Industries. You try to hide your surprise but Charles catches your reaction. “You recognize the logo?”

Swallowing hard, you nod. “It’s … everywhere, isn’t it?”

Charles, not picking up on your unease, grins. “Oh yes. They’re our main sponsors this season. Y/L/N Industries is massive.”

Your heart thuds. Every mention, every hint, makes the looming truth harder to avoid. “They seem ... impressive.”

You avoid his gaze, watching the mechanics prepare the cars for the race. Each Ferrari, shining in the morning sun, proudly displays the same Y/L/N Industries logo. There’s no escaping it.

Noticing your distraction, Charles follows your gaze. “I’ve always found it fascinating. How brands link up with teams. How they can become synonymous with each other over the years. Like what we had with Marlboro and now Y/L/N Industries. It’s ... an alliance.”

You chuckle, trying to deflect. “An expensive alliance.”

He laughs, “Very true. But Y/L/N Industries is more than just a name on our cars. I met the owner once, at a sponsorship event. Very ... protective of his interests.”

You gulp, feeling cornered. “Is that so?”

Charles nods, oblivious to your discomfort. “Yes. Has a daughter too, I’ve heard. But she’s kept away from the limelight. Must be hard, living under such a powerful shadow.”

Your voice is barely a whisper, “You have no idea.”

He looks at you, sensing the weight behind your words. “Y/N?”

Taking a deep breath, you finally admit, “My last name ... it’s Y/L/N.”

He stares, processing the revelation. The playful driver you spent the past days with is replaced by someone more cautious, more guarded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You look down, fighting back tears. “I wanted to be just Y/N, not a Y/L/N. I wanted freedom, even if just for a few days.”

Charles reaches out, lifting your chin gently. “You're still Y/N to me. But secrets ... they complicate things.”

You nod, regret clear in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He smiles, though it’s not quite as bright as usual. “Let’s focus on today. The race. We’ll figure the rest out later.”

***

You’re startled from your thoughts when the doors to your room burst open, the journal in which you’ve been scribbling memories of your secret meetings with Charles slipping from your fingers.

Your father stands there, a mixture of anger and desperation etching his features. In his hand, he holds a photograph — one of you and Charles lost in conversation in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

“Explain this,” he demands, voice shaking.

You swallow hard, the weight of your secret outings pressing down on you. “Papa, I—”

He cuts you off, waving the photograph. “Weeks, Y/N! Weeks you’ve been sneaking around, meeting him. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Your voice trembles, “I just want something for myself, something real.”

He looks torn, battling between his desire to protect you and understanding your need for freedom. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” you hesitate, taking a deep breath, “I want to be just Y/N for once, not Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Don’t you see? That’s exactly why I protect you! The world will never see just Y/N. They will always see a Y/L/N and they will always want something from you.”

“You can’t keep doing this!” The words burst out of you before you can stop them, the pent-up frustration, fear, and yearning for freedom all culminating in this very moment.

Your father stands at the opposite end of the lavish living room, the city skyline a muted backdrop behind him. His eyes, usually so authoritative, are wide with surprise and concern. “I am only looking out for you.”

You shake your head, your voice trembling. “Looking out for me or controlling me?”

He flinches as if you physically struck him. “I want to keep you safe.”

Safe. The word hangs heavily between you, a reminder of the invisible chains binding you. “At what cost, Papa? My happiness? My freedom?”

He sighs, running a hand through his graying hair. “It’s not that simple.”

You pace the room, your emotions spilling over. “Do you even realize? Every choice, every decision has been made for me. Who I meet, where I go, even what I feel. I am suffocating!”

He looks pained. “I never meant to—”

“But you did!” You interject, tears streaming down your face. “Every time you made a choice for me, you took away a piece of my life.”

A heavy silence settles between you two, the unspoken words and regrets creating an impenetrable barrier.

Finally, your father speaks, his voice soft and filled with sorrow. “I lost your mother. I can’t bear the thought of losing you too.”

Your heart aches, understanding and resentment warring within. “I’m not Mama. I need to live, make mistakes, find love. I need to be free.”

He closes his eyes tightly, the weight of your words pressing down on him. “I just ... I love you so much.”

You walk over, taking his hands in yours, feeling the roughness of age and experience. “And I love you. But love isn’t about possession. It’s about understanding, trust, and letting go.”

Tears brim his eyes, the facade of the powerful businessman crumbling. “You will always be my little girl. I would give up every dollar — everything — if it meant keeping you safe. I’m scared that one day I won’t be able to protect you.”

You squeeze his hands. “We have to face our fears. Together.”

***

“He knows. Papa knows about us.” Your voice wavers as you meet in your secret hideaway, a small bakery tucked away from prying eyes.

Charles’ face pales, his fingers gripping the table edge. “How did he react?”

You draw in a shuddering breath, recalling the confrontation. “Not well. He feels... betrayed. I think I got through to him eventually but you never know with him. One second he’s smiling at a business rival and the next he’s snatching away their company in a hostile takeover.”

Charles’ eyes darken with concern. “I don’t want you caught in the crossfire between me and Y/L/N Industries.”

You shake your head, reaching out to touch his hand. “This isn’t about sponsorships or racing. This is about us. He’s just overprotective.”

He sighs, rubbing his temples. “This complicates things. Your father’s influence runs deep, even in the racing world.”

Tears sting your eyes. “So what? Are you saying we should …?”

“No,” Charles interjects firmly, squeezing your hand. “I’m saying we need to be careful. I won’t let anything harm you.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “My father would never hurt me … at least not physically. It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you.”

He smirks, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, I do have a penchant for driving really fast cars. Comes with a touch of danger.”

You’re not amused. “This is serious. Papa can be ... vindictive.”

Charles looks deep into your eyes. “Then we face this together. Secrets have kept us apart but now, truth will keep us together.”

You lean in, your foreheads touching. “Promise?”

He smiles, capturing your lips in a kiss. “Promise.”

***

A reporter leans forward, her voice crackling with excitement. “Charles, you just secured a stunning victory for Ferrari in a race that almost everyone thought was Red Bull’s to lose. How does it feel to come out on top?”

Charles grins, his eyes alive with a fire that burns brighter than ever. “Honestly, it’s hard to describe. We’ve been pushing ourselves, refining the car, and today, everything just clicked. The team’s effort, the car’s performance, it all paid off.”

The crowd cheers, their elation echoing through the broadcast. The reporter presses on, “You dedicated this win to someone special. Care to tell us who?”

Charles’ gaze softens, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. “There’s someone who has shown me a world beyond the track. Someone who made me realize that the freedom I feel whenever I get behind the wheel is even more precious than I always thought. This win is for her.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, the identity of this mysterious someone a topic of speculation. The reporter smiles, clearly eager for more details. “And can you give us a hint? Is she here today?”

Charles chuckles, his dimples popping through. “Let’s just say she’s closer than you might think.”

Later, as the celebrations continue, you find yourself in a secluded corner of the motorhome, away from the clamor of the team and fans. Charles walks over, that same victorious smile on his lips. “Did you hear?”

You nod, heart still racing. “You dedicated the win to me.”

He steps closer, his hand cupping your cheek. “Of course. You’ve given me one more reason to keep pushing, keep racing. It’s not just about the cars. It’s about the freedom, the moments we steal away from the world.”

Tears well up in your eyes and you kiss him passionately, pouring all your emotions into that single moment. The crowd may not know the truth behind his dedication yet but you do. And that’s all that matters.

***

“Charles seems ... different than the others,” your father begins, his gaze distant as he looks out from the penthouse balcony.

You step closer, the night air cool against your skin. “Different how?”

He sighs, turning to face you, vulnerability evident in his eyes. “He looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. He looks at you how I used to look at your mother.”

You smile, “I never expected you to notice.”

He chuckles softly. “Just because I’m protective doesn’t mean I’m blind. I’ve watched people all my life. It’s how I built everything,” he gestures towards the sprawling city below, the twinkling lights of his corporate empire.

The weight of the moment settles between you, the years of misunderstandings and unspoken words pressing down. “Papa, I know you’re scared. Scared of the world out there, of what it might do. But I can’t be trapped forever.”

His expression softens, pain evident. “I have seen so much, faced so many betrayals. The world is rarely kind.”

You reach out, touching his arm gently. “I understand. But holding on too tight will only push me away.”

He closes his eyes, taking a shaky breath. “It’s just ... hard. Watching you grow, wanting to spread your wings. I wish I could shield you from everything.”

You smile gently. “But then I wouldn’t truly be living. Charles, he’s shown me a world beyond these walls. A world that’s unpredictable, thrilling, and real.”

Your father nods slowly. “I saw that. The way he stood by you, the way he spoke of you. He … he loves you.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, the night’s chill deepening. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Someone who sees me, not my last name, not a walking dollar sign.”

He steps closer, pulling you into a comforting embrace. “I’m trying. It’s not easy, letting go. But I trust you. I just need time.”

You nod, resting your head against his chest. “I know. Just promise me one thing.”

He tilts your chin up, looking into your eyes. “Anything.”

You smile, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “Trust him too. Give Charles a chance.”

He sighs, the walls he built over the years slowly crumbling. “For you, I’ll try.”

***

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” your father says, breaking the tense silence that envelops the extravagant dining room.

Charles, sitting straight-backed and visibly anxious, clears his throat. “Sir, I assure you, my intentions with Y/N are—”

Genuine laughter interrupts him. You glance in shock at your father, who chuckles, “Relax, Charles. I’ve watched you on the track. You face challenges head-on. That’s a quality I admire.”

Charles exhales a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. Y/N means the world to me.”

Your father studies Charles, his gaze thoughtful. “I can see that. And I have seen the change in Y/N since she met you.”

You bite your lip, waiting for what he might say next. “Papa, I—”

He raises a hand, silencing you. “I’ve spent my life building walls around you, trying to protect you from the world. But maybe ... maybe it’s time to let you fly.”

Your heart leaps in your chest. “Papa …”

He smiles at you, warmth shining in his eyes. “You’re my daughter. All I’ve ever wanted is your happiness. If Charles is the one who brings that joy, then I give you both my blessing.”

Tears glisten in your eyes as you stand, moving to embrace your father. “Thank you.”

Charles stands too, extending a hand towards your father. “Thank you, sir. I promise to take cherish and take care of her.”

Your father grasps Charles’ hand for a moment longer than expected, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Charles,” he begins, a twinkle of mischief evident, “just remember … if you ever hurt my daughter, they will never find your body.”

Charles gulps, eyes widening, then realizes the playful tone your father has adopted. He chuckles, nodding, “Duly noted, sir.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Papa, you are impossible.”

Your father grins, the atmosphere significantly lighter. “Just making sure he understands.”

Charles playfully raises his hands in surrender. “Message received loud and clear.”

***

The pitter-patter of little feet echoes through the grand halls, accompanied by peals of laughter. The once silent mansion is now alive with the exuberance of youth. Every corner and every room tells tales of play and joy, of childhood memories being crafted.

“Slow down, my darlings!” You call out in amusement as you chase the energetic duo.

Charles laughs as one of your kids hides behind him, tiny hands clutching his leg. “You can’t hide here forever!” He teases.

From the doorway, your father watches, his eyes glassy. The stoic businessman, the guardian of a vast empire, is rendered soft and vulnerable by the presence of his grandchildren.

“Grandpa!” The children cheer, running to him, their arms outstretched.

He bends down, scooping them into a gentle embrace. “I have a surprise for you,” he whispers, producing a small cage with a golden canary inside from behind his back. Its wings barely beat, eyes darting around to mirror its trapped spirit.

The children’s eyes widen in wonder. “Why is it in a cage, Grandpa?”

Your father looks up, meeting your gaze, the weight of the past reflected in his eyes. “It looked sad at the market, just like someone I once knew. But we’re going to set it free.”

Together, the family moves to the balcony. Your father opens the cage door, and the canary, after a hesitant moment, takes flight, its song a melody of freedom and hope.

As you watch the bird disappear into the horizon, your father breaks the silence. “Sometimes, we cage the things we love, thinking it’s for the best. But true love is about letting go, letting them spread their wings.”

You lean into Charles, his arm wrapping around you, the children nestled between you both. “Thank you, Papa,” you whisper. “For letting us learn the true meaning of freedom.”

Your father smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “It took me a while but I finally understand. Love, life, freedom — they’re all interconnected. We just have to find our sky.”

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ohtobeleah · 3 months

Text

Secret Sacrifices // Jake Seresin

Prologue: [BrainBox]

Summary: Managing the Hard Deck isn’t always easy, especially when a certain Naval Aviator is always just one step away.

Warnings: Illusion of family loss. Jake Seresin X F!reader. Witness Protection Reader. Situationship. 18+ Content.

Word Count: 1.6k

Author Note: I’m getting back into writing after a few weeks hiatus, any feedback, comments and concepts will be greatly appreciated.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The human brain can be seen in scientific communities as the most mysterious organ in the human body. The human mind can generate up to seventy thousand thoughts a day, which means there are around two thousand nine hundred thoughts created every hour.

“Mommy!”

The human brain can store around about two point five terabytes of information at any one time. That capacity of storage is equivalent to about three million hours of television reruns or one million high-quality photos. Take your pick.

“Come on—wake up! WAKE UP PATRICK!”

The human brain can generate an electric current of about twenty-three watts. That’s enough to light up a round bulb. And although the human brain only accounts for two percent of your total body weight, it consumes more than twenty percent of the human body's total energy.

“Please don’t leave me, not now—oh god please don’t leave me.”

The length of all blood vessels in the brain, if combined, would reach a maximum length of about one hundred and sixty thousand kilometres. That’s enough distance to wrap about the earth’s circumference four times over.

“Mommy I’m scared!”

Each nerve neuron in the human brain has up to ten thousand connections with other neurons, not only that, but there are upwards of one hundred billion neurons in the brain. Which means there are more than one thousand trillion neuron connections formed in the human brain.

“We just have to keep running baby.”

The amygdala, a part of the brain responsible for coordinating emotions, has an information processing speed of upwards of twenty ms. This speed is even faster than the speed at which humans can perceive something.

All of these facts lean towards the idea of the human brain being some sort of supercomputer that we have been given. Programmed into our very existence by evolutionary biology.

“No baby girl you stay with Mommy, it’s okay—don’t you close your eyes again okay?”

And yet? Despite all the wonders and capabilities that the human brain can accomplish—Your brain keeps you stuck in a time loop of unimaginable grief and despair.

“Brewer?” The world around you had seemingly stopped for a few moments. The regular Friday night hustle of the Hard Deck had all but dissipated into silence when the overwhelming haunting noises of your own personal hell had become too loud to drown out. “Hello? Earth to Brewer?”

“What?” You frowned as you shook yourself back into existence. What you found, or more accurately, who you found standing before you across the bar made your heart skip a panicked beat. “Jesus Seresin, you scared the hell out of me.” You sighed as you felt your heart beating rapidly inside your chest. The same heart that had loved and lost so much. The very heart that right now was plagued with the dilemma of falling for the sandy blonde who stood before you with eyes that could rival the Emerald City itself.

“How?” Jake questioned as a confused frown took over his face soon after the words left his mouth. “I’ve been standing here for like two minutes just watching you zone out like some space cadet.” The chuckle that escaped Jake's slightly parted mouth soothed your beating heart into a steady rhythm.

Oh. How long had you been zoned out for?

“What can I get ya?” You decided to let it go as you shot Jake a short but harmless smile. There was no need to ask or spend too much time focusing on how long you’d been stuck standing still cleaning the same spot on the bar over and over while your thoughts consumed you. Besides, you didn't really want to know how long Jake had been standing there looking at you like a moth drawn to a flame.

“The usual, times four thanks barkeep—“ Jake replied as he reached into his back pocket, finishing out his wallet. A simple brown leather moment that always made you feel like your past was trailing right behind you. “Plus a lemonade with lime for the underage Back Seater.” There it was, that signature Seresin smirk accompanied with that wink. Insufferable. Cocksure. Endearing.

“Four Budweisers and a lemonade coming right up.” You smiled once again as you threw your bar towel over your shoulder and got to work. Jake took the time to perch himself on one of the empty bar stools that littered the outskirt of the bar. Patrons buzzed around the Hard Deck like there wasn’t a care in the world to be had on a Friday night. “And lay off Bob, he gets your drunken ass home more often than not so you should be more thankful for his intolerance to alcoholic beverages.”

Jake beamed at your lighthearted remark, they came few and far between. Whenever he was graced with the pure nature of your smile or your dry sense of humour, Jake reveled in it. So much so the crush he harboured had become common knowledge to half of Miramar. Yourself included. He wasn't a shy man, far from it. Jake knew what he wanted and, usually, he got it.

But you? You had been playing hard to get and hard to crack ever since you showed up to the Hard Deck around six months prior. From the first moment Jake saw you he’d been caught hook, line, and sinker. Six months of chasing the same girl round in circles.

“What had you lost, Brewer? Daydreaming on the clock isn’t usually your thing?” Jake asked as he got comfortable, leaning forward on his elbow as he watched you grab four Budweisers from the cooler fridge beneath the bar. He didn't miss the look on your face, the one that would occasionally replace the mild-maned stare you'd give off to slightly agitating customers. It was a look Jake couldn't really read–one that he wasn't sure if he would ever get to the bottom of, but he let it go, didn't press.

“Just got caught up thinking about how I'm gonna spend my Sunday off.” Of all the lies you could’ve made up that seemed to be the most believable.

“What are we doing on Sunday, Brewer?” Jake teased as you placed the still-capped amber bottles on the bar before him. The smirk he wore said it all, he was waiting for you to bite. And bite you did.

“God, you've got tickets to your own show don't you, Seresin?” You shook your head with a laugh as you popped the caps on the beers you'd collected. “I– am planning a reset, just have a lot of housework to get done, laundry, meal prepping, self-care.” You teased the meaning behind self-care as you reached for the soda gun. “Which reminds me I need new batteries.”

Jake caught the look in your eyes as you filled the glass to the brim with ice with your free hand and let the liquid drain from the gun. “Kinky girl, you sure we aren't hanging out on Sunday?” The smile, that damn infection smile that could light up the darkest of rooms made your head spin. But you couldn't go there. Harmless flirting was one thing, but crossing that line could cost Jake everything.

He wasn't even aware of how close he was tempting death. How close he was standing to fire. How close he was standing to a woman who had lost everything in the name of being a good person.

Unlike Jake, you had already lost everything.

“In your dreams, Bagman.” You chuckled lightly, Jake's order was all but done. “Cash, Card or on Bradshaw's Tab?” The question remained unanswered for a few moments as Jake just sat there taking in the sight of the bartender who had him wrapped around her finger with ease. A spot he wouldn't mind staying forever if you'd let him. But for now? He knew he had to play the long game: Catch me if you can! you had forced him to play.

“You tempt me, but card it is.” Jake confirmed as he fished his card from his wallet. “Someone has to keep Rooster from going into financial ruin.” It only took a few seconds for you to place all of Jake's drinks, the four beers and one lemonade with lime, onto a carry tray. “I think Payback’s been piggybacking on his bar tab too.” Jake smirked as he gave you an all-knowing look. You had been caught red-handed, but it was all circumstantial evidence at best.

“Never took you as a softy.” Bradley Bradshaw still owed you an apology for his drunk and disorderly behaviour a few weeks ago. Behaviour that saw him hurling abuse your way when you cut him off. The guy was going through a breakup of sorts, of course you felt bad. But until he said he was sorry? His tab was racking up a pretty penny of top-shelf liquors and extra beer orders from the boys. “But fine, tap your card whenever you’re ready.”

“This place is starting to charge a premium price for cheap booze ever since they hired a new manager.” Jake let out a sigh laced in banter as he paid for his order, the tip he left never went unnoticed either. Jake was good like that, he always tipped with a smile and a few extra bucks to make his almost cheesy pickup lines and banter worth your while. “And there's a lot of things you don't know about me Brewer.” With one final wink and signature smile, he was off.

“Funny.” You mumbled to yourself as you watched Jake walk away back towards the same booth the boys all lingered around whenever they weren't hogging the pool table. The same booth you frequented the most. The same booth you gave a little more attention to–because Jake Seresin, despite all your might, had a hold on you that you couldn't seem to get out of.

“I guess I could say the same damn thing.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Tags: 🏷️ @a-reader-and-a-writer @xoxabs88xox @hiireadstuff @buckysteveloki-me @athenabarnes @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt @tayl0rhuynh @na-ta-sh-aa @kmc1989 @sunlightmurdock @mamachasesmayhem @jaxfart @lauenderhaze @sugarcoated-lame @maisie-rebloging-blog @captainmoonknight @seitmai @shanimallina87

#secret sacrifices // jake seresin #jake hangman fic #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman imagine #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun fandom #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction

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fatliberation · 1 year

Note

Set weight theory is interesting but I find hard to believe that anyone's set weight is going to be 600lbs. And it's dangerous to ignore that being extremely heavy won't make your life harder or more succetible to some health issues.

Genetics play a big role in determining your set point, which is the place where our natural weight falls and where our bodies experience homeostasis. And sometimes that point starts out fat! I'm not sure how common it is to start out very fat, and I don't think it's impossible, but it's likely that many folks in the 600+ club have experienced changes in their set point. Set point actually increases the more depravation your body experiences. Let's say you're dieting and your weight dips below your set point. Your body basically enters starvation mode and fights for survival (slowing your metabolism, changing hormone levels to reduce fullness and increase hunger) and doing what it can to hold onto that energy deposit. Now you've regained that weight and then some, and the extra weight sort of acts as an "insurance policy" to prepare for another period of depravation. So now your set point rests at a higher weight than before. You try another diet, lose weight, and the cycle continues. According to theory, someone who has a long history of dieting, disordered eating, restriction, periods where food was inaccessible, or anything that led to weight cycling could very well have a set point of 600lbs or above.

[ID: A graph labeled "The Set Point Theory" by Beth Rosen, MS, RD, CDN, showing a straight-sized body at a starting set point. The graph descends in a staircase-like fashion, and at the lowest point in the graph, the body is thinner. The graph climbs up to a bar higher than the original, labeled "New Set Point." The body at the new set point is wider than the body at the original set point. The graph repeats once more, and the body gradually gets wider. End ID.]

All this to say - weight loss doesn't work. No one is saying that there aren't any adverse effects that come with being that size. I have no idea where you're coming from with that but it really sounds like anti-HAES fear-mongering crap. (Health at Every Size doesn't mean "everyone is healthy at every size." It means everyone has a right to pursue healthcare without weight loss.) No one is "ignoring" the challenges that superfat and infinifat people face. What we are saying is that the alternative (weight loss) does nothing but cause harm. So just let fat people be fat, dude.

#set point theory #fatphobia #haes #fat liberation #inbox #weight loss #dieting

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f4ding4way · 2 years

Text

Shit to do to instead of eating:

——————— • —————— • ——————

- Watch a horror movie / comfort movie

- Play videogames / get new ones

- Play board games

- Write stories / descriptions / scenes

- Work on homework

- Install apps for studying + study

- Get seterra and memorise all 197 countries

- Read books / fanfiction

- Take a shower / bath + spend ur time on it

- Try out clothes + outfits

- Listen to music

- Go for a walk (10k steps?)

——————— • —————— • ——————

- Drink 2+ glasses of water

- Drink diet energy drinks

- Chew sugarfree gum

- Brush teeth

- Give food to siblings

- Cry - Burns Cals + Suppresses appetite

——————— • —————— • ——————

- Google calories in various fast foods

- Plan meals for the next day / week

- Calculate your BMI and what it'll be at ur ugw

- Look at thinspo + imagine life that skinny

- Write a list of things to do instead of eating

- Go on edtt and edtwt

- Watch superskinny vs supersize

- edsupportforum.com (new myproana site)

- Listen to weight loss subliminals

——————— • —————— • ——————

Don't want to do any of these / Still hungry ?

· Drink some juice, preferably low cal

· Have a small snack + make it aesthetic

· Eat something high in protein (Makes u full)

Or, give in to what you wanted, no matter the calories, but-! eat until you're satisfied, not full, you can have the rest of what you wanted to eat later, it feels so good when you originally wanted to eat a whole chocolate bar, and although you gave in and ate half, you didn't eat it all!

If you fucked up, don't fuck it up even more, calories don't reset at midnight.

(Updated version and idk where tf my original post is)

#need to lose more weight #i wanna be weightless #skinnnny #ed motivation #ed diet #ed fast #tw ana thoughts

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hederasgarden · 2 years

Text

Intoxicated

Summary: A drunken confession to your best friend leads to more than you expected. Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x F!Reader W/C: 3.3K Rating: Explicit, 18+ only. Semi public sex (fingering), spitting kink, alcohol use, voyeurism and dirty talk (Jake has a smart mouth). Some themes are untagged. No descriptions are given to the reader but there is mention of public hair. A/N: This only took me three months to write but here we are. I am once again incapable of writing straight smut so sorry about that. Thank you N, @mayhem24-7forever and @wildbornsiren for looking this over and @colewrites for my beautiful banner!

Masterlist ♡ Top Gun Masterlist

The outside of the bar is dark with an unremarkable facade, but as soon as you pass through the front door you’re greeted by warm air and the low crackle of an old jukebox. It’s crowded, buzzing with a kind of relaxed energy that puts you at ease despite your nerves. You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, searching for Jake and coming up empty. Uncertain of what to do, you shift your weight from foot to foot until the door behind you opens again. A boisterous group of men push inside, bringing in a blast of crisp fall air with them.

With no other choice but to move, you step further into the room, head for the bar and slide into an empty seat. This isn’t your normal scene, the decor is dated and the air hazy, but the dim lighting and dark corners are perfect for what Jake has planned. Your skin warms at the thought. Too much whiskey and a late night at the Hard Deck had you spill your guts to him.

As always, Jake was there to listen. You’d been friends since childhood and even when he joined the Navy and the years stretched on, your friendship remained. Of course, you nursed a crush on him when you were younger. How could you not? He was handsome and charismatic. Even though those feelings waned as you grew into adulthood, every once in a while Jake would look at you a certain way or flash a particular smile and it would all come rushing back.

“This seat taken?”

You look up, some of the anxiety leaving your body when you meet a familiar pair of green eyes. Jake always looks handsome but doubly so tonight with a light stubble covering his chin and his golden hair tousled into loose waves. The sweater he wears is a pale green, clinging to his chest and the curve of his biceps. All the moisture in your mouth seems to evaporate and you don’t even realize you’re staring until he clears his throat, drawing your eyes back up to his face.

“W-wide open,” you stutter.

He smirks, dragging the chair close enough to yours that when he sits, your thighs touch. “Can I buy you a drink? You look a little lonely,” he says, laying an arm over the back of your seat.

Even though he’s not quite touching you, his nearness sends a wave of heat through your whole body. You look away, gathering the words you want to say but when you look back, he’s even closer and they slip away.

“Jake…” You’re supposed to pretend like you’re strangers, it was part of the fantasy, but now you just feel silly.

“That’s not my name, sweetheart,” he tells you with an arched brow. “Now come on, don’t be rude. You look like a white wine kind of girl.”

“Sure,” you conceded, letting him flag down the bartender for your drink and ordering himself a beer. Alcohol will help settle your nerves, something Jake is well aware of. You offer him a thankful smile and he winks at you.

“So, what’s a girl like you doing in a bar like this?” He questions. It’s a terrible line but Jake makes it work.

“I was meeting my friend but I think he bailed on me.”

“His loss. My lucky day,” Jake replies just as the bartender sets down your drinks.

He clinks his against yours and takes a long swig. You stare at his throat, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he drinks, and nearly getting lost in the way his muscles and tendons move. Something so mundane shouldn’t be so erotic but the sight has you crossing your legs and warmth rushing under your skin.

“Drink up,” Jake reminds you, tapping the bar.

You gulp down nearly half the glass in a fit of anxiety, meeting Jake’s amused grin over the rim.

“Do I make you nervous, sweetheart?” He asks, leaning into your space.

“Yes,” you answer automatically.

Normally he puts you at ease but there’s something in the air tonight, a strange charge that excites and terrifies you all at once.

“We’ll have to fix that,” he tells you. “Maybe something a little stronger than wine?”

“Yeah,” you agree, touching your neck and glancing at the stocked bar. “Whiskey?” You suggest.

“My kind of girl,” he praises, raising two fingers to grab the bartender's attention. “Four shots of Jameson.”

You reach for the first glass, needing it to settle your anxiety and give you the burst of courage to take what you want tonight.

"Unh-uh," Jake chastises, plucking the shot glass from your lips and downing it before you can stop him. You frown, confused but then he grasps your jaw and tips your head back.

When you realize what he intends, your eyes widen and you suck in a sharp breath. He stares at you, his green eyes dark with desire and you nod every so slowly, steeling yourself when he leans over your face and presses his lips to yours. Slowly, you open your mouth and he follows suit, a warm rush of whiskey flooding your mouth. You gulp it down, feeling the burning warmth spread across your chest.

You expect Jake to pull back but instead he tilts your head back even further, kissing you breathless. You grasp at the hand holding your jaw to steady yourself. His tongue is warm and insistent against yours and by the time he pulls back, your vision is hazy and your panties cling damply to your body.

"Took that like a champ," he tells you with a wink. "How about another one?"

You nod, dazed. This time his fingers press into your cheeks until you open your mouth. Jake takes another shot and urges your head even farther back until you’re peering up at him. His mouth hovers close to yours but instead of kissing you he simply parts his lips and lets the liquor fall into your waiting mouth, watching you with those clever eyes as you swallow it all down. He releases your jaw and soothes his thumb over your cheek, pleased.

The bar swims in your vision as he guides you to sit up fully, although it has nothing to do with the alcohol in your system and everything to do with the man in front of you. He stares you down with a hungry look but you don't miss the subtle lift of his brow, his way of checking in on you covertly.

“Peachy keen,” you whisper the agreed upon phrase.

His lips turn up into a Cheshire grin that has your body buzzing. “You’d let me do anything I wanted right now, wouldn’t you sweetheart?” He asks, dragging his lips over your cheek. His stubble tickles and the rush of warm air over the shell of your ear has you whimpering and clutching at his sweater.

“Please,” you beg, eyes fluttering as he kisses the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Tell me what you want.”

The alcohol swirls through your system, warming you from the inside out and giving you the bold words you need to make your fantasy happen. “I want you to take me… here in the bar.”

“How can I say no when you ask me so sweetly?” He questions, drawing back.

You watch him take the two remaining shots quickly and drop a bundle of cash on the bar. He stands and pulls you to your feet, linking your fingers together. You follow him through the crowd. All the anxiety that plagued you before is gone, what remains is a sweet sort of anticipation that makes your body sing. Jake doesn’t stop until you’re at the back of the bar, tucked into a dark corner where both of you are enveloped by shadows and partially hidden from view. He wastes no time in turning you to face out towards the crowd, molding his chest to your back.

“You still want this?” He asks.

There’s no pet name or flirty tone when he speaks this time and the hand that squeezes your hips is light and comforting. This is the real Jake, your longtime friend checking in on you. The care and concern behind his question makes your heart swell and you relax back into his hold.

“I’m sure,” you promise him, laying your hand over his. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” he replies, something different in his voice that you weren’t expecting. “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

“Jake…” Surprised by his admission, you start to turn in his arms but he stops you.

“Don’t,” he requests quietly. “Tonight’s about you. I shouldn’t…” He trails off and sighs.

“It can be about you too,” you promise him, squeezing his hand.

You hear him swallow and take a deep breath. Jake’s never been good with emotions or difficult feelings, leaning on charm and quick wit to sidestep hard conversations. The fact he’s even admitted this much surprises you. Maybe it’s the alcohol or the fact he doesn’t have to face you while speaking that has him confessing the truth. Either way, you’re grateful.

“We can talk after if you want,” you suggest, turning your head to catch his eye. The uncertain look on his face is so uncharacteristic that you have to push down the urge to reach for him. There have been precious few times you’ve seen him like this and know better than to try to make him talk more.

“Yeah,” he agrees with a nod, looking away from you.

You turn back around and stare straight ahead. A beat of silence passes before Jake speaks again. When he does his voice is low and confident.

“Spread your legs,” he directs, tapping your right foot to urge you to widen your stance. He’s a warm, solid presence behind you and his cologne invades your senses when you take a deep, steadying breath. “That’s good,” Jake croons, squeezing your hip.

When his other hand slips below the waistband of your jeans, your eyes slide closed. The light touch of his fingers through the soft curls of your mound dredges a moan from your lips. He seems content to pet you for a few moments before his fingers eventually delve between your lips with unhurried confidence that makes your skin tingle. You rock your hips into his hand and squeeze his arm.

“Greedy,” he chastises. “You let just anyone do this to you, sweetheart?”

“No.” You pant, words catching when he finds your clit and rolls it between his thumb and forefinger. Sparks skitter along your nerves, a rush of pleasure warming your belly. The way his calloused skin catches on your delicate flesh nearly makes your knees buckle. “Bet you do this all the time though,” you shoot back, determined to stay in character and make him work for it.

“No. It takes a special kind of girl to get me here. Shameless and needy. To let me fuck her in public.” Jake tells you. His breath is hot across your cheek and you can feel the press of his erection against your lower back. “Dirty girl.”

“I’m not,” you start to protest but it’s cut off when he slides two fingers inside without even a hint of resistance.

“This greedy cunt is telling me a different story,” Jake whispers, pumping them in and out of you. “It’s begging for more than two fingers. Think she’ll need three to be satisfied.”

You have no response to his smart mouth, just a breathy, pained moan that you fight to keep in your throat as he strokes you leisurely. Every few seconds he teases his thumb against your clit but it’s never the right kind of pressure. You try to follow his touch but a strong arm across your middle pins you to his body and gives him all the control.

“Please, please, please,” you chant, throwing your head back when he pushes a third finger inside.

You feel full to the brim and your cunt aches, sucking hungrily on his fingers. The hand across your stomach moves north and he cups your breast, squeezing one and then the other, making your arch and squirm. Jake pulls roughly at the front of your shirt until your bra is exposed and he wastes no time reaching in and cupping your naked breast. He rolls your nipple between his fingers at the same time his other thumb returns to your clit. There’s nothing teasing about the mercilessly way he works over your tender bundle of nerves or fucks you with his figners.

The orgasm that he’s teased you with rises sharply, emanating from your aching cunt and up your chest. Your hips lift and fall of their own accord, your body shameless in its quest for pleasure. Jake’s calloused fingers move from your chest up to your throat. They rest lightly over the delicate flesh as he keeps working you over and presses kisses to the side of your neck.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Ride my fingers.”

You’re mindless at this point, headless to the sounds you make or the way your body chases every drop of satisfaction it can wring out from Jake. When you finally come down for your orgasm your eyes flutter open, and the world is hazy and muted. The landscape of the bar is blurred, out of focus until you blink away the tears in your eyes. Jake’s still got his fingers buried inside you, his thumb slowly rubbing your oversensitive clit and sending little shocks of painful pleasure through your nerves.

Your eyes finally focus and your whole body freezes when you meet a pair of warm brown eyes. A man is sitting at the closest table staring right at you. He’s wearing a ridiculous Hawaiian print shirt and drinking from a glass of amber liquid. His thick mustache nearly obscures his top lip from view. There’s a hunger in his gaze that has you pressing back into Jake uncertainly.

“Easy,” Jake whispers, kissing your neck. “He’s a friend. I know you wanted someone to watch.”

You relax at Jake's reassurance. He withdraws his fingers only to plunge them in again. A soft gasp escapes your lips and it’s a fight to keep your eyes from closing. You just came but, God, you’re pretty sure you might be able to go again with the way Jake is working you over and the knowledge that someone’s watching.

“If you want him to go, tell me.”

“No,” you moan, lifting your hips and arching your back as you stare at the man.

You never expected Jake to deliver on this part of your fantasy, assuming he’d just fuck you in an alcove of the bar and call it a night. Knowing he went this far to give you what you want makes your heart so full it almost overrides the other feelings he’s giving you. You watch Jake's friend reach below the table, tugging at his jeans. Even with the hazy lighting, you can see just how turned on he is by the show you’re putting on.

He’s not close enough to hear but he doesn’t need to be, his dark eyes watching your lips part with every moan. Jake tugs on your bra until it slips low enough to expose your whole chest to the man’s view. You keep your eyes open as long as you can, locked with the stranger as Jake roughly squeezes each breast and tweaks your nipples. The fingers buried in your cunt are working overtime to bring you to another earth-shattering orgasm. When it comes over you again, your eyes close and you slump forward, legs weak.

The man is still watching when you look up, passing a shaky hand over his mouth before downing his drink. Jake presses a kiss to the back of your neck and withdraws his fingers. You hear him suck them clean behind you and heat spreads across your face.

“Good girl,” Jake whispers, surprising you by sliding his hand back inside your underwear and sweeping through your messy folds. “I want another taste,” he explains, noisily cleaning them again.

There isn’t much for you to do but try to catch your breath and let him hold you up as his friend watches. Carefully, Jake buttons your pants and pulls your bra and shirt back into place. A hand smoothes over the crown of your head, fixing any flyaways. You know he’ll make sure you’re presentable before you leave but that doesn’t fix how dirty and debauched you feel inside. It’s the feeling you’ve been after all this time. You press your legs together and you touch your throat, taking in a breath.

“Was that what you wanted?” Jake asks.

You don’t think you can speak so you just nod.

“I enjoyed myself too,” he tells you.

“What about your friend?” You question.

“He’s just here to watch, I don’t like to share,” Jake assures you.

You look back at the other man in time to see him nod at Jake and stand before disappearing into the bar. You wait a beat before turning around fully to face Jake. The expression on his face is hard to read but relaxes when you stand up on your tiptoes to brush a kiss over the corner of his mouth. You rest a hand on his arm and smile.

“Thank you for this Jake. I don’t even know how to say thank you.”

“Let me take you home tonight.”

“Just for tonight?” You question, toying with a loose thread of his sweater. It’s hard to hold his gaze, you’re afraid of giving away too much.

"I want you every night if you’re willing to give it to me, darlin," he admits, tucking his finger under your chin and lifting your face to his.

“You want something more with me? Something real?” You ask. Jake looks away, the tendons under his cheek flexing. “It’s okay,” you promise, touching his jaw as a small part of you deflates. “I know you don’t do this stuff. Emotions and relationships.”

“You’re not most women,” he clarifies, looking at you intently. “You’re… you.”

It’s as much of a confession as you’ll ever get from him. Your instinct is to kiss him and promise you feel the same but you know that’ll be hard for him. Instead, you take a step back and grin at him.

“Jacob Seresin, are you trying to ask me to go steady?” You tease.

He huffs and looks away, raking a hand through his thick hair. “Maybe.”

“Well, I accept,” you tell him, your confidence blooming at the way his green eyes cut back to you hopefully.

The smile that falls over his face is beautiful and you reach out, hooking two fingers into his belt buckle to tug him forward. “But first you need to take me home and finish the job.”

“I think I finished the job,” he tells you archly.

Slyly, you drop your hand to cup his obvious erection. He grunts, golden eyelashes fluttering as you squeeze his cock. “Not quite,” you argue. “We can discuss the hard part in the morning.”

“The hard part?” He questions, thrusting his hips forward.

You roll your eyes at the innuendo. “Emotions. The fact you might be in love with me.”

“If you can talk tomorrow, I didn’t do my job right."

"Jake…"

"We can talk in the morning," he agrees, looking serious.

“Good,” you reply, tilting your head up and stepping closer. Jake seems to understand what you want, cupping your jaw and kissing you sweetly.

“Let’s get you home before the alcohol wears off and you change your mind,” Jake says, nipping at your lips and linking your fingers together.

“Think you’re stuck with me now, Seresin.”

“Good. We’ve already established that I don't like to share.” he says, pulling you tightly to him and kissing you roughly.

♡

I no longer have a tag list, please follow @hg-library and turn on notifications.

#jake hangman seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #hangman x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x female reader #jake seresin x female reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fic #jake seresin #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction

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disastrouscanasta · 2 months

Text

this wip is taking too long, and i’m not sure how outright I can be with the smut on tumblr, so here’s the before-stuff

Once the war was over properly, and men were being sent home to their wives and their children, John was faced with an unfortunate reminder that everything he’d tried so hard to sustain would amount to less and less the further they got from Europe.

The tenuous convenience of his and Buck’s relationship slipped away quickly, and before he knew it, John was standing at the threshold of their ending.

In the morning, Gale would get on a train and go home to Marge. He’d say his farewells and snuff out the only fire that was keeping John going. Still, John would take it on the chin and shake his hand, standing up beside him on the platform until Gale cut his losses just to board the train.

That night, though, John would be damned if he didn’t at least try to make something of what he’d worked so hard to get to. Through their first years in the war, through all those missions and every goddamn day in Stalag Luft III, they’d stuck together. They’d been more to each other than John thought had ever had with a friend of his, and he knew it was more than Gale had ever had. Yet, as 1945 had shifted through seasons and months of supply drops and general military service, John had rationalised that it would end.

What they’d become to one another was circumstantial. It didn’t matter if John had no one back home, Gale did.

“Have you got a minute?” He asked Gale that night at the local officers club, their shoulders brushed where they stood at the bar counter.

“More than a minute.” Gale said. Hardly, John thought. He’d counted the hours, they had less than ten together.

But work was light, they’d mostly been sitting around waiting for things to do. And when they had a responsibility, nine out of ten times it was paperwork. John was bored, but Gale was the one who’d decided to go home first. I’ll come back, he’d promised. It wasn’t for John, even though that’s who he’d been speaking to. It was for the air force, for their country as a whole. God bless America.

But whatever kept Gale coming back. John doubted they’d continue their… Well, he just doubted they would continue past the war. Tough times and all that, John was good at getting Gale out of his own head every once in a while.

“Mind calling it a night?” John asked. It earned him an intrigued eyebrow raise followed by the subtle way Gale’s eyes widened when it dawned on him. John smiled when Gale just nodded quickly.

“Sure.”

John downed his drink, placing the drink down on the counter next to Gale’s— still, unfortunately— alcohol-lacking glass. He still had a flask in his uniform pocket, just in case.

He took Gale by the sleeve after paying for their service with a few bills left on the counter. When they reached the door and a blast of cold air hit them, John felt an inexplicable need to rush settle into his bones. They only had about nine hours left. Maybe just a bit more. In nine hours they could get off, that was sure. Maybe even save some energy for a second go at it.

At their billet, turned on the lights before he pressed his body close to Gale’s, keeping their hips together and bringing up his hands to rest on Gale’s face.

Gale wound his arms around John’s waist. His hands were a steady, grounding weight on John’s hips. He felt the hum of Gale’s voice as he spoke.

“Bed?”

“Wherever.” John huffed. He waited a spare few moments before kissing Gale needily. He tilted his head to deepen it, brushing Gale’s teeth with his tongue.

Gale moved them backwards, guiding John until his legs met the bed frame.

John’s hands fell to Gale’s buttons, undoing them with ease, then he pushed the tunic off of Gale’s shoulders. He moved on quickly to Gale’s tie, then his shirt.

“In a rush?” Gale said against his lips.

Yes, goddammit. “Just in the mood, Buck.”

“We’ve got all night.” Gale said, painfully sweet. The softness in his voice made the hair on the back of John’s neck stand on end. That kindness wasn’t for him, he knew that. But he’d take it. He would take what Gale would give him.

“Whole lot of time.” John said, hardly believing a word. With each erratic, aroused beat of his heart, he felt the ticking of the clock on the mantle. Gale was slipping through his fingers, even while he was a mooring presence against John’s skin. “Come on, just like old times, yeah?”

Old times meant cramped closets in the dark. Muffled breathing as they chased their own orgasms. Those were some of John’s favourite memories, tucked up against Gale’s body as they tried to drown out the world around them. If Gale was there, things didn’t seem quite so bad.

Gale smiled at him now, in the relatively spacious billet. His eyes were lit up by the lamp on the nightstand. A warm, golden glow that reflected on his skin. It sure felt different from any other time, not only for the sand in their hourglass pouring out, but the kindness, the warmth, everything they hadn’t been able to have during the war.

John undid his own tie and started on his own buttons, Gale took over for him, undressing John before leaning in to kiss him. It was soft and slow, close-mouthed and all too serene. John had to remind himself that they were back home, that this wasn’t the war. Gale wouldn’t be by his side anymore, but he’d be out there. He’d be okay.

Gale pushed him back against the bed until John’s back met the mattress. Gale posted his arms next to John’s shoulders, kissing him and pressing their chests together. He reached down to undo John’s belt, slipping his trousers down to palm him through the front of his underwear. John gasped, bucking his hips up against Gale’s hand.

“Don’t.” He said when Gale licked his lips, ducking his head to be level with John’s groin. “Not like that.”

Gale looked up at John, a bemused expression on his face. John cupped Gale’s jaw, bringing Gale’s lips back up to his.

“All the way?” Gale asked when he pulled back, studying John intently.

“Why not?” John said. Anything to move them along. He missed Gale’s touch like a chasm in his chest, and he hadn’t even gone yet.

“Alright.” Gale’s lips dropped to John’s neck.

#mota #clegan #buck x bucky #mota fanfic #buck cleven #bucky egan #gale cleven #gale buck cleven #john egan #john bucky egan #fic #this is in the drafts. sitting there. taunting me #brain taken over by luztoye fallout au

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thelvsickgirl · 2 months

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Hi Sofia.

I know you know who I am. I keep it anon because I don't want people to know who I am and why Im writing you for.

I know you're a busy person, and you won't respond me in a while, but I just wanted to ask you one thing: Can you please write a Jude fic?

Just one. You know why im asking you this. I know you're an amazing writer, and I just want people to see that as well.

Do it with whatever idea you have in mind, and whenever you feel comfortable doing so.

Thank you.

-🐾

Hey. I definitely know who you are ms. anon. I hope you like it, because it took me several weeks to do. Way longer than i expected this to turn out, but i guess it turned out great.

letting you in.

word count: yes.

tw: a bit of angst, divorced parents, toxic household (kinda)

genres: fluff, angst (not ready to make my debut w smut)

------

: It seems like a perfect relationship, but what will you do when the ghosts of your past haunt you, making your self confidence's walls crumble?

-----

In the heart of a vibrant city, amidst the roar of enthusiastic fans and the energy of the football stadium, there existed a bustling sports bar named "Offside" It was a sanctuary for those seeking the thrill of the game and the camaraderie of fellow supporters. Among its regular patrons was a young woman named y/n, whose passion for football matched that of the most ardent fan.

But Y/n's love for the game wasn't merely a casual interest; it was a lifeline, a refuge from the storms that had raged in her past. Born into a family plagued by dysfunction and discord, y/n had learned from an early age to bury her emotions beneath a façade of strength and resilience. Her parents' tumultuous relationship had cast a shadow over her childhood, leaving her with deep-seated insecurities and a fear of abandonment.

As she navigated the turbulent waters of adolescence, Y/n sought solace in the world of football, finding comfort in the rhythm of the game and the camaraderie of fellow fans. It was on the pitch that she felt truly alive, her worries melting away as she cheered on her favorite team with unwavering devotion.

But despite her outward bravado, y/n carried the scars of her past—a past marked by loss and heartache. Her parents' bitter divorce had shattered her world, leaving her adrift in a sea of uncertainty and despair. And though she tried to bury the pain beneath a veneer of indifference, the wounds remained raw and unhealed, a constant reminder of the fragility of love.

As she entered adulthood, y/n found herself drifting aimlessly, unable to shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at her soul. She threw herself into her studies and her job, hoping to distract herself from the turmoil within. But no matter how hard she tried to outrun her demons, they always seemed to catch up with her, dragging her back into the depths of despair.

"Why am I not good enough?"

------

It was on a fateful matchday evening, as y/n sat alone at the sports bar, drowning her sorrows in a sea of beer and cheers, that she first laid eyes on him. Jude Bellingham, the star player of her favorite football team, stood at the bar, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. Despite his fame and fortune, he seemed strangely out of place, his gaze betraying a hint of vulnerability beneath the mask of confidence.

As y/n watched him from afar, a spark of recognition ignited within her—a sense of kinship born from shared struggles and silent battles fought in the shadows. She knew all too well the weight of expectations, the suffocating pressure to conform to society's standards. And though their worlds seemed worlds apart, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were more alike than they appeared.

Summoning her courage, she approached Jude, her heart pounding in her chest. "Hi," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I'm y/n. Can I buy you a drink?"

To her surprise, Jude smiled gratefully, his eyes lighting up with genuine warmth. "I'd like that," he replied, his voice tinged with relief.

Their conversation flowed effortlessly as they bonded over their shared love for the game, and y/n found herself drawn to Jude in ways she couldn't explain. Despite his celebrity status, he was remarkably down-to-earth, his humility and kindness shining through with every word he spoke. She couldn't stop analysing his chiseled face features, eyeing down every part of him.

As the evening wore on, y/n and Jude discovered a connection that transcended fame and fortune, their shared passion for football forging a bond that felt destined to withstand the test of time. They laughed and joked like old friends, their worries and insecurities melting away in each other's presence.

"This place is way too crowded. Mind to go on a walk?" Jude asked, frowning as some hooligans threw beer jugs to the floor as the local team missed a penalty.

"Please."

With a mischievous grin, Jude led her to a hidden rooftop oasis, where the city skyline stretched out before them in a breathtaking panorama. In a bold and impulsive move, he leaned in, capturing y/n 's lips in a spontaneous kiss—a gesture fueled by the intoxicating rush of the moment.

Though taken aback, the girl felt a surge of exhilaration as their lips met—a whirlwind of emotions colliding in the space between them. And as they lingered in each other's embrace, the city whispered its secrets, weaving their fates together in the tapestry of the night.

----

Their budding relationship blossomed quickly as they explored the city together, attending matches and immersing themselves in the electric atmosphere of the country's stadiums. Jude, ever the gentleman, often surprised y/n with tickets to VIP events and exclusive gatherings, eager to share his world with her.

One memorable evening, the man invited her to join him in the VIP section of his home stadium, a gesture that left her speechless with excitement. As they watched the game from their plush seats, surrounded by the glittering lights of the city skyline, y/n couldn't help but feel like she was living in a dream.

But their moment of bliss was short-lived, as they were soon accosted by paparazzi eager to capture their every move. Flashes of light blinded the girl as reporters bombarded them with questions, their invasive inquiries threatening to shatter the illusion of privacy they had worked so hard to maintain.

Fearing for y/n 's safety, Jude would usually usher her away from the chaos, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. Despite the intrusion, she couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for Jude's unwavering support, his reassuring presence serving as a beacon of hope in the midst of chaos.

As they retreated to the sanctuary of the player's home, y/n found herself overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions—gratitude, awe, and an overwhelming sense of love for the remarkable man standing beside her. In that moment, amidst the chaos of the outside world, she knew that she had found something worth fighting for—a love that transcended fame and fortune, a love that was as boundless as the sky above them.

But even as they basked in the glow of their newfound happiness, a shadow loomed on the horizon, threatening to tear them apart. The girl's past, with its ghosts and demons, resurfaced with a vengeance, casting a pall over their relationship.

Haunted by memories of her tumultuous childhood, y/n found herself consumed by doubt and insecurity, her fears driving a wedge between her and Jude. Despite his best efforts to reassure her, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was unworthy of his love—that she was destined to repeat the mistakes of her past.

As tensions simmered between them, Jude struggled to break through y/n's defenses, his heart aching with the knowledge that she was slipping away from him. Desperate to salvage their relationship, he suggested couples therapy, hoping to address the underlying issues that had driven them apart.

Reluctantly, she agreed, her heart heavy with guilt and regret. But as they delved into the depths of their shared history, confronting the traumas that had shaped their lives, she found herself unraveling before his eyes, her carefully constructed walls crumbling beneath the weight of her emotions.

And yet, amidst the tears and the turmoil, there was a glimmer of hope—a flicker of light in the darkness that threatened to consume them. For in each other's arms, they found solace and strength, their love a beacon of hope in a world fraught with uncertainty.

As they emerged from the crucible of therapy, battered but unbroken, y/n and Jude found themselves more deeply in love than ever before. And though their journey was short and had been fraught with challenges and obstacles, they knew that they had emerged stronger and more resilient, their bond forged in the fires of adversity.

And as they stood hand in hand, just cuddled beneath the covers of his bed, the girl knew that she had found her victory—the greatest victory of all: love. And Jude, with a smile that could light up the darkest of nights, knew that he had found something even more precious than fame or fortune—he had found his home in the arms of the woman he loved.

#jude bellingham #jude victor willliam bellingham #sofia’s bar #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham x reader #angst #fluff #jude bellingham fluff #fanfic

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khaotunq · 7 months

Note

🎃🦇TRICK OR TREAT🕷️👻

Have a scene -- waaay more than a couple of paragraphs buuut -- from an unpublished fic that'll probably never otherwise see the light of day because it's an alternate Ray-meets-Boeing scene.

Sand blinked down at the hand on his, raised his eyes to Boeing's. Sand had loved them, once. Had also been broken by them, once. The moment someone with better prospects—less integrity but far more money—had come along.

Sand opened his mouth to reply, to tell Boeing thanks but no thanks, when a familiar weight dropped against him, making Sand's stomach fall through the floor.

"Sand," Ray said with forced cheer. "Who's this?"

Sand didn't reply for a second. They hadn't spoken in days. Ray had disappeared to god-knew-where and Sand had spent the whole time feeling the loss like a knife under his ribs.

"Boeing," Boeing said, smiling the way he did when he felt like he was winning. "And you are?"

Before Ray could say anything, before he could even respond to Boeing's name, Sand grabbed him and shoved him off the chair, pushing up and steering him away without ever letting go of his arm. He didn't stop until they were in an unoccupied hallway.

"You're with someone?"

Whether Ray had heard Boeing say so or if he was assuming Sand was with Boeing, Sand couldn't tell, but that didn't matter. "Do not offer a threesome."

That caught Ray off guard. He blinked several times, brow creasing in a little frown and it was so offensively cute that Sand almost lost his train of thought. "Ray. I know that's your usual play, but don't. Not with Boeing."

Ray glanced back in Boeing's direction and then up at Sand, his mind turning over. He got this awful expression after a moment and Sand realised he hadn't figured out the angle Sand was protesting from when he said, soft and barely audible over the music, "You're with someone."

"No, I mean--he'll say yes." Ray looked sad and Sand panicked because how was he not getting this? "He'll say yes and you'll have to share."

Just in case, a moment later he added: "Me. Ray, you'll have to share me. With him. And I don't want you to."

Ray gazed at him and Sand could tell when it clicked because his eyes widened and his chin snapped up, gaze searching Sand's face.

And then he smiled.

Sand's heart nearly fell out of his chest, the way it always did when Ray looked at him like that. It made him feel like the only man on earth, the way a good crowd made him feel electric when he was on stage.

"You're with me?"

Sand resisted the urge to shake him. "I have been. This whole time, I have been."

Ray's eyes were bright and for the first time, Sand realised they were a regular kind of bright. His cheeks weren't flushed with drink. He was steady and warm and completely sober. In a bar.

Further contemplation was cut off by Ray leaning up to kiss him. He tasted like tea, of all things. His hands curled in Sand's t-shirt and he melted when Sand's folded around his hips and tugged him closer.

"Wait—Boeing? Your ex?"

Sand rolled his eyes but he knew he was smiling. It felt the least like swallowing glass than it ever had when he shrugged and said, "The one who left me for Top, yeah."

"Talk about a downgrade."

Sand breathed out a laugh because he didn't care. For the first time in who knew how long, he really didn't care. Thinking about Boeing and Top and Boeing-and-Top inspired no anger, no bitterness anymore. He didn't know if it was because of Ray, because of everything he'd been through with and for Ray, a gradual shifting of his priorities he hadn't noticed until that moment.

"He has more to offer than I do." Sand only said it to get the response he hoped for, not because he truly felt in any way inadequate.

Ray obliged. "Not at all," he said, tracing his hands up and down Sand's back. "I heard your mom. You're secretly loaded."

Sand shoved him. Ray's tone was playful, joking, and so there was no need to waste energy denying it. "I knew it. You're only with me for my money."

There was a very, very slight pause where they both tried to figure out if they were okay joking about that already. Ray settled back against him. "Well, that and your work ethic."

Sand lifted an eyebrow and Ray had a particular look on his face that told him he wasn't talking about any of Sand's actual jobs.

#mushiemaradame #ask post #so it is decreed #ficwit #sandray #only friends the series #ofts #halloween 23 #idk if i'll get the rest tonight but feel free to keep sending some i'm squirming with glee that i got any <3 #a readmore in the first one i've answered sets an unrealistic precedent for the rest #but i'd literally die for chiara so

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cookiesuga55 · 4 months

Text

Full of Life (Minimoni)

TW: eating disorder.

You know what I adore. Healthy fat. Round soft jiggle laid over muscle, proving that someone is loved. Gaining weight as a form of healing. Comfort and safety and trust.

Jimin gets "healthy fat." His previously malnourished and over-exercised body is finally getting more than the bare minimum number of calories to function. This all begins when he starts dating Nutritionist Namjoon, and his boyfriend purses his lips at just how little Jimin consumes in a day. Jimin is so exhausted all of the time. He complains of headaches, and Namjoon knows exactly why.

"Six cups of coffee and one granola bar is not enough fuel to last all day, little chick."

Despite Jimin waving him off with excuses about being too busy in the dance studio to eat, Namjoon hauls his own meaty, bulked-up ass to the kitchen at 1 am and cooks balanced meals for Jimin to snatch from his fridge on the way out each morning. He knows just what kinds of calories Jimin's deprived body needs. Moderately portioned rice and grains mixed with peppers, tomatoes, and a sprinkle of olive oil. A slab of seared salmon or some other healthy protein for Jimin's body to actually have enough energy to last the day. Sauteed vegetables, sliced cheese, and a healthy portion of fruit. A little bar of dark chocolate that he knows Jimin adores. A protein smoothie full of nutrients and calories for Jimin to sip in the morning instead of overdosing on caffeine. He adds an apple and draws on a sticky note. A little wobbly smiley face with a speech bubble. "Eat me!"

Namjoon presses another sticky note on the coffee machine for Jimin to see when he wakes up. A "breakfast and yummy lunch in the fridge for you. <3 Joonie."

Jimin is so pouty with affection when he wakes up and sees the notes and the food made with love from his hyung. He tosses it in his bag on the way out, chaotic and haphazard as always, almost late as he shucks on his trainers and snatches the delicious-looking smoothie instead of the stale coffee that he forgot to empty out the night before.

Namjoon keeps up caring for his boyfriend, and it isn't long before Jimin's frail and exhausted body begins filling in. Namjoon kisses his baby chick's pudgy cheek before heading to the early shift at the clinic, and murmurs as always, "love you-" before leaving.

Jimin having actual food and a well-balanced diet helps his body so much. He starts coming home from work with more energy, smiling and glowing at Namjoon with fuller cheeks, asking if he wants to go for a bike ride together along the river. Namjoon practically beams as he can see the life pouring back into his boyfriend now that his body is approaching a healthy weight. Jimin has a soft waist, and Namjoon can't help but adore it. Rubbing in his hands as he hugs him from behind in the kitchen, feeling the sweet, warm curves of his body and leaning down to kiss his neck. Jimin melts into him like usual, and Namjoon feels so much pride in the way Jimin's tummy gently pushes out into his hands. Jimin is so healthy. He's full of life and love, and Namjoon makes sure to worship the ever-living hell out of him, so Jimin doesn't slip into any of the negative thoughts that he confessed to him one night over a bottle of shared wine about why he started dancing- to lose weight.

Jimin is just so happy these days, and he knows that Namjoon is a major contributing factor. He finally has enough energy to start going to the gym with Namjoon whenever his cute, huge koala asks him with hopeful eyes. Jimin follows the exercise plan that Namjoon's personal-trainer friend at work whipped up for him.

"Nothing for weight loss," Namjoon had told Jungkook privately during their lunch break, "I just want him confident and healthy again. He was so frail, Jungkookie. I was scared he was going to break."

Jimin jogs on the elliptical and watches Namjoon squat with a bar of weight hiked over his shoulders. Tiddies and ass to die for. Namjoon is so fucking thick and yummy. Jimin licks his teeth after taking another drink of the protein shake that his boyfriend gives him every morning. They chase their weekly gym-runs with shower sex at home, and then Namjoon cooks them up a hearty breakfast to offset all of those burned calories.

His hyung is a little obsessed with clean-eating, but Jimin doesn't mind. It's cute how Namjoon always goes to the organic section of the store and bikes to the farmers market. Jimin practically has a personal chef with how good Namjoon's cooking is. There's always a delicious meal on the table for him, with seconds ready to be dished onto his plate.

Jimin finishes filling in, and starts filling out. He lays in the morning sunshine glimmering across their bed, thoroughly fucked. Both of them softly pant and bask in afterglow. Namjoon's warm, ringed hand is resting on Jimin's tummy and gently rubs circles.

"Have you noticed..." Namjoon's voice is fucked from moaning. Jimin turns to him and can't help but glow. It's his favorite sound. Namjoon's morning voice, deepened and scratchy from pleasure. "That sex has gotten so much better since you started eating more? You have more energy, baby."

Warmth floods Jimin's cheeks, but he nods, a little bit shy. Namjoon's hand caresses the curve of his waist, fingers sinking into the supple weight. "I love this, by the way," Namjoon whispers and gives Jimin's love handle a little squeeze. He squishes in his hyung's hand. "I prefer you healthy and soft over sharp and exhausted," Namjoon nuzzles into his neck, and Jimin wraps around Namjoon's warmth.

The truth spills out of Jimin before he can think twice, "me too..."

"You haven't had a headache in months too, lovely. You're full of life." Namjoon cuddles him back, pulling him into his thick chest. Jimin burrows into it, breathing him in. Jimin isn't dumb. He's noticed the way that his body has been rounding out, filling up with muscle and a healthy layer of supple padding, making him curvy and plump. His hips even have stretch marks over them, complete with bruised kisses painted over them by Namjoon. His hyung has done such a good job of making him feel comfortable and loved in his new body.

"I know," Jimin whispers into the safety of Namjoon's chest, knowing that it's all because of his boyfriend's care. "Thank you, Joonie. I'm so happy like this."

That's all that Namjoon needs to hear to practically rumble in his chest, and kiss the top of Jimin's head. He pushes Jimin onto his back, laying his hearty weight on top of him and sliding his big hands down to Jimin's waist. One of Namjoon's dimples presses into his cheek as his lips curve up into a smirk. "Now that I don't have to be so careful with you..." He squeezes Jimin's plump sides, "You're fucking sexy with some weight on you, baby."

Jimin's cheeks heat up, and a whimper bubbles out of his throat. Embarrassing. That's embarrassing that he just whined from Namjoon squeezing his tummy. "I- I am?" He looks up at his hyung's hungry face. Namjoon pets his palms over him, squeezing everywhere that's warm with fat. His lidded eyes darken.

"I told you that I love this- Healthy. Curvy. Soft. You're perfect for squeezing and biting." He licks his lips as he drinks Jimin in. The look that Namjoon is keeping him pinned with has Jimin wanting to mewl and arch up into him. To hook his stretch-marked thighs around Namjoon's waist and beg.

All Jimin can do is whine and tug on his boyfriend's thick biceps.

Namjoon purrs as he worships him. "A healthy mix of muscle and enough pudge for people to know that I'm taking good care of you. That you're finally being kept well-fed." He shoves his hands underneath Jimin's back and slides down, getting a thick handful of his ass cheeks. Jimin feels like he's going to catch on fire with how much pleasure is thrumming through his body, settling in the core of his belly. Namjoon sinks down and hums against his fluffy belly, like he knows where the heat blooms inside of Jimin. "Softened tummy and tits for me to worship, and a plump peach for me to bruise-"

Namjoon's teeth scrape against Jimin's padded hip bones. Jimin whines uncontrollably, dissolving into melted desire at the body worship. He desperately clutches at Namjoon's hair, tugging hard just how his hyung likes it. His back arches, making the sweet curve of his belly push up into Namjoon's face. He can feel his boyfriend's lips stretch into a smile against his skin.

"I'm taking advantage of all of that extra energy you have for my own pleasure. That makes me a bad hyung," Namjoon drags his lips up Jimin's stomach. God that feels so fucking good.

"Take advantage- Please-" he gasps and frees his pillowy thighs to hook them around Namjoon and lock him in place. He wants him to keep kissing his tummy. "Gods, Namjoon, please fucking take advantage- I'm all yours-"

Namjoon laughs in delight against Jimin's softened stomach and begins pressing firm, needy kisses down his belly and across his waist. His voice is teasing and thick with desire.

"If you insist, baby..."

Jimin is cut off by a moan. "I fucking insist..."

#minimoni #bt5 feedism #namjoon's tiddies #soft #comfort

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whatisreggieshortfor · 1 year

Text

Reminders

Akaashi likes to tell you what reminds him of you.

Akaashi x gn!reader

You had never questioned how Akaashi thought of you. You were coworkers for a couple years now, friends for nearly as long. He was your work husband- that’s what each of your friends called him, joking about how much you talked about him. But you never questioned what he thought. And you didn’t have to, he planned on letting you know in increasingly interesting ways.

“You remind me of the color green.”

The words caught you by surprise, blinking as you looked over at your favorite coworker, “I- what?”

Akaashi shrugged, not looking away from his lunch as the two of you sat to eat on the couch in his office, “When I think about you, I’m reminded of the color green.”

You snorted, quirking your eyebrow before you continued to eat, “What does that even mean?”

Akaashi seemed to ponder your question, and it’s not like you were in a hurry, so you waited him out. It was quiet as you munched on your spicy ramen, letting him stew in his thoughts, before his voice finally caught your attention, “You remind me of warmth, life. Green makes me think of nature, it’s peaceful and delicate, but it’s strong. It’s lasting.”

To say you were caught off guard was an understatement. It made you flustered if you were honest, so you nudged him as you joked, “Is this your way of saying you want me around forever? Aw, ‘Kaashi, that’s so sweet!”

His smile showed nothing out of the ordinary as he laughed at your joking mockery. If only you knew.

“I think ‘Kaashi was spot on.”

You laughed, looking at the large man next to you as the wing spiker tried to balance grocery bags on his bulky arms, “What do you mean, Bo?” You hadn’t expected a pro athlete to become your roommate when your old one had to move for their job, but Akaashi had spoken so highly of him that you figured you should at least meet your best friend’s best friend. Even with all his energy and obliviousness he was the perfect roommate. Whenever he ate your snacks, he replaced it with twice as many. If he upset you, he was always begging Akaashi for ways to fix it.

Bokuto gave you his wide grin, completely unphased by the weight he was carrying, “He always says that if you were a time of day, you’d be evening.”

You laughed again, shooting him an incredulous look as you unlocked the apartment door and let him enter first- just to watch him trip over the training gear he swore he put away before you went to the store.

“Ah! I’m good! I’m good!” He hopped up sheepishly, stepping carefully until he could make to the kitchen. “Anyway, I can see what he meant.”

“And what do you think he meant?” You questioned, indulging him as you started moving about to put things away, making sure his healthy diet plan supplies were stored neatly in his cabinet.

Bokuto shrugged, “I don’t know how to explain it,” usually when he was at a loss, he would deflate, but he just kept smiling, “It’s like a feeling. Evening is calm, but still time left to do things you want to do. He says it’s cause he could feel just as calm watching a movie with you as he would joining you at a bar after a long day.”

You could feel your face heat, wondering if he really described you that way, but you realized he must. Bokuto could get confused, he could be clueless, but he never lied. “Thanks for telling me, Bo. It’s interesting to hear how he feels.”

The athlete’s eyes sprang open wide, “I- I didn’t say anything about his feelings, did I!? I told him I wouldn’t!”

Well that was curious…

“No, no, Bo.” You reassured, “You said nothing about his… feelings.”

“Come on! Don’t you just love this time of year?” You laughed, arms out as you spun around in the park just down the street from your offices, just inhaling the crisp air that still smelled of dirt and the light dampness covering everything.

Akaashi grinned, busying himself with drying off the bench so you could enjoy your lunch without needing to spend the rest of the day in wet clothes, “I always figured you’d be a spring person.”

“Who isn’t?” You asked cheekily, taking his hand and making him spin in slow circles with you, “Everything is new and bright! Life is full of hope and wonder! Who couldn’t love that?”

You couldn’t place the soft look he gave you, something unreadable to you in it as he helped you spin faster across the slick grass, “My sentiments exactly.”

Bokuto was practically vibrating with excitement when you stumbled through the door of the apartment in the early morning. You had expected to find the place empty, assumed he would’ve already headed to training after you pulled an all nighter to fix the layout of a manga with a deadline three days away after a temp had managed to bungle the whole project, but here he was as alert as ever. “Y/N! These came for you last night!”

He thrusted a vase into your face- no, not a vase. He seemed to have put the flowers into the water bottle you had inadvertently stolen from Akaashi months ago after he lent it to you when yours was forgotten at home. You could’ve sworn you had finally returned it last week…

Looking at the fragrant petals he had shoved into your face, you were impressed someone went through so much effort. You had grown up intrigued by flowers, learning the meanings behind many popular blossoms. You knew the white anemones symbolized sincerity, the lily of the valley usually meant joy, the daisies showed true love and new beginnings, and the hydrangeas meant heartfelt emotion. Whoever assembled this bouquet- were they trying to send you a message? Or did they just think they looked nice?

Nestled among them, you could see a card. Delicately pulling it out, you let Bokuto put the ‘vase’ back on the table it had been resting on, your sleep deprived waking back up at the mystery.

“Y/N,

The time I had to spend learning these will be a mystery, but I picked the ones that meant to me what you do.

Take care.

Your future work husband,

Keiji.”

Akaashi? He learned the meaning of all these flowers for you? Sincerity, joy-

True love.

Was he confessing? With flowers when he wasn’t even there? You weren’t about to leave him waiting for an answer.

You smirked at the man’s best friend, “Looks like I’m going back into the office, Bo. You need a lift to the gym?”

Surprising Akaashi quietly was never an option. Bokuto refused to go to practice until he knew how everything turned out, and the office was so used to his chaotic visits between you and Akaashi that even his exclamation of ‘HEY HEY HEY’ didn’t make any of the workers startle in their seats.

But it did make the man you were looking for pop his head out of his office, eyes widening in shock as he saw next to the large man’s side. He left his door open, wordlessly inviting the two of you in rather than trying to have the conversation he knew was coming in front of coworkers.

“Hi, Keiji,” you almost skipped into the room, flashing a sly grin when his face burned at his first name leaving your lips, “I wanted to thank you for the flowers.”

He cleared his throat, trying to maintain some semblance of his calm demeanor, “You didn’t need to come back in for that. You could’ve sent a text.”

Bokuto pouted at that more than you ever could, “Who texts a thank you for a conf-“

“I felt in person gratitude was warranted more.” You swiftly interrupted, pressing a kiss to Akaashi’s cheek. He hadn’t actually confirmed your thoughts yet, but go big or go home, right? “Thank you. They mean a lot to me. The daisies were really beautiful.”

The flush burning at his cheeks grew stronger, a shy smile creeping into his face before he finally blew out a breath of air, “There’s no pretending here, right? You know what I was saying, so what’s your answer?”

Bokuto was back to vibrating in the corner, watching every second as it unfolded before his very eyes. You were pretty sure he had the entire MSBY team on a group chat right now waiting for the outcome. But you just took Akaashi’s hand, “Let’s go to dinner. Because I accept. My future husband.” His burning cheeks did nothing to stamp down his smile.

Masterlist

#haikyuu #haikyuu x male reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x trans reader #haikyuu x female reader #haikyuu akaashi #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader

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