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vbecker10 · 4 months

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Can you do one where reader and Loki have a really bad day and get into an arguement over the phone before they get home then someone attacks reader and she is stuck in an alleyway. Loki starts getting worried because she wasn't home for dinner so Loki goes to look for her and asks his brother and the avengers if they have seen her. He later finds her in an alley right outside unconscious? Ends in fluff?? Or something like that?

Running into Trouble

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: You and Loki have recently started dating and get into a fight after you have both had a long, stressful day. You go out for a run to clear your head and end up being attacked, which is Loki's worst fear.

Warnings: arguing, very protective Loki, getting mugged / attacked (not shown), minor injuries, feeling weak, but not to worry there is a fluffy ending as requested

A/N: I love this request! I'm sorry it took me so long to get to it. Also, I think running is evil but I'm this way about going for walks after work so that's kinda where the idea came from. Thanks so much for sending this! I hope you like it! 💚

Thanks @soubi001 for the title and letting me bounce ideas for the end off you! 🙂

"Come in," Loki answers when you knock on his office door. He looks up from the papers on his desk and smiles when he sees you. "Hello darling," he says happily as he gets up to meet you.

"I missed you," you tell him, putting your arms around him.

He chuckles, "I saw you half an hour ago."

"And yet, I still miss you," you smile up at him.

One of his hands rests on your lower back and he leans down, bringing his lips to yours. Your fingers gripping the fabric of his black dress shirt, you may have seen him a few times today but this is the first time you've kissed him since you left his room this morning.

"I should have you reassigned as my case agent," Loki offers with a smirk. "Then you will be stuck with me."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" you ask, raising your eyebrow.

"A bit of both I imagine," he jokes. "I need to finish up a few things and then we can get dinner," he says, letting go of you to walk back towards his desk.

"Take your time, I'm gonna go for a short run," you say, adjusting your backpack to hint that your running clothes are inside.

"I wish you wouldn't," his playful tone vanishing instantly as he faces you again.

"I'll be fine," you wave off his concern like you always do. "The park is only a few blocks from here and it's not even dark yet."

"It will be dark by the time you are finished. Why can't you use the incredibly large, state of the art gym Stark is constantly raving about? It seems to be good enough for the super soldiers," he tries harder than usual to sell you the idea of the gym.

"You know I hate running inside. Treadmills are so boring, I feel like a hamster," you try not to whine but you're tired of having this conversation.

He chuckles at your reference and shakes his head. "They do have a track," he suggests even though he knows you dislike that too.

"Loki, it's sweet that you worry about me but you don't need to. I'll make it short, just half an hour," you walk slowly towards him but he seems unconvinced. "Then a quick shower and I'll be all yours," you put your arms around his neck and look up at him.

"All mine?" he asks, his smirk returning as his hands settle on your waist, pulling you close to him.

You giggle and hold eye contact with Loki, "Yep, all yours."

He leans down to kiss you, his hands keeping your body flush to his as his lips move against yours. When you break the kiss he touches your cheek lightly and says, "I will always worry about you, love. Please be safe and enjoy your run."

You check your watch for the third time and although it's already 5:45, it seems as if this meeting will never come to an end. It's your seventh and thankfully final meeting of the day but you aren't sure how much longer you can sit here for. Another hour later, Steve finally dismisses everyone and you head straight to the locker rooms in the gym. All you can think about is going outside, listening to music and running as hard as you can to let go of the stress that has built up throughout the day.

You get changed quickly then call Loki on speaker phone while putting on your sneakers. "Hello darling," he answers, the usual excitement you hear is missing from his voice.

"Hi Loki," you reply and take him off speaker as you get up from the bench. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, sorry it's just been a very long day," he replies.

"Same," you tell him, checking that your keys and wallet are in your bag before putting it into the locker. "Do you want to get dinner when I'm back from my run?"

"You're going for a run now?" he asks. "It's almost 7."

You turn back suddenly and open the locker again to retrieve the gift Loki gave you last week, slipping it into your hoodie's pocket as you leave the room. "I know it's late but that last meeting went way over. Steve asked if anyone had questions and Scott had a ton, most of which were completely off topic of course," you complain, rolling your eyes. "It'll be short I promise. I just need to be outside for a bit."

"Y/N, just skip it tonight," he insists, sounding more annoyed than worried. "It's already dark."

"The park has lights," you reply quickly. You walk to the elevators and zip up your thin hoodie.

"I'm tired of you fighting me on this. Just run in the gym," his tone is stern, making it sound like an order not a suggestion.

"I don't like to run inside. You know that so stop telling me to do it," you feel aggravated by the conversation and his attitude towards you. When the elevator arrives you get in and tell him, "I'll be back in an hour, you can eat without me if you don't want to wait."

"I don't care about what time we eat, I care about you listening to me," he says firmly.

"I am listening to you but you aren't listening to me," you counter, your voice raising to match his. "You don't get it. I spend all day sitting at a desk staring at a computer screen, the window in my office doesn't even open. I need to go outside. I want to feel the breeze and see the sky so I can unwind."

"You are being ridiculous," he says, you can tell he is not going to give up his side of the argument any time soon.

"Seriously, I'm the one being ridiculous?" you ask as you reach the ground floor.

"Yes. What would you prefer? That I not worry about you?" he asks.

"Ugh! No, of course not but you can't just force me to stay inside," you try not to scream as you enter the lobby. "Why are you making this so difficult tonight?"

"Fine, I will make it easy for you. You want to run, go run," he says and you stop walking, shocked by his words and harsh tone. "You repeatedly ignore my concerns and dismiss my suggestions without a moment of consideration so why should I continue to voice my thoughts to you? Do whatever you want Y/N, you always do."

Before you can respond, Loki ends the call.

You look down at your phone, gripping it tightly. Your first instinct is to call Loki back and yell at him for hanging up on you, instead you take a deep breath and set your phone to do not disturb. Putting on your headphones, you select one of your favorite playlists and hit shuffle as you step out onto the sidewalk. You feel the cool fall breeze on your face and turn south towards the park.

Jogging slowly, you gradually make the music louder and louder to drown out your racing thoughts and Loki's harsh words. Your headphones beep when you adjust them again to alert you that they have reached their maximum volume. You sigh, leaving them as is for the first time in months, typically you made sure you limited the volume so you could still hear your surroundings but you want to block everything out tonight.

You enter the park from the same entrance as always and when your feet hit the loose gravel you pick up speed. The route you take through the park varies daily, picking random turns and directions based on how crowded it is or which path seems to call to you at the moment. You force away the meetings that filled your day, the piles of paperwork waiting for you in the morning and your fight with Loki. Your mind drifts, focusing on the music blasting through your headphones, the ground under your feet and how hard you are breathing in the brisk air.

Unfortunately, what you are not focused on is the three men who have been following you since your last turn.

Loki gets up from his couch and paces back and forth with his phone in his hand. You have only been gone for ten minutes but he knew the second he hung up that he had made a terrible mistake. He sighs, running his fingers through his hair then he texts you.

<I'm so sorry I spoke to you like that and I never should have hung up on you. I did not mean to start a fight. Can we talk when you get back? Please be safe.>

He hits send and stares at the screen waiting for you to reply. He knows your headphones can read you text messages and you always responded back using the voice to text function. It never failed to make him laugh, the texts you replied with were usually just a bit off since your phone could never quite understand you while you were running.

Another ten minutes pass without a reply from you so he tries again.

There was another reason he grew to like the voice to text function, you always responded immediately. You know how much he worries about you, so being able to quickly tell him where you were or when you were coming back put him at ease.

He sits heavily on his couch and after only two minutes pass, he stands up and calls you. Pacing again, he listens to it ring once then go directly to voicemail. His stomach drops instantly, you had either declined his call the second it rang or your phone was off.

He shakes his head, knowing your phone would never be off, you always listened to music when you ran. He calls you a second time but again it goes straight to voicemail. He doesn't bother to leave you a message, instead he leaves his room and heads down the hall as he tries for a third time to reach you.

"Thor, I need your help," Loki says with a touch of panic in his voice when he reaches the kitchen.

"What's wrong?" Thor asks, turning from his snack on the island.

"Y/N went for a run and she's not answering me," he tells his brother.

"Did you do something stupid?" Tony jokes as he closes the fridge.

"Yes, but that is not the point," Loki snaps, turning towards him. Tony's smile fades when he sees how serious Loki is. "She always answers, always. Something is wrong, I know it."

"Alright, just calm down," Tony says, trying to hide his growing concern. "She's probably just mad at you for whatever it is you did. Let me call her." Loki nods, hoping Tony is right but after only a few seconds, he looks at his phone and shakes his head. "She didn't answer," he confirms Loki's fear.

"J.A.R.V.I.S.," he wakes up the computer system in the Tower, "Get me a location for Y/N's phone now."

"Searching," it responds, Loki holds his breath nervously as it works. A moment later it answers, "The last known location for Y/N's phone is from 10 minutes ago. I cannot find a current location. The device has been switched off."

"No, she wouldn't do that," Loki insists, looking at his brother. "We need to find her."

"We will," Thor assures him, resting a hand on his shoulder to try and calm him.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., get the team down here. We have an emergency," Tony tells the computer system. "Bring up a map of the park and Y/N's last known location. Overlay that with the route she takes when she runs." A large holographic map of the park appears in the air in front of Tony as he talks to the program.

"She takes a different route each time," Loki interrupts Tony and he nods.

"Ok, use the data from her phone's history to show the last three weeks on the map," he corrects himself. "Maybe we can see a pattern in where she runs, it would help us find her quicker than searching the whole damn park."

The team enters the park from the same entrance you use every day and then they quickly make their way towards your last known location. Thor and Loki turn south while Steve and Tony head north, calling your name as they move down each path. Clint, Scott and Natasha take the trail that leads east. SHIELD agents spilt off to show your picture to people in the park in the hopes that someone saw you.

"Loki, look," Thor stops suddenly and points to a thin trail of blood droplets.

"Y/N!" Loki calls again as they both pick up their pace, following the blood trail deeper into the park. The blood drops continue across the gravel and Loki's heart begins to pound wildly in his chest as they approach one of the stone tunnels. Just before the entrance to the underground pathway is a small pool of blood and Loki nearly trips at the sight of it under one of the street lights.

The two brothers slow their pace cautiously and Loki calls for you once more as they enter the tunnel. "Gods, she's here!" Loki tells Thor who immediately radios everyone your location and tells them they need to send the medical team.

Loki kneels next to your unconscious body, terrified that the blood they had followed is yours. He checks you carefully for injuries but you don't appear to be bleeding.

He breaths a small sigh of relief when you blink your eyes open and mumble, "Loki."

"I'm here," he whispers to you, your eyes briefly focus on him. "You're safe now, we're going to take you home." You try to nod but slowly slip back into unconsciousness. His hand moves to hold yours and he sees the small dagger he had given you still clutched tightly in your hand. The tip is covered in blood, but not yours and Loki is thankful for that.

You open your eyes slowly, unsure of where you are for a moment, the room seems so bright. You blink a few times until the room comes into focus, you realize your in the infirmary back at the Tower. Someone squeezes your hand gently and turn your head to see Loki sitting on a chair next to the bed.

"Hello darling," he says quietly. He smiles but you can see his eyes are full of worry. "How are you feeling?" You try to sit up and he puts his hand carefully on your shoulder to help. "Slowly," he tells you and you nod which causes the room to spin momentarily. "You don't have a concussion but Strange said you may be dizzy still from being knocked unconscious," he tells you when you close your eyes.

"What happened?" you open your eyes and ask instead of answering his initial question. Your memory of the night is filled with holes, fuzzy images and disconnected voices. The last thing you remember clearly was Loki hanging up on you in anger.

You watch nervously as his jaw tightens before he answers, "You were attacked in the park." You look away from him, feeling a wave of mixed emotions hit you at once. "There were three of them, we think. They stole your phone. J.A.R.V.I.S. is still sifting through the security footage from around the park, there were no cameras in the section where I found you," he says.

You don't respond to the knowledge that you had been attacked in the one place you felt most relaxed in the city. Slowly, you pull your hand free from Loki's as your thoughts begin to race. He had been right, you realize.

"Y/N, look at me, please," he says, trying to get your attention.

"Why?" you ask, looking up, your memory of his last words to you blend with your own negative thoughts. "So you can tell me that I should have listened to you? Fine, you were right. I'm just some weak human and I can't protect myself. Are you happy now?"

He touches your arm and you fight the urge to pull away again. "Y/N, how could you possibly think this would make me happy? I never wished for you to be hurt. This isn't a game and it is not some sort of win for me," he tells you and you can hear the hurt in his voice.

"You did win though, cause now I'll never run there again. I'll use the stupid gym like you always tell me to," you inform him, crossing your arms against your chest. You uncross them and look at your hands for the first time since you woke up, seeing a few small bruises forming along your knuckles. You raise your hand to lightly touch where your cheek is the most painful and Loki stops you, taking your hand carefully in his.

"You have quite a substantial bruise there, it will take a few weeks to heal," he tells you. "You didn't need any stitches though," he adds. "Your ribs and back have bruises as well, so it may hurt to sit up or lay down for the time being. Thankfully you don't have any severe injuries, Strange assured me that you only need rest and you will feel better in a few days."

While he describes your injuries, you let him continue to hold your hand but you avoid his eyes. "That's good," you mumble in response.

"You will be running again in no time," he says encouragingly.

"Loki, just stop it. I'm tired. Please, just say you told me so and get it over with so I can rest," you tell him.

He sighs, "No." You slowly lift your head then he continues, "I cannot describe the sheer panic I felt when I couldn't reach you. My worst fear is that something might happen to you while you are away from me and then it did and..." his voice trails off and he takes a deep breath.

"I was not right about anything," he tells you.

"What do you mean?" you ask.

"We both know you will be unhappy running inside," he says and you nod in agreement.

"I didn't realize how much running through the park means to you, especially after such a long day. I know you need it to unwind and calm you, I shouldn't have kept trying to change that part of you. The last thing I want is for you to give up something you love because of me," he tells you. "Or because of those pathetic mortals who hurt you."

"At least I would be safe running in the gym," you feel like giving up.

"So what am I supposed to do?" you ask him.

Loki is quiet for a few moments then he smiles and offers, "How about I run with you?"

"You hate running," you laugh and it makes your side ache.

"I do," he quickly agrees, "But I like you."

You pretend to be surprised, "You like me?"

"Very, very much," he clarifies and kisses your forehead.

"I appreciate the offer but it will be no fun if you're miserable," you say, squeezing his hand. "And stop making me laugh, it hurts."

You laugh again, holding your side in pain and smack his arm lightly. "Are you kidding? Do you know how fast they jog? At a full sprint I wouldn't be able to keep up."

"Sorry," he kisses the back of your hand. "How about you take a super soldier with you? They seem to enjoy it."

"You already gave me one of these," you remind him.

"Fair point," he says then he is quiet again and you can almost see his mind working to come up with a solution. "How about this?" He holds out his hand and a small dagger with a black leather handle appears in a flash of green light.

"Yes and from what we can tell so far, you used it exceptionally well," he praises you, making you blush.

"I think I did okay for having no idea what I was doing," you respond.

"Which is why I want to train you on how to use it properly. And I need you to promise that you will always answer me when you are running."

"I can do that," you smile and he smiles in return. "Now I need you to do one thing for me."

"Anything, darling," he promises.

"Can you hold me?" you ask. "I really am very tired."

"Of course," he answers. He carefully climbs onto the bed next to you and you rest your head on his shoulder. He kisses the top of your head and you close your eyes. "I'm so glad you are okay," he says then he waves his hand to turn off the brightest of the over head lights. He pulls the sheet up to cover you better and you snuggle against him as best you can without hurting your side.

You listen to Loki's slow, steady breathing and feel yourself drifting off quickly. His fingers run slowly through your hair and for the first time in your relationship, he whispers, "I love you."

You smile against his shoulder and whisper back, "I love you, too."

The next afternoon Loki leaves the Tower and begins the twenty minute walk south, following the directions he received from J.A.R.V.I.S. He enters the apartment building and climbs the five flights with his fists clenched. Checking the address again, he turns left down the hall, looking around at the peeling paint and worn carpet. He pauses in front of the door at the end of the hall, listening to the raised voices inside.

"Here's your cut," a man with deep voice says. "I know it's not much but that's all I could get for the phone."

"This is bullshit," someone else responds. "All those tourists and we jump the only person who didn't even have a wallet."

A third voice complains, "I still think I should get more than you two idiots. That bitch stabbed me and I'm only gonna get fifty freaking bucks."

Loki's dark green dress shirt and black pants are replaced by his leather armor and gold horned crown in a cloud of green smoke. The man tries to slam the door shut but Loki catches it easily with one hand. Your attacker backs into the apartment and Loki follows slowly.

A smile slowly spreads across Loki's lips, knowing that he is in the right place. He knocks on the door and waits. A tall, thin man opens it, his attention focused on the other men inside still talking. "Shut up," the one at the door says then he turns to Loki and he goes still in an instant.

Once inside, he slams the door shut with a wave of his hand as the other two men get up. "What the fu-" one of them starts to ask but Loki shakes his head and silences him.

"You three hurt someone I care for very deeply, and that simply won't do," he says. The green glow from his magic seeps out from under the door and out into the hallway.

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

@soubi001 @mochie85 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @animnerd @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @lokisgoodgirl @mischief2sarawr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @lulubelle814 @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal @lokidokieokie @kneelingformyloki @jiyascepter @eleniblue @loreniscrying @muddyorbsblr @alyeskathewave @loz-3 @firedrakegirl @javagirl328 @princess-ofthe-pages @morally-grey-variant @soulpiercing @km-ffluv

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 5 months

Text

Down Bad - A Joel Miller Drabble

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: Pre Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 800 Summary: You get ghosted after a one night stand with your handsome neighbor. Warnings: Drinking, smut remembrance, angst. A/N: Happy Tortured Poets Department release day! Thank you to @beskarandblasters for the amazing Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge AGAIN. I previously wrote Paper Rings for it. TBH, I stayed up until 3:30 AM listening to TTPD last night with @ohheypedrito and your girl is STRUGGLING TODAY, but well worth it. What an album.

Masterlist

One night out with your friends, one shared glance, one half smile, one opportunity, one drink bought, one phone number drunkenly tapped into his phone.

One date, one heated make out session in his truck, one moment of being heaven struck, one naked body left alone in your bed as he quietly leaves without a word.

One text telling him you had a good time, one week since you’ve heard from him, countless hours of yearning for your neighbor.

Across the street and two houses to the left, Joel Miller lives. Well manicured lawn, cute daughter who goes door to door selling Girl Scout cookies, large truck parked out the front dinged and well used.

You’ve been down bad for him since you first moved in, a quick introductory hello and wave one early morning as you took your dog for a walk, how could you be so attracted to a total stranger?

That stranger ignoring you from that moment on, leaving you feeling nuts. Sometimes you’d take your dog for a walk when you’d notice him mowing the lawn, sneaking a glance under your sunglasses, watching the sweat make his skin glisten. Teenage crush vibes, teenage petulance coming out because you can’t have him or his attention.

You never see him with another woman there, only his loud, precocious brother Tommy who stops to talk with you whenever you’re outside. You know he likes you, but you’re too drawn to his older brother’s beam to even want to lead him on.

That night shared between the two of you, it almost feels like an evil experiment. He fucked you, fucked you hard, stared into your eyes as he came all over you, devoured your cunt as if he was starving, made you cum so hard it felt like you were floating in a cosmic cloud of sparks, then he left you naked and alone. He owned your body, like it was some sort of hostile takeover.

You’re barely even sure it happened, like if you speak about the existence of that night, everybody will tell you it never happened, that you’re nuts.

Why did he leave you like that? Why did he strand you the way he did? Why can’t you have him? Why cant you have an us?

Doesn’t he know what you would do for his attention? How you feel like you could just die when you think back to that night? You’re pathetic for him, isn’t it romantic?

You replay the words he uttered against your skin as he fucked you. “You feel so fucking good, like you were made for me.”

The taste of your sweat against your lips makes you almost want to cry as you try to run the thoughts of him away on the treadmill at the gym. The last time you sweat like this his cock was stretching you, his hand holding your cheek, his tongue languidly licking into your mouth.

——

After a night of staring at the ceiling, sleep not visiting you, tossing and turning not being able to get the thought of the weight of his body against yours, you decide to sit out on your porch with coffee in hand, staring at the sky as dawn approaches. A door slamming across the street startles you. He’s outside. This is it, you live in the same old familiar town, he can’t escape you, you can’t escape him. You trudge across the street, only clad in your shorts and your old Rangers shirt. You wave at him to get his attention as he finishes lifting his tool box onto his lift gate.

You see him swallow as you stand at the edge of his driveway.

“G’morning,” he nods. “Quite early.”

“It is. Could’t sleep.”

“Happens to me too.”

“Mm,” you tap your foot, arms folded across your chest. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then why are you ignoring me?”

“S’complicated.”

“Try me, it’d make no difference.”

“Alright,” he runs a hand through his hair, “you’re too good. I don’t think it’s smart… for me to be with someone right now. Too much going on, ’n it’s safer if we just leave it at that. It’s better for you.”

“So, you fuck me, whisper all those sweet things in my ear, make me feel like I’m the chosen one, then just leave? How romantic Joel.”

“Never said I was the romantic type.”

“No, you’re just the fuck ‘em and strand ‘em. I guess.”

“Listen,” he looks down at his watch, “I gotta get goin’, got an important job to start. I really would like to talk more, I respect you too much ’n I really like you, I just think it’s better if you find someone else.”

“Right, well, see you around neighbor,” you bite.

Fuck it, you can’t have him.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #taylor swift #ttpd #down bad #the tortured poets department

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lyrakanefanaticwriting · 3 months

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dire favours - a grayson x lyra fic

———————————————————

LYRA:

Lyra was up in the public library working on the last riddle she had received in the game. In the middle of the game, the contestants get 3 days off of the island and back home for a “break”, and Lyra was going to use this opportunity to finally crack the riddle. That was, until, she received a call. Seeing that it was her mom, Lyra smiled, mentally preparing herself to hear about whatever was currently going on in the book her mom was writing, as she held her phone to her ear.

“Hey, mom.” Lyra said, playing with her fingernails. No response. She frowned, before she suddenly heard frantic breathing.

“Lyra? Lyra are you there?” Her mom’s panicked voice said, rushing the words out of her mouth. Lyra froze as all the air whooshed out of her. She could tell by her mother’s tone that something was wrong.

“Mom, what is it?” She pressed, impatience eating at her as she demanded an answer.

“Oh Lyra, you need to come over here. Now.” Her mother said, her voice breaking on the last word. Lyra’s could feel her heart sinking into her stomach.

“Why? What happened?” Lyra demanded. Lyra could hear a muffled sniff on the other end of the line, and knew that her mother was trying to hide the fact that she was crying. For whatever reason, she wasn’t sure yet.

“It’s your father, baby. He had a stroke.”

—————————————

Lyra parked her car in the hospital parking lot, before running inside, her heart thumping in her chest. All around her, she could see blurred figures. She couldn’t tell if it was from the tears, or the overwhelming memory of her biological father’s death. She could picture it all over again, the sheer memory of his voice and the calla lily and candy necklace in her hand making her skin feel like it was closing in on her. Not again, Lyra thought. I can’t lose another dad.

She stormed inside and ran up to the front desk. The woman working behind it glanced up at her with surprise in her eyes. Lyra slammed her hands on the desk, wheezing as she choked out the only few words she could manage to say.

“Keith Kane. Which room is he in?” She asked, gasping as terrified sobs rattled her chest.

“Room 301, darling. Is everything okay?” The woman asked, her voice gentle as she stood up and looked at her with concern in her eyes. Lyra just shook her head as she ran to room 301, and saw her mom waiting outside on one of the chairs. She jumped out of the chair as soon as she saw Lyra, and went to envelope her in a hug.

“Oh honey, I don’t know what happened. Your father was at the gym with one of his friends, when he passed out. His friend said he suddenly fell off the treadmill, and they’re running tests on him right now.” Lyra’s mother said, pulling away from Lyra and placing both hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry Ly, but we’re going to have to sell Mile’s End. I still need some more money, and this is the only way.” Lyra’s eyes widened, as she shook her head.

“No. There has to be another solution,” Lyra said, searching her brain for anything. “We could get a loan! I’ll get a job and pay it off as soon as I’m done with the Game.” Lyra’s mother was shaking her head.

“They’re giving us a week to get the money, and there’s no way we could get a loan in that time, I checked. I’m sorry Lyra, but this is final.” Lyra sucked in a quick breath, more tears starting to cloud her eyes, when the slightest idea hits her brain. It felt completely and utterly wrong to do, but it was the only solution. The only solution where she could keep Mile’s End, and her dad can get the tests he needs done.

“Wait,” Lyra said, putting up a hand as she stepped back from her mother. “Don’t pay yet.” That was all she said before she took off, running into the parking lot and then ripping her car door open. Once she was inside, she pulled out her phone and dialled a number. Call me if you need anything, the voice echoing in her head said. The one person who she told about her dreams. The one person who truly knew how she was doing. The phone rang for a few moments, before the ringing stopped and the call began.

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GRAYSON:

Grayson was walking down the halls of the Hawthorne House, just making his way towards his room as it was half past 9, when he suddenly got a call. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he glanced at the oddly familiar number, before answering.

“Hello?” He said, sending a mental “see?” to Xander, for god knows what reason, since it had quite literally been a year since they had that conversation. There was a sudden sharp inhale, before the voice spoke.

“Grayson.” Familiarity washed over him, as well as a tinge of surprise, as he identified the caller as Lyra. Lyra Catalina Kane. He let himself take in the sound of her voice, for whatever reason, for about a second before answering

“Lyra? What is it?” He asked, confusion clear in his voice. She was silent for a few moments, before she spoke.

“You don’t owe me anything, and there will be no hostility on my end if you do say no,” She said, trailing off as her voice broke. Immediately, Grayson froze as he realized that she had been crying. Questions were ringing through his head, but he shut all of the smaller ones down to ask the most pertinent one.

“What do you need?” Grayson pressed, urging her to speak. He needed to know. For some absurd reason, he suddenly felt like he would say yes to whatever she may ask. He wasn’t sure why. Another pause of silence, before she finally spoke with a quiet voice.

“A favour.”

—————————————

Grayson parked as quickly as he could in front of the diner after breaking an unspeakable amount of road rules, before heading in and scouring the booths for Lyra. He saw her at the 3rd one away from him, and walked towards her. Her eyes were still a bit red, but she looked away from him as he slid into the booth. It was silent for a few moments, before she spoke.

“This diner is surrounded by sketchy alleyways. You sure you wanna park your Ferrari right there, out in the open?” Lyra finally said, the barest smile on her lips. His lips lifted by a hair. Lyra seemed to be ignoring the fact that she had been crying, and Grayson was fine to play along. But still, concern tugged at his insides. Grayson noticed a tear that Lyra clearly hadn’t seen on the side of her face, and felt a sudden urge to lean across the booth and wipe it off with his thumb. He swallowed, looking away and at his car in the window instead of Lyra.

“I think I’ll manage.” He said, the words this is more important anyway dying on his tongue as he quickly changed his train of thought, and put his hand into his pocket, taking out a stack of cash. Lyra’s eyebrows raised at the sight of it, and her lips parted, as if she couldn’t believe he followed through with the favour. As if she wasn’t used to seeing that much money.

“You needed 2200? It’s all there.” He said, handing the wad of cash to her. Lyra took it from him, glancing at the money, and then him.

“T-Thank you.” Lyra said, her eyes darting back at him, and the stack in shock. She then squeezed her eyes shut and finally closed her jaw, before opening her eyes and bringing them back to his. “I promise you, I will pay you every cent back, whether I win the Game or not. This will all be returned.” She said, holding up the stack. Grayson raised a brow at her.

“It won’t, because I don’t expect it to be. You need this money Lyra, and I have this, and more, in spades. It doesnt have to be paid back, and if you try to, I won’t take it.” He said, meeting her gaze as their eyes locked. He took in the sight of her —her teeth biting her lip, her furrowed brows, her thoughtful yet fiery eyes— before continuing. “Oh, and if we’re on the subject on making promises, I promise you Lyra, I don’t need this money back.” His voice was intense when he finished, and Lyra squeezed her eyes shut. She stayed like that for a few minutes, almost trapped in a trance, before opening them and nodding. She suddenly smiled.

“Well, then I guess I owe you a favour. What do you want?” She asked him, leaning forward. Grayson felt suddenly trapped inside her eyes, and wasn’t sure what to say. There were favours ringing through his head, ones she would never be able to complete, like silencing Emily’s horrible voice, and stopping Tobias’ cruel expectations from weighing down on him everyday —but suddenly he felt a different answer forming. For some reason, it felt even more impossible. Even more out of this world.

“I want..” Grayson said, trailing off. His head seemed to show a million different images, but one stood out the most, and when the others voices quickly faded, this one spoke louder. He imagined Lyra’s hand squeezing his, Lyra’s voice coaxing him to sleep, Lyra, and knew there was something wrong with him. He shut them all down with a quick exhale and spoke, so as to not raise suspicion from her. “A unicorn that will fly me from city to city, country to country, and one that will somehow deal with Rohan for me, so I don’t always have a head ache forming.” Grayson sighed as he finished and Lyra snorted, her lips pulling into a true smile.

“I will try to find one for you.” She said, tilting her head at him. She exhaled slowly and was about to speak, when a waitress came around by our table.

“Sorry folks, but you’re going to have to order at the front if you wanna stay. This diner has a strict no loitering policy. I can take your order now though?” The waitress said, clearly too tired and fed up with other customers to have the slightest happy tone. Lyra glanced at Grayson, before speaking.

“Do you want anything, Grayson?” She asked him. Grayson turned to the waitress.

“A black coffee, please.” Lyra and the waitress both made a face, as if wondering who on this earth actually enjoys black coffee, and the waitress scribbled the order down quickly before turning to Lyra.

“And you?” She said to her in deadpan.

“A latte with 2 splashes of milk and 3 sugars, please. And could you make those two to go?” The waitress nodded, where as Grayson made a face back at her. A latte, he thought, with 2 splashes of milk and 3 whole sugars? The waitress scribbled Lyra’s order down on her notepad before walking off, and Grayson couldn’t help but give her a bewildered look.

“That’s what you’re ordering? You are aware that ordering a latte means feeling energetic for 10 minutes at the most, right?” Grayson asked her, raising a brow. Lyra narrowed her eyes at him.

“You have no right to be making fun of my order. A black coffee? What, you enjoy ordering coffees as dark as your soul?” Lyra retorted. The ends of Graysons lips lifted without them meaning to, and he flitted his gaze upwards.

“Yours is tragically worse.” He said, bringing his gaze back to hers. Lyra rolled her eyes at him, before reaching into her pocket and taking out her wallet. Grayson stops smiling to peer at it.

“What do you need that for?” He asked her. She looked up at him, as if confused, and glanced from the front diner and back at him.

“The… coffees?” She said, raising a brow. And then it hit her. She opened her mouth suddenly, and the confused look in her eyes from earlier became accusing.

“What, did you think you were going to have to pay? After basically providing almost all the money we need for the tests my dad needs done?” She asked me, taking out a 20 dollar bill. “Hell no.” Grayson frowned at her, knowing fighting her on it was useless, and saw the waitress coming up towards their table.

“Here are your coffees,” She said, unenthusiastically. Then, she took out a card reader. “Your total is 5.48. Cash or card?”

“Cash.” Lyra said, handing her the 20 dollar bill. The waitress took it, before looking down at Lyra.

“Do you want your change?” She asked her. Lyra shook her head and the waitress’s eyebrows raised, before she smiled for the first time in all their interactions and walked away. Lyra huffed and got up, taking a sip from her “coffee”. The two of them walked outside in silence, and Grayson was going to head towards his car, before Lyra turned to him.

“I just… wanted to thank you.” She said, trailing off for a moment before bringing her eyes to his. “It means the world to me that I’m able to help my dad and keep Mile’s End, and I just-“ Her voice got caught in her throat for a moment, before she cleared it, exhaling slowly. “I’m so thankful that you helped me. I really am, Gray.” She finished quietly, as tears started clouding her eyes. Graysons heart froze as he tried his best to remove all surprise from his face. She called me Gray, he thought, his heart pounding in his chest. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it, but he pulled her into a hug. He held the back of her head with his hand as her forehead rested on his shoulder, and his other arm was wrapped around her back. He could feel her warmth through the sweater she was wearing, and after a few seconds, Lyra wrapped her arms around his lower back. The feeling of being safe, at peace, free, were some that Grayson hadn’t experienced in a while. And with them pressed against each other, he could feel their hearts, marching the same, twin beats.

——————————————————————————

OKAY I HAD ANOTHER ENDING TO THIS BUT THIS FIC IS ALREADY LONG ENOUGH SO I JUST FINISHED IT OFF QUICKLY 😭😭

and yes i know i have fanfic requests in my drafts, but ever since the sneak peaks were released, i’ve only been wanting to write lyra x grayson stuff. im rlly sorry, im sure i’ll get out of this phase soon 😭🙏

#lyra x grayson #grayson hawthorne #lyra catalina kane #lyra kane #the grandest game fic #the grandest game vault #the grandest game #the inheritance games #the brothers hawthorne #nash hawthorne #avery kylie grambs #jameson hawthorne #xander hawthorne #libby grambs #maxine liu

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caelidra · 9 months

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I heard they're gonna sell Tumblr on Facebook Marketplace. I heard they're gonna bundle it with a treadmill and a chair with a broken leg(still usable)

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cevans-is-classic · 2 months

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18+ Only, please. Sexual content, oral sex, unprotected sex (wrap it, baby) language, violent content mentioned.

Wanna check out my Masterlists?

Masterpost

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

“Should you be reading that in public?” It’s a testament to the last few years of your life that you didn’t jump when a voice whispered in your ear.

“Why are you here?” The park is closed at night, well it’s supposed to be.

How did he know you were here?

Max sidled next to you on the bench, his teeth flashing in the light from your tablet. “You’re very predictable. You get off work, go home, shower, feed Hunter and Angel then take them for a walk. The only place you like to go is here, anyway.”

“That is creepier than I thought it would be. You could have said you tracked my location or something.”

The vampire shrugged, “Answer my question, Baby.”

You stared down at the tablet, tapping your fingers against the side. The low light of the screen reflected off your glasses. You could see them stretch out of the corner of your eye. Instead of answering you lock the tablet, stick your tongue out at him, and stand up.

“Hunter! Angel! Let go.” Max moved behind the bench when two barks came from the dark. He backs up more when they move into the light, Hunter bounding at full speed while Angel lingers behind him.

Hunter stops at your legs, looking up once, tongue lolling out before snapping his stare to Max and showing his teeth. When Angel joins in, he doesn’t sneer just rests his snout along your leg.

“Monsters.��

Hunter growls.

“Takes one to know one.” Kneeling to clip their leashes on makes your knee twinge, toppling you to the side. Angel’s weight keeps you up. Four years ago you could halfway do floor squats.

Now your knee turns to Rice Krispies when you wake up.

You blame Max.

He reaches out to help you up, Angel and Hunter snarling until you grab his hand and let him pull you up. The blood rush to your leg has you stumbling before finding your footing.

When the boys are walking ahead of you, Angel looks back now and again to watch Max. He’s never liked the Vampire and simply accepts he’s around — as long as he doesn’t touch him.

Could you train Max?

Ask him to do something and when he does; reward him. Carry around little hard candies with blood inside or raw meat bites or whatever. If you’re lucky, he’d start listening to you. It might work. There is always hope.

“I was bored.”

You take a deep breath, holding it in your lungs until they burn and you let it out, “Again. What do you want?”

Max touches your arm, moving closer to you and sliding his arm over your shoulders. It confuses you; that he’s warm.

“Okay, I was hoping you could do something for me.” There it is.

“Max-”

“You can bring the hounds. They asked me to check out a new business setup. They’ve been selling for a good few years, but their profits won’t come up even. They recommended me, really.”

He sways his head and flips his hand back and forth. “Give them a push.”

“With a bonus!” He flashes a grin, fangs down. Your breath hitches, catching in your throat until Max turns his head.

He keeps saying, “It’ll be a three-week trip and I need someone to assist me. I’ve already cleared the beasts’ approval and procured the tickets. Don’t worry I’ve let Allen and Dwight know you’ll be with me and I’ve requested a tailor so we can fit you for meetings. You’re designated as my daytime confidant.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Oh, and a new strap-on that I think you’ll find to your liking.”

He’s using his professional voice. The voice that wins CEOs over and can convince anyone to do anything. You’ve heard that voice, the tone, being used to sweet-talk middle-aged men into buying pills for hair loss; swaying desperate suburban moms to buy a ‘brand new’ treadmill.

“Max.” it comes out calmer than you expected.

“Yes?”

“When you said you wanted to ask me something you meant you’re going to tell me I’m booked for a trip, I never agreed to. A work trip I am not even qualified to be on? I’m not even in the same department, Max. Why? Why!? Jeremy is who you should have taken you fucking dead asshole.” Your anger boils. “I can’t go with you. I just can’t! You do this every single time. I have a life too, you know? I have friends to see, places to go, and things to do. I have the boys! Traveling gives them anxiety, for fuck’s sake.”

Max raised a brow and then leaned to look at the dogs. They were both sitting, watching the two of you.

“Hellhound One and Two?”

Your nose twitches. “Yes. Hunter and Angel. My dogs.”

“I think they’ll be fine. I got us first class and you have those amazing traveling cages, which means they travel, Sweetheart. Also not to be this guy, but when is the last time you’ve done anything with anyone that’s not me or Kujo squared?”

His brow twitches, mouth pressing into a smirk. The slow curl of heat in your stomach angers you more.

“Also, you are qualified. You’re A head in marketing. We need to know how to turn a profit and better marketing is the place to start.”

You rolled your eyes. “Dwight is the head of marketing you dumbass. I’m under him.”

“Which is why I told him I’ll be taking you. No excuse will keep you from getting on that plane. I would hate to not use the dildo I got for us. It’s your favorite color and trust me, it fits.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, you do.”

You ignore him the rest of the way to your apartment, keeping his arm from brushing yours and ignoring remarks he made.

That’s something you’re surprisingly good at.

Ignoring Max.

Now, if you could only say fucking no.

The boys aren’t tiny lap dogs.

Hunter’s a big beautiful Great Dane who you found digging through the trash outside.

Max hated him.

He groaned and complained when Hunter started nipping at his feet and growling anytime he touched you. When he’d grown bigger, he started kicking Max out of the bed, resorting to the vampire either leaving or sleeping on the couch.

Max slept on the couch.

Baby Angel is a big and fluffy Leonberger.

He found his way into your life by chasing Hunter down the street as a puppy. You’d been walking him, giving him training commands when a mid-sized puppy came at them. He’d yipped at you, little bits that squeaked. He was skinny, shaking where he stood. When Hunter barked, the little guy dropped his head. Like that, you were in love.

Max hated him even more

Not that you blame him.

He had you pinned against the wall, his tongue in your ear and fingers sliding in, and out, curling at them. Right. Angle. When Angel woke up, nudging through the door to see the vampire.

You’re sure it was when he bit your neck, making you cry out and baby Angel took offense.

He’d learned fast not to fuck with him.

The point, you chastised yourself, is that traveling with two large dogs isn’t easy.

Two big dogs that believe their puppies still and don’t understand they can’t run into a hotel room and knock everything over.

When the lamp crashed into the wall, knocking papers off the side table and tipping over chairs, Max closed himself in the bathroom.

“I told you! We needed to take them for a walk before we did anything else. They flew for four hours. They need to roam.”

“Then roam!” He shouts back.

You snort. “You’re the one who forced me to come.”

They pulled at their leads until you got them into the hallway — struggling to wrangle them down the stairs. The hotel Max booked is nicer than you expected, which you should have expected, actually.

He got the two of you a suite, large enough to fit the cages and to pace around when you’re taking a phone call he should handle. Seeing a small park a few blocks away was impressive.

You’ll give him that.

Damn bastard put in all the effort to get you to come—the asshole.

Fuck.

You want to kiss him, knock your teeth together until he grabs your hips and pulls you in. He’s strong, with a steady, hard body to hold you. If you stumble, He’ll catch you.

You find the park easily enough. A chest-height fence wraps around to make a large square around a patch of trees. The gate swings open, knocking into a pole.

Oh.

You remembered to grab the little baggies as you let the boys loose.

There are traits about Max that are okay.

He was funny, for starters. Sometimes his jokes go over the edge and you can’t tell if he’s being serious or not, but damn he makes people laugh. His smile was addicting, wide, curling his cheeks, and an actual twinkle in his eye.

Oddly enough, he’s there.

If you need something, call Max and he’ll get it. When someone broke into your last apartment, he’d gotten there quicker than the police. When they found him dead on your doorstep, Max handled everything.

He’s a good guy under all the bullshit.

Of course, he carries a travelogue of terrible traits. He’s abrasive and inappropriate. He doesn’t understand that just because he can do it doesn’t mean he SHOULD do it.

Max has a nasty habit of using the key you gave him for emergencies to walk into your apartment at any time of the night.

You can’t do anything without him feeling left out.

Finding out he’s a vampire was a fucking night.

A long one.

You should have found another job after that night.

That poor delivery man. The man didn’t leave after his assistant signed. Instead, he wanted to hand deliver it himself. That one mistake killed him and shed light that you need several rounds of therapy.

He’d still be alive and you would have never known what it’s like to watch a man die if he’d just left.

Also, maybe you need to address that Max was holding the man by his neck, eyes flashing up to look at you before dropping the body to the ground. The agonal breathing made you feel sick. You kept from falling to your knees to help.

Max kept looking at you.

His eyes were dark. Teeth sharp. Blood smeared around his mouth, dripping to his throat.

“This is why I smoke after work.” You wave at him, little wiggles of your fingers, and Max’s face transformed.

With a man dying beside you, he held his hand out, “Wanna share?”

You blame corporate America on that one. Working at a desk, taping away on a computer to push numbers you don’t care about, and making items that don’t matter seem less useless.

A scream makes your head snap to the left. Streetlights stretch over the empty road. Two large hotels nestle along the same street as yours, small sections of trees separating them.

Tucked into the farthest corner is the dog park.

Damn near pitch black.

Another scream.

Hunter almost knocks you over when he comes running, your knee catching the bench. Pain blossomed from the impact, a lightning bolt right through your kneecap.

“Hey boy " Angel comes to your other side, alert, back tense.

You attach their leads, tugging at their harnesses. “Let’s get back to the hotel.” One pull and they walk with you, Angel stuck to your side while Hunter walks a little ahead. Both of them with their bodies tensed, ready for anything. Icy shivers race down your spine.

Was that fucking Max?

It would be worse if it’s not Max.

It doesn’t matter.

You’re in an unfamiliar place, but you have your boys and when you reach the hotel, you have an annoying vampire there.

Another scream, sounding further away. Your shoulders loosen, steps speeding up.

Okay, see, it is nothing for you to handle.

Max was at the door when you reached the hotel, holding two dog treats for you and looking over your shoulder. He’s in casual clothes, lounge pants, and a loose shirt. It’s the opposite of the suits you see him in every night.

You smile.

“I heard a scream. Didn’t hear the calls of hell, so I figured it wasn’t you.” He holds the door open.

“You wonder why they don’t like you.”

Max snorts, “Animals don’t like the undead.”

“No, Max, animals don’t like you.” You stood off to the side to let him unlock the door. The boys waited in the middle of the room.

“Hunter.” You held the treat up, “Treat.” He jumps for it, snatching it from your hand and swallowing it whole.

You lift the other one, “Angel.” His back end lifts off the ground, dropping back down and up. “Treat.” He bounds to you, catching the treat when you throw it

“I don’t care what you say.” Max touches your side, dancing along the hem of your shirt and resting his chin on your shoulder. “Those two are demon breeds.”

“Send them to another room, Sweetheart. I want to do something they shouldn’t watch.”

He’s kissing you before you can retort. He trails a line up to your jaw, gliding his hand up your body to lift your chin. Max pouts, pushing his lips out.

Your eyes drop to them, then back up to his. A finger taps against your lips, and you open them, closing your eyes when they’re pressed against your tongue.

You sway when he drops his fingers, dragging them down your chin and wiping them off using your shirt.

“Hunter. Angel,” They look up at you, “Bedtime.” They leave the room, walking to the attached bedroom.

Max huffs, then rips them off.

Max spins you, walking you backward until you’re dropped into a chair.

It sinks, sucking you in.

He smiles, sharp fangs dipping into his lip. He lowers to his knees, reaching for your shorts and tugging at them. You lift your hips, helping him push them down your thighs, the under getting twisted.

“Dude!”

“You have plenty. Come here” The chair goes with you when he grabs under your knees and yanks. He stops it, using his elbow to knock your leg and help it over his shoulder.

Max stops and rolls his eyes up to look at you. His nose brushes your pubic hair, mouth open, exhaling dry air. It warms you, burns you up, the heat making you throb.

“Max.” It’s not a whine.

“Say it, again, Baby.”

“Max.” Okay, you whined then.

His tongue licks you open, flicking against your clit. You shimmy, wiggle to pull away but he keeps you still. One hand around one thigh, nails leaving crescent marks, the other grabbing your ass, holding you slick against his mouth.

His tongue prodding makes you gasp and jerk, the pain in your leg sparking fire up your spine. Your thighs tingle, tightening when he licks further down, along the crack of your ass, and backup. He nips at your clit, using his teeth to tug it; feeling sharp points choke out a high-pitched noise.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He lets go of your ass, shifting to give room for his fingers to slide into you. A swift slide, two fingers spreading apart. He licks between them, delving deeper and deeper than his fingers plunge in and out. The fire burning you from the inside out stretches across your collar, and down your sternum, A high-pitched noise rings in your ears.

“Max,” You roll your hips, “Max.” He goes faster, curves his fingers, circling his tongue on your clit, letting your hips drag you over it. Faster, closer. You twist his hair between your fingers, holding him down but making him move.

He moans, stops moving to let you fuck down onto his fingers, and slides over his tongue. It vibrates, and you feel it to your core, nails digging into his scalp and tugging.

“Fuck. God. Yes, yes,. Fuck.” Molten lava pours over your skin, lighting every nerve on fire, your vision fuzzy. His tongue stays against you, lapping up your orgasm making you twitch and whine.

When he stops your legs shake, trembling hard enough that Max grabs both your thighs and rubs at the muscle, “That was fucking delicious. Between Blood and your come, I can live fucking forever on fine dining.”

“Dude.” You huff out a laugh.

Max moves, collecting you in his arms and scooping you up.

He’s all yours.

“I wanna show you something.” Your head rolls on his shoulder. He has scratch marks on his neck and red pressure marks on his cheeks.

They’ll be gone before morning. Right now, though? He’s all marked up.

“Is it your dick?”

He laughs, “Clever.”

He parts two curtains and opens a door.

“It’s a balcony!” You’re shaky when he lets you down tremors, making it hard to stand. You grab onto the railing, gripping tight. Max steps up behind you, holding you closer, sliding his hands up your shirt, and over your chest until your shirt is over your head.

The stars are dim, light pollution clouding the sky, but they’re still there.

Shining.

It’s dark enough that you can’t make out the side of the building you’re facing.

Max’s cock nudges against your ass. You moan. Leaning against the railing, Max pulls your hips out and hums as he reaches down and slides your slick around. His fingers slide inside, once, twice before back to your bottom. He uses one hand to spread your cheeks and the other to brush over your hole.

A shiver snakes down your spine.

“Later,” He dips his thumb in. It’s small, hardly any pressure, but it’s enough to have you whining, pushing back for more. His thumb slides in further before he pulls it out. “Later, you’re going to fuck me over the couch. Now? Let me hear you.”

You get a warning of his fingers tightening on your hips before his cock nudges inside of you.

He pulls.

A sharp cry follows the snap of his hips.

It echoes, a trembling thing.

It makes you think of the scream earlier. Was it from something else? Was someone else being fucked over a railing?

The burning feeling of a cock fucking impaling them? Do they also have a hand holding them up while the other crawls up their back to slide into their hair?

“Please.” You can feel your knees giving it. Your feet slide every time he drives forward. Your stomach scrapes the railing, digging into your skin, and you can feel the rough metal scratching you.

“I could bite you,” Max says steadily. Not even faking being out of breath, “That’s what you want, right? Why you keep coming back to you?” He slows down enough to knock your feet out of the way, making you collapse in his arms. Then he speeds up, using your hips to pull you out further. Your fingers are tight around the railing, scrabbling for a surface to hold on to.

“Say it.”

“Max.”

He growls and pulls once more. Your fingers pull away with burning scrapes. It brings tears to your eyes, but Max lifts. Pulls you off the ground. The move makes you dizzy, his arm wrapped tight around your chest while the other holds you up. Your feet barely touch the ground when you’re being pulled again. The screen door shakes when he pushes you against it.

“Say it.” His pace is brutal. Every snap knocks you into the glass, pressing your face closer until sweat slides you across the surface. Max tilts your hips at an angle, buries his face in your neck, and slams you back onto his cock.

“Max.” Your voice slurs. You’re not sure you can remember words. All you can think about is the pain in your stomach. How your hands throb, curling them into fists. The tight coils in your groin burn.

It’s not the same molten lava.

No. This is electric. This feels like lightning under your skin. Your nipple catches on the glass. It’s a prickling feeling, trickling down your chest to boil in your core.

“Come on, Baby,” He nips your ear, “I can fucking feel you. Say it.”

The pressure builds.

“Fuck.” You reach back, grab his hair, and yank his head back. “Fucking bite me.” His fangs flash before they’re buried into your shoulder, Max’s hips thrusting hard enough to make the whole door shake.

Once, he bites harder. Twice, he grabs at your chest, Three times, he lets go crying out, a loud growling thing that comes from his chest. Your breath is gone, torn from your lungs, your limbs heavy, and your mind a fuzzy mess.

He catches you as you go pliant, holding you to him as he eases you both to the ground.

“No matter how many times you do that,” He hums, his cock sliding free when you turn around to climb onto his lap. You kiss him, licking your blood from his mouth, tasting the copper between his teeth. Your tongue catches on a fang, “It makes me not hate you.”

“Hmm,” He nips your tongue, “That’s the point.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfic #max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #blood sucking basatards

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taurtistwo · 7 days

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Ranking YHS main characters on scale of 1 - 10 based on how I'd think they'd be as a gym buddy Taurtis - 10/10 would help you with workouts, hype you up, and maybe join you on a couple

Grian - 5/10 He wouldn't join but he'd give you instructions though all of them comes with back handed complements on what you're doing wrong Sam - 2/10 he'd sit in the corner calling you slurs and insults maybe dump a water bottle over your head

Coolment - 7/10 would hype you up but would also try to sell you protein powder and pre-workout Owl - 8/10 she'd be there for moral support and would make sure you actually drink water and at least try to stop you from over working yourself but wouldn't actually join the workouts she would probs just run on the treadmill

#yhs #samgladiator yhs #yandere high school #yhs sam #yhs reboot #coolment yhs #yhs coolment #yhs taurtis #yhs grian #yhs owlphases

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ussgallifrey · 2 years

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Home for the Holidays | Part 1

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

✦ Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Anxiety, fake dating, hurt/comfort, light mentions of divorce, minor angst.

✦ Word Count: 7.5k

✦ Author's Note: Who are we blaming for this mess? Say it with me: @top-hhun ! The true enabler of all things Jake Seresin. I owe it all to you, love <3

[Master List]

The gym was nearly deserted this time of day. The USS Abraham Lincoln was a mere 48 hours away from port and the crew was anxiously anticipating their first bit of proper leave in over nine months. Your air carrier wing, however, was due to leave in the morning.

You should be packing your things and cleaning up the mess in your locker. But you felt the need to blow off some steam first. And somehow, he always knew when and where to find you.

Even with your earbuds in, you can sense his presence just before he makes himself fully known to you - hovering back by the treadmills. You let him sweat it out, finishing the final few steps of your post-workout cool down on the floor mat, your gym playlist coming to a perfect conclusion.

If he was going to seek you out during your off time, then he would have to wait.

Wiping the sweat from your brow as you stand back up, muscles aching with a pleasant burn, you pull your earbuds out one at a time before turning to face your companion. Hangman is leaning casually against the side of the squat rack now, watching you with that ever-present smirk on his face.

“So,” he drawls in that familiar accent of his, “We doing this?”

You let your eyes trail over his features for a moment, chest still heaving from the afterburn of your workout. How dare he look so put together in his flight suit while in the presence of your sweat-soaked gym clothes.

“What? Just drop trow and do it on the floor?”

You make a grab for your water bottle, taking a refreshingly cool swig before wiping your mouth dry. He doesn’t even have the decency to look fazed by the question.

“At least let me lay down a towel first since I’m not being afforded the luxury of getting dragged back to your berth like one of your other lady friends.”

His eyes narrow and his smirk grows.

Some people had ship wives when they were deployed. Jake Seresin had you.

That wonderfully strange mix of teasing flirtation and sworn rivalry that you somehow balanced between the two of you.

“Don’t tempt a man,” he grins wolfishly, uncrossing his arms and taking a step forward to meet you halfway. “Just say the word, Pita. And your dreams could just become reality.”

You scoff, sidestepping him, “What, the less-than-stellar sex or this convoluted plan you came up with?”

“We - ” he quickly reiterates, waving an accusing finger between you both, “The convoluted plan that we mutually came up with, thank you. Gotta share the credit.”

There was this thing the two of you started doing, way back in the day. The savior swoop, you think he coined it.

The whole thing started with a lovely hole-in-the-wall bar in Sydney during a week-long leave. You had been happily content minding your own business with the three other women from your squadron - Rocky, Juggs, and Barb- when in came an overly smiley Hangman, who had quickly wrapped an arm around your waist and muttered, behind clenched teeth.

“You’re my girlfriend. You’re my girlfriend and I will give you all the money out of my wallet if you sell this for me.”

You had stared at him for a long moment, followed by an affronted, “Yes, hello, Pita. Nice to see you too - ”

That was when he roughly pinched your side. A young woman appeared just a moment later with a lipstick-coated smile that seemed to fall the moment she spotted you. Realization dawned and you pulled the best obnoxious girlfriend ruse you could with six shots of vodka in your system.

At the time, it had never really crossed your mind as to why he approached you out of everyone else. Eventually, you just wrote it off as the fact that you were far more familiar with the man since you had been flying together the longest. That and you knew for a fact that any one of them would have left Hangman out to dry.

It was a thing then. A very non-recurring, once-in-a-blue-moon sort of thing.

Hangman became your cover boyfriend when a pushy marine wouldn’t seem to take a hint. You filled in when two civilians, eager to hook up with a uniformed airhead, kept him from his pool game. It was just a mutually beneficial back-and-forth for the two of you.

No feelings required. Just the occasional dropping of a honey or babe when it was necessary to sell the point, much to the amusement of your fellow aviators who loved to egg it on even more.

This little plan, however, was taking the fucking cake.

You can’t even remember who got started talking about the upcoming homecoming and eventual leave.

The Vigilantes must have pleased the big names over in the admiralty because your air carrier wing had secured ten days of leave right over the Christmas holiday. It was virtually unheard of. But your squadron had just returned from a lengthy tour and you knew at least one or two new chest candies would be heading your way soon.

But there you were with Hangman, shooting the shit in the officer’s rec room with a few other guys from the squad. Freeze was going to propose to his girl finally, Sparky had his whole family coming up from Arizona, and Cosmo was planning some big soul-searching trip to Mount Rainier.

Maybe someone had asked if Seresin was taking his girlfriend back home to visit his family - followed by several good-natured laughs. Maybe it was the obnoxious aviator himself who suggested it with a flash of clear amusement in his eyes.

Either way, here the two of you were, a day shy of flying back to Lemoore, with this massively stupid plan waiting in the wings.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s our stupid plan. An unnecessary plan, I may add. You could just tell your family that you’re not - ”

“Too late now. I told my mom you were coming - you know, when we agreed to it a week ago,” he mimics your annoyance with a great big grin.

You stare down the corridor, wondering if you could just make a run for it and avoid the conversation - and the plan - entirely.

There was a fundamental difference between doing the act to throw off an inebriated barfly and another thing entirely to fly across the country to play house for one of your families for the day.

Hangman crowds your space, staring you down with a knowing look in his bright sage green eyes. Fixing your own stare in return, you stand your ground - lips tight and eyes narrowed.

“You could literally just tell her we’re friends. Only friends.”

He laughs, outright laughs in your face then.

“And miss out on the fun? Where’s your sense of adventure, honey?” he smiles for a moment before finally relenting.

His features soften, taking a quick cursory glance around to seemingly insure your current privacy from the rest of the crew.

“Look, you’d be doing me an honest-to-God favor if you came along.”

You knew that. Hell, you had a whole conversation about it six nights ago actually. You knew Hangman’s family was a mess from the day you and him had crossed paths on the flight deck for the first time. It was just written into his very being.

“Yeah, yeah. Classic savior swoop. Pull at my heartstrings some more while you’re at it, Seresin.”

His features light up as he places a stick of gum between his lips, giving a signature smirk, “You’re gonna make a hell of an impression, Pita. I’ll give you that.”

You pat his shoulder playfully, “Thank me after I get your mother permanently off your back.”

“Will do,” he says with a sort of yes ma’am tone as he watches you walk back to officer’s country before your next debrief.

The journey back to Lemoore had been blessedly smooth flying. The raucous crowd spilled past the barrier the minute the first aviator stepped down onto the tarmac. Families and loved ones flung themselves onto their long-lost loves. Wives and girlfriends with single-stem roses, newborn babies, and weepy toddlers holding signs and tiny flags. It was a familiar, happy sight.

You watch from afar, zipping your helmet back into its carrier, and shouldering your duffle bag.

There was no point in having your family fly out just to meet you here. They were going to see you in three days anyway. Might as well save everyone on the crazy airfare for a change.

A sudden scream pulls your attention to the aviator on bended-knee, with a sobbing brunette now throwing herself into his arms.

“He almost lost the ring before we left.”

You eye Hangman as he sidles in next to you, running a hand through his helmet hair. He’s got a fond smile on his face as he watches the newly engaged couple - Freeze is walking his girl back to the hangar and she’s wrapped herself around his waist like a sloth.

“Seriously? Should start calling him Frodo,” you muse, hefting your bag higher on your shoulder.

“Think Smeagol would be more appropriate.”

You know that he can see you openly mouthing the word Nerd with an air of fake judgment. He just gives a silent head shake of a laugh and double-checks the zipper on his own helmet bag.

The two of you watch as the immediate rush of people seems to ease back, clearing the tarmac.

“So…” he grins, “We still doing this?”

Turning to get a good look at him, you take in the very teasing expression on his face. Though his eyes are too squinted from the overhead sun to get a real good take on his exact inner workings.

“Well, as fun as it would be to leave you hanging for a change - ”

He chuckles, taking a step back to grab his own duffle bag from the ground, “Admit it, Pita. You’d start to feel bad for me. With that aching heart of yours and all.”

“Hah!” you tilt your head back with a bark of laughter, “Oh, Hangman. You have no idea just how steel-coated this heart is. I would delight in seeing you hung out to dry. However, I make it a habit to hold true to my promises.”

“Good,” he nods with a surprising sureness. Plucking his signature box of toothpicks out of his pocket, twiddling with a single pick for a moment, he adds, “Because I would have hated having to chase you down and drag you back to Texas on my own.”

“Mmm, in your alpha male dreams, Hangman.”

You part ways in the parking lot with plans to catch up in three hours. It would, theoretically, be enough time to unpack the essentials, clean yourselves up, and pack a carry-on for the flight.

The on-base house has remained the same as when you left it six months prior, albeit a thin layer of dust covers parts of the room that you swear you’ll get around to cleaning before you fly back out. After your gloriously long, hot, uninterrupted shower, you manage to throw together a reasonable bag in no time flat. Rolling shirts and pants up with expert ease.

And then there’s a knock on your door, one minute before your set meet time. It makes you wonder how long Hangman was waiting around, trying to time it just right, before he came up onto the front porch.

You unceremoniously toss your bag into his arms as a way of greeting, locking the door behind you as he laughs.

“Hello to you too, darlin’.”

“Coffee,” you say by way of explanation, pushing by him. “I need coffee and food if you want to keep me from ripping your head off before we board.”

He gives a sharp nod, following after you to the waiting Chevy pickup in your driveway, “Can do. Gotta keep my girl happy.”

“Oh god,” you groan, turning to look back at him as you pull open the passenger’s door, one foot on the running board. “Are we starting that now?”

His eyes flicker with amusement as he carefully shoves your bag in behind your seat, holding the side handle as he peers up at you.

“Well, you know what they say - ” he flips the toothpick in his mouth around with the roll of his tongue, lips tugged into a smug grin around it, “Practice makes perfect.”

You blank, staring down into the all-too-confident eyes of your wingman.

“And I can still catch another flight,“ you retort with an equally Cheshire-like grin.

His smile falls in an instant, “Right, coffee for the missus.”

The howl of laughter you give is worth it as he seemingly scrambles to shut your door for you, jogging around the front of the truck, before hopping into the driver’s seat.

“I’m not a cheap date either, Seresin,” you warn, clicking your seatbelt into place. “None of that gas station stuff. I just spent months with mediocre instant brews and I deserve something to keep me awake and smiling for this little ruse.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles good-naturedly as he places his hand on the back of your seat, peering over his shoulder as he backs the truck out of the driveway.

The awkwardness hits the minute he pulls out onto the main road, just past the east entrance gate. As though the barbed-wire fence offered a semblance of safety when you were still behind the traffic barrier. But now the cloak was pulled free and you were both fully aware of the situation you were in.

You had spent the better part of a year and a half with this man, both on and off a carrier. You knew his breakfast preferences and his anal retentiveness when it came to the upkeep of both his flight gear and his hair. His argument-worthy movie choices and his pre-flight rituals. It was just a normal part of co-existing on a carrier in the middle of the ocean, you suppose.

And yet, here you were - for seemingly the first time ever - with just him in an enclosed proxy. There was no Freeze or Sparky there to break the tension with an off-the-cuff joke. No Freud to poke fun at the tension itself - should we give you two lovebirds space or do we get a free show?

No, it was just you and Hangman, in his truck, with the genuine realization that you were actually doing this hovering in your quickly sobering thoughts.

Maybe ideas had after doing a twelve-hour, start-to-finish, mission weren’t actually the best things to be acted upon.

There’s the soft hum of a splotchy country radio station that keeps coming in and out of range to fill that voided space between you. A twangy Christmas cover croons over the speakers as you stare out at the open desert landscape that surrounds the empty stretch of road.

You want to say something, anything really to break that strange note of silence.

But for once in your long career of being a give ‘em as good as they get kind of officer, you find the words surprisingly dried up on your tongue. And that doesn’t particularly bode well for the two of you if you have to spend the next forty-two hours together.

Hangman, for all intents and purposes, appears entirely unfazed by the arrangement. As he reclines back in his seat with one hand on the wheel and the other draped against the closed window, catching a bit of direct sunlight.

The only true difference, besides the civvies, is the tightened line of his lips. And his usually slicked-back helmet hair is surprisingly… fluffy, for lack of a better descriptor. You wonder if, like yourself, he only used product when it came to being in uniform or if he just didn’t have the time for it in the mad rush to get to the airport at a reasonable time.

“See somethin’ you like?”

The quip is a loud, sudden intrusion into your silent introspective. He glances over at you with a teasing smirk already in place.

You huff in abhorrence, eyes flicking back to the road in front of you - refusing to fall into an obvious trap like that.

“Remind me why I agreed to this again?” you ask instead.

He switches hands, gripping the steering wheel with his left as his right comes to rest on his inner thigh. He rubs at the denim for a moment as he seems to contemplate his answer.

“I think it might have something to do with my next month’s worth of bonuses being up for grabs.”

The smile on your face dims for a second.

You weren’t particularly interested in prying Hangman’s money from him. If it had been anyone else in the squadron, you would have found yourself in a similar situation - you were sure of it. It’s just the fact that the two of you had the practice in hand for this one strange stunt.

But you would have done the same for Sparky, Cosmo, or Freud in an instant. It wasn’t about the money, it wasn’t that kind of favor. He knew that, right?

Turning it around, you kiddingly press on, “And the free flight, free meal, and free accommodations, right?”

He cracks another look at you as you come to the first stop sign in over six miles, “You really aren’t shaping up to be a cheap date, are ya, Pita?”

“Hey,” you hold your hands up in a way that seems to say you brought this upon yourself. “You asked me, Hangman.”

He scoffs, “Yeah, ‘cause my options were real ripe for the pickin’.”

The truck glides through the four-way; no other vehicle in sight.

“Well,” you lean back into the side of your seat, pushed against the window so you can really get a good look at him. “Did you even bother asking anyone else?”

You can see the thick crease of his brow as he bites down on the toothpick, eyes squinting slightly against the afternoon sun.

“Did you even think to ask Captain Manning to go in on this with you? I bet if anyone could get your mom off your back, it’d be him.”

That at least makes Hangman grin, all bright and genuine as he reaches for a pair of sunglasses attached to his visor. He fiddles them on, one-handed, before peering over at you once again.

“Oh, I have no doubt good ole Zilla would win over my momma’s heart. But the man can’t lie to save his teeth. So, excuse me for bypassing him.”

“Such little fate,” you mock.

“Nah,” he taps the steering wheel with an idle finger, “We’re here now, ’s all that matters.”

You were sure it had nothing to do with the fact that out of your squadron of thirty-eight, you were only one of four female aviators currently flying with the Vigilantes. And certainly, the only one even remotely considered to be close to Seresin.

Of course, the alternative would have been trying to convince some random girl to come along with him for the holiday. And while you didn’t doubt Hangman’s ability to pull, it was a bit of a hard sell given the time of year - even for the likes of him and his classic Ken-doll appearance. And chicks loved the Ken-doll appearance.

No, the truly worst alternative would have been making him face the company of his own family alone. The horror.

Letting the now less-than-awkward silence filter back into the cab, you settle in for the rest of the short ride into the nearest city.

The actual town of Lemoore is far more lively and bustling than the base stationed just thirteen miles west of it. Hangman easily follows your directions to a coffee shop off the main drag - immediately glancing down at his watch, as if trying to mentally calculate the maximum amount of time you could deviate from his schedule.

After parking out front, he holds the door open for you and another couple as the rich aroma of fresh brew and baked goods hits your senses. Was there ever a sweeter smell? After months at sea, with only the array of mixes in the officers’ mess to keep you going, this was like walking into paradise.

Hangman scooches in next to you in line. His sunglasses are at least clipped to the front of his t-shirt’s collar now as he peruses the colorful red and green menu with an appraising kind of look - flipping that damn toothpick of his around in his mouth as he weighs his options.

It’s still decidedly strange to be doing this with him.

While you frequently found yourself in the company of your squadron, both on and off duty, this was notably uncharted territory.

There’s a slightly stoic demeanor that Seresin has when out in public, but the minute you’re called up to the register, he’s got the biggest grin on and good old boy charm ready to go. While he ends up ordering a breakfast sandwich and a surprisingly high-sugar content pumpkin spice frappe, you go for the turkey melt and an iced coffee. He pays for it all - out of some sense of duty to the mission, you suppose - and stuffs a twenty dollar bill in the tip jar for good measure too.

The two of you hover at the end of the counter, next to the hanging snowflake decorations, while you wait for your order to finish up. He’s got his arms crossed and a downturned look on his face as he stares at the coffee shop’s patrons - couples spread out amongst the two-seater tables. A modest indie version of “Santa Baby” and the quiet hum of chatter keep either one of you from speaking until his name is called by the barista.

But as you head back outside, he stops you at the hood of the truck - his brow pinched.

“I’m not gonna be insulted if you back out, you know.”

Scrunching your lip, you say, “Good to know - ” while making a move for the passenger door, clutching your drink and carry-out bag in one hand.

“I mean it,” his voice raises slightly as he rounds his side of the vehicle, continuing the conversation from across the open doorway as you hop in. “We get to Fresno and you take a flight back home and we’ll act like this whole plan never existed.”

You wonder, briefly, where this change of heart is coming from. But you give a little nod, slotting your condensation-heavy coffee into the cup holder - it might be December but it certainly didn’t feel like it out here.

“I mean if you’re looking to get rid of me so easily…”

“That’s not - ”

Hangman groans, slamming his door closed with more force than probably necessary as he scrubs a hand down his face. He stares ahead for a moment before finally saying, in a much more even tone:

“It’s a lot to ask of someone. And I’ve been sitting here for the past twenty minutes wondering what the hell I was thinkin’ asking you to do this in the first place.”

You have the good grace to leave your sandwich wrapped up and on your lap as you turn to give your companion your full attention.

You’re reminded of the conversation the two of you had nearly a week ago.

He was just about staring daggers into his meal when you found him in the Wardroom, well past the dinner rush. There was a pen settled between his fingers like a damn cigarette that he kept twirling around as his gaze drifted past the food in front of him.

And you - like any good person would - asked him what the hell the plate ever did to him.

As you joined him at the empty table, he admitted that he had just gotten the third email that week from his mom going on and on about his future and how he’s getting older, and that the eligible dating pool is vanishing before his very eyes.

“What, is she dead set on having grandkids before she kicks it or something?” you had asked with a pitched tone.

He had just shaken his head, ruffling a hand through his hair - food long forgotten in front of him, “Nah, she’s got nine already. She just gets into a mood around the holidays. But it’s been getting on more and more like this lately.”

“Guess you got no choice but to get hitched the minute you get your boots dry.”

At least that had managed to pull a laugh out of him, even if it seemed hollow and lackluster compared to his usual booming tone.

“Nah, I’m being serious here, Hangman. Have a 72-hour marriage for show, break it off before we head back out. Just give her something for the holiday so she’ll get off your damn back for a while.”

And though it took a moment, his face had lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree. As though he had made the ultimate connection in his brain and had come up with the idea all on his own. As though you hadn’t been joking in the slightest.

“Someone who could pull it off. Someone who has real-time experience with yours truly, right?”

You’re not sure how, in only a matter of an hour, Hangman had convinced you to go along with it. To play the role of doting and loving girlfriend for a one-night-only performance for his mother, of all people. But, at that exact moment, it had seemed like the greatest idea known to man. Hangman, specifically.

But here you were, only hours from hopping on a commercial flight together to put on a show for the big leagues. Was it any wonder either one of you was getting cold feet?

“Seresin.”

His eyes finally drift over to yours. His face is just about as stoic as he can make it be outside of an inspection line. But his eyes, that’s where the real trouble lies.

“I’m already here. I don’t back out of promises - even the most ridiculous kind. So, get the damn ignition started, and let’s go before we get stuck in security for the next two hours.”

He takes you in for a long contemplating kind of moment as you try to be reassuring with only your earnest expression alone. Whatever he finds there, he must deem it good enough for him and his sensibilities because not a second later the truck engine purrs back to life and he’s pulling out onto the street.

He has the good sense not to bring it up for the rest of the drive. When you pull into the airport’s parking lot, he makes a vague last-chance kind of gesture, but you just yank your bag out of the backseat and head towards the terminal entrance. He rushes to grab his own gear to catch up to you.

You discover how much of an antsy flier Hangman is when it comes to flights he’s not personally manning. Constantly checking the time, mumbling about the slow-moving lines - which you remind him is attributed to the fact that you were in an international airport, traveling five days before Christmas.

He had you rushing to get to your gate a good hour before you were even required to be there. And by that point, he was on the edge of his seat, wringing his hands, just waiting for the second your boarding party was called.

His mom snagged the two of you business-class seats for the trip the minute she heard her son would be bringing home a girl this year. You want to feel guilty about it, but you’re actually grateful for the upgrade as you stretch out into the padded seat next to him. The last thing you wanted was to be packed in with the other sardines in Economy.

The flight to Dallas is about as interesting as a FOD walk. With Hangman pulling out a tablet once you’re at cruising altitude, while you pop in your earbuds and almost immediately pass out for two hours straight.

It’s his amused green eyes that you awaken to.

The rough press of his hand against your shoulder and your last name being repeated with louder and more serious persistence. You feel a bit like a zombie as you shuffle alongside him to your next gate after disembarking. That spontaneous nap had been a bit too deep and dreamless for that short of a period, as you woke up feeling more tired than when you initially fell asleep.

There’s a nearly two-hour layover there in Dallas. But you just inch forward through the crowds until your boarding group is called and you’re back onto another plane. The skies outside the window have faded to a vibrant amethyst color, splattered with rays of gold and amber as the bright lights of the city disappear into the distance.

This flight is short in comparison, which you’re thankful for as the grime of travel seems to hang off you now. Roughly an hour out and you would finally be able to debark and collapse face-first into a hotel room.

Hangman has his tablet out again, though he seems far less interested in picking up where he left off on his E-book now. He’s got his right leg crossed over his left at the knee, anxiously tapping his foot and therefore jostling his tablet as he peers at the headrest in front of him.

He had traded for the aisle seat this time, so it takes you a moment to pull your attention away from the changing scenery of the landscape outside your window to properly notice his change in demeanor.

“Hmm?” you hum in question.

He shoots a glance at you - something coming to terms on his face - before he ultimately shoves his tablet against his side and turns as much as he can in the confines of the seat to face you properly.

“My favorite color is blue; dark blue, not sky blue. I hated all of my English classes in school. I track the Longhorns’ scores religiously when we’re out. I despise almonds in their entirety. Non-dairy substitutes are an absolute no-go.”

You stare at him for a long moment before saying, “Okay…?”

With a roll of his eyes, “We’ve been dating for however long. These are things you’d know about me at this point, right?”

“Ahhh, gotcha,” you settle against the armrest in between you both to really look into his eyes. “See, I didn’t realize that to enter your mom’s house I would have to pass the Seresin partner pop quiz first.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he pulls away, running his hand through his unkempt hair.

You kick your foot at his shin, just a playful tap really, to get his attention.

“You prefer sausage links over patties. You won’t shut the fuck up about Hudson Card and his current stats - which are shit, by the way. You suck at poker and any other card game we’ve ever played. You have a lucky pair of briefs that you wear every time we - ”

“Okay,” he quickly interrupts, holding up his hand to cut you off.

“Come on,” you grin. “We’re in too tight of a circle to not know the damn basics about each other at this point. How about, instead of playing twenty questions until we land, you tell me about the off-limits stuff.”

At the questioning raise of his brows, you elaborate.

“Any triggers words? Like, I have an uncle Edward who, if you mention iPhones, will go on an unhinged rant about 5G towers and radiation until he runs out of breath. Anything like that I should be made aware of?”

His features seem to relax at last as he rubs his hand along his jawline for a moment, “Best not mention my Dad at all. Avoid the name Gwen, if you can.”

“Stepmom?”

He nods, blowing out a long breath, “Stepmom.”

“Think I can manage that. Anything else?”

For the rest of the flight, you cover the basics of the trip. His mom, Patricia - but call her Patty - is a bit of a germaphobe.

She has two guest rooms and will gladly offer to accommodate you both for the night, but she’d actually hate it if you took her up on the offer. She’s a traditionalist when it comes to Christmas dinner; none of that fusion food at her table. She’ll sneak off to the kitchen for a not-so-sneaky drink if the conversation takes a turn at all.

But most importantly, she definitely does not want to hear about any missions he has been on, though she’s very proud of his current career.

“And where are we on the PDA scale?” you ask as Hangman grabs your bag from the trunk of the rental car.

You had been stuck at the baggage carousel for forty-five minutes, the car rental counter for another twenty, and then the drive from the southern part of Austin up to the northern part had taken over half an hour. At this point, you were done.

But, for once, you had to admit that the company wasn’t the worst to be had.

“Ehh, probably on the low side? Enough to pass as a couple but not enough to make her grab hold of the metaphorical pearls.”

You hum in understanding, noticing that he’s still got his fingers looped through the strap of your bag along with his own as you head for the side entrance of the hotel, up to your room on the third floor.

After nabbing the key card from him, you unlock the door and immediately flick on the lights - making a straight line to the double bed by the window and unceremoniously flopping down on it, face first. Your bag is dropped next to your leg, making the bed jostle slightly, but you merely grunt in acknowledgment.

You can hear his tired chuckle somewhere above you, followed by the sound of his boots being kicked off.

“Before you disappear on me again, Pita. Be a dear and take a look at that informational on the table and find us some damn food.”

Giving a lazy thumbs up in his general direction, Hangman gives a departing laugh before he heads into the bathroom - but only after securing the deadbolt on the main door first.

It takes a moment, but you finally summon the energy to pull yourself up onto your elbows. Snatching the paper brochure from the bedside table with a listing of the local attractions and restaurants. You skim the names until you find a pizza place that’s supposedly open til midnight. It was only - you glance at the radio clock - 10:46 pm, so you should be good to send in a delivery order.

“Pizza?” you call out.

You can make out the muffled what he yells back in return.

“Do you want pizza?”

Your louder query is immediately responded to with a rough I can’t fuckin’ hear you in here.

Flipping onto your side, you wait for him to emerge from the bathroom to bother communicating with him again. Pulling out your phone, you search for the restaurant and casually scroll through their menu until you hear the click of the door.

Hangman shuffles out, grabbing his abandoned hoodie from the bed and methodically folding it up, “What were you hollering about?”

“Pizza sound good?”

He grunts, nabbing his boots and moving them into a more reasonable location in front of the open closet by the door.

“Depends on the place.”

You look at the name on the webpage, “Market Street Pizzeria?”

With a nod, he pads across the room and plops down heavily on the bed opposite yours, running both hands through his hair as he seems to stifle a yawn before it can escape.

“They’re good,” lifting his hips up from the bed, he grabs his wallet out of his back pocket, rummaging for a moment before he tosses a card at your face. “Here, get whatever. I’ll just pick off anything too offensive.”

You glance down at the card before immediately slamming it down on the nightstand, “Yeah, I’ll get this one. And I hope you don’t find pepperoni and cheese too obscene for your standards.”

He stares at you for a long moment before relenting and swiping up his debit card. You eye him as he tosses his wallet down at the foot of his bed before he props the pillows up and rests back against them - grabbing hold of the TV remote.

“Should be twenty minutes,” you announce, dropping your phone down on the bed as you push yourself up into a sitting position.

He hums in acknowledgment as you unzip your bag and fish out a pair of pajama pants that you had packed near the top of your items. You disappear into the bathroom to do your business and change - staring at yourself in the mirror for a long moment. Two flights and an impromptu nap had not done you any favors and that was a fact. After splashing some water on your face, you join Hangman back in the room.

He’s got just about everything settled already. A phone charger’s meticulously looped and plugged into the bedside outlet, a toiletry bag on the left-hand side of the dresser, and his own travel bag secured away in the closet next to his boots. The efficient bastard.

When you get the notification that your delivery has arrived, he heads down to collect your food and tip the driver. He ends up sitting at the desk to eat while you sit cross-legged on the end of your bed. The news is playing on mute in the background with the closed captions turned on.

“So,” you say after taking another bite, “What’s our story, in case she asks?”

He wipes his fingers off on one of the napkins before crumbling it up into a ball and taking aim at the trash can - it lands, of course.

But then he seems to remember that you asked a question as he turns in the rolling chair, legs spread wide as he gently sways side-to-side, “Like how we met?”

You roll your eyes, licking your fingertips clean of pizza grease, “I think it’s pretty apparent how we met, Seresin. What I meant was, how long has this - ” you gesture a hand between the two of you - “been going on. I mean, you’re taking me back home for the holidays, so it’s probably pretty serious at this point.”

He gives a chuckle, tapping his fingers on his knees, “How long a period of time is considered appropriate to bring a partner home?”

“Hell if I know,” you chortle, kicking your legs down over the side of the bed as you lean back on your hands.

His brow hitches up, “What, never taken someone home before?”

You don’t like the pointedness of the question as you squint back at him, “Been a bit busy, Bagman. What about you? What’s your excuse?”

“Had a high school girlfriend, dated for three years. Had her over for Christmas our senior year.”

“No one since though?” you ask.

“Like you said,” he leans back in the desk chair, folding his hands together over his stomach, “We’ve been busy.”

You nod, letting the topic settle in front of you both.

It wasn’t unheard of for people to get together on deployment, even less so on the carrier when you were forced into a confined space with the same individuals for months at a time. Shore leave was good for an easy hook-up or two, but real relationships? Those usually only happened prior to getting your orders for the most part.

The majority of the guys you knew had gotten together with their significant others around their time at the Academy, if not even sooner. Half of them got hitched right after graduation so their girl could get a place on base before they shipped out or went to flight school. But after that? Well, there wasn’t a hell of a lot of time for regular dating.

And it wasn’t that big of a deal when your focus was on your career. People like you and Hangman were all about that life. You didn’t go through the rigors of TOPGUN just to ask to be relocated to a desk job in Pensacola so you could settle down with a nice man and have a few all-American kiddos of your own this early on in your career.

Half your squadron had someone waiting for them back home. It was just a handful of you now that were still noticeably single - happily single, you should add.

“Five months,” you finally announce.

When you’re met with a curious pair of olive green eyes, you reiterate.

“We tell her we’ve been together for five months. Long enough to be serious, but short-term enough to make it seem like we were just being cautious about announcing anything too soon to our families.”

Hangman chews on his lip, mulling over your idea before he leans forward and extends his hand for you to shake, “Sounds like a plan, sweetheart.”

You just shake your head as you grip his hand tightly, “Guess I need to get used to those cutesy little pet names, huh?”

He laughs, pulling back to scratch at his chin, “Mmm, need to start with calling me by my real name for a start.”

“What, no Jakey or Jakers?”

His eyes light up in the soft glow of the hotel room’s incandescents as he dips his head back to laugh, “I swear to god, it’ll be a miracle if we pull this off.”

“Have a little faith in my acting abilities, baby,” you bat your lashes heavily, your voice turning soft and overly sweet. It probably didn’t help that you were functioning on almost nothing but coffee and pizza at this point.

He immediately pushes up from the chair, “I’m heading to bed before you make me hurl my food into the damn sink.”

“Don’t say that, sweetie-kins!” you coo, flopping over on the bed as you watch him collect the pizza box and methodically crush it in half to fit into the small black garbage can.

“Maybe I’ll call Guy up and see if he’s still available,” he muses with an irritated tone of voice, just to spur you on further as he nabs his toiletry bag and heads into the bathroom - leaving the door ajar.

“Now that is a show I would pay money to see,” you finally relent the act, pushing back the white comforter on your bed.

It only takes him a few minutes before he emerges. Jake smirks as he makes his way back to the bed, wearing nothing but his white t-shirt and briefs.

It must speak something to his level of exhaustion that he doesn’t even bother to make a you like what you see sort of comment. Not that you’d never seen him, or any other member of your squadron for that matter, in that level of undress before during pre-flight suit-up. But being at near eye-level in a hotel room was definitely a change in pace, though you also choose not to comment on it.

He merely rolls his comforter all the way to the end of the bed before he gets under the sheets, “You’re not an obnoxious snorer, are you, honey?”

You heft yourself up and cross the room in search of your own toiletry bag, “Guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.”

His tone is edged with a false sense of frustration as he grunts a low, drawn-out, “Lucky me.”

When you return to the room, the TV is off and he’s lying flat on his back.

The luminous blue light of his phone casts his face in sharp brightness as he quietly scrolls through something. You let him have his silence as you deposit your shower bag on your side of the dresser and carefully place your folded bra back into your backpack.

Only once you’re under the covers of your bed, with just the single bedside light on, does Jake relinquish his phone - placing it on the charger. He meets your gaze from across the way and, for a moment, it seems like there’s something he wants to say as he worries at his bottom lip.

But he ultimately just gives you a gruff: Night, Pita. Immediately followed by a curt nod before he turns off his light and rolls over to face toward the door.

With a shake of your head, and an accompanying: Goodnight, Hangman, you roll towards the window and try to settle in to sleep.

The sound of rustling sheets and agitated breaths fills the room for some time before the whirl of air conditioning kicks on. And then it’s only a matter of time before the darkness and the white noise soothes you into the lull of proper sleep.

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

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