dingochef - Tumblr blog

dingochef · 21 hours

Note

So good, love the open ending.

💛Beth!! 💛 I love it when the mood board bug bites cause you make the BEST moodboards!!!

Could I kindly request “being stuck in an elevator” with Jake? You just KNOW the banter that would be coming outta his mouth 😬😂

~ Lucky 🍀

Thank you so much for requesting Lucky!

I'm obsessed with how this moodboard turned out, Glen looks gorgeous drenched in black and gold 🫠

Warning: Mentions of child abuse.

⬆️ You never did this.

You weren't the kind of person to arrive at the hotel room of a man you'd only just met and ask to be let in.

All because you had a feeling he wanted you to.

Warm coals were glowing deep in your chest that said you and Lt Jake Seresin could become a blistering, burning blaze, you only needed to light the spark. The small campfire you'd stoked in those hours together couldn't be left to flicker and die. It would be a crime to allow so much primed kindling to go to waste.

Wouldn't it?

So you knocked on the door.

Earlier that day

The elevator doors began to close behind you, but they were halted in their tracks by a gleaming black shoe.

The most devastatingly handsome man you had ever seen appeared from the opposite hotel room and darted through the doors before they shut.

Your whole body tensed and when he shot you a grateful half-apologetic smile your stomach swooped as if the elevator had already moved.

You would have been content to spend your day dreaming about his eyes and the lingering scent of his cologne until you fell in love with the next gorgeous stranger that crossed your path. But fate had other plans.

Barely 20 seconds into your journey from the 5th floor to the hotel foyer, there was a loud clang, creak, and shudder.

Then nothing.

A minute passed in heavy silence.

Still nothing.

The man swore to himself and started hammering at the elevator buttons, muttering under his breath. "This can't be happening."

His frustrated button pressing was no use.

"I think we might be stuck," you said calmly. "maybe we should try the help button?"

He looked distinctly rattled by your statement but stepped back and raked a hand through his golden hair whilst you made the call.

A voice on the other end promised an engineer would be along as soon as they could.

The knowledge that someone was coming settled your nerves, but it didn't have the same effect on your companion. He was breathing heavily and staring at the floor, swaying on his feet as if he might keel over.

"Would it be weird if I sat down?"

You wanted to distract him and thought that would be better than the standard 'Are you ok?'.

He blinked, surprised.

"Not weird at all. You go right ahead."

Oh God. His voice.

"It might be weird if I was the only one sitting though... with a strange man towering over me..."

But in different circumstances? What a vision that would be...

His lip quirked. "Well, in that case, I'd better join you. It would be rude not to."

So you both sat on the cold metal floor. You exchanged names, job titles, and reasons for staying at a swanky hotel.

Lt Jake Seresin. Naval aviator. He was home from a recent deployment and in town for a friend's 40th birthday party (which he would now undoubtedly be late for). You were attending a networking event for work (you might still make it if you skipped the early dinner you'd planned with your colleagues).

Once Jake's initial anxiety had dissipated, he was mesmerising. Charismatic, magnetic, utterly charming.

You felt completely at ease in his company. He asked you thoughtful follow-up questions, and you bounced off each other’s comments like you'd been playing conversation tennis for years. You felt confident enough to make jokes and be opinionated, even to flirt a little bit, and Jake volleyed back your serves with equal panache every time.

But after 45 minutes or so, harsh knocks on the elevator door put a pause to your match.

“Hello hello! Engineer calling. You guys all right in there?”

“Just peachy,” Jake replied sarcastically. “We're having a ball.”

“Glad you’re in good spirits,” the engineer said, far too chipperly.

“Looks like you're halfway between floors which means this might take a while. Another hour or so at least. Sorry.”

You heard footsteps walk away again. And then it was just the two of you once more, shrouded in silence and confined in an uncomfortably warm and stark metal box.

“Fuck. Fuck – I can’t do this - Another hour?”

In a matter of seconds, Jake had gone from calm to petrified. He was gasping for air, his chest heaving, and you could sense his heart was pounding so hard you wouldn’t have been surprised if you saw it bursting through the fabric of his sleek black shirt.

“Do - do you have any water?” he croaked.

You did. You scrambled around in your handbag for the half-drunk bottle you'd shoved in there earlier and pushed it into his shaking hand.

He grunted a thank you, then downed it desperately before forcing himself to take deeper, longer breaths.

But his efforts didn’t seem to be working.

And the longer they didn't work, the more desperate Jake became. His eyes grew wide with panic, and his fingers began desperately undoing buttons as if that would give his lungs more room to fill with air. He was at serious risk of passing out, of that you were certain, and all you could think to do was scramble to your knees and get in front of him so you could coax him to follow your breathing.

“Just follow me, ok? Slow as you can. In… And out… In… and out… Let’s do some box breaths, and use the shape of the door. In for the top, left to right. Now hold your breath as you follow the line down, then exhale as you go across the floor. Hold on the way back up to the top again. That's it, you've got it. Keep going. Now picture the door is a window. You're looking out at some place that makes you calm. Maybe you're up in your jet, soaring over oceans or mountains or clouds. You’re safe. You’ve got this.”

Jake stared back at you intensely, nodding mutely and following every instruction until the storm in his mind had passed.

“Bet this isn't how you imagined starting your Saturday evening, is it?” he said wryly. “Talking an embarrassed claustrophobic down from a panic attack.”

You smiled gently. “There's no need to be embarrassed.”

“There is, if you knew why I'm claustrophobic in the first place,” he tittered. “My dad used to lock me in the basement closet for hours when I acted out.”

“Oh my God! That’s awful. I'm so sorry that happened to you.”

A strange expression flickered across Jake’s face. “You know, you're the first person that I've told who hasn't laughed and made a joke about it.”

Who could possibly joke about something so heart-breaking?

“It's not funny,” you insisted. “It's cruel. No parent should ever do that to their kid.”

Jake shrugged. You got the impression he wasn’t quite sure how to react to your sincerity. “I’d tell you it's all in the past and what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but… well, you know. Thank you, though. No one's ever been able to talk me down so quickly before. I’ll remember what you said for next time, that's for sure.”

The two of you spent the next long while talking about anything and everything, favourite movies, childhood pets, dream vacations. It felt so easy, so natural, like you were sharing memories with someone you'd known all your life.

“Wow. We’ve been in here almost two hours now,” you said, glancing at your watch. The time had felt like nothing to you.

“Shit, really?”

You nodded. “You know what they say, time flies….”

“When you're in good company,” Jake finished, changing the ending of the well-known phrase.

Your face flushed.

“I couldn't have asked for a better person to be trapped in an elevator with,” Jake added.

“Let's not make a habit of it, though.”

“Agreed regarding being trapped in elevators, I’m a hard pass on that one. But what would you say about spending time together, more generally speaking? Preferably outside of a giant tin can?”

Your eyes lifted to lock with his. But, before you could open your mouth to reply, the engineer's voice came booming.

“Good news folks! We have lift-off. Freedom awaits in t minus 20 seconds.”

You both emerged from the elevator to an expectant crowd; a rather smug looking engineer, a few members of hotel staff, and curious hotel residents who’d congregated to see what all the commotion was about. There was even a smattering of applause as the door opened and you and Jake dusted yourselves off and stepped out onto the gilded carpet.

He was swept up by a group of his friends almost immediately. They whooped and jeered and jostled him out of the foyer within a matter of seconds, giving him barely a chance to look back.

You carried on with the rest of your evening as planned. But you felt in a state of bewilderment the entire time. You mingled and made small talk at your work event, all the while convincing yourself that you were making the right decision about how you would end your night.

Surely, it would be better to know than live with the maybe?

The sound of your knock on Jake’s hotel room door seemed to echo endlessly along the corridor.

Were you making a mistake? What if your time spent together in that small metal box had been some strange dream, and any moment now the floor would jolt, and you would bolt up in bed?

You heard movement. The shuffling footsteps.

All you could do now was hold your breath.

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dingochef · 1 day

Note

song lyric prompts : “it’s hard to steer when you’re breathing in my ear but i got both hands on the wheel while you got both hands on my gears.” + jake seresin!! (*kicking my feet and squealing*)

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗟 𝗡𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗦 𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗗𝗘

jake seresin x fem!reader

summary: 1k

You can feel the rumble of his voice before he asks, “Whatcha up to, Sugar?”

“Giving you a taste of your own medicine,” you whisper and you revel in the shudder that washes over his body as you bring one of your hands down to rest on his belt buckle.

or the one where jake works you up enough that you feel the need to retaliate.

warnings: not beta’d, smut, road head (m! recieving), blue balls i guess

masterlist | taglist

You’re two hours into your road trip–a vacation you’d hands planned for months, at this point–when you crack. And it was all Jake’s fault, too. You were going to shoulder exactly zero percent of the blame even if you were the first one to break.

You’d been huffy since the two of you had left your apartment, arms crossed over your chest and your teeth grinding all the while your boyfriend was showing off all his pearly whites in the biggest, toothiest smile he’d sported since you’d agreed to go out with him for the first time.

He’d taken your suitcase from you with little more than a delicate pinch at your hip, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth after he got all of your luggage situated in the trunk of the car and moved around to open the passenger door for you. You’d thanked him, of course, but it’d been short and quiet and much less appreciative than it usually sounded when he did those kinds of small acts of kindness for you.

But it wasn’t your fault, okay, not when he’d been denying you the only thing you’d been asking for all damn morning. He’d started by waking you up from one of your very indulgent dreams about him–a side effect of having a boyfriend that went on missions that sometimes lasted longer than just a couple days–after coming home at 3:30 in the morning. Then, he’d had the gall to work you up with his fingers dipping into the waistband of your sleep shorts moments after you’d been dragged from your sleep, only to leave you high and dry when he opted to take a quick shower instead. Alone. Then, to top it all off, he’d worn the tiniest, itty-bittiest t-shirt known to man.

Now, here you were, knees and thighs clenched so tight together in the front seat of his truck that you think they were completely stuck together with his right hand pressing into the meat of your leg.

You can’t take it anymore. Shifting your eyes around your periphery, you make sure the road is deserted enough before you lean onto the center console with the bulk of your weight. He glances over at you for a split second, one eyebrow quirked in question, before he refocuses on the interstate ahead of him. You push up just enough so that your lips are touching the shell of his ear.

You can feel the rumble of his voice before he asks, “Whatcha up to, Sugar?”

“Giving you a taste of your own medicine,” you whisper and you revel in the shudder that washes over his body as you bring one of your hands down to rest on his belt buckle.

A very gutteral groan escapes him as you begin to undo it. He brings the hand previously resting on your thigh to white knuckle the wheel. He’s tense. Good.

Your hand slips in, completely bypassing his briefs, once you’ve got the belt undone enough and the zipper down. You can feel him growing under your touch. Hot and pulsing as you drag your palm over his sensitive skin.

“Baby?” he asks. Offering him a hum in response, you grip him fully. “Are you sure about this?”

You watch his eyes flicker up to the rearview mirror.

“Yep.”

He swallows.

You’re content to stroke his length as he hardens in your grip, beads of his pre-cum pearling at the tip and aiding in your journey up and down his twitching cock. He bucks his hips once and you’re quick to pull your hand out of his pants completely. You swear to god you hear the man whine.

Despite his previous apprehension, he lifts his hips when you begin tugging his pants and boxer briefs down. Just enough for his dick to spring out, red and angry at the head as it rests against his stomach. You test the waters as you lean down to lick the slit.

“Eyes on the road, Handsome,” you say when his head falls back against the headrest. His speed had begun to fluctuate significantly, and you’re glad you’d only seen three or so other cars in the last half hour.

“Fuck,” he grumbles when you take his tip between your lips. One of your hands wraps around his base, gathering the bit of drool already dripping down the sides of him as you begin to shallowly pump what wasn’t in your mouth. God, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to get over just how big he was. You hollow out your cheeks as you begin to take him deeper, deep enough that you feel him pressing into the back of your throat. Your tongue lazily grazes against the thick vein running along the underside of his cock.

“Oh, shit,” he moans. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

The comment has you humming around him, an action that sharply shoots his hips up. Pulling off of him, you use your hand to collect the saliva that had pooled as you raggedly catch your breath. It’s only a few seconds, though, until you’re swirling your tongue around the head again. His hand comes down to rest at the back of your head. Not pushing, or guiding, just following your movements.

You keep up with your ministrations, your other hand coming in to gently hold onto his thigh, until Jake says, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby. I’m gonna cum.”

It’s only then that you pull away completely, thumb coming up to swipe away the string of spit still connecting you to his dick and you watch with a newfound glint in your eye as his cock twitches helplessly against his stomach.

“What- Fuck,” he heaves.

“You started this,” you say, and it takes him a second in his haze, but you can see him recollect the puddle he’d left you in that morning.

“You’re satan, you know that?” he asks as you tuck him back into his underwear. “Whatever you say, handsome.” You offer him a kiss at the corner of his mouth.

“Satan,” he says again. “And you are so in for it when we get to the hotel.” “I would hope so,” you say.

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dingochef · 1 day

Text

Mrs Hangman

Jake Seresin and his wife have an incredibly healthy sex life. That's how they find themselves role-playing as strangers in a bar, meeting for the first time.

Warnings: porn without plot, allusion to cheating (but not cheating), role-playing (married couple pretending to be strangers), oral (male!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), hickies, p in v, unprotected, not beta read

She was in her prettiest dress, one her husband had bought her for their fifth anniversary. It hugged her in all of the right places, the colour complimenting all of her features in the most perfect way.

If there was something her husband knew, it was what she'd look good in.

She sipped on her drink, some sort of expensive martini, as she looked atthe men sat around her in the bar. But none of them were what she was looking for.

Until a man in a casual shirt, a pair of jeans and dog tags around his neck walked up to her. "Hey there, Georgeous," he said, gesturing to the bartender to get him another drink.

She sipped at her martini as she looked at him. "Can I help you?" She asked, trying to sound unimpressed. But she couldn’t hide that she was impressed. A pretty face and, God, that voice. He was so tall, and the way his shirt hugged his arms.

"You can," he said, sitting down beside her. "By letting me buy you a drink."

She threw her drink back, swallowing the rest of the liquid and placing her martini glass on the bar top. "Sure," she said, her manicured finger moving around the rim of the glass.

He ordered her another martini. "I'm Jake," he said, holding out his hand. She took it and shook, offering her his own name.

When she pushed her hair behind her ear, she revealed her pretty, dangling silver earrings. "I like these," he said, gently touching them.

"Thanks," she replied, wearing a sultry smile. My husband bought them for me. But she didn’t say that last bit. That would have shattered the illusion.

"Look," Jake said as the drinks were put down in front of them. "I know you're not here it sit around and look pretty," he said, voice full of confidence.

She hummed as she wiped the lipstick stain from her new drink. "You're right, Jake. I'm not just here to sit around and looked pretty." She leaned closer, pressing her red lips against his ear. "I'm here to get fucked like a whore."

The way he kissed her after that. It stole all of the breath from her lungs and certainly messed up her lipstick. But she didn’t much care as she wrapped her hands around his neck, his own hands coming to mess up her hair.

It was hot and heavy, and she wanted more.

But she pulled away and swiped her thumb over his bottom lip. "Let me go and fix myself up," she whispered and pecked his cheek.

Jake sat by the bar as she grabbed her purse and walked over to the bathroom. While she was in there, Jake finished his only drink for the night. She touched up her lipstick and did what she could with her hair.

Checking herself over one last time, she made her way back to Jake. Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked back over to the bar.

Jake couldn't deny that she looked gorgeous. But then she wrapped her fingers around the chain attached to his dog tags and, fuck, he'd never been so hard in his life. He stood up when she lightly tugged, and walked out of the bar, him following her like a dog on a leash.

He didn't need to tell her that he was staying in a hotel. She followed him through the lobby and into the elevator, letting him press the button for his floor.

If there were cameras in the elevator, they didn't much care. They were all over each other. His fingers dragged the bottom of her skirts up, not quite exposing anything just yet.

The elevator doors slid open and he pulled her down the corridor to his hotel room. The minute he had her inside, she was against the shut door, his lips attached to her neck. The little noises she was letting out were music to his ears.

He groaned, his body pressed against her own. She could feel him, hard through his jeans, pressing against his neck. It had her reaching down to cup him through the denim.

Jake pulled his lips away from her neck, throwing his head back in a groan. He temporarily released his hold on her and she sank to her knees, working on unbuttoning his jeans.

She freed Jake from his jeans and wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock. His fingers wrapped around her hair, not pulling as she moved herself forward and pressed a kiss to his cock.

She pulled back and looked at her handiwork. The lipstick stain on his cock; it was so fucking pretty.

"You little devil," Jake said through a groan, lightly tugging at her hair in a way that had her groaning, bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

This time, she wrapped her lips around his cock. She sucked at the tip, tongue swirling. He threw his head back, eyes closed as he let groans escape his lips. She hummed against him, and the feeling was like no other.

She took all of him into her mouth, breathing through her nose as she went as far as she could. Her eyes watered as she held him there for a moment, trying to get herself back under control.

As soon as she had her breathing under control, she began moving. She moved her lips up and down his cock bobbing her head. Jake tried to keep his hips still, he really did, but it was harder than it sounded.

He slowly bucked his hips. It was so small, likely he wasn't even aware that he was doing it. But, when she gagged, he stopped and pulled himself out of her mouth. "Sorry, gorgeous," he said and took her hand to pull her to her feet.

Jake swiped his thumb under her lip, gathering up the mess of lipstick, matching her movements from her bar. "My turn," he said and picked her up.

Her legs wrapped around his mid section as he carried her over to the bed. His muscles rippled under her fingers as she dragged her nails over his clothed back.

He deposited her on the bed and pushed the skirts of her pretty dressed. "No underwear?" He asked, his fingers touching her thighs. "You really were looking to get fucked like a whore, weren't you?"

She covered her face in embarrassment, but Jake pulled her hands away. "It's okay, Gorgeous," he said. "I got you."

He pulled her up and unzipped the back of her dressed. Jake took a minute to feel the material, the satin under his fingertips. He pulled it down over her hips and discarded it on the floor.

There was some level of power imbalance as he stood over her, completely dressed while she laid on the hotel sheets, wearing nothing.

She let out a whine as his thumbs touched the underside of her breasts. He circled his thumb around her nipples and let his gentle touch moved her down stomach.

His touch to her thighs were soft as he parted them and climbed between them. The feel of his lips against the skin of her thighs had her locking her legs around his head, pulling him close.

He kissed her lips and ran his tongue through her folds. She cried out as he looked at her, looked at the way she used her handle to muffle her sounds.

He wrapped his arms around her thighs and dove in, nose brushing her clit as he moved his tongue against her hole. She thrashed about, tossing her head from side to side as she cried his name again and again and again.

His hands gripped her, bound to leave a mark. The thought had him smiling against her cunt. Her legs shook against his head and, when she began babbling out something close to 'I'm coming' left her lips, Jake pulled away.

She released him, giving him a moment to shed his clothes. But, while she watched him get undressed, watched him reveal the expanse of muscle that made his body, she couldn't help but miss the feel of him, warm against her.

But, before too long, he was back on top of her, connecting his lips to her own in a rushed, feverish kiss. She ran her nails down his back as he kissed her, his hips rolling against hers.

She tugged on his hair, pulling him back. "Fuck me," she said breathlessly.

That was all Jake needed. Her head his cock and he moved forward, slowly and gently pushing through her folds. A gasp left her lips, her nails stilling against him.

He buried his face against her neck as he began moving against her. His grip on her tight as he moved his body against her own. It was slow and gentle and sweet.

But it didn't stay that way. Before too long, Jakes hips were snapping against her own, holding her thighs around his waist to keep her close. It was animalistic the way he was fucking her, his lips feverishly kissing the skin of her neck.

She cried out, a continuous string of babbling. Jake had never heard such pretty noises in his life. If he could have played them over and over again, he would have. And that high pitched whine when she came around him, cunt squeezing him.

His jaw was tight as he slowed his pace, hips rolling against her own as he chased after his own high. And, when he came, painting her insides with his cum, she left those deep scratch marks in his back, ones she'd wear with pride.

Jake collapsed beside her. He was breathless as he touched her stomach, fingertips soft. "Let's get you cleaned up," he said and sat up.

She climbed off the bed with him and sat with him while they waited for the bath to fill. "We should do this again sometime," she said, taking out her earrings.

When the bath was full, she climbed in, and Jake sat beside her. He cleaned the sweat from her body, cleaned the mess from between her thighs. He rubbed warm water and soap over the marks he had left on her skin.

As soon as they were clean and dry, they climbed under the covers, tangling their body's together. Jake wrapped his arms around her and she laid her head on his chest, exhaustion taking over.

***

Somebody was shaking his shoulder. "Jake, honey," she said, trying to waking him up. "C'mon, we got to go."

He groaned and rolled over, pulling her closer. "Another hour, please," he grumbled, touching her head with his lips.

"No, baby. We've got to and pick up the kids."

Jake finally opened his eyes. He sat up and looked at his wife. "Fine," he said through a groan and picked her dress up from the floor. The dress he had bought for her on their anniversary, along with those pretty earrings.

"Was last night fun?" He asked as he began getting dressed.

She nodded her head, reaching up to touch her hickies. "I like pretending you're some hot stranger in a bar," she said and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Jake kissed his wife's lips. "How about you let your hot husband take you home?"

She let out a laugh and kissed him again. "We've got to pick up those little terrors from your parents house," she said and poked him in the chest. "They get it from you, you know?"

"And that's why I'm so damn proud of them." He kissed her hand and led her out of the hotel room.

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dingochef · 4 days

Text

So many emotions...for her and me.

Stolen Angel - Part 5

Demon!Jake Seresin x reader

Summary: You thought you were having a one-night stand with some random, normal guy. Turns out he’s a winged, demon-like stalker who has been obsessed with you for years.

Warnings/Notes: Jake is a little dark. Kidnapping. Manipulation. Obsessive behavior. Eventual smut and happy stuff. I’m sure there are typos. This used to be a different fic for August Walker, so if you see it, it’s fine. I wrote that one too.

Words: 3550

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

JAKE POV

Jake sighs at the knock on his door and sits up in his bed. It’s too early. Last night was long, watching you struggle to not verbally defy his every attempt to help you. But your wing was inflamed, which would soon lead to your back becoming inflamed, and he knows you’re intelligent but is it so hard to understand that not taking care of the injury could mean infection? Being here does not make you immune to such ailments and yet you puffed and huffed and barely held your tongue at his cleaning the area and applying a bandage with ointment. And just when you’d had a conversation with him about you being good. Terribly disappointing. You better shape up if you intend to get what you want.

“What, Javy?” Jake calls at the second knock.

Javy enters Jake’s room and leans against the door after closing it behind him. “So? You taking her?” he asks.

“Possibly,” Jake says, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. “There are stipulations, but she’s determined. She’ll do whatever she has to to get there.”

Javy raises a brow. “Does that explain her cozying up to you yesterday?”

A slight smirk sneaks onto Jake’s face. ‘Cozying up’ is definitely one way to describe what you were doing the day before, although your actions were nowhere close to how affectionate you’re capable of being. There is plenty of passion in that body of yours that a few soft touches don’t do justice, but for now Jake will take what he can get.

“It does,” Jake confirms with a nod. “She’s my clever little angel, but manipulative attempt or not, it’s not like I’m going to push her away.”

“Oh no, of course not,” Javy snorts. “You? Do the respectful thing?” With a shake of his head, he lets out a low whistle to which Jake rolls his eyes. The sarcasm in his friend’s tone is wildly unappreciated.

“Do you honestly expect any better of me?”

“Not these days,” Javy says, “but is it so horrible of me to want you to see the error of your decisions and change? When I offered you a life here you were a different man.”

A different man. A weaker man. A man who had nothing left to live for.

Losing everything he once cared about—that is what changed him, but who’s to say the man he is today isn’t who he was always meant to be? Maybe it burrowed inside of him long ago and was waiting for the encouragement to expose itself. And what is so wrong about that? That doesn't make him a bad man.

He was a man who was missing the drive and purpose he needed. But then—despite being under the cruelest of circumstances—he found it. And when you find purpose you have to take hold of it and claim it any way you can before it’s ripped away from you. If Javy still can’t understand that then it must be the type of thing you have to live for yourself in order to grasp how it feels.

Jake’s eyes contain a challenge against his friend’s stare as he leans forward to brace his elbows on his knees and clasp his hands. “You try having Fate fuck you over, and then we’ll see the kind of man you become,” he says.

Javy sighs and crosses his arms. “I’m not denying the poor timing of your first meeting, but you coped with that for years, and now that you’ve snapped–”

“I haven’t snapped,” Jake snaps.

“Yes, you have. She was moving up in her life, finding some happiness, trying to make some friends at a new job, and then you took her,” Javy tells him, but not to chastise. That lecture was one Jake received weeks ago and Javy knows another won’t alter what has been done. “And you can’t keep her in The Tower forever. When this catches up with you—because it will—what do you intend to do?”

“She will love me by then.”

“You’re hoping she will love you by then,” Javy counters, “And you’re hoping when questioned, she’ll lie for you.”

Jake groans and shoots to his feet, running a hand through his hair. Gesturing in the general direction of your room, he says, “If she loves me then she’ll be lying for both of us because she’ll know it’s the only way we can be together.”

“And if she doesn't?”

“I'm not entertaining ‘if she doesn't’,” Jake says harshly. “She will. I’ll get rid of that stubbornness and she’ll remember why she wanted me in the first place.”

Javy pushes up from his leaned position, nearing the blond. “She wanted you because the two of you had some kind of carnal pull to one another, but–”

“It’s more than that,” Jake stops him. “We share more than that. She just refuses to see it.”

But you will. You’ll come to your senses. He knows that it’s more than sex, but it’s because of that sex that he believes something in you felt him over the years even though you did not see him. That’s why it was so easy to come together that night. You don’t sleep with just anyone. You’re picky and careful, as you should be, but you showed no reservations when giving yourself to him. You weren’t timid when he stripped you of your clothes; you were too focused on ripping him out of his. You weren’t embarrassed by your sweet moans and pretty cries. You were comfortable around him, and you will be again.

When Jake realizes Javy hasn’t spoken, he shoves his thoughts aside and pays closer attention to the look directed his way. It’s a medley of emotions. Skepticism and concern. Cautious hope and pity and acceptance. Acceptance of what, it’s hard to determine. Impending doom, likely, since Javy’s so sure of its inevitability.

Finally, Javy blinks. His lips stretch into a thin line, then he says, “Be smart about this, Jake.”

And Jake replies, “I’m always smart.”

“You're not,” Javy has no shame in telling him. “That's the problem.”

—

READER POV

“You can’t speak to anyone from your past, you can’t be seen by anyone from your past, you have to stay in my sight at all times, and you can’t do anything that would jeopardize our ability to return here on time,” Jake says. “You break any of these rules and I drag you back before midnight.”

Raising a brow, you cross your arms over your chest. “You think I can’t manage that? I’ve complied with everything you’ve asked of me for two whole weeks.”

Everything down to accepting his cupping of your cheek one night as he nearly kissed you. He hadn’t though, and his reasons for pulling back instead of taking what he wanted as he’s so used to doing robbed you of four hours of sleep.

“I wouldn’t put it past you to go rogue,” he says. “But you can’t. There are actual consequences I can’t protect you from.”

Yes, you know. He has mentioned that often. “Consequences, Angel. There are consequences to not following the rules.” For the last couple of weeks, it has felt like hours upon hours of the same droning on, the same lesson as if your short-term memory is flawed. But then he’d thrown in “It's your first time, and there’s a chance you’ll forget everything I’ve told you the minute you touch foot down there. You’ll be tempted to break them.”

That was what finally struck a cord of concern.

Of course, it had crossed your mind to break them, even though you’d known of Jake’s fate when he had done the same, but if he had to warn you of the temptation, you wondered how tempting it would really be. Would you be spending your precious, limited time there miserable because of the invisible chains on your wrists and ankles and the gag in your mouth as you try to resist the desperation to bond with the life you left behind?

“How tempted?” you had asked.

You were taken aback by one look from him. A harshness was in the green, but you are no fool, and you could see exactly what it was concealing. A memory—pain.

“Incredibly,” he’d told you. “At least, I was. And I paid for it.”

You hadn’t responded, but you kept his words in the back of your mind, ultimately deciding to trust in your strength. It was either that or risk never seeing home again, and that wasn't, and isn’t, an option for you.

“I’m not going to do anything, Jake,” you swear.

He peers into your eyes a little too long, but you let him search for the lie that isn’t there until he’s satisfied. He blinks and then gives a sharp nod. “Good,” he says. “Then close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close them,” he repeats. “You don’t need to know how to get where we’re going.”

Another thing to comply with. Rolling your eyes, you drop your arms to your sides. Jake pulls a blindfold out of his jeans pocket and folds it in thirds.

“Seriously?”

He looks up and steps closer. “Close, your, eyes,” he instructs again.

With a sigh you do as he says, then he wraps the fabric around your head, tying a little knot in the back.

“This is–” Stupid, you were going to say, but you’re cut off by the yelp that escapes your throat when you’re suddenly lifted into his arms, your legs and wings draped over his forearms.

“Hold on Angel,” he says.

Your hands clasp behind his neck. “Yea, no kidding.”

When he shoots up into the air, you have to tuck your head against his t-shirt to block out the rush and whirl of wind that’s quickly encompassing you. It’s all too fast, the pressure much too extreme that you feel as if you’ve gained thirty pounds in ten seconds. It’s the initial take-off of the rollercoasters at the theme park you went to as a child. The kind of feeling that locks your limbs in place.

However, it’s not long that you’re going up before you begin to fall back down at a speed that suggests the man holding you can’t fly and you’re about to greet the end of your life. The sharp change in movement twists and curls your insides. Your lungs are confused, unsure whether inhaling or exhaling would better suit you at the moment. You don’t know, so you don’t breathe.

Jake lands with a thud and sets you down on wobbly legs. One large hand wraps around your upper arm; the other slips the blindfold over your head and back into his pocket. You’re well-hidden behind a large tree as your eyes adjust to the bright neon lights that bleed from the city night.

Home. You’re home. You’re at the far end of a sidewalk by the docks that no one visits after six o’clock in the evening, but it’s still home, and you already feel yourself being sucked in by the central bustle of bodies and cars.

You take a step forward, much weaker than you intended, and Jake’s grip on you tightens.

“Not yet,” he says. “You need to shed your wings.”

That detail had escaped you, the excitement too overpowering. But you keep that excitement from showing on the outside, just as you had when he’d told you a few days ago that removing the wings was possible for you, too.

Standing taller, you prepare yourself for more instructions.

“Close your eyes again,” he begins, his voice a deep vibration in your ear. “Clear your mind. Create an image of your wings and the feathers plucking free, falling to the ground one at a time until you have no more. Picture the bone and cartilage crumbling,” he says. “And keep doing that until you feel the loss of the weight.”

It takes at least a full minute, but you’re lighter. When you look down, your feathers coat the ground, a few layered with his. Like ash and snow.

“Good,” he says, but his tone doesn’t match the praise. It’s the slightest bit wounded as if he’s grieving something he held dear.

You turn your head. Your eyes flick to his and you find them glued to your back—your back which is now bare of the one thing that shows the world you’re something other than human.

His Adam's apple bobs. “Let’s go,” he says.

“Where can we?”

“Anywhere that keeps you from running into someone that would recognize you or would’ve been concerned about your sudden absence.”

That definitely knocks out work, the old late-night cafe you used to frequent, the park on third—too small. But as far as you know, everything else is fair game. And if it’s not, you’re sure Jake won’t hesitate to inform you.

—

The temptation he’d warned you about isn’t as aggressive as you anticipated. It’s there, for sure, but you don’t find yourself itching to be bold. There’s no one you wish to see, and you skirt the perimeters of the locations you choose because of the thought that you might fuck up and give him reasons not to bring you back in the future.

He should be thrilled with your behavior. He should be riding one of his ego trips from getting you to do what he wants without additional scolding, but that’s not what’s happening. Instead, he’s worse by the hour.

Occasionally his eyes light up when you smile or chuckle at the places and things you haven’t seen for the month that has felt like a year, but between your grins and laughs, his face hasn’t once failed to fall.

He has taken to trailing behind you. If both hands are not in his pockets it is because one is running through his hair or down his face. To your statements, he hums. To your questions, he mutters answers. He hates it, you realize. All of it. Almost as much as you hate the place he has forced you to exist in ever since he took you.

His mood is only exacerbated by your desire to go to your apartment.

“Can you hold this?” you ask as you raise the window. “Won’t stay up, and maintenance ignored all of my requests.”

Jake nods, placing his hand on the base of the sill so you can ease yourself through the opening. You do the same for him as he steps off the fire escape onto the ragged carpet of your living room floor.

You take in the space, and it’s so…weird. Not a thing has shifted from the place you left it. The only additions left out of the memory you’ve kept in your mind are the layer of dust coating every surface and the slip of paper under your front door with Eviction Warning written in red lettering. And the smell. It doesn’t smell like you remember. You’re not immediately soaked in the scent of lavender essence left over from the half-burnt candle on the side table.

“Feels like I’ve been gone forever,” you say. You look over your shoulder at Jake. “Does time move differently there and I just didn’t notice?”

His hands are back in his pockets. His eyes are tired. “No, Angel,” he says.

Your sigh fades into a hum.

As you move about the room, you measure it all with your eyes.

Your couch. You always sat on the right. That cushion is more worn than the other two.

The lampshade is still crooked from when you last changed the lightbulb. Its poor alignment had caused a slight burn mark in the material from the shade leaning against the heat of the bulb, and yet, rather than straighten it out, you had twisted it on its diagonal axis so the mark faced the wall.

The TV remote is nowhere in sight, of course, because you were never the best at remembering where you put it down; a habit so frustrating you’re tempted to hunt for it now.

Your coffee table still has the scratch in the middle from when you’d dropped your mug onto the wood, shattering it to pieces. That had pissed you off. You’d just bought it from the flea market.

A mug—you’d left one out that morning. You turn your head to your kitchen where it still sits on the counter.

You walk over and grab it. There’s a coffee ring in the bottom, so you take it to the sink and wash it out, then flip it over to dry on a dishcloth. You weren’t a fan of leaving dishes scattered about, even for half a day, but you don’t know why it ever mattered. Since moving in, no one had entered this place but you, and well…him.

Suddenly, something deep and thick descends upon you. Though the space around you appears to have frozen in time from the moment you disappeared, there are things that did not freeze along with it that you can’t ignore.

Like the food in your fridge and the special chocolate cookies in your cabinet that the grocery store rarely had in stock. Rotten and stale. What a waste.

There’s a plant in your bathroom—a little one that relied on your sense of responsibility to keep it alive. It sits on a shelf in a dark purple pot you’d found on sale and now brittle leaves surely litter the tiles.

And, oh god, the cat. You used to leave a bowl of tuna out for the stray cat that climbed the stairs to paw at your window. What about him? Is he ok? Did he give up after being ignored? How long did that take? Did he feel abandoned? Does he miss you?

Bracing your hands on the counter, your head falls forward. You close your eyes and take a breath, and then you open them and—Fuck, there’s a cheerio on the floor. You forgot the damn cheerio; that tiny ring of processed wheat from breakfast that has been hanging out here in limbo wondering if it’ll be trashed or devoured by ants because you were running late that morning and told yourself you’d throw it out later but you didn’t and so there’s a fucking cheerio on your floor.

You can’t look at it, but then you don’t know where to look, or what to do. You don’t dare go into your bedroom. The sheets will be rumpled. Your underwear will be wherever it landed when it was taken off your body and tossed aside.

Shit, the laundry! You forgot to take it out of the washing machine. Mildew probably grew in the creases and folds. They'll have to go through the cycle again. You'll need detergent. You're out of detergent—used the last of it on the load that needs to be rewashed. Your favorite t-shirts are mixed in there somewhere. But it’s fine. You’ll do a quick wash, quick dry, quick fold, and put them in the drawer where they belong. How long could that take? An hour? Two? You have enough time, right? And while you're at it you really should set some tuna out and get rid of the spoiled food and fix the lampshade and find the remote and apologize to the plant and–

“We can pretend, Angel,” Jake whispers from behind you, making you jolt in your spot. You didn’t hear his approach—he keeps doing that—and he’s so close that his breath flutters wisps of your hair. “Forget everything, for a bit. Be the way we were that night.”

His disruption sidetracks you from the laundry, the cheerio, the cat, the plant, the food. For a second, you can barely process his words, but it doesn’t take long for the confusion to sort itself out.

You swallow. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to be human anymore,” you whisper, reminding him of what he has drilled into your brain again and again and again.

“You’re not,” he says. Then his arms are flanking your sides, palms pressing into the edge of the countertop. “But we look the part, don’t we?” Hot air is on your neck. You think you can hear his heart thumping. “Just tonight. Just here.”

Just here. Here, the last place you were before he made you into the creature you are. Here, the last place you can say that you were entirely you. Here, the last place you spent a happy moment. Your final happy moment. A moment that included him, back when you believed you were bringing home some guy. Just some guy. A beautiful guy. A human guy.

You liked that human guy.

You miss that human guy.

Sometimes you wish he'd show up again. Save you and promise you it was all a nightmare.

“Why?” you ask.

“Don’t ask why,” he answers. “Just tell me yes.”

And because you don’t want to go back to thinking about what you’ve lost; because you’re uneasy and overwhelmed and numb and weak now that you're realizing home really isn’t home anymore but a ghostly echo of who you were, you don’t possess the mental wherewithal to care about your decisions. All you want is a memory—a good memory—within your reach.

So you turn yourself right around, and you kiss him.

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dingochef · 4 days

Text

So many emotions...for her and me.

Stolen Angel - Part 5

Demon!Jake Seresin x reader

Summary: You thought you were having a one-night stand with some random, normal guy. Turns out he’s a winged, demon-like stalker who has been obsessed with you for years.

Words: 3550

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

JAKE POV

“What, Javy?” Jake calls at the second knock.

Javy enters Jake’s room and leans against the door after closing it behind him. “So? You taking her?” he asks.

“Possibly,” Jake says, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. “There are stipulations, but she’s determined. She’ll do whatever she has to to get there.”

Javy raises a brow. “Does that explain her cozying up to you yesterday?”

“It does,” Jake confirms with a nod. “She’s my clever little angel, but manipulative attempt or not, it’s not like I’m going to push her away.”

“Do you honestly expect any better of me?”

“Not these days,” Javy says, “but is it so horrible of me to want you to see the error of your decisions and change? When I offered you a life here you were a different man.”

A different man. A weaker man. A man who had nothing left to live for.

Javy sighs and crosses his arms. “I’m not denying the poor timing of your first meeting, but you coped with that for years, and now that you’ve snapped–”

“I haven’t snapped,” Jake snaps.

“She will love me by then.”

“You’re hoping she will love you by then,” Javy counters, “And you’re hoping when questioned, she’ll lie for you.”

“And if she doesn't?”

“I'm not entertaining ‘if she doesn't’,” Jake says harshly. “She will. I’ll get rid of that stubbornness and she’ll remember why she wanted me in the first place.”

Javy pushes up from his leaned position, nearing the blond. “She wanted you because the two of you had some kind of carnal pull to one another, but–”

“It’s more than that,” Jake stops him. “We share more than that. She just refuses to see it.”

Finally, Javy blinks. His lips stretch into a thin line, then he says, “Be smart about this, Jake.”

And Jake replies, “I’m always smart.”

“You're not,” Javy has no shame in telling him. “That's the problem.”

—

READER POV

Raising a brow, you cross your arms over your chest. “You think I can’t manage that? I’ve complied with everything you’ve asked of me for two whole weeks.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you to go rogue,” he says. “But you can’t. There are actual consequences I can’t protect you from.”

That was what finally struck a cord of concern.

“How tempted?” you had asked.

You were taken aback by one look from him. A harshness was in the green, but you are no fool, and you could see exactly what it was concealing. A memory—pain.

“Incredibly,” he’d told you. “At least, I was. And I paid for it.”

“I’m not going to do anything, Jake,” you swear.

“What?”

“Close them,” he repeats. “You don’t need to know how to get where we’re going.”

Another thing to comply with. Rolling your eyes, you drop your arms to your sides. Jake pulls a blindfold out of his jeans pocket and folds it in thirds.

“Seriously?”

He looks up and steps closer. “Close, your, eyes,” he instructs again.

With a sigh you do as he says, then he wraps the fabric around your head, tying a little knot in the back.

“This is–” Stupid, you were going to say, but you’re cut off by the yelp that escapes your throat when you’re suddenly lifted into his arms, your legs and wings draped over his forearms.

“Hold on Angel,” he says.

Your hands clasp behind his neck. “Yea, no kidding.”

You take a step forward, much weaker than you intended, and Jake’s grip on you tightens.

“Not yet,” he says. “You need to shed your wings.”

Standing taller, you prepare yourself for more instructions.

It takes at least a full minute, but you’re lighter. When you look down, your feathers coat the ground, a few layered with his. Like ash and snow.

“Good,” he says, but his tone doesn’t match the praise. It’s the slightest bit wounded as if he’s grieving something he held dear.

You turn your head. Your eyes flick to his and you find them glued to your back—your back which is now bare of the one thing that shows the world you’re something other than human.

His Adam's apple bobs. “Let’s go,” he says.

“Where can we?”

“Anywhere that keeps you from running into someone that would recognize you or would’ve been concerned about your sudden absence.”

—

His mood is only exacerbated by your desire to go to your apartment.

“Can you hold this?” you ask as you raise the window. “Won’t stay up, and maintenance ignored all of my requests.”

“Feels like I’ve been gone forever,” you say. You look over your shoulder at Jake. “Does time move differently there and I just didn’t notice?”

His hands are back in his pockets. His eyes are tired. “No, Angel,” he says.

Your sigh fades into a hum.

As you move about the room, you measure it all with your eyes.

Your couch. You always sat on the right. That cushion is more worn than the other two.

The TV remote is nowhere in sight, of course, because you were never the best at remembering where you put it down; a habit so frustrating you’re tempted to hunt for it now.

Your coffee table still has the scratch in the middle from when you’d dropped your mug onto the wood, shattering it to pieces. That had pissed you off. You’d just bought it from the flea market.

A mug—you’d left one out that morning. You turn your head to your kitchen where it still sits on the counter.

Like the food in your fridge and the special chocolate cookies in your cabinet that the grocery store rarely had in stock. Rotten and stale. What a waste.

You swallow. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to be human anymore,” you whisper, reminding him of what he has drilled into your brain again and again and again.

You liked that human guy.

You miss that human guy.

Sometimes you wish he'd show up again. Save you and promise you it was all a nightmare.

“Why?” you ask.

“Don’t ask why,” he answers. “Just tell me yes.”

So you turn yourself right around, and you kiss him.

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dingochef · 4 days

Text

Slow Ride

Jake saves her from a creep at the bar. She repays him in the best way she can think and rides him to his favourite song

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, hand job, fingering, riding, car sex, creampie

There was nobody she hated more than Jake Seresin. Ever since he'd come back to North Island, she hated him. But she hated him because she couldn't hate him.

Working behind the bar in The Hard Deck, she met her share of navy pilots. They were flirts, yes, but they were harmless flirts. But they knew what would happen if they push things, knew the consequences of disrespecting her.

Jake Seresin knew, too. He approached the bar with his usual charming smile and ordered a round of beers. She didn't say much as she got him the round of drinks. But still, even once he had them, Jake stayed to flirt with her.

She didn't flirt back, didn't want him to get the wrong idea. It had happened before, and the guy had flirted with her. He'd taken it too far and had gotten himself kicked out (well, Jake had been the one to throw him out).

There was one thing she liked about Jake, though. The fact that he protected her from the few creeps that had coming into The Hard Deck. He always had an eye on her, even when he was playing pool, making sure that nobody ever made her feel uncomfortable.

That was the thing. Although she hated Jake, he looked out for her. There was a time she was considering quitting her job at The Hard Deck. She loved her job, loved working for penny and loved how polite most of the aviators were. But there were a few guys that made things unbearable.

Until her knight in shining armour stepped in.

Jake didn't always have to step in and save her, but she loved it every time he did.

Like tonight. Cory was a regular, and a regular creep. He'd been kicked out more times than she could count, but he always found his way back in. Always slipped through the cracks and made it to the bar.

Thank God Jake saw him before she did. Even as Cory sat at the bar and whistled for her, Jake was there. He stood beside Cory and cleared his throat. "Can I help you?" He asked, trying to stay between Cory and herself.

Cory rolled his eyes and looked away from Jake. He turned his attention to her, wearing a smile that made her sick to her stomach. "Hey, pretty darlin'," he said, reaching across the bar towards her.

But Jake caught his hand before he could get it any closer. "You're not allowed in here, Cory," Jake said with a sneer as he pushed Cory away. "Get out before I make you get out."

Cory let out a laugh and shook Jake off. "Piss off, Bagman," he said, using the nickname that Jake normally didn't mind.

But Cory hadn't earned the right to use it. And it infuriated him. "Say that again," he challenged.

"Jake," she said from behind the bar, trying to grab his attention. As much as she liked Jake being there, protecting her, she didn't want it to get out of hand.

But Cory ignored Jake. He turned his attention to the poor woman behind the bar. "C'mon, pretty darlin'," he said as he leaned forward. "Let's say we get out of here after this."

The moment his hand reached out and touched the bottom of her skirt, Jake had him out of his seat, holding him up by his collar as he pressed him against the wall. "Fucking try it," he pretty much growled, spit flying into Cory's face.

Everybody in the bar had stopped what they were doing to watch. They watched as Jake dropped him, following Cory out of the bar. He made sure he was gone, too scared to come back before he returned to the bar.

"Sorry about that, sweets," said Jake as he sat on the bar stool and looked at her.

She placed a drink in front of him, one he hadn't ordered. "On the house," she said. "For being my hero."

Jake took it gratefully. He didn't return to the squad, instead staying at the bar with her until she closed up. Even then, even once she'd kicked everybody out, Jake stayed with her. He stayed with her as she cleaned and closed the bar and waited while she locked the doors.

But still, he didn't want to leave her. So, Jake walked her to her car. It wasn't creepy, no. It was comforting.

"I still feel like I should pay you back somehow," she said as she leaned against her car.

Jake let his typical charming smile come onto his face. "That beer was thanks enough, sweets."

Before she knew it, she was opening the back door to her car and gesturing for him to climb in. Jakes heart thundered in his chest as he did just that. He climbed in and scootched over to the furthest seat, giving her space to climb in beside him.

She did just that. Placing her back into the front seat, she climbed in beside Jake. "I wanted to give you a proper thank you," she said almost sheepishly as she leaned forward and grabbed a hold of her phone.

The music that sounded from the phone was a song Jake immediately recognised. She dropped her phone on the dash and climbed into the back. But she didn't sit beside him. No, she settled onto his lap, her arms around his neck.

"Fuck," Jake hissed as he looked at her. There was no telling how much he'd wanted this. "Are we gonna fuck to Slow Ride?"

She played with the hair at the back of his neck as she ground her hips against his own. "I dunno, Hangman. Do you want me to ride you to Slow Ride?"

He swallowed thickly and nodded his head. That was all she needed to hear. Her lips hesitantly attached to his own and his hands settled on her hips. Jake let her take control. He let her set the pace, let her decide how the kiss was going. Before too long she was kissing down his neck and undressing him in the back seat of her car.

Jake couldn't believe it. Here he was, fucking her in his car. He let out a hiss at the feeling of teeth against his neck.

Suddenly, she removed her hands from around his neck and reached between them. She popped the button on his jeans and immediate freed his cock.

Fuck, he was big. But, compared to the rest of him it was unsurprising. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft as she returned her lips to his.

The way Jake was gripping her hips, it was bruising. He reached under her skirt, touching her ass. Squeezing and groping, listening to her little whines and moans as she jacked him off.

The moment her thumb swiped over his tip, Jake ripped the material of the tights covering her ass. He hadn't meant to, just want to pull them down. But he couldn't help it. It was just so fucking good.

As soon as her tights were ripped, it was easy enough to slip his fingers beneath her panties. She was so goddamn wet. And those noises! They were music to Jakes ears.

"Goddamn, sweets," he grunted. The moment he touched her folds, her movements stopped. "So fucking wet f' me." His finger touched her clit and her body fell against his own. "Gonna ride me to Slow Ride?"

Her whines were desperate as she frantically lined his cock up with her entrance. She sank down onto him, eyes rolling back. "Holy Fuck," he grunted.

"Jake," she mewed desperate, her body against his own. He was so goddamn big, she didn't know how she was taking all of him. "Wanna move."

Jake immediately understood. She wanted to ride him, but she couldn’t move. He gripped her hips once again and began moving her, bouncing her on his cock.

It wasn't a slow ride. Not in the slightest. Her cunt just felt too good squeezing him, he couldn't slow down.

When Jake got her moving at her own rhythm, he pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her chest. Jake kissed her. He kissed down her chest until he got to what wasn't being covered by her bra.

As Jake got closer and closer, he wrapped his arms around her moved her body, her body limp against his. Her cries and whines were continuous, unbroken against the skin on his shoulder. She clenched around him, eyes shut as she came. But she was so out of it, so drunk on his cock, she hardly noticed.

"That's it, sweets," Jake mumbled as he kissed the side of her head. "I'm almost there."

And, seconds later Jake was cumming, his climax taking over him as he gripped her tight. "Fuck, fuck," he grunted, stilling her.

But he didnt pull out of her. He kept his arms around him as she laid against his chest, kissing the sweaty skin there. "That was incredible," she whispered as her body began to shake and shiver.

"We'll have to do that again, uh, sweets? He asked abd she nodded in agreement.

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dingochef · 4 days

Text

Make Me Your Masterpiece

Summary: Bob credits you for helping him to find his new hobby. And when he asks if he can you paint you, you find you quite like the idea of being his muse.

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Female Reader

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: fluff, smut, and basically an ode to Lewis Pullman’s hands (mdni)

(Author’s Note: smutty fics are the new friendship bracelet, spread the word! Happy Birthday, Ames! 🎉 @laracrofted)

You’ve always had a thing for Bob’s hands.

They were one of the first things you noticed about him that day at the coffee shop almost a year ago now.

You’d been reaching for your iced vanilla cinnamon latte when a big hand had wrapped around it just a half of a second before you could grab it. Which you wouldn’t have minded admiring them for a moment under any other circumstances, but after an endless string of meetings you’d been in a dire need of a caffeine fix- and not the weak stuff that people brewed in your office’s communal coffee pot.

“I think that’s-” you’d started.

“Oh, I’m sorry-” the coffee thief backpedaled.

The next thing you knew you were looking into the prettiest pair of ocean blue eyes.

The two of you were startled out of the moment when the barista called out the next order as they’d set it on the counter.

By some kismet or fate, they had been a matching set. But instead of embroidered towels, it was his and hers coffee cups with your names written on them in a hasty scrawl.

Realization dawned over his features as he gave you a sheepish smile, “Think this one might belong to you, Miss.” He spun the coffee until he found the spot with your name. That little smile becoming a full grin as he’d said it aloud before passing the cup to you.

The hands had been good, the eyes had been great, but Bob’s smile directed at you had left you weak in the knees.

You’d been a goner right then and there.

And while you’d ended up almost ten minutes late to your next meeting, you’d also gone back to the office with his phone number written on a cardboard coffee sleeve that was tucked away safely in your purse and a date lined up later that week.

As it turned out fate had a name and it was Robert Floyd.

Barely twenty minutes into your first official date with Bob, his ears had turned a delightful shade of pink as his anxious fingers straightened the silverware on the white linen tablecloth of the Italian spot he’d taken you to. He’d fessed up and apologized as he came clean, telling you that he’d purposefully ordered the same coffee as you in hopes of getting to start up a conversation with the pretty girl who’d been standing in front of him in line.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you, since you looked busy. But I didn’t want to miss my chance,” he’d confessed over candlelight.

He’d told you how he’d only been at the coffee shop because he’d recently returned from a deployment and was fighting the jetlag that came with adjusting to being back on Pacific Standard Time, and that he normally preferred tea but he needed something with a bit more to it to get him through the day.

Instead of getting up and taking the bottle of wine to-go as a consolation prize, like you would have if it had been anyone else, his genuine earnestness had charmed you instantly. And you’d settled on having a second date with him before the first one had even really started.

You only let him sweat it for about thirty seconds before you took pity on him. With a light fingertip, you traced along one of the veins on the back of his hand and simply asked, “So other than being a meet cute mastermind, what is it that you do for a living, Bob?”

It was the best first date you’d ever had.

For your second date with him, you’d bought tickets to a ‘Paint and Sip’ event at a buzzy new bistro in town your friend had told you about.

You weren’t an artist by any means, but during that dinner date his antsy fingers and expressive hands had clued you into how nervous he’d been. You’d found your eyes drifting to them on more than one occasion. Partly because they were so enticingly disproportionate to the rest of him, but also because you couldn’t look him directly in the eye for too long without feeling your face heating up.

You thought it would be a good way for the both of you to work past the getting-to-know-you jitters, something that would keep your hands and eyes occupied enough to relax a bit more and have fun together.

Although instead of the seascape class you’d thought you’d signed up for, you’d willingly paid $86+ tax to watch Bob’s lithe, long fingers delicately grip a paintbrush in a way you thought was going to make you lose your mind.

You’d spent the whole first hour trying and failing to mix the perfect shade of blue before giving up when you’d realized that the man next to you, in addition to having really great hands, was also very good at painting.

Bob had seemed surprised by that too because he’d kept flushing that wonderful shade of pink that had quickly become your new favorite color every time you complimented his piece.

He had steady, capable hands. But you were quickly learning that everything about Bob Floyd seemed that way. There was a quiet confidence about him. He didn’t shy away from the way he’d openly observed you, like you were a riddle he was enjoying learning to decode.

You’d never known a man to be so attentive until him.

Bob’s tongue was peeking out as he’d worked on adding some wispy clouds to the top of his piece. You weren’t even sure what step you’d technically stopped at before you’d given up to watch the visual feast of him painting instead. Only halfheartedly adding random bits to your canvas along the way to make sure it wasn’t totally blank by the end of the session.

You’d been so zoned out watching him create that it was like a slow-motion sequence in a horror movie. You’d reached out for your wine glass, lifting it to your lips to take a sip, it had only taken you a split second to realize it wasn’t the full-bodied red you’d ordered that was coating your tongue, but the murky, gritty paint water instead.

Mortified, you’d looked over just in time to see Bob’s empathetic wince. You’d been hoping to fly under the radar, but it had turned out that you’d had more than one set of eyes on you.

“And we officially have our first casualty of the evening, folks,” the instructor cheerily announced to the group, “The rest of you can breathe easy now!”

You wanted to be able to laugh at your own expense, but you’d groaned as you buried your face in your hands.

It was not the way you saw the night going. You wanted to be dazzling, you wanted that pivotal third date with him. But now you were the girl who drank paint water whose canvas looked like it had all the same efforts as an enthusiastic fourth grader.

Bob’s hands had gently wrapped around your wrists before he’d pulled them from your face. And then he’d leaned in close, taking your chin in his hand and kissed you squarely on the lips, his tongue dipping in and sliding against yours to taste the acrylic pigment from your surprised mouth.

“Huh,” he’d said, contemplatively. He’d pulled away only far enough to look into your eyes and give you a soft smile. “Celadon blue doesn’t taste like a Cabernet, go figure.”

He brushed a light kiss against your cheek as he’d passed you your wine glass so that you could rinse the paint water taste out of your mouth.

You couldn’t help but to still be a little embarrassed, but then you’d caught the way he’d shoot an unimpressed look at the instructor every time they passed by for the rest of the evening. You didn’t need a knight in shining armor when you had a Bob Floyd with a paintbrush and a cutting side eye.

You took him home with you that night and learned for yourself just how capable those hands of his were.

It was only later that you realized the exact shade of blue that you’d been trying so hard to capture earlier that night was the same color as the eyes that gazed down at you as Bob fucked you for the very first time.

There was no way you could have known that the ‘Paint and Sip’ date would have inspired him to pick up painting as a hobby.

First, he’d started taking classes at the Rec Center. His once a week classes later turned into him checking out books from the library. And then he’d turned his spare bedroom into a studio, as it has the best afternoon light in the Spanish style house he rents near the Naval base. He’d even bought a comfy chair for you to curl up in as he painted, a little nook of your own in his favorite space in his home. And steadily, the walls of both your apartment and his place fill up with all of his creations.

You’d even had your favorite one professionally framed. The pretty landscape done in shades of soft greens that he gave to you for your birthday hangs in a place of honor above your bed. You like having that piece of Bob as one of the last things you see before you fall asleep and one of the first things you see in the morning on the rare occasion the two of you aren’t sharing a bed. You liked to imagine the hours he spent on it with the sunlight streaming through the open window as he lovingly and painstakingly created something just for you with his own two hands.

Although you did have to beg him to sign it for you. He claimed that since he does it for fun that there’s really no reason too, but you were adamant about it and he’d eventually caved and scrawled his name in the lower right-hand corner.

Now it’s become your personal mission to ensure that every Bob Floyd original has his signature on it when he gives his paintings out as gifts.

Everyone assumes that his art would be all straight lines and precise angles, but it’s your favorite moment when people get to see his abstract landscapes. He’d told you he spends so much time in the sky that he likes to paint what’s on the ground, the things he doesn’t get to see when he’s 50,000 feet in the air.

You could tell Bob was a little nervous when he first asked to paint you.

After almost a year with him, you’d think he’d know by now that you’d do anything for him. Not to mention, you were more than a little in love with the idea of being his muse.

“Are you saying you want to paint me like one of your French girls?” you’d teased with a grin, unable to resist the opportunity. You always did have a thing for men with perfectly floppy hair.

He’d tipped your chin up so that you were looking into his blue eyes- a color you were positive couldn’t be replicated- and stated, “No, I want to paint you like my girl.”

Which is how you’ve ended up naked on the floor of his living room.

You’d been surprised when you came downstairs to see that the furniture had all been pushed to the side to make space for the king-sized top sheet he’d laid out on the floor. You figured it must have been from some mismatched set he had stashed in his linen closet because you’d never seen it before and you spent more than enough time in his bed getting familiar with his sheets.

Bob was shirtless and wearing only a pair of loose-fitting and paint stained jeans that were hanging low on his hips as he worked on getting all of his brushes and paints set up.

You were pretty sure that Michelangelo himself wouldn’t be able to do proper justice to Bob’s body. He wasn’t as built as some of his friends on the Dagger Squad were, but there was an undeniable sturdy steadfastness to him. Those defined shoulders and arms often were the stars of your afternoon daydreams, since you got to admire his handsome face anytime your phone lit up.

He came and met you at the bottom of the stairs, giving you a low whistle, “Well, aren’t you as pretty as a picture in my shirt.”

“Oh,” you’d said, feigning surprise and toying with the hem, “So it is.” And then you’d slowly lifted it up and off of you, revealing more of your body to his artist’s eye.

You never felt as good about yourself as you did when you were naked in front of Bob. The color of his morning skies eyes would always darken to a deep shade of Prussian blue as he took in the curves of you. With him you always felt appreciated, wanted, desired.

His greedy hands came to grip your hips pulling you to him until you were pressed against him.

“Is this how you wanted me?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair.

Bob slipped his hand behind your neck and tugged you in for a heated kiss. “I always want you.”

You never knew true distraction until you’d felt Bob’s lips against yours all those months ago. You’d happily lose minutes, hours, days to them. The thing about Bob is that he never does anything halfway. If he’s kissing you, he’s doing it thoroughly until you’re out of breath.

The sound of the air conditioner kicking on and the light draft that it coasted over you reminded you that there were other plans on the agenda. And that the sooner he starts, then the sooner he finishes, and the sooner you can feel his lips on other parts of you.

“Where do you want me?”

“In my bed,” he murmured against your lips.

His name started as a laugh but turned into a sigh as he dropped a line of kisses down your neck, “I meant, like on the couch or on one of the chairs from the kitchen.”

Bob pulled away and peered deep into your eyes, “Darlin’, I wanted to paint you.” He trailed a teasing finger down your soft stomach. “If that’s alright with you.”

You thought you were just going to be his subject, but as it turns out he wanted you to be his canvas too.

You’re trying not to shiver as he meticulously coats your overheated skin with cool paint. Goosebumps follow in the wake of every delicate stroke he makes along your body.

His hair was curled over his forehead in a way that had your fingers aching to touch him. There was a slight furrow between his eyebrows as he concentrated on the deliberate lines and curves he painted on you. The paint smudge on his cheek only made him all the more attractive to you.

Bob had tucked a pillow beneath your head before he’d started, a gesture that you appreciated now because time had lost all meaning to you. You had no idea how long you’ve been lying there. You were pretty sure every inch of you had to be covered by now.

He’d started along the plane of your stomach and steadily worked his way out from there. Up your arms. Along your clavicle. Over your breasts and tops of your thighs. You didn’t miss the way he’d smirked when you arched into that soft to the touch paintbrush as it glided over your peaked nipple. Or the way he’d hummed pleased when you’d try to subtly rub your thighs together to relieve the need that had been building as you laid there.

Bob loves taking his time with you. In bed, he loved teasing you until you had tears in your eyes and were begging for his cock. And it became clear very quickly that this would be no different.

There was an electric thrum that was pulsing through your body with every dip and swirl and brushstroke. The muscles of your stomach jump involuntarily as the fine hairs of his paintbrush drift over your hypersensitive skin making you whimper.

He tsks, “Gotta stay still for me, pretty girl. I’m almost done, promise.”

You release a shaky sigh and nod, not trusting your voice to betray just how needy you were for him. Although the self-satisfied smile on his face told you everything you needed to know.

You try to control your breathing as he works on finishing, but your shallow breaths sounded loud in his living room. You love getting to watch him work normally, but the intense way he is looking at you- his eyes your favorite shade of Prussian blue now- is too much for your hummingbird heart.

Just as your skin was collecting layers of paint from his brush, the space between your thighs was steadily collecting your wetness. You were so desperate for him to touch you, the need made you want to crawl out of your skin.

You hear the sound of a watery swish and the clink of a brush against glass and your breath catches in your throat in anticipation.

“God, look at you,” Bob breathes, reverently, “You’re so beautiful. This might be my best work ever.”

Instead of the paintbrush, you can feel the path of his flame blue gaze traveling over you as he takes in the art he’s made out of you.

You open your heavy eyes and see Bob wiping off his hands with a frayed towel.

“There she is,” he says, giving you a smile that makes your toes curl. You didn’t notice it sitting there with all his paints until he was reaching for it, his dad’s old film camera. He holds it loosely in front of him like a question, “Can I take a few just for me?”

The answer is easy, “Yes.”

You trusted Bob more than any other man you’d ever been with. He’s never once given you reason to doubt his words because his actions always spoke for themselves.

The guys you’d been with before had been boys, Bob Floyd was a man.

The tension between the two of you is thicker than the acrylic he’d been using earlier as he snaps photo after photo. You admire the way his muscles shift as he bends and angles himself to get the perfect images.

He stands over you, the lens pointed down at you, “Look at me.”

You can barely breathe. You feel yourself getting even wetter at the thought of seeing yourself through his eyes. No one has ever made you feel the way he does.

“Bob”, you whine.

The camera clicks.

“I know,” he hums, “You’ve been so good for me.” He sinks to his knees between your legs and hooks a hand behind your knee, pulling it up so it’s propped on the floor. And then he does the other so that you’re sprawled open for him, just the way he likes you to be, “Just one more, darlin’.”

The heat in his eyes has dried up all the words in your mouth.

He trails a finger down the soft skin of your inner thigh and you gasp.

The sound of his camera reverberates in your head.

“You’ve made such a pretty mess,” he drawls, as he gently sets the camera on the floor next to you. “It’s a good thing I put something down. You’re damn near dripping.”

“Bob, please.” You arch towards him like a flower in the sun.

He settles between your thighs and pushes them apart further so that his broad shoulders fit between them. The paint is still drying on your skin, but neither one of you cares about that now.

“You were so perfect for me. I appreciate you staying so still.” He drops a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Don’t worry, I know just how to thank you.”

Your body jolts at the first touch of his tongue on your clit. You can feel his smile against you, he knows exactly what he does to you.

Bob has always eaten you out like it’s what he was put on this earth to do.

Normally, he’s teasing you with gentle licks and tracing nonsensical shapes on your clit with his tongue until you’re a squirming mess for him. He knows your body so well, always building you up to the point where you’re breaths away from tipping over the edge and then pulls himself back before building you right back up again.

But tonight, there’s nothing playful about the way his mouth is working against you. His hot mouth is sealed to your clit. Bob hums in satisfaction with every keen and whine that he pulls out of you. He laves at you until you’re writhing underneath him, your thighs already shaking.

“Wanna paint you just like this,” he murmurs, sucking at the spot where your leg and hip meet. “But I don’t think you’d stay still long enough for me to finish.”

Bob dips down and gives you another long broad stroke of his tongue. He pulls back only long enough to spit on your cunt before diving right back in, chasing after his own taste on you.

Your hands are in his hair. Clutching at his shoulders. It’s taken him no time at all getting you to the point where you’re trembling and taut.

All the air leaves your lungs when he buries two large fingers into you. Your hips cant into his mouth on their own and he moans. Bob wraps an arm around your hips and presses down on your lower stomach to hold you in place.

You feel the pain smear beneath his warm palm. You were dying to see it. You hoped there was a handprint- his handprint- that disrupted all the lines and swirls of color that he’d decorated you with. Something that was distinctly him.

You were wearing his art and now you’re wearing him. The evidence of this moment in time on your skin.

His fingers and tongue weren’t enough.

You needed more.

“You cock, Bob, I need your cock,” you pant, tugging at his hair.

He meanly sucks your clit into his mouth in a way that has you crying out and jerking against him. You love it, you love him.

“God, I love it when you beg for me,” he licks into you again, “Sweetest sound in the world.”

Bob drops a sweet kiss on your clit, it’s a stark difference to the filthy way he’d been using his mouth on you. He rises to sit back on his knees between your parted legs.

He looks so good kneeling above you the way that he is. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a mess. That knot behind your bellybutton twists tighter because you did that to him.

He unzips his jeans and tugs them down low enough to pull his hard cock out.

It’s pretty enough to be featured in a gallery, you think to yourself, even in your desperate haze. It’s long, thick, perfect and yours.

Bob smirks when he notices you admiring him, pumping himself slowly a few times for your viewing pleasure.

The only time Bob Floyd was ever a show-off was when he was in bed.

He grabs your thighs and pulls them over top of his own, so that yours are draped over his obscenely, and then he thrusts easily into you.

You gasp at the sensation of being so full of him. It always takes you a minute to adjust to his cock, no matter how many times you’ve taken it now. His thumbs make little circles along your hipbones as your body relents and yields to the size of him.

“There you go,” he says, rocking into you, working you open, “Just needed this cock, didn’t you?”

You whimper your agreement. Your hips tilt into the pressure like you’re trying to get as much of him as you can. Wanting to show him how much you can take. You know you’ll never get enough of him.

He fucks into you at a reckless and unrelenting pace. You’re high off the feeling of seeing Bob like this, that you’re the one who gets to see him unreserved and uninhibited. He has your hips gripped so tightly, keeping you closer than close. And when you clench around him, you’re treated to a wrecked groan.

Your skin prickles with desire and the feeling of paint drying on you. His cock is hitting just the right spot inside of you and you know you won’t be able to hold off for much longer, not with the way he’s grinding against your aching clit.

Bob’s eyes glued to the spot where you two come together. You’re on full display for him. He watches the way you stretch and spread around him with every deep thrust with the same appreciative gaze that he admires his favorite artists.

It’s under his river blue gaze that your orgasm swiftly sweeps you away. And with your back arching and thighs quaking around his, you give yourself up to the endless current of it.

You know he’s close when his hips start to stutter.

Bob pulls out of you and wraps his large hand around his slick-shined cock and works himself with rough, purposeful strokes.

This time he paints you with himself, his come covering your stomach.

The only sound in the room is the two of you breathing hard, trying to catch your breath.

“Jesus Christ,” Bob huffs, raggedly, taking in his handiwork, “You’re my masterpiece.”

You’re covered in paint and come, but you’ve never felt more beautiful than you do right now as he looks down at you in awe.

“Did you remember to sign your work this time?” you ask, out of breath but teasingly.

“I think I left my mark, darlin’,” he says, with well-earned smugness in his voice. You can’t help but giggle. He flops down next to you, throwing his arm over his eyes, “Goddamn.”

You prop yourself up onto your elbows to look at yourself.

“Baby, I think you gave Jackson Pollock a run for his money.” You grin widely when he lets out an amused snort. “Wait, where’s your camera?”

He passes it to you, the fondness in his eyes makes your chest feel warm. You scooch in close to him and hold it up above your heads, the camera flashes when you kiss his flushed cheek.

That picture is the first one that gets put up in the new house, the one the two of you chose together when he asked you to marry him six months later. Followed by the soft green landscape that now hangs above your shared bed.

It’s your favorite picture of the two of you, happy and in love. You can just see a hint of the cloud he’d painted on your shoulder.

That night Bob had decorated your body with the place he loved best.

He gave you the sky and he made you his world.

Happy birthday, Ames! Your gift will be mailed eventually, it really was a lesson in chemistry, lol! Enjoy a Bob fic just for you in the meantime!

A big, bigggg thank you to the Bob Babes/Lew Crew girlies! @callsignspark and @attapullman I appreciate you two so much for being such ultimate hypegirls! And thank you to @theharddeck, you helped me out of my writers block and I've been so excited to write this since we talked about it back in January!

You can read my other stories here!

taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

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dingochef · 4 days

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premise: going away for the holidays to a secluded cabin just the three of you is the best christmas gift you could have asked for this year. the festivities perfect and joyful, and in abundance thanks to the two men more than willing to give and spoil you in more than just pretty wrapped presents.

pairing: bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x reader x jake ‘hangman’ seresin

word count: 3.3k+

warnings: established poly relationship, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, m and f receiving oral, come eating, creampie, fluffy christmas shenanigans, rooster and hangman be smoochin, banter, light!rough sex, biting and marking, spitting, a hint of degradation.

note: the title has a double meaning so if you know you know, but tis the season for being a whore. i didn’t want this to be too lengthy and writing threesomes makes my brain hurt so it’s a bit fast paced.

The cheesy Christmas movie that Rooster had chosen fills the small cabin living room with the perfect ambiance for your last night of being secluded; tucked away and sandwiched between the two men. Even with Jake’s grumbles around a handful of popcorn on how cheesy said cheesy movie is, it does little to dampen the feeling of warmth in your veins.

The three of you had decided to spend the holidays together this year. With Mav busy with Penny and Jake and his father constantly at odds, neither of the two men had anywhere else to be. And the thought of you being anywhere else but here, with them just didn’t make sense to you.

Your families hadn’t been clued in on your relationship. Your family having zero insist on the fact that you had not just one boyfriend but two. Jake’s knowing he had a girlfriend, but not a boyfriend as well. Mav knew about you and Rooster, and you were pretty sure he knew about Jake to—the three of you getting caught in a weird lip lock in his garage last New Year’s eve, leading to an awkward stare down and Mav putting his hands up declaring “I don’t want to know” and walking away.

So spending Christmas with just the three of you was barely a suggestion.

“Are you sure?” You had asked Jake, knowing full well how important a family gathering was to his mother—despite the butting of heads between him and his father.

“I’m already packed!”

“What?”

“I asked him last night and before I could even begin to give him the game plan he was pulling the luggage out.” Rooster had explained, rolling his eyes at the memory.

“But your family–”

“Is right here,” Hangman grinned, that one grin that either made you want to smack him or kiss him. Pulling the two of you into his chest in a bear hug.

“The man falls in love and suddenly he goes all Hallmark.”

The three of you had rented a cabin in Lake Tahoe. Two weeks spent with the two men beside you bickering and making you—and each other—come, and reminding you why you fell in love with them.

Jake insisting that a real tree is all that will do on the third day, when the three of you finally pulled yourselves out of the bedroom. Making you and Bradley bundle up and trek through the forest to find the perfect tree.

“They make lots for this type of thing. Still just as picture-perfect!”

“Yeah! And they have hot chocolate there!” You whine as you grab onto Rooster’s wrist to climb over a big rock. Praying your boots didn’t slip and send you pummeling face-first into the snow.

“That’s not the spirit.” Jake turns and gives you two a stern look, “we came out here for an authentic Christmas, didn’t we?”

“I don’t remember the word authentic being thrown around.”

“It’s not Christmas if it’s not authentic!” He throws his hands in the air, “I refuse to smell plastic. We are getting a real tree.” He grumbles, turning and continuing the trek through the woods, “if the two of you don’t stop complaining I’m going to tie you up with the Christmas lights when we get back.”

“Well when you put it like that,” you and Rooster send each other a cheeky smirk. Laughing when Hangman gives a deep sigh and continues ahead.

When the three of you—Jake—finally do come across the perfect tree it’s entertaining to watch him and Bradley chop it down. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t spend most of the time staring at their biceps that showed through the long sleeves of their sweaters. Or how absolutely rugged it was to watch them do such a task; a heat spreading across your skin, making you start to sweat under your jacket.

And once the tree had been brought back to the house and set up—after a bag of popcorn had been made for the garland, fruit kindly left by the owners of the cabin baked and dried as ornaments, and the two dollar lights you got from the small convenient store up the road: you understood why Jake had made such a fuss. How a fake tree couldn’t give you the same tingly feeling and joy of trying not to choke on the sap and pine smell. The process of putting your creations on the branches, and taking it all in really was perfect.

You still refused to go on any more woodland adventures though.

The rest of the weeks had been spent either spread out under the sheets, entangled limbs, Christmas movies playing in the background while you feasted on takeout, and dinners made by Rooster. A snowball fight that turned into the boys making out in the show and you snapping photos of the incriminating evidence, in which the two chased you down for. Thus leading to snow angels and Hangman perfecting the art of snowman building.

“Do you even get snow in Texas? How are you so good at this?”

“It’s all about your hands, Rooster my boy. Good hands form the perfect ratio of snow to ball. The perfect weight for each clump.”

“That…makes absolutely no sense.”

And yet he makes the best snowman you’ve ever seen in your life.

When it comes to baking cookies though: Jake does not perfect it.

Icing covers his hairline as he runs a frustrated hand across his forehead. The green icing stains his skin, the deadly scowl he’s giving the mess of a tree-shaped cookie making you laugh.

Unlike Bradley who seems to have mastered the art of icing.

“You're doing it too fast.”

“Yeah, yeah, you know all about slow and steady. But that rarely wins the race,” he gives Rooster a smirk, making the other throw a dollop of frosting at him. Which then turns into the three of you ruining your shirts with red and green icing.

“I like this much better,” Jake smirks as he licks a smear of frosting from your neckline, making you gasp softly.

One thing Jake does seem to be good at—so he claims—is making hot chocolate. An old family recipe he had told the two of you, as he climbed off of your chest and placed a kiss to your forehead. Declaring the three of you needed some old-fashioned refreshments to replenish. Cocoa being that refreshment.

His absence turning worrisome when he’s gone for over an hour. The blaring of Christmas music coming from the kitchen that wafted into the open door of the bedroom, the only clarification that he was okay. But that didn’t stop you and Bradley from climbing out of bed and going to the kitchen—did hot chocolate take hours to make?

Finding Jake adorning a ‘Kiss The Cook’ apron and swinging his hips to Last Christmas, as he poured half a bottle of peppermint vodka into a pan of hot chocolate.

“Old family recipe, huh?” Rooster looks over his shoulder at the concoction he’s stirring up.

“Your mother gave you liquor as a child?”

“Hey! I don’t rag on your family traditions.”

“Everything about you is starting to make sense now.”

But when you try it it’s better than you expected—or maybe there was too much liquor in the mix to really differentiate if it was good or not. Because after three gulps you felt like your head was spinning and the three of you were screaming along to Christmas songs at the tops of your lungs.

On Christmas Eve Rooster, usually as cool as a cucumber, radiates on-edge-excitement. So much so that he almost lets it spill what the two boys got you. Making Hangman groan in frustration—acting as if he hadn’t spent the last two weeks begging for hints of what you got him, and snooping.

So you decide to throw them both a pitying bone and open presents early. Jake acting like a kid who got everything he asked from Santa, and Bradley rendered silent at the sentimental gift you and Jake put together in honor of his parents.

The silver necklace the two got you with the initials ‘R’ and ‘H’ hanging from it lays perfectly against your chest, as you bring another handful of popcorn to your mouth. Smiling at the chuckles that jostle your body as Rooster laughs at the cheesy movie; the perfect way to spend your last night together.

“Get everything you wanted for Christmas?” Jake asks, palm coming to rest on top of your thigh as his thumb rubs slow, gentle circles on your exposed skin. Having lost interest in the movie entirely. His cheek resting on the back cushion of the couch as he looks over at you.

You let out a soft content hum as you nod, turning your face to his with a smile on your lips. “What else could I want,” your stomach does a little swoop when you see his mouth spread into a smile. His fingers now join in the gentle massaging of your thigh—that moves into your inner thigh.

“An orgasm is a good gift.” He rebuttals, his sweet smile turning into something teasing. A playful roll of your eyes has you turning back to the tv. His way of turning everything filthy—which you’re not complaining about—is no shock to you at this stage in your relationship.

“The gift that keeps giving.” Bradley decides to interject.

“Exactly!”

“The two of you are insatiable.” You try not to laugh as both their attentions are now turned on you. The movie now forgotten by the person who wanted to watch it in the first place.

“Yeah,” Rooster confirms your statement. Nose pressed into your cheek as he trails light kisses down your jaw, to the top of your neck, “but that’s why you love us.”

“You’d be so sexually frustrated without us,” Jake teases. A gasp leaves your lungs when his trailing hand comes to the outside of your shorts, his index finger running along your clothed slit. Before he pulls your thighs apart to give himself better access to you.

You have no rebuttals. No arguments because his statement is completely correct. You couldn’t imagine a time before them when you’d experienced sexual enlightenment—or were given several orgasms in a row to the point where your legs lost their functions.

And with some maneuvering, clothes thrown throughout the living room, movie long forgotten, popcorn littering the floor: your naked body is pressed into the cushions of the couch as Jake lays between your legs, mouth attached to your clit, and Rooster running his teeth and tongue from the outside of your thigh to your chest, where he latches his mouth around one of your nipples.

“Doesn’t his mouth feel good, baby?” Rooster mumbles against your skin, leaving patches of wet marks of his saliva across your chest as he switches between your nipples. Love bites marring up the skin on the peaks your boobs, the hand at the base of your throat wraps around to cradle your neck in his palm. Pulling your head up from the cushion, “look at him.” It’s a soft demand, that comes out more of a want—a need to see you look down at Jake as he devours your pussy, at how pretty he looks with something in his mouth. Bradley watches the heat in your cheeks grow, the blown-out ecstasy of lust dilating your pupils; getting off on the attraction you have for the other.

Your fingers tangle themselves into Hangman’s hair. A fistful of blonde between your fingers, “fuck his tongue.” The brunette instructs. Where he loved to watch, loved to bask in the affection and need the three of you shared: the other loved to be used for what he was good at. And you loved providing both of those things for your boys while they pulled you apart, and put you back together. Dragging out your pleasure until all three of you couldn’t take much more of the torture.

With a soft grip on his hair, your eyes locked on his, you grind your hips against Jake’s face. The drag of his tongue along your wetness—the tip of his nose and tongue pushing on your clit just right—your head tries to tip back as you moan. Rooster’s hand on your neck not allowing you to go far. The breath from your lungs coming shallower, dying in your throat, as you get closer and closer to coming.

There are words you want to cry out. To say to both of them but it feels too good. Too good for you to keep your eyes open, too good to form any coherent thought other than Jake’s too fucking good at this—and Bradley is too much of a tease with his words, teeth too intense on your nipple.

And when you’re coming you can’t even declare so. Can’t scream or cry a single word because all air is leaving your lungs, your body trembling as your thighs close in on Hangman’s head. A sonorous moan pulled from the back of your throat.

They only let you rest for a minute—seconds—before you feel two sets of lips kissing along your body, fingertips following in their trail. Meeting at your midsection, colliding together in a rough-hungry kiss. One that makes the tremors shaking through your body sizzle out into that burning fire you just put out; they just put out.

Their kiss is all teeth and tongue.

Rooster’s hand at the base of Jake’s skull, tight, pressing. As if he needs him to stay there. To swallow down his tongue, to share the taste of you or he might go insane. Rooster’s thumb running along the blonde’s lip when they finally pull apart, their breaths heavy. “Let her taste,” the two share a smirk before Jake is on top of you. Mouth coming down on yours, tongue sharing the taste of your arousal—and Bradley—on yours.

That dimple in his cheek when he’s being cheeky is deep and prominent as he looks down at you, “think it’s your turn to use your pretty mouth on Rooster.” His voice grows deeper—almost a whisper, as he says his next words against your bottom lip. “So I can lick his come off your tongue.” The whimper that falls from your lips is caught by his tongue as he kisses you, both your attention going to the brunette when you pull away.

And you do end up on your knees in front of Rooster. His cock in your mouth, one hand on the back of your head as the other grips one of the cushions. His hips push up each time your mouth goes down the length of him, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. Making your eyes water, your gag reflex ignored as you suck and drool all over his cock.

Hangman presses encouraging kisses along your body, to the brunette’s thighs, biting and sucking bruises onto the skin of his chest—before he joins you. The noise Bradley lets out when the two of you wrap your mouths on either side of his shaft is angelic. A noise you love hearing over and over again. A noise the two of you work hard to get him to repeat until he’s growling with frustration and pulls you off his cock, the two of you smirking up at him.

A panting grumble of not wanting to come yet spoke in a huff.

“Where do you want to come, Rooster?” Jake asks with a grin. His teeth are nipping at his inner thigh as he looks up at him.

They both know you’d let them paint you with their come like you were their very own canvas. Just as the two shared the knowledge that your body wasn’t the only one in the room they could come on, or in.

And when Rooster cups Jake’s cheek in his hand, the nail of his thumb moving along his jaw to his bottom lip—it’s a silent answer to the question. One that doesn’t need any evaluation.

One that has more maneuvering of bodies until you’re on your knees on the couch, Bradley’s cock back in your throat, and Jake’s stretching your pussy open as his fingers dig into your hips, as he fucks you from behind.

The snap of his hips is hard and fast, making your body bounce back onto him and push forward to take Rooster’s cock deeper into your throat. The sounds of skin on skin and muffled moans around gags and spit, and sinful grunts were the only noises filling the cabin.

“So fucking good,” Hangman slurs from behind you. The lusted-out gravel of his voice is melodic. “Always so good for us. So wet, warm, and ready to have your pussy fucked. Throat stretched.” His palm feels searing as it runs down your back and over the globes of your ass. A soft swat at your cheeks makes you mewl around Bradley’s cock. “The perfect little cum-dump.”

His degrading words make you clench around him. Your eyes rolling into the back of your skull.

“And she's all ours,” Bradley adds—professes. States the obvious. His fingers grip your jaw as he pulls you off of his cock, thumb pressing into your mouth to keep it open for him as he leans down to let his spit drizzle onto your tongue. The corner of his mouth twitching as you moan, a sheen of tears coating your eyes looking up at him. Before slipping his cock back between your lips.

You don’t know how long the three of you go at it. How long Rooster makes a home at the back of your throat with his cock, or Jake going deeper and deeper with each pound of his hips until you’re seeing stars: but by the time you’ve come again, Bradley pulling you off of his cock by your chin so he can watch you come. Groan at the way your nails dig into his thighs as you do.

His palm pumps his cock as he watches how you go limp and let Jake fuck you fast and hard, until he’s following suit and coming inside of you. The two move quickly from their positions on the couch—leaving your heated body cold and drenched in sweat—your limbs exhausted as you flip yourself over to watch the blonde move down to his knees, mouth hung open, as he catches the ropes of come Rooster pumps into his waiting mouth.

And as you watch them, the satisfied look of bliss and sedation on their faces—their cheeks rosy and flushed, their beauty making you feel even more fucked out and heady—you don’t think you could ever want anything, for Christmas or other—more than this.

Your blissful sigh has their attention turning back to you. Jake pushes your back up so he can squeeze behind you and lay you across his lap. You expect Rooster to bury himself along your side or on top of you like he usually does. But instead, he’s pulling your thighs apart and burying his head between your thighs, tongue diving into your entrance to lap and suck at Jake’s come. Cleaning you with his mouth until the oversensitivity you feel is too much and you’re crying out.

Only then does he stop and with a grin reaches out for Jake, pushing his tongue into his mouth—pushing his come onto his tongue—Bradley’s hand resting on the column of the blonde's throat.

“Share,” you whine from beneath them. The brunette chuckles against Hangman’s mouth, before the blonde is sharing the taste of all the three of you on your taste buds.

And finally, after your hearts have stopped pounding and the heat of the fireplace and each other's bodies warm you—do you bask in the afterglow of it all. In the euphoric feeling of this; love, devotion, desire. A calm lulling your bodies to almost sleep.

“Good gift,” you say teasingly. Your fingers lazily move through Rooster’s hair as Jake’s do the same motions in yours. The two men laugh softly against you.

“Told you so.”

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dingochef · 5 days

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Looking forward to where this is going

it’s a bad idea, right? - part 1: can’t two people reconnect

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader • inspired by sleeping with other people

Warnings: no use of y/n or physical description of reader except they have hair that can be tucked behind their ears, implied smut, this chapter is fine but future installments will be 18+

It’s finally here! Thank you to everyone for being so supportive and patient about this fic; I was dealing with some rough personal stuff and lost all my inspiration but it’s back now and I’m happy to be writing about everyone’s favorite cocky flyboy.

There’s something about a sticky summer night when you’re 22 that makes you feel more alive than you’ve ever been.

It’s the third bar that your new roommates have dragged you to tonight, there’s a cocktail sweating in your hand and the bass from the stereo thudding through your head. You’re not sure if the grin on your face is from the watching all of the wannabe cowboys go flying off the mechanical bull in mere milliseconds or from the possibilities of newfound adulthood laid out in front of you. In this moment, it’s hard to imagine that you were ever scared about moving halfway across the country — away from your family, your hometown and your high school sweetheart who always thought you’d move home after college — to Austin.

In this moment, you feel free. You feel invincible. You feel like this is a night you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

“Okay, the bar is a madhouse but I managed to get another round!” Anna shouts as she makes her way back to the table, tossing her long dark hair behind her before plopping the tray of shots down in front of you and your new friends. “And there’s a new rule!”

Everyone groans in unison; Anna loves to make up drinking games, handing out shots and beers with a new rule or bet that is guaranteed to leave someone embarrassed before the night’s over.

“Oh, stop. Shit like this is how we become lifelong best friends, trust me, I read about it online,” she fires back, rolling her eyes and handing shots to you and the three other girls at the table before taking one in hand. “It’s simple. Last one to finish their shot has to ride the mechanical bull.”

“Bitch, are you trying to kill us?” Erin asks, shooting a sideways glance at Katie, who’s eyeing up her shot glass like she’s trying to strategize the best way to drink it. The two of them are sisters — “Irish twins, it’s a whole thing,” Erin explained when you first moved in — are hyper-competitive and curse like sailors. You loved them instantly.

Your tiny hope of not being the one to end up on the bull dies when you look over at Taylor, who managed to throw back her tequila when nobody was watching. “What?!” she asks, curls bobbing in the bun on top of her head as she takes in everyone’s looks of confusion and frustration. “Anna never said we had to start at the same time.”

It’s like a starting pistol went off at the end of her sentence because before you know it, Erin and Katie are both biting into limes while Anna is swallowing down the liquor with a grimace. Shit.

You do your best to catch up but it’s too late. You, the girl who grew up nowhere near Texas and have never actually seen a bull in real life, are going to have to ride one in front of this entire bar.

Years later you won’t remember the details of the bet, how your friends whooped and hollered as you made your way over to the bull with shaky knees or how the operator took pity on you when you immediately slid off and offered you a second try. The song that was playing is lost to time, as is the actual feeling of riding the bull for a whole half second.

What you will remember, though, is sliding across the tarp to rest right by a group of athletic looking guys and the strong, tan hand that reached down to help you stand up.

You’ll remember the backwards Longhorns cap on his head, the way his green eyes flashed with amusement and the blinding white of his smile as he helped you to your feet, hand lingering just a moment too long in yours. You’ll remember the way it felt like someone had set off fireworks inside of you, fingers tingling where they touched his skin and your stomach swooping like you were on a roller coaster.

You’ll remember exactly what he said to you: “Well, that was definitely the most entertaining attempt of the night.”

You giggled, a little dazed by his chiseled features, by the way he seemed to only see you in that moment, by the force of his charisma.

“I’m Jake. What’s your name, beautiful?”

For a Thursday night, the Hard Deck was surprisingly packed.

The Daggers had managed to claim their usual spot by the pool table, but despite their cramped quarters they practically had to shout over the sounds of drunken sailors and the oldies blasting out of the jukebox to be heard. The table next to Bob was crowded with beer bottles, the bespectacled WSO having waved off Penny when she stopped by to clear them, promising the group would clean up after themselves. Natasha and Bradley were in the middle of some kind of dumb darts competition, being heckled by Bob and a tipsy Rueben, who had his arm slung around the former’s shoulders for balance.

Jake took in the scenery, smug grin on his face, before sinking his final pool ball with a flourish.

“And that’s game, gentlemen,” he said, turning to Javy and Mickey, who were shaking their heads with frustration.

“Can’t believe I let you talk me into betting against him,” Mickey sighed, shuffling through his wallet for a $20 bill. Javy just shrugged and threw a playful punch against his friend’s shoulder, before asking for a rematch.

“Let that be a lesson, Fanboy,” Jake chuckled, making a big show of examining the bill before pocketing it. “Never bet against Jake Seresin. They call me a golden boy for a reason.”

“Who’s ‘they?’ Everyone we know just calls you a dick,” Nat called out, making her way back to the table for her drink. Taking a look at the chaos on the table, she rolled her eyes before starting to gather up a handful of empty bottles. “C’mon, Fanboy. Help me clear some of these and I’ll buy you a beer to drown your sorrows in.”

He ran over to help, allowing Javy to slide over to Jake and elbow his buddy in the side.

“10 o’clock, there’s a whole table of pretty ladies. The blonde’s had her eye on you all night and her friend with the locs is crazy hot,” he murmured, as Jake took a subtle look over at the table in question. 5 or 6 women were crammed into a booth, and judging by the tiara on one of their heads, they were out celebrating a birthday. “Wingman?” the younger aviator asked, holding out his fist for Jake to bump it.

For a half second, he contemplated turning his best friend down.

It wasn’t like Jake wasn’t attracted to the blonde, who was, indeed making eyes at him from across the room. She was exactly his type, all bright smiles and smokey bedroom eyes, her curves and long legs poured into tight jeans. She had an air of confidence that made it clear she knew just how hot she was.

He knew that if he strolled over and gave her his best All-American smile and some of that Southern charm, he could probably win her over. They’d flirt and dance a bit and then he’d drive them back to one of their places, have some decent-to-excellent sex and he’d be asleep shortly after midnight.

It seemed fun. It seemed obvious. It seemed, quite honestly, a little boring to him.

Maybe it was because he turned 35 a few months ago and the idea of going home to his own bed after a night out was starting to seem more and more appealing to him. Maybe it was because he spent so much time trying to convince his fellow Daggers that he wasn’t a complete asshole that he didn’t want to risk them changing their minds again.

Or maybe he was just a little jealous.

Jake would see the way Rueben’s face lit up when he talked about his wife, how he would brag about every milestone his 3-year-old daughter was reaching. He felt awkward about his lack of wedding knowledge when a pink-eared Bob would ask the squad for their opinion on something for his upcoming nuptials. He’d try to ignore the weird sinking feeling in his stomach when he’d overhead Nat and Mickey picking out a restaurant for their weekly brunch double date with their respective girlfriends.

And despite the fact that he had spent most of his adult life doing whatever he could to avoid those kinds of situations, now he was starting to wonder if maybe … maybe he’d be a little happier if he had been able to settle down with someone of his own.

Oof. That thought made Jake’s chest tighten uncomfortably. So he pushed it down, smiled as wide as he could and first bumped Javy. “Wingmen for life, Coyote. Lead the way.”

If you had to spend one more minute squeezed up against this bar, wedged between a couple aggressively making out and a trio of rowdy Navy men who were trying to sing along to Queen, you were going to scream.

“Just come for a drink or two. This place is super chill for a Navy bar, I promise,” you muttered darkly under your breath, repeating the words your friend and new coworker had used to convince you to come out tonight.

Between a frantic weekend spent unpacking all of your belongings into your new studio apartment and a very long first week at your new job, all you had wanted to do was bury yourself under a blanket and watch Real Housewives until your brain melted out of your ears.

But you were trying to be more social. You wanted to focus more on your friendships. Do things that were good for you. That was the whole point of this move.

So instead, you were leaning so far over the bar top that you could feel the edge digging into your ribs, shouting a drink order at the (admittedly, very sweet and slightly overwhelmed) bartender. She had just placed the two beers and margarita you had asked for down in front of you when another hand appeared and tried to snatch them up.

“Hey!” you yelled, tossing the bills in your hand onto the bar as you reached up to catch the offender by the wrist before they made off with your hard-won drinks. “Asshole! Drop them, those are my beers! What the fuck?”

You swiped up the cocktail with your free hand, lest it meet the same fate and turned around to see what kind of absolute monster thought they had the right to steal drinks.

Annoyingly, he was beautiful.

Tall and broad, with sun-kissed skin and a blindingly-white smile, which held a hint of sheepishness as he realized that he had been caught red handed. There was something familiar about the way he ducked his head a little, before peering at you from beneath his eyelashes.

“Sorry about that, ma’am. I thought those were mine. Didn’t mean to steal from you,” his low, twangy drawl went right through you, settling warm and comfortingly in your stomach. “I’d offer to buy you a drink to make it up to you, but, well …”

Texas. That’s where that accent is from, you thought, instantly being transported back to your nursing school program in Austin. How many wannabe cowboys had spoken with that same drawl, trying to charm you and your friends during a night out? Not too many of them had succeeded with you, especially not after —

“Jake? Jake Seresin!?”

It had to be him. You’d know that smile anywhere, had seen those green eyes in your dreams for far too long after you both had moved on. He was bigger now, muscles more pronounced and jaw more defined, more of those cheeky smile lines creasing around his eyes. His voice was deeper too, some of his accent smoothed out after years in the military, but it had to be.

He swore under his breath, eyes widening as he made the connection as well. He practically whispered your name, as if it felt a bit rusty on his tongue, but the second you nodded, he repeated it louder, warmer, like he was slipping back into his favorite jacket.

“Shit, how long’s it been?” Jake wondered aloud, looking you up and down as if to make a note of every infinitesimal change that had occurred since you last saw each other. “You look amazing, darling. Beautiful as ever.”

You rolled your eyes but felt your cheeks heating up at his compliment. Jake always had a way of making you feel like the most special person in the room — but then again, he made everyone feel that way, as you later found out. “You look good too, Seresin. Like a proper, respectable Navy man,” you concede, though the words don’t sound nearly as begrudging as you hoped.

You’re rewarded with one of those thousand-watt grins and for a second, you’re back in a Texas dive bar, flirting with the most handsome man you’ve ever seen to the tune of some cheesy country-rap remix.

“I am good,” Jake promises, eyes locked on yours, and you think he might be back there with you, leaning up against the jukebox, the floors sticky under your feet. “I don’t know how respectable I am, but I am definitely good.”

His voice drags out that sentence, low and flirtatious, and butterflies fill your stomach the same way they did all those years ago. You can practically feel the ghost of his big hands on your hips, your lower back, caressing your cheek as the world disappeared around you that night, just the two of you creating your own little world in the corner of that dingy bar. Your lips part — to say what, exactly, you’re not sure — and you see his eyes drop to them for just a moment before —

The woman behind the bar calls out “Hangman!” with a tone of voice that makes it clear that it’s not the first time she’s said it and you both startle and turn to see her holding four bottles of beer out towards Jake, a look of exhaustion on her face. He jumps forward to take them, apologies pouring from his lips and he pointedly shoves several bills into the tip jar in order to earn an eye roll and a small smile from her. Two sweating bottles in each hand, he turns back to you and almost seems a bit relieved that you’re still standing there. (As if you’ve ever been able to walk away from him.)

“I have to drop these off with my friends,” Jake says, nodding to a table somewhere behind you, “And you should probably get those drinks to the people who sent you over here. But do — do you wanna catch up? There’s a deck out back with some tables, it’s usually pretty quiet this time of night.” He waits for you to nod, before pressing a quick kiss to your cheekbone. “I’ll meet you in five minutes.”

With one more charming smile, he’s off into the crowd and — not for the first time in your life — you’re left speechless and a little stunned, staring after Jake Seresin.

You’re not sure if the goosebumps on your arms are from the chill of the California evening or the way that Jake hasn’t stopped staring at you since he joined you outside on the deck. You shift slightly against the wooden bench of the picnic table, overwhelmed by the intensity of having all of the blonde’s attention on you again for the first time in a decade.

“So …” you begin, and your voice seems to startle Jake out of his thoughts slightly. “You’re a California boy now? I never thought you’d ever leave Texas.”

He grins and shakes his head slightly. “Well, when Top Gun calls and offers you a permanent station, you’d be a fool not to accept. And not to brag, but they do only offer that to the best of the best.”

“Please, Seresin. You love to brag,” you fire back, watching those green eyes sparkle with mischief.

“Well, it’s not bragging if it’s the truth. And the truth is, darling, that I am one hell of a pilot.” Jake takes a swig from his beer, before leaning a bit closer into you, like he wants to study your reactions. “What about you? What brings you out to sunny San Diego?”

“New job,” you say shortly, shrugging your shoulders as nonchalantly as possible. “Moved from the ICU to the ED, so I figured a change of location would go well with a change of pace.”

Your smile doesn’t quite meet your eyes and you hope he can’t tell. There’s no reason to tell your ex — boyfriend? Fling? — whatever that you followed a guy out here, especially since that whole — relationship? Affair? Complete and utter heartbreaking disaster? — situation crashed and burned almost immediately.

“Mmhmm,” Jake says, as if he can tell that’s not the whole story, and he takes another sip before seemingly deciding to let you off the hook. “And what did you boyfriend have to say about moving halfway across the country? Or did someone manage to finally lock you down after all these years?”

There’s a small, sinking feeling in your stomach as you think about the real reason you moved here for a brief, heartbreaking second.

“No boyfriend. No husband, either,” you say, wiggling your left hand at him in order to illustrate your point, and clock the way his eyes almost look relieved by the sight of your empty finger. “What about you, Seresin? Where’s your sweet, Southern wife?”

He laughs, a little cocky but a little hollow at the same time. “You know I don’t really do commitment, darlin’,” he jokes and, boy, do you, nights of watching him flirt with other girls while you pouted in the corner of the bar flashing in your brain. You take a long swallow of your beer — just like you used to swallow down your pride back then — and roll your eyes at him.

“I swear, you look exactly the same when you roll your eyes like that,” Jake says, his smile softening around the edges. “Nobody ever managed to make it quite as cutting as you.”

“Nobody’s ever been quite as annoying as you,” you fire back, but there’s no real heat behind it. Jake’s eye light up like you just gave him a compliment rather than pointing out that he knew exactly how to press your buttons when you were younger.

“I seem to remember you used to like it when I was able to make your eyes roll. Or, at least, when I could make them roll back into your head …”

You sigh, doing your best not to let on how much that comment made your face heat with decade-old memories of you two tangled up in your sheets. “There it is …” you begin, but he just leans into you a little more, those green eyes traveling all over your face as he speaks.

“I’m just reminiscing, that’s all. Can ya blame me? You’re still so beautiful …” Jake responds, one hand reaching out to gently tuck some of your hair behind your ear. His fingers brush against your cheek as he pulls away and you hope you can explain away the goosebumps that erupt on your skin as a product of the ocean breeze. “And I spent a lot of time trying to get you all worked up back then. Force of habit.”

You could give into it.

Allow the sheer force of Jake’s charisma and good looks to carry you away on a wave of old memories. The chemistry that always fizzled between you is clearly still there, the butterflies that have laid dormant in your stomach all this time just waiting for an excuse to be let free once again. It would be easy.

And it would be good — you two had always been good at the physical stuff. He was so gorgeous in so many ways and surprisingly generous when you were in bed. (Jake always took pride in being the best of the best, after all).

But once you woke up tomorrow morning, after all of the awkward goodbyes and the promises to call, then what? Jake Seresin doesn’t commit; he made that clear.

And you were still bruised from your last mess of a relationship, your heart feeling tender and aching in your chest most days. There’s no way that this doesn’t end the same way it did a decade ago, with you sobbing uncontrollably and Jake moving on to the next beautiful girl who manages to hold his attention.

So, with a self-control you didn’t even know you possessed, you pull yourself out of Jake’s undertow.

“Seresin, I … that’s probably a bad idea,” you say softly, eyes dropping down to the tabletop in between you. “I just got out of a relationship and I’m not in a place —”

He cuts you off by tilting your chin up to look at him and then making a point to pull his hands back and keep them to himself.

“Hey, hey, I get it. No worries. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, darlin’” Jake explains in a rush. “I’m sorry about that. Like I said, force of habit.”

You huff out a laugh and another eye roll and you can see him fight a grin at your reaction. “Only you would describe flirting with someone as a habit, Jake.”

“Well, I’m one of a kind.”

“Shut up, Seresin,” you giggle, glad to be back on solid, friendly ground with him.

Two hours later, Jake sent you off with a hug and his phone number as you and your friend climbed into an Uber and set off for home. She had a few questions about the “dreamboat” of a Naval aviator that you had apparently dated back in school, but was a little too excited about recounting her own evening to push you for details. It wasn’t until you arrived back at your apartment and collapsed on your couch that you realized Jake had been texting you the whole time you were in the car.

Unknown: It’s Jake 🫡😜🤠⭐️🍻🏈😉

Unknown: Hope you get home safe, beautiful. It was great to catch up with you.

Unknown: And I would be an embarrassment to the U.S. Navy if I didn’t at least offer to be your tour guide around San Diego

Unknown: I know all the best spots after all

Unknown: So text me if you want to grab lunch or something

Unknown: Or if you finally want to learn how to surf

Unknown: But give me fair warning beforehand, I remember how bad your balance is lol

You: lol I forgot you text every single thought in your brain

You: but having a tour guide sounds nice

You: we could get brunch this weekend and you can give me the highlights?

You had only just begun to take your shoes off, resigned to finally get off the couch, when your phone pinged.

Jake 🤠 🧡: I know just the place

You gave his text a quick thumbs up and got ready for bed smiling the whole time.

-—-—-—-—-—

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! I don’t know if I’m going to have a regular schedule with this or anything, but I will do my best! Thank you for reading about the absolute menace that is Jake Seresin

Tagging some people who asked:

@tvshowgirl81 @redbarn1995 @stoneyggirl @keepingitlokiii @averyhotchner @dizzybee03 @olliepig @lynnevanss @djs8891 @mamachasesmayhem @mamaskillerqueen @kmc1989 @hookslove1592

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dingochef · 5 days

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More than movie magic... 18/?

Hangster AU. Explicit (eventually). Jake is a Hollywood actor and Bradley is a stunt coordinator. Jake's about to make a few self-discoveries. So is Bradley.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN

Chapter 16 is pretty much the only explicit chapter (so far), so you can skip it if you like, but it's not explicit by my standards, and it's very soft/tender.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Well hey there…” Jake says, and now that he knows Bradley likes his Texan accent he makes no effort to temper it, but Bradley looks annoyed instead of amused or aroused and Jake hopes the annoyance isn’t directed at him. Not already.

“Hi. Can I talk to you real quick?”

“Uh, yeah, of course…”

Of course there are catcalls and Jake rolls his eyes, but his heart is beating fast, thundering in his ears, terrified that this is somehow going to be his shortest lived relationship ever. He doesn’t know what he’s projecting exactly, but Bradley’s reaching for him, lacing their fingers together and pulling him to the side, just out of the way and out of earshot from most people although he notes pretty much every eye in the room is turned their way.

“Hey. Hey calm down. We’re fine. You’re fine…”

Bradley has shifted, putting his back to the room, as if he’s protecting Jake from everyone, eyes flicking over his face and his expression is concerned. Fuck.

“Jake… you with me?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just… heard those words before and it’s generally not the start of a good conversation.”

“Sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry. I just need to tell you something, and I feel like I’m going to be apologizing a lot today. Nothing either of us did though, okay?”

“The photos?”

“Yeah. Mav’s seen them.”

“Mav?”

“Sorry. Pete. He’s on his way here because he called me from the air and he’s incapable of believing I can make my own life decisions.”

“Okay. That’s okay. I’ve met Pete before.”

“Yeah. You met professional-Pete, not parent-Pete. Different beast unfortunately. Just… if I could have kept him from meeting your mom until after we were married or something that’s how I would have played it, but, uh…”

“You’ve thought about us getting married?” Jake blurts out, surprised.

“Uh. No? Well. Not in detail exactly.”

All his feelings around Bradley second guessing his decision to be with him have just dissolved, and he knows he had no reason to doubt it, but also knows his brain isn’t a rational place sometimes. Instead he’s watching Bradley blush and look awkward and he’s definitely falling in love with him.

“I generally don’t start relationships with people I can’t imagine myself spending the rest of my life with? I’m thirty-five, I have a better idea of what I’m looking for. And I can imagine a future with you, so… here we are.”

“Oh. So why would Pete be worried about that?”

“God. This is not the place for that conversation. Just. I’ll tell you, but we have fifteen minutes before we’re meant to be on set and I need to tell you something else… He’s bringing Tom. His partner. Um.”

Jake has to admit he’s confused. Pete having a male partner doesn’t really explain why Bradley seems as worked up as he is.

“Okay. So it’s a man. You seriously don’t think I’d have a problem with that do you?” Jake asks, staring at him and gesturing between the two of them. Bradley is shaking his head though, like there’s more and Jake waits.

“Tom as in Tom Kazansky.”

“What?”

Okay then. That’s a name and a half. Jake knows who that is of course, but he never met the man, Kazansky being pretty much a recluse since his health scare a decade previous when Jake had only just started making a name for himself. Jake isn’t even sure he’d recognize the man, the photo used in any media one from over twenty years ago.

“Yeah. They’re… shit. Thought I’d have time to tell you and prepare you for how weird they are. They have… a complicated relationship. They’re both incredibly stubborn and agree that they love each other, but they also… well. Tom got cancer, so he called it all off, said Pete could find someone better, and that started a whole other fight, but it was the most ridiculous thing, arguing over who loved each other more. They’re both hopeless, but neither of them can see it.”

“Oookay…” Jake says slowly, his mind racing, because quite frankly he doesn’t care about Pete or Tom, he just wants Bradley to stop freaking out. “Bradley. They aren’t going to scare me off anymore than my family has scared you off.”

As he’d hoped that makes Bradley laugh and he can’t help his answering grin.

“I like your family.”

“Well, that’s good. God. We’ve got to get to set. Marcia is going to have my head.”

“I need to talk to her too, give her a heads up about Pete,” Bradley says, and he’s glancing over his shoulder then, eyes scanning the room and Jake reaches for his face and gets his attention before kissing him.

“Go. I’ll see you in the arena shortly. Hope you appreciate that I don’t have to do makeup today!”

… … …

He’s distracted as he watches Jake walk away, but only a little, because he needs to find Marcia and Arnold, let them know that Pete is coming, but only to visit him and not to be an ass and tread on another turf, despite that totally being Mav’s MO. He knows Mav is getting on and mutters about retiring, but whenever he’s not working Bradley has to deal with more of his bullshit than usual.

“Bradley, you haven’t eaten anything!” Aunty Kaye calls out, and he startles a little, turning toward her, because she’s not wrong, but he is going to be late to set.

“Uh, no, haven’t really had time yet. I did grab a protein bar. Thank you for that by the way,” Bradley says, and he hopes he isn’t blushing too badly.

“Hmm. That’s not proper food.”

“No, I know. I just had a phone call. My dad is coming to visit. Both of them I guess. They’ll probably be here for lunch actually. Assuming they don’t get lost…”

“Well I look forward to meeting them. Hmm. Do you know why I like you Bradley?”

“Um. I thought maybe you liked most people?” Bradley asks, suddenly feeling like he’s smack bang in the center of a minefield with no idea how he got there. And of course he can’t be rude and just run away, he’d much rather incur Marcia’s wrath than Aunty Kaye’s at the end of the day.

“Oh, I do dear. But I liked you before I’d even met you.”

“Oh.”

Now he’s confused.

“You stand up to him, you wouldn’t let him try anything risky or dangerous and he complained about it bitterly,” she says, laughing. “But you know what I thought?”

“What?”

“That that sounded like someone who would keep Jake safe and unharmed. I’m his mom, of course I want him safe. He gets into enough trouble without thinking he can do risky stunts.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“You don’t let him railroad you into things, I admire that too.”

“Thanks?”

“Here, on his own turf, watching him do something he was born with in his blood? You trust him to know his limits. He needs that too.”

Bradley just nods, not sure if he’s even allowed to speak.

“So. I like you. However if I ever find out you’ve deliberately hurt him, either emotionally, physically or mentally I want you to know that you won’t see me coming. I will find you. Now, I can’t really threaten you with bodily harm, however I can threaten you with my disappointing looks, which my children assure me are the worst thing they’ve ever experienced. Of course, if Jake screws this up he’ll also be on the receiving end of one of such looks. However, I feel like you’re a man who doesn’t give up easily. Some days you’re going to have to dig-deep, because my baby can get in his own head and think the worst of everything and everyone, but I think if he were easy you wouldn’t be as interested as you seem to be.”

Bradley gapes like a fish, mouth opening and closing and he has no idea what to even say, where to start with everything she’s just said. All it’s highlighting is that he and Jake really need to have a proper talk. Not just about their relationship, but maybe about potential baggage that they have, because he thought maybe he was the only one. He should have known that wasn’t going to be the case.

“I’ve already told Jake that I think he’s worth it.”

“Good. Maybe he’ll believe you.”

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dingochef · 5 days

Text

More than movie magic... 18/?

Hangster AU. Explicit (eventually). Jake is a Hollywood actor and Bradley is a stunt coordinator. Jake's about to make a few self-discoveries. So is Bradley.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN

Chapter 16 is pretty much the only explicit chapter (so far), so you can skip it if you like, but it's not explicit by my standards, and it's very soft/tender.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Hi. Can I talk to you real quick?”

“Uh, yeah, of course…”

“Hey. Hey calm down. We’re fine. You’re fine…”

Bradley has shifted, putting his back to the room, as if he’s protecting Jake from everyone, eyes flicking over his face and his expression is concerned. Fuck.

“Jake… you with me?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just… heard those words before and it’s generally not the start of a good conversation.”

“Sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry. I just need to tell you something, and I feel like I’m going to be apologizing a lot today. Nothing either of us did though, okay?”

“The photos?”

“Yeah. Mav’s seen them.”

“Mav?”

“Sorry. Pete. He’s on his way here because he called me from the air and he’s incapable of believing I can make my own life decisions.”

“Okay. That’s okay. I’ve met Pete before.”

“You’ve thought about us getting married?” Jake blurts out, surprised.

“Uh. No? Well. Not in detail exactly.”

“Oh. So why would Pete be worried about that?”

Jake has to admit he’s confused. Pete having a male partner doesn’t really explain why Bradley seems as worked up as he is.

“Tom as in Tom Kazansky.”

“What?”

As he’d hoped that makes Bradley laugh and he can’t help his answering grin.

“I like your family.”

“Well, that’s good. God. We’ve got to get to set. Marcia is going to have my head.”

“Go. I’ll see you in the arena shortly. Hope you appreciate that I don’t have to do makeup today!”

… … …

“Bradley, you haven’t eaten anything!” Aunty Kaye calls out, and he startles a little, turning toward her, because she’s not wrong, but he is going to be late to set.

“Uh, no, haven’t really had time yet. I did grab a protein bar. Thank you for that by the way,” Bradley says, and he hopes he isn’t blushing too badly.

“Hmm. That’s not proper food.”

“No, I know. I just had a phone call. My dad is coming to visit. Both of them I guess. They’ll probably be here for lunch actually. Assuming they don’t get lost…”

“Well I look forward to meeting them. Hmm. Do you know why I like you Bradley?”

�� “Oh, I do dear. But I liked you before I’d even met you.”

“Oh.”

Now he’s confused.

“You stand up to him, you wouldn’t let him try anything risky or dangerous and he complained about it bitterly,” she says, laughing. “But you know what I thought?”

“What?”

“That that sounded like someone who would keep Jake safe and unharmed. I’m his mom, of course I want him safe. He gets into enough trouble without thinking he can do risky stunts.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“You don’t let him railroad you into things, I admire that too.”

“Thanks?”

“Here, on his own turf, watching him do something he was born with in his blood? You trust him to know his limits. He needs that too.”

Bradley just nods, not sure if he’s even allowed to speak.

“I’ve already told Jake that I think he’s worth it.”

“Good. Maybe he’ll believe you.”

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dingochef · 6 days

Text

So sweet and hot, love the punchline at the end.

Red Wine, Fall into me

Warnings: Language, Alcohol consumption, Smut. 18+ (Phoenix x Female Reader) banner by the wonderful @thedroneranger Fic inspired by the Chappell Roan song "Red Wine Supernova"

...........................................

You know they say not to waste a Friday night on a first date.

Yet, here you were, in a nice dress, walking into a cocktail bar, to meet some guy, from some app, on a Friday night for a first date. You'd spent a ridiculous amount of time doing your hair, makeup, and picking out the perfect outfit that was the right balance of "I'm a good girl," and "I just might let you take me home if you play your cards right."

You texted your date that you were there and that you'd be at the bar. You were there a few minutes before your agreed upon time, so you walked up to the bar top, which had a middle-aged couple at one end, and a pretty dark-haired brunette at the other.

You took a seat a few stools down from her and ordered a glass of merlot from the bartender. He sat it down quickly in front of you as you checked your phone to see if your date had responded to your text. You felt immediately defeated to see that it still had not been read.

A few minutes ticked by, and it was now the time you and your date had set to meet. You fired off another text asking if he was there, with no response. Several minutes later, you sent one asking if he was on his way and nothing. Finally, a full thirty minutes and a second glass of wine later, he sent you a message saying that something came up, and he wouldn't make it.

You huffed as you sat your phone down on the counter and groaned. Of course, this would happen to you. This was the last time you agreed to a date from an app.

You sighed and finished the last sip of wine in your glass and rummaged through your purse for your card. Before you could pull it out, though, you heard a soft voice speak. "Put her last two on my tab, and bring us another round if you don't mind."

You look up and see the pretty brunette from earlier handing her card over and taking a seat next to you. "Thank you, but you don't have to do that." You smile at her. "I know, but I want to." She smiles back at you, extending her hand for you to shake, "I'm Natasha, by the way. What's your name?"

You tell her your name, and she repeats it back, slowly, savoring every syllable of it like it's a fine wine. You don't think your name has ever sounded as good as it does coming out of her mouth.

"So, what's a pretty little thing like you doing here all alone?" She asks you. "I was supposed to have a date but—he stood me up." You sigh. "His loss is my gain then." Natasha says as she brings her own wine glass up to her lips. You blush at her words.

"What about you?" You fire back at her. "I just wanted a nice quiet night out, away from the crowds. Somewhere that I could relax and make a new—friend." She winks at you and slides her stool closer to yours.

"So, tell me about yourself." She says, and she rests her foot on the bottom of your stool. Your thighs part just enough to accommodate her toned leg that's exposed from the slit in her dress.

A shiver runs down your spine as you tell her about your job and some of your friends and what you like to do for fun. Her eyes stayed glued to yours, and she nods and questions and seems genuinely interested in you. "What about you?" You ask her when you finish.

"I'm in the Navy. I'm an aviator." She says as if it's the most casual thing in the world.

"Oh. So I guess you're used to going fast and doing what you want then." You smirk at her. "I can go fast." She says as she leans into your space. "But—" she sighs as she places her hand on your thigh. "—I actually have a partner in the backseat that I have to listen to, so I'm very good at taking directions. And, there are so many controls in the cockpit, that I have to be excellent with precision." She breathes out.

Natasha leans in closer to you. "I've always been amazing and zeroing in on my target and finishing the job. She whispers in your ear before pulling back. You swallow thickly and shift in your seat, unable to ignore the wetness pooling between your thighs and the heat that you feel in your belly that isn't from the wine.

"Is that so?" You say, cocking your head to the side. "Now, what exactly would one have to do if they want to see these skills in action?" You pry. "I think after a few glasses of wine and a dance or two, I might be convinced. Care to find out?" A crimson smile curls at her lips as she extends her hand to you.

You nod your head and slip your hand in hers. She places her palm on the small of your back, just a tad too low to be considered decent as she guides you to the dance floor. She presses closer to you to avoid the other people already there. You can smell her perfume. Floral and spicy with a hint of sweet. It is so intoxicating that it makes your head spin more than any glass of wine ever could.

Natasha drags you directly to the middle of the dance floor amongst all the other couples. She spins you around and presses your back to her front. There is absolutely no space between the two of you, and you can feel every soft curve of her body pressed against yours.

You sway to the beat of some song you don't know as her hands skim up and down your arms before resting on your hips. She pulls your hair over one of your shoulders and rests her chin on your newly exposed skin. You shiver as she places a gentle, fleeting kiss on your shoulder. You feel the blush in your cheeks spread all over your body.

"You okay there, pretty girl?" Natasha asks you. "Y—yeah." You stammer out. "Just a little warm is all."

"Why don't we go get some air." She whispers hotly in your ear. Her breathy voice has you weak in the knees. You nod your head in agreement, unable to trust your own voice.

It's quieter outside. So quiet you can hear your heartbeat racing in your ears as the two of you make your way to a secluded spot on the far side of the deck. The fresh salty air fills your lungs as you try to take a deep breath to calm yourself. You lean against the deck railing and watch the waves roll in as the moonlight dances across the dark ocean.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Natasha says as she comes to stand beside you. "It's breathtaking." You say as you turn to face her. "It's not the only breathtaking thing out here." She says, looking you directly in the eye. "No, it's not." You counter.

You inhale deeply as she takes a step forward and places on and on your hip, drawing you closer to her. She uses her free hand to brush a few stray strands of your hair away before cupping your face and pulling you closer to her.

Her lips are pillowy soft when they connect with yours. Her hand slides to the back of your hair, tangling in your locks to hold you in place. You wrap both of your arms around her neck as she trails her tonuge across the seam of your lips, asking for permission to deepen the kiss.

You gladly grant her access, and you moan as her tongue caresses yours. The kiss is sweet, with the last drops of your wine still on each other's mouths.

You moan and lean into her when you feel her fingers dig into your hip. She takes a step closer and pushes your back against the metal deck rail, her lips never leaving yours as her kisses become more hungry, more demanding.

She pulls her mouth away from yours, and you gasp as she trails her perfect pout across your chin and jaw before grazing your ear lobe with her teeth. You inhale sharply, and it's like music to Natasha's ears.

She continues her assault, trying to draw even more new sounds from you. Her lips skim over the sensitive flesh of your neck. You find yourself arching towards her, silently begging her for more. You feel her smile against you before she carefully grazes her teeth over the sensitive flesh before pulling back and laving it with her tongue. She repeats the action and your hand tangles in her dark strands, holding her in place. She chuckles and continues to work the space between your shoulder and ear, surely leaving a few dark marks behind, but you don't care. You want her to mark you up—claim you as hers.

You draw her mouth back to yours and kiss her until you're breathless. She pulls back and her lips are swollen, and her cheeks are red.

"I don't normally do this, y'know." You confess to her.

"Neither do I." She tells you truthfully.

You heave a sigh of relief. "I don't think I've ever done this, actually. But there's something about you that's—magical." You say as you bite down on your lower lip and bat your eyes at her.

"If you think I'm magic here, you should let me take you home. I've got a wand and a rabbit that I can show you all kinds of tricks with." She smirks at you.

................

A few minutes later, the two of you are in the back of an Uber going to Natasha's place. Her hand rests brazenly on your upper thigh, and her nimble fingers are tracing deft patterns across your skin. You squim in your seat, trying to keep yourself calm, when really, all you want to do is plant yourself in her lap and kiss her again.

The two of you somehow make it up the small path that leads to her front door. She unlocks it and pulls you in. Once the door is shut and she's clicked the lock, she pushes you up against it and kisses you roughly. You meet her kisses with passion. Both sets of your hands roam over each other, desperately.

Natasha has enough sense to practically drag you into her bedroom. You stand there a little awkwardly until she comes up behind you and slowly unzips you dress. Her lips trace your spine, leaving faint, wine colored kisses from her leftover lipstick on your flesh.

The garment drops to the floor, and you turn around to face her. She admires how your nipples are peaked and perky with anticipation. The scrap of lace, that could barely be called underwear, that you chose to wear tonight has an obvious dark spot on it. "Such a shame you date didn't get to see this." Natasha breathes out as she lightly grazes the front of it.

You shiver, and she lets out a breathy laugh. You reach for her, catching her wrist and pulling her to you. Your hands reach for her zipper. "Fair is fair." You mumble against her lips as she lets you pull it down before tugging the fabric off of her.

"Lay dow for me, pretty girl." Natasha says when she's kicked her dress to the side and shimmied out of her underwear. You take a moment to take in her form as you slip if your own panties.

Her dark hair falls gracefully over her shoulders. Her breasts are perky and lovely. She has a neatly shaved landing strip that draws your eyes to where you most want to be.

You lay back on her bed, making yourself comfortable on her pillows. Your breathing is shallow as her eyes rake over you.

"You're so fucking beautiful." She says as she crawls towards you. Beautiful. Not pretty, not hot, beautiful. You love how she talks about you. How she makes you feel seen.

"Thank you." You say before you can even think about it. She laughs as she reaches into her nightstand and pulls out the wand and rabbit that she mentioned earlier.

She sets them to the side before gently straddling your hips. She leans down to kiss you. Slowly, this time, it's more deliberate and precise. The two of you let your hands roam over each other's body. She tweaks your nipples, rolling them between her fingers and your arch toward her touch.

Not to be outdone, you wrap your lips around one of her peaks, and she lets out a gorgeous breathy moan that has your heart racing. She whines when you release the flesh with a soft pop but groans and leans into you when you repeat the action on the other. She subtly grinds her hips against you, seeking friction to relieve the ache between her thighs. You grab her thighs and help guide her, and she hums before stopping and sliding off of you.

"Mmm, not yet beautiful. There will be time for that. Let me take care of you first." She smiles at you. You huff a little, but don't protest. Natasha trails her lips across your breasts and chest and down your stomach. She circles her tongue around your navel before placing a kiss on your cunt, right about your clit.

You sigh as you sink deeper into her pillows, inhaling more of her intoxicating scent from earlier. She carefully parts your thighs and slots herself between them.

She grabs your left leg, and feathers kisses up from your knee towards your center and back down, a few times before switching to the right. She's taking her time building you up. And just when you think you are going to burst from her teasing, she places a fleeting kiss on your clit. You squeal and rock your hips upward, chasing her mouth.

She does it again, gently parting your folds with the delicate tip of her tongue, circling the sensitive bud and sucking it into her mouth.

She laps at your core, drinking in the taste of you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Wanton moans leave your mouth, and your chest heaves. One of your hands tightly fists her sheets, the other curling on her hair to hold her right where you want her. You squeeze your eyes shut and throw your head back as pure ecstacy washes over you when you cum.

Natasha works you through it until you push her head away. You lean up on your elbows and meet her eyes. She has a satisfied grin on her face. "How was that?" She asks almost cockily.

"Fantastic." You reply breathlessly. "I'm not done with you yet." She tells you as she reaches for her wand. You swallow and spread your legs for her.

She turns it on a low setting and starts by rubbing it over your nipples and down your body to get you used to the sensation. Slowly, she lowers it to your clit. You jump, still sensitive from your first orgasm, but you relax as she circles it around you bundle of nerves.

You feel one of her slender fingers circle around your entrance. "So fucking wet. All this for me, pretty girl?" She asks you. "Yes." You breathe out. You're jilted by a smack to your cunt. "Say my name, pretty girl. Tell me who's got you like this? Who got your pretty pussy absolutely dripping?" She commands.

"You—you did, Natasha. It's all for you." You babble out. She's satisfied with your answer and rewards you by sinking not one, but two of her long digits inside you and curling them upwards. You cry out her name as she finds your gspot impossibly fast. It should be a crime at how well she already knows your body as she strokes it with the perfect amount of speed and pressure.

She gages each sound you make and adjusts the wand on your clit and her fingers in your cunt. You have to give it to her, she wasn't lying when she said she could take directions.

Your head thrashes from side to side, and you're babbling out her name as she brings you closer to a second orgasm. Your toes curl against the mattress and you bite your bottom lip in an effort to keep your sounds at bay.

Natasha immediately tells you to be loud for her, and you're too for gone, and she has you so damn pliant that you'd do anything for her right now. So you release your lip and scream her name as you cum, gripping her fingers tightly, never wanting them to leave you.

When she does pull them out, you whine at the loss of contact, but it's short lived, because Natasha is crawling up your body and tapping her fingers on your lips.

You obediently open your mouth and close them around her digits, dutifully cleaning them for her. You groan at the taste of you on her hands. Once you've cleaned her, you pull off with a pop and kiss her. Your tongues meld together as you pull her onto of you.

You cradle her head and hook your legs around her waist and flip her under you. "Mine turn." You giggled as she looks up at you, bewildered. "Okay, then." She smiles down at you.

You cup each of her breasts in your hands and roll her nipples between your fingers. She lets out a small gasp as you kiss the tops of her breasts and the valley between them before continuing your journey south. You leave wet kisses across her hip bones and suck a dark mark into her right one, a little reminder of you for later.

You don't tease her like she teased you. You're too impatient. You've been dreaming about what she tasted like ever since you watched her bring that first glass of red wine to her lips this evening.

You tenderly part of folds before licking a long, broad stripe from her opening to her clit.

Natasha arches up off the bed, her hands flying to the sheets, clutching them for dear life. You repeated the motion over again before hooking one of her thighs over your shoulder. She's much more squirmy than you expected.

You work her over and over, tongue diving into her her sopping wet opening, nose bumping her clit.

She cries out your name, fingers in your hair, as you blindly reach for her other toy from earlier. You silently cheer as your hand wraps around her rabbit vibrator.

You turn it on and pull your mouth away from her. Natasha groans at the loss of contact but whimpers when she feels the tip of the vibe at her entrance. You push it in slowly until it is fully seated in her tight, wet, perfect cut.

She lets out a shaky breath as you slowly withdraw the toy and push it back it. You repeat the motion, picking up speed with each thrust. Soon, her hips are meeting it, and the sounds of lewd, wet fucking mixed with cries of your name are bouncing off her walls.

"Guess you had a few tricks up your sleeve, too." She laughs and rolls on top of you and sits up she slides down your body until you can feel her warm pussy right above yours.

Her walls grip the toy tightly, and her voice rises in pitch as she cums hard for you, back arching so hard that you're afraid she might hurt herself. "Fucking magical," you praise her as she comes down from her high. You slide up beside her on the bed. She's panting, trying to catch her breath.

"Think you have one more in you, pretty girl?" She asks you. "Yes, ma'am." You reply. She smiles at you before drawing you up to her lips.

She kisses you tenderly, rocking your hips together, creating a delicious friction between your clits. Your previous orgasms have both of you so wet, that you glide along each other with ease.

Your fingers dig into her thighs as you help guide her, pulling her tighter against you. You feel that familiar coil curling deep into your belly, and your head drops to her shoulder as you roll your hips to meet hers.

Natasha wraps a hand around your throat and draws you back to her. There is a glassy look of pleasure in her eyes, but she squeezes just enough to let you know that she's still in charge. "Cum with me." It's not a request, it's a demand, and who are you to deny her when she's making you feel so good?

You cum together. It's hard and messy and absolutely the most amazing feeling you've ever had. You collapse on the bed, and Natasha falls into you, both utterly spent.

Sometime later, when you can both feel your legs, the two of you make your way to the shower. After cleaning each other, you help her change the sheets, and the two of you get tangled in each other's arms and fall asleep.

..............

Six weeks later, you're slipping your hand into Natasha's as you follow her into the Hard Deck on a Friday night. This time, you're not meeting some guy from some app that you deleted ages ago. Instead, your girlfriend is introducing you to her coworkers.

You had already met Bob, her backseater, a few weeks ago because he insisted on meeting you because Nat, or Phoenix as she was known to her friends, couldn't stop talking about you.

Natasha quickly got the two of you a beer before weaving through the crowd to a pool table in the corner.

She takes her time introducing you to each one of them. You smile and wave and try not to be awkward.

"Well, what do we have here? If it ain't Phoenix." A male voice draws out. You turn, and you have to bite your lip to stifle a laugh. "Bagman." Natasha replies flatly. "Always a pleasure, Nix, but what I want to know is who is your friend?" The tall blonde asks.

"This is my girlfriend, jackass, so don't get any ideas." Nat says. "Babe, this is—"

"Jake. Right?" You say cutting her off. "Yeah? How did you know that?" She looks at you with a questioning glance. Jake looks at you equally, confused, trying to decide if you're familiar or not.

"Remember my date that stood me up a few weeks ago, the night we met?" You ask her.

"No. You're kidding." Nat smiles before belting out a laugh. Suddenly Jake's eyes go wide as he connects the dots on who you are.

"Son of a bitch, Bagman, I think I owe you a drink." Nat laughs as you and her other friends join in. Jake's cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Nat wipes a stray tear from her cheek. "But seriously, Jake. Thank you for being a dick. If you hadn't stood her up, I might not have met this amazing woman. Seriously, I owe you one." Natasha smiles at him before pulling you in for a kiss.

............

Eeeekkk! I hope yall enjoyed this! This was my first time writing for Nat! Let me know what you think with a comment or reblog!

Tagging those who might be interested: @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @desert-fern @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook02 @beyondthesefourwalls @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @horseshoegirl @djs8891 @roosters-girl @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @mshistorylover @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @inkandarsenic @mak-32 @jiminie-08 @dingochef @laracrofted @skipchat @princess76179 @schoollover @cheyrenee @angelbabyyy99 @bobfloydsbabe @sunlightmurdock @sebsxphia @atarmychick007 @queenlmno @sweetwhispersofchaos @mamaskillerqueen @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @withahappyrefrain

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dingochef · 6 days

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She was there with you in spirit, fuck a toxic job.

"I'm not like Venus."

Looks at my resignation notice for my principal, in which I tell her I would never send my kids here due to her failure to do required observations and that I feel as though I'm regressing in my teacher skills because of the lack of support and supervision here.

"wait....."

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dingochef · 7 days

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The switcharoo, 🤣🤣🤣.

The Younger Kind Part 60 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Your bachelorette outing and Bradley's bachelor party are both hosted by the same person, but they couldn't be more different. Spending an evening at home with Noah is reminiscent of your babysitting days, but now he's asking you some pertinent questions.

Warnings: pregnancy topics, swearing, smut, drinking, angst, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4500 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Natasha was outside in her SUV on the driveway, ready to pick you up for your bachelorette outing. You refused to call it a bachelorette party since it was just the two of you going out for the evening, but Bradley made sure his best friend knew to spare no expense when it came to anything you wanted.

"It's just pedicures and pottery," you whispered against Bradley's lips with a smile as he held you close so he could feel your round belly against his body. "I'll be home in a few hours."

He grunted softly, kissing you a little deeper before releasing your lips. "We'll still miss you," he murmured, letting his hands roam along your hips while Noah sat on the area rug and worked on one of the new coloring books you picked up for him. "And don't overdo it." When Natasha started honking her horn, he let his forehead rest on your shoulder. "She's the worst."

You just laughed and kissed his cheek as you said, "She's the best, and you know it, Daddy."

It would have been impossible to dispute that fact. She was the one who took care of you when Bradley wasn't stateside. "Go have fun."

"Bye, Mommy!" Noah said, popping up to give you a hug when Bradley released you. He scooped his son up since he didn't want you lifting anything, and you gave Noah a kiss on the forehead.

"Have fun with Daddy," you told him, kissing him once more before heading outside to Nat's idling SUV.

Bradley stood on the porch with Noah and waved until you were out of sight, and then Noah asked, "Can we get Mommy a coloring book?"

"Hey," Bradley said, nudging the door open while also making sure Skittles didn't get outside without her leash on. "That's a great idea, Bub. Maybe a Princess coloring book? You can give it to her for the wedding?"

His son looked so much like a tiny version of himself, and he had to stifle his laughter as Noah nodded stoically and said, "Yeah, she'd like that. I have so many great ideas."

Bradley took him back inside, and they ended up stretched out on the floor together. Noah continued with his masterpiece while Bradley started searching for options on his phone. After a few minutes, he found an independent shop that made coloring books with different themes based on photos that you send to them. "Do you like this?" he asked his son, holding up his phone.

Noah looked at the sample pages as Bradley scrolled through them. He nodded and said, "Mommy is prettier than that."

"She absolutely is," Bradley replied as he realized the wedding was in a week and didn't know if a custom book could even be completed in that short amount of time. "Let me see if we can get something like this for her. If not, we can always save it for her birthday."

His son started to pout at the mere mention of having to wait longer for it, so Bradley started typing up a message to the owner of the shop, hoping that he'd be able to explain that it was for his wedding. Once that was done, he checked the time and asked, "Do you need a snack before dinner?"

"Ants on logs," Noah replied without missing a beat. Bradley had no problem with the healthy snacks you somehow tricked the two of them into eating, but he was always told he never got the peanut butter proportions right.

"Yeah, okay. I can try to make them the way you like-"

"Mommy left some in the fridge."

Bradley chuckled as he stood up, coaxing Noah to abandon his coloring project for the time being. "Of course she did. She's the best." Somehow even when you weren't here, you had everything covered.

-----------------------------

"Okay, so if you could ditch Bradley and marry a celebrity, who would you pick?"

You burst out laughing in the pedicure chair next to Natasha with your hands resting on the roundest part of your belly. "Who said I would? Even if I could?" She gave you a look followed by an eye roll before you said, "You'll laugh at me, so I don't even want to say my answer."

"Just say it," she prompted as you dragged your foot through the warm water.

You groaned and said, "I like all the older, DILF-y actors."

Natasha started cackling as you covered your eyes with your hands. "You have a type!" she said amidst her laughter. "And your type is Rooster!"

You thought back to all the time you wasted with Greyson and other guys your age and grimaced. "I don't think that was always my type. It's a more recent development, and I'm not mad about it." You moved your hand on your belly and added, "Boy suck. Men are at least marginally better."

"Well," she said, leaning a little closer to you like she had a secret. "You found a good one. Or rather, I kind of found you for him. But regardless, he's a keeper. Kind of because he has Noah."

"Mostly because he has Noah," you told her, and then both of you were laughing.

After your nails were painted a vibrant purple, Natasha took you out for dinner and let you eat until you were full. You could tell your body and appetite were changing by the day, but you refused to feel self conscious about it in front of her. The two of you were sharing a slice of cake for dessert when you said, "He really did plan almost everything for the wedding. All I did was help him pick out matching suits for him and Noah to wear. And I picked out some flowers and my dress, but that's it."

Natasha hummed as she took another forkful of dessert. "I'm telling you, he'll always be good like that. He's a planner. Very responsible."

You felt silly telling her what was on your mind, but you said it anyway. "He pays my credit card bill. Not that I spend a lot! I try not to! I usually just buy groceries and things for Noah." She nodded like your words weren't as startling as you thought they were. "I kind of wanted to surprise him as a thank you, but if I buy something, he'll see it on the credit card statement."

Maybe you should have been wary of the smirk that found its way to her lips when Natasha said, "What if I rally the boys one night this week and take him out for a little bachelor party?"

"Oh," you said softly. "You'd do that? Just something lowkey?"

"Super lowkey," she agreed with a nod.

You could easily imagine them going to Top Golf or out for some drinks. "I think he might really like that."

"Or.... and just hear me out," she said, holding up her hands innocently after handing her credit card to the waiter. "Or, you let me absolutely roast him for the night."

You studied her face; how bad could it be? She was Bradley's best friend after all. Even if she was giving him a hard time, she'd probably make it fun. "What did you have in mind?" you asked as the two of you left the restaurant and headed for the pottery boutique down the block.

"A few things I'm going to need your approval for," she replied casually. And while you worked on making yourself a mug that said Noah's Mommy, you listened to Natasha's not-so-lowkey plans for Thursday night. By the time your mug actually looked like a mug, you gave her full approval.

"I almost feel bad about this," you told her with a laugh.

"I don't."

-------------------------------

The following evening after Noah was in bed, Bradley set you up for a nice shower while he cleaned up the kitchen from the chicken enchiladas you made for dinner. When Nat called him, he held his phone to his shoulder with his cheek and kept working.

He answered the call and asked, "Hey, what's up?"

"Your bachelor party with me and the guys starts at six o'clock on Thursday evening."

He laughed in response. "It's funny that this is the first time I'm hearing about it."

Bradley could practically feel her rolling her eyes through the phone. "Just be ready to go."

"Ready for what?" he asked, knowing better than to just trust her with this. The dating app was one thing, and that had turned out great in the end, but he wasn't going to blindly go with her on this.

"Uhhh... just some stuff."

"Natasha."

"Bradley."

"What did you do?"

There was a brief pause before she said, "Just be ready for dinner, booze and some strippers."

With a deep sigh, Bradley closed his eyes and said, "I'm going to have to check with my wife-to-be about the strippers, Nat." You had to know by now that you had nothing to worry about, and he wasn't even all that keen on going to a strip club, but he didn't want you to be upset.

"She knows the plan."

He froze as he loaded the dishwasher. "She does?"

Natasha laughed, and Bradley swore he felt his skin crawl. "She does. Be ready for six o'clock on Thursday."

"We have work on Friday-"

She already ended the call. Bradley finished cleaning up when he heard you getting out of the shower. "God damn it, Nat," he muttered as he turned off the kitchen lights and made his way back to the bedroom where you were all wrapped up in a towel.

"Hi, Daddy."

He groaned at your words and your little smirk. "Hey, Baby. Can we talk for a minute?"

Your eyebrows shot up as you held your towel around you a little tighter. "What's wrong? Is it something about the wedding? Did the marriage license not go through? We only have six days."

"No, no," he promised, reaching for you. "It's not that. It's... I just got off the phone. With Nat."

You looked relieved as you leaned against him. "Good. I was worried for a second."

Bradley didn't quite know how to approach this topic now that he was here. Natasha would be as tenacious as a junkyard dog about her plans, so he had to say something. "You don't have anything to worry about."

You laughed softly. "That sounds nice."

He cleared his throat and said, "Nat called about my bachelor party night?"

It came out more like a question than a statement, but you just nodded and said, "Dinner and drinks and the strip club."

"Yeah," he rasped. "You approved this whole thing?"

"Mmhmm. To be fair, it was all her idea. I just told her it was okay."

Bradley tipped your chin so you were looking up at him, your face fresh and perfect after your shower. "If this plan is not okay with you, then I'm not going."

"It's okay with me," you replied easily. "I trust you."

He studied your face. "I feel like I'm going to end up babysitting everyone on a work night. Two days before the wedding."

You snorted in response. "You'll have fun. And so will everyone else. You should go."

"Yeah, I'm going," he groaned. "Nat will just have the guys drag me out if I don't go willingly. But I don't really care about looking at strippers. I got you and your perfect tits right here at home."

You didn't stop him when he slowly tugged your towel from your fingers and pulled it open. And yeah, your tits looked perfect, but so did the swell of your pregnant belly and your soft skin. He was hard as soon as the towel hit the floor.

"Daddy," you whined softly, shivering in his arms. It was December, and the nights were chilly in San Diego; you had taken to snuggling with him even more than usual in your sleep. "Now you need to warm me up."

"My pleasure," he replied, scooping you up and dropping you carefully onto the king sized bed that you picked out for the room. "Let me start right here," he whispered before he kissed you softly, covering your body gently with his. "Feeling warmer?"

You shifted beneath him, spreading your legs wider so he was nestled against your pussy, his cock straining against his jeans zipper. "A little bit," you whispered innocently.

Bradley smirked, and when he brought his hand up to stroke your breast, he said, "I told you, I got these perfect tits right here."

"Bradley," you giggled as his fingers skimmed along your skin, but when he stroked his thumb across your tightly furled nipple, you arched your back and made a raspy gasping sound. Your eyes went wide as you looked up at him. "Oh my god," you moaned.

"Are you okay?" he asked, pulling his hand away, but you were already nodding vigorously.

"It felt really good." The words rushed right from your lips as you rolled your hips up to meet his. "Different, I guess. I can't explain it."

When he rubbed your nipple between his thumb and index finger, he smirked. You were instantly squirming and moaning, reaching for his zipper with one hand and his hair with the other. Your eyes were wild even though he was being gentle, and he dipped his head down to whisper in your ear. "You're extra sensitive right now. It's the pregnancy hormones." He plucked and stroked as you started panting. "God damn, Princess. You like that?"

"Yes!" Your voice already sounded broken, and he'd barely touched you.

"Shh. Keep quiet like a good girl." But his words and hand seemed to have the opposite effect on you, because you just got louder. Bradley reached down to where you had his cock free from his zipper and pulled your hand up to his lips. He kissed your fingers before shoving them a little rough into your mouth. "You have to be quiet if you want me to play with you."

You moaned around your own fingers but nodded your head, and at least you were quieter now as Bradley kissed his way from your neck down to your tits. He didn't know how he was going to manage you when there were two kids in the house trying to sleep, but at the moment, he didn't really care. You were going to be his wife in a few short days. That thought alone had him bucking his cock against the bedding as he ran his mustache along your peaked nipple, inhaling your wildflower scent.

When he pulled your nipple into his mouth and sucked, he could tell your breasts were already a little bit bigger than before. Soon you'd be bigger everywhere. Getting even more sensitive by the day. He was painfully hard right now, listening to your muffled screams and tasting you. He licked and sucked until your tits were both damp from his mouth and overstimulated from his mustache.

When you started bucking up, Bradley eased his hand down to cup your pussy and found that you were soaked. He couldn't remember Meredith getting quite like this as he dipped his middle finger into your slick and easing it down to your hole.

"Daddy," you gasped as you pulled your fingers from your mouth. "I'm going to come."

You looked shocked by your statement as you sank down around his finger. He could already feel your tight pussy fluttering around him as he whispered, "You want me to make it so good?"

His only answer was a whimper as you bit your lip, and he knew he'd make sure you were always taken care of in every way. Carefully, he added a second finger and started to circle your clit with his thumb. You were shaking a bit, your pretty tits bouncing softly as he ran his nose down the valley between your breasts.

"Be a good girl. You know where to put those fingers, Princess," he coaxed, watching you slip them between your lips. Then he let you have his mouth on your tits again, while his hand worked at your pussy. He carefully drew a shaking orgasm out of you as you slobbered on your own fingers, not stopping until he was afraid you'd be too far gone soon.

"Daddy," you whined around your fingers as he ran his tongue flat across your nipple.

"Let me fuck you," he begged, realizing he was already close and needing to be inside you. "Please, Baby."

You reached for his cock and guided him home, and he fucked you with his jeans barely pulled down, coming inside you after just a few strokes. You were the picture of sated perfection with his cum oozing out of your pussy and your wet fingers skimming along your swollen belly and breasts. You were his young, pristine babysitter and his pregnant wife-to-be and everything in between. "I love you."

"Keep me warm all night, Daddy."

---------------------------

As you sent Bradley off with Natasha, you shared a conspiratorial look with her. You only felt slightly bad for keeping the bachelor party plans to yourself, and ultimately it made you feel good when Bradley went out for the night in an old pair of jeans and an uninspired shirt. He didn't look the part of a man who wanted to try to dazzle some strippers, and you loved him for it.

"Bye, Bub," he said, kneeling to kiss Noah where he stood at your side. "Be good for Mommy." Then he stood and kissed you deeply. "I won't be out late, okay?"

"Stay out as late as you want," you told him, running your fingers along his cheek as he pulled away from you. "Just don't have a hangover on Saturday."

He smiled and focused on your face even as Nat and the guys yelled at him from Javy's car in the driveway. "Our wedding day. It'll be perfect. Like you."

"Go," you told him with a laugh even as you had butterflies in your belly. "Have fun. We'll be here when you get home."

With one more kiss, he was off and jogging down the walkway. You watched him climb into the backseat, then they all waved at you as Javy backed out of the driveway with Natasha in the front seat. You were wondering how long it would be until Bradley called you to tell you he had in fact been taken to see a bunch of male strippers. The guys had apparently all been so excited when Natasha mentioned the strip club, she had a hard time holding in her laughter. The plan all along was that she'd take Bradley and the rest of them to dinner and then to The Tiger's Cage- San Diego's premier male review.

But you didn't hear from them at all while you and Noah ate macaroni and cheese together. You still didn't hear a word as the two of you took Skittles for a short walk to look at Christmas lights. You even let Noah dip his hands in green paint to make a Christmas tree art project to hang on the refrigerator, but nobody called or texted you.

"Mommy?" Noah asked as you got him changed into his dinosaur pajamas. "Are you going to adopt me?"

You smiled and kissed him on his chubby cheek. "I am," you promised. But when you looked at his face, his brow was pinched with worry.

"Is it going to hurt?"

"Oh, Noah," you said with a surprised laugh, pulling him into your arms and holding him against his growing younger sibling. "Not at all! It won't feel like anything."

"Then why are you going to do it?" he asked, face muffled by your shoulder.

You soothed his back with your hand, considering his question. For all intents and purposes, you really were his mom. Bradley added you to his will; if anything happened to him, Noah was solely yours. "I kind of want to have a little piece of paper with an official signature that says we get to be together forever. Does that sound okay?"

"That's adoption?" he asked.

"That's adoption."

"Yeah, okay," he agreed with a little shrug before climbing into bed. "Can I sleep with Skittles again?"

The pup appeared in the doorway, always excited to hear her name. "She can stay in here until Daddy gets home." You set the dog in bed with him and gave him a little kiss on his forehead as he yawned. "I love you."

"Love you, Mommy." He was half asleep as you turned on his night light and left the room. When you checked your phone, you smiled, having finally received the message you were waiting for.

Bradley Bradshaw: Nat brought us to The Tiger's Cage. My name is on the marquee. It says CONGRATULATIONS DADDY BRADSHAW

You were doubled over in laughter, holding your belly and trying not to wet yourself. Because he also sent a picture. All of the guys were lined up under the marquee sign, and you were pleased to see that they all looked like they were being good sports about the entire thing. Bradley was the only one who looked slightly mortified.

You texted back Go have fun, Daddy Bradshaw!

Natasha sent you some random photos as you got ready for bed. You were surprised Jake was there, given your history with him, but even he looked like he was having fun. You laughed at a picture of Bradley drinking something pink and blended, and then the photos stopped.

You wondered what was going on, but you kept yourself busy. Bradley told you not to clean up, promising to take care of everything tomorrow night before the wedding in the backyard on Saturday afternoon. Since you had the time and the privacy, you tried on your wedding dress one last time, sliding the fabric along your legs and zipping it up your side. You grabbed your purple paper crown, which was looking a lot worse for the wear now, and set it on your head.

When you looked in the mirror, you smiled. The dress fit like a dream and hugged your bump. The crown looked fun at the moment, but you wouldn't wear it on Saturday; you were pretty sure Bradley considered it a 'bedroom' item at this point anyway. Mostly, you looked happy. Like someone who was accepted in this perfect place. Like a woman who was needed here. And you needed the Bradshaw boys to be your family.

You wore the dress around for a few minutes before carefully unzipping it and getting ready for bed. It was late now, but you requested the day off tomorrow, and you wanted to see Bradley when he got home from his bachelor party. After you checked on Noah and Skittles, you curled up on the living room couch.

Every time you stopped to think about the wedding, you got a little anxious. When you asked Bradley what he had planned for dinner for the reception, he just told you he had everything under control. He said all you had to do was show up with some sort of wedding vows, but he didn't tell you anything that he had planned.

You dozed off on the couch, somehow still exhausted all the time, and you had no idea how late it was when you woke up to the sound of laughter and a key in the front door.

"You smell like Axe body spray. I can't believe someone is marrying you."

"Jesus fuck, Nat. I smell like Axe because you took me to see male strippers."

"Well, I know I had a great time tonight," Natasha cackled as she guided Bradley inside, and you stood up with your hand clasped over your mouth. He was a swaying mess, and he was holding a huge wad of cash and a bag from a convenience store.

"Princess," he crooned softly when he saw you, and your heart skipped a beat at the look in his eyes.

"Hi, Daddy."

And then he was on you, so gentle in his overindulgence, it was almost surprising. He was looking around like he wasn't sure what to do with everything he was holding, trying to touch your belly.

"I'll see you on Saturday," Natasha said with a smile as she closed the door behind her, and then you were alone with him.

"What's in the bag? Are why are you holding a roll of cash?" you asked as you guided him to the couch.

He sat down hard and handed everything to you as you stood between his splayed legs. "The strippers were dudes. I made Nat and Javy stop so I could get you some Skittles. I'm really drunk. Can we get married soon?"

When you looked in the bag you found six packs of your favorite candy. "Wow, you must be very intoxicated if you bought a pack of Sour Skittles too."

"Did I?" he asked before stretching out on the couch. "Shit. I'll eat them. Come here."

You sat on the floor next to him and handed him the bag of Sour Skittles as you counted the nearly seven hundred dollars you were holding. "Bradley, where did this come from?" you asked in alarm.

But he just crunched on some of the candy in response. "Oh, these are fucking nasty. Baby, can we please get married?" he rambled, dumping more Skittles into his mouth.

You pushed his hair back from his forehead and kissed him there. "Were getting married in like thirty-six hours. Now can you please tell me where you got this money from?"

"Huh?" he grunted like he'd never seen it before. "Oh. Oh, that." Then he casually dumped the rest of the Sour Skittles and chewed them up while you laughed and shook his arm.

"Bradley!"

He swallowed and dropped the wrapper on the floor before pulling you up onto the couch with him. "Jake got tips for stripping, and Nat made him give me the cash."

"I'm sorry, what?" you asked with in shock as you tried to settle into a comfortable position on him.

"They tried to get Daddy Bradshaw up on stage. I pointed to Jake and said it was him."

You couldn't stop laughing now. "But you got the cash?"

"Yeah," he said, eyes drifting closed as he propped his arm behind his head. "A wedding gift. For the honeymoon."

Just as you settled your head on his chest, you popped back up again. "Are we going on a honeymoon?" You started to feel a little apprehensive about going away for an extended trip without Noah while you were pregnant, but Bradley brought his big hand up to settle on your back as he snuggled in a little more.

"Next year. After the baby's born. Anywhere you want to go."

He really did kind of smell like Axe body spray, and he definitely needed to take a shower, but you let him hold you for a few minutes while he slept.

------------------------------

Part 61 will be their wedding! Thanks so much for reading and letting me share this family with you! We're almost to the finish line. Thanks @caitsymichelle13 for the request about the coloring book; stay tuned. And thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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