#series: home for the holidays
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Home for the Holiday | Part 3
✦ Summary: Never let it be said that you weren’t willing to do just about anything for your squadron. As you find yourself roped into an elaborate ruse to help fool Hangman’s mother for Christmas all seems to be going according to plan. But when that plan spirals out of control, the line between real and pretend begins to blur.
✦ Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Female Reader
✦ Warnings: Anxiety, arguments, fake dating, hurt/comfort, Jake’s family being fake and generally awful towards him, mentions of divorce, mentions of past abuse, minor angst.
✦ Word Count: 9.9k
✦ Author’s Note: Hi, has it been over a year since I posted anything for this story? It must be a Christmas miracle! Anyway, this one has been sitting in my drafts for a very long time, slowly getting added to every few months. And here we come to the end of Jake's annoying family. The next two chapters will be decidedly happier, I promise.
[Master List]
You’re woken neither by your own internal clock nor the backup alarm on your phone but by the irritated slamming of something across the hotel room. It takes you a second to properly assess the sound as being of the non-dream variety. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you push up onto your elbow to stare into the unsettled darkness.
The golden light from the bathroom spills out into the entryway where a shirtless Hangman seems to be fighting a losing battle with the foldup ironing board.
“You good?” you call out, voice still hoarse with sleep.
His eyes snap up to meet yours, mustering out an almost guilty, “Shit, sorry Pits.”
You wave him off, sitting up properly - the white sheets spilling over your thighs.
The bedside clock informs you that it’s still early in the morning, though not unreasonably so. He had told you the drive to his father’s place would take a while, so it made sense for him to be up at this hour but less so for whatever the hell he was trying to accomplish across the room.
Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, scratching at the back of your neck as you pad your way over to find out.
“What’s with the iron?”
There’s a seafoam green shirt on the board with a plugged-in iron on its end, that much you can see.
“Damn thing won’t turn on,” he flicks the buttons on the iron up and down, on and off.
Quirking your brow, “You know it takes time to heat up, yeah?”
He pauses, fixing you with an exasperated look, “Fifteen minutes enough for you?”
Throwing your hands up in a defensive hold, you take a step back.
“Shit. Look, I’m not trying to be a total ass here. Just, I didn’t exactly go packing a lot of options and I can’t go wearing what I did yesterday because Josh saw it already - ”
“Got it.”
He sighs in defeat, grabbing hold of the shirt. Giving it a good flap, you can see the clear wrinkles on the front.
For a lazy day in, the shirt would be fine. But this was a family get-together and Jake Seresin was a naval officer. His closet was likely similar to your own when it came to precision-pressed and properly hung items. Wearing this shirt, the way it was, would not fly.
“Well, before you go complain to the front desk - give it here, and let me try something.”
His own brow rises but he ultimately hands it over by the scruff of the collar. Swiping up your toiletry bag, you head into the bathroom, looking over your shoulder to give him a small smile.
“Let’s see if the magic of steam can’t work a miracle on this.”
His features drop in a way that says he hadn’t even considered that as an option before he grins, “Here’s hoping.”
After hanging the shirt on the towel bar, you take an extra long and heated shower. Letting the water massage your back and shoulders with its pressure. You certainly missed the little things like this when you were aboard the carrier. Uninterrupted, hot, lengthy showers where you didn’t feel like it might be a biohazard to touch any surface.
No, this was nice.
And when you step out of the tub and wrap a towel around your middle, you crack the door open to inform Jake that his shirt is just about good to go.
“But I can hit it with the hair dryer still. We got time, right?”
He hums in reply from the other side of the room, though you can’t see him.
Turning on the exhaust fan, you wipe down the steam-covered mirror with a hand towel and go about finishing your routine. Making sure your feet are actually dry, you step back into the room - walking over to your bag in search of another outfit.
Jake had pushed aside the blackout curtains in your absence, filling the room with natural light. He’s sat on the edge of his bed again, but now he has a plain white tank on to go with his jeans. You can hear the faintest clearing of his throat, making you look back at him.
His gaze drifts down your back for a second before he seems to busy himself with his phone again.
“I’m guessing this one is a little more casual?” you ask, pulling out three different shirts.
“Mmm, yeah,” he clears his throat again with a cough, glancing over towards the bathroom.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get your shirt out in a minute. I’m just letting the steam work its last bit of magic on it.”
His eyes finally meet yours and he frowns slightly, “I wasn’t - y-yeah… okay.”
And then it seems to dawn on you: you were only wearing a towel.
And while it might be common for the guys of your squadron to walk around shirtless in the gym, or when they were changing out of sweaty flight gear, it wasn’t exactly a frequent occurrence for you to be seen in anything but your usual navy-issued tank and shorts. And while Hangman himself had been in nothing more than a towel yesterday morning, during the rush to get ready, that seemed like an entirely different situation to your own.
Your heart races as you become aware of just how exposed you are right now.
Grabbing hold of your entire bag and muttering out an embarrassed: “Sorry, I’ll just - ” as you hurriedly flee back into the bathroom.
Hangman, for his part, seems too stunned to even form a reply and you can’t exactly blame him.
Jesus, what were you thinking? You might be comfortable around your squadron but nothing over the past two days had elicited that level of comfort between the two of you.
Taking far longer than necessary to choose an outfit and get dressed, you’re slow and methodical about your hair and makeup this time too. Only when your nerves have settled down from the encounter, do you finally grab his shirt and return to the room.
“Well, what do you think?”
You hold the shirt up for him to examine. He nods, standing from his spot on the bed to take hold of it by the shoulders.
“Thank you.”
You just nod, tight-lipped, as you go about putting your bag away in its rightful spot. Jake tugs his arms through the sleeves before heading over to the full-length mirror by the front door. You watch as he methodically rolls the sleeves up to his elbows, creasing the cuff perfectly each time. When he’s done, he twists his watch around - back and forth, a few times.
And then he clears his throat, looking over towards you as you slip on your boots.
“You look good, by the way.”
Slowly, your eyes meet his and you offer him a gentle smile.
“Not too shabby yourself, Bagman.”
He ducks his head down for a second, grinning all the same. But then he’s glancing down at his watch and frowning again, patting his front and back pockets as he checks his EDC.
“You ready to go?”
Rising from the desk chair, you fix him with a questioning look, “Are you?”
With a smirk, he shakes his head. Offering an honest, “No.”
Jake holds the door open for you as you leave the room, heading down to the stairwell. You make an off-hand comment about it not being the way to the free dine-in breakfast. But he just keeps walking and eventually, you're in the parking lot. Slipping into the passenger side of the rental car, you watch as he adjusts the rearview mirror and his own seat.
Before he even starts the ignition, he looks over at you, “Hungry?”
“Well, someone wouldn’t let us go down to the lobby for breakfast.”
“Ha,” he chuckles. “Come on, I know a better place.”
Raising your brow as you buckle your seatbelt you say, “I’m intrigued.”
Hangman just grins, grabbing hold of the back of your seat as he backs out of the parking spot.
You're not sure what you expected, but when Jake pulls into a busy Sunoco gas station ten minutes later, you can't help but raise your brow skeptically at him.
“Trust me,” he grins - all teeth - as he snags his aviators from his shirt collar.
“Tell me they have the best donuts around at least,” you call, following him out of the car.
He had parked off to the side, away from the entrance of the food mart. Digging his hands into his jean pockets, he waits for you to meet him on the sidewalk in front of the hood of the rental car.
Grinning with all the smugness of a higher power, he nudges your arm with his elbow and leads the way. Avoiding the building entirely, which makes you even more curious. The two of you round the other side of the gas station where the smell of smoked meat and spice fills the air.
There are two food trucks, a yellow tear-drop-shaped repurposed camper, and a smaller red build. Each has its own canvas tent with tables and chairs set up underneath. Fancy chalkboard signs bring the promise of amazing food as do the long-stretched lines outside of them both.
“Okay,” you admit, “You had me concerned for a second there.”
He chuckles, getting into the yellow truck's line, “Gotta keep you on your toes, sweetheart. Anyway, I wanted to give you the chance of having an Austin staple.”
Well, if the menu wasn't enticing enough for you, then the smell certainly was. You find yourself nearly floating along the line with Jake. After ordering, you grab an empty picnic table to yourselves and proceed to dig into the absolutely massive breakfast burritos.
“Have you eaten here before?” you ask after swallowing another absolutely sinful bite.
“No, actually,” he wipes his mouth with another napkin. “This place didn't exist until two years back. Found it online when you were, uh, getting ready.”
Your chest aches as you recall the awkward encounter from this morning. Slowing your chewing, you manage out a pinched, "Well, god bless online reviews. This is incredible."
After another bite, you rub your lips with the back of your hand, glancing across to meet his gaze - his sunglasses remain folded on the table now, so you're able to see the green of his eyes once again.
“I mean it,” you swallow. “This might be the best breakfast I've ever had.”
He stares for a moment, swallowing his own bite before a slow smile graces his lips.
“Better not let your momma hear you talking like that.”
You laugh, “I'm sure she'd understand.”
Jake gives a warm chuckle, shaking his head, “Hell, think you know more about my family than I do about yours at this point. Not even sure I can remember you ever talking about them.”
Setting the burrito down carefully in the foil wrapper, you contemplate his small accusation. While you had certainly heard your fill of just about everyone else’s families while on deployment, you can’t recall if you really ever dove into talking about your own.
Obviously, you had heard all about Jake’s very extended family at this point. But even you knew about Freud and his weird association with his mom’s current husband - her fifth husband if you were remembering things correctly. Cosmo had a close relationship with his sister Cecilia but not his sister Lucia. Slab had a complicated connection with his adoptive parents but got on okay with his older brother. And so on.
“They’re not very interesting,” you finally settle on.
He raises a single eyebrow, “I highly doubt that.”
“Compared to yours?”
That makes him smirk, “Fair point.”
From there, it takes you a little longer to realize that you’re both eating at a leisurely pace and that Jake isn’t constantly checking his watch or telling you to speed it up. It’s a strange occurrence, given his usual attentiveness for being timely. Jake Seresin lived by the motto that if you’re early, you’re on time and if you’re on time, you’re late.
So, as nearly a full hour of the two of you sitting there and shooting the shit passes, you start to grow the slightest bit concerned. Going on to ask:
“How far did you say your dad’s place was?”
His lips immediately fall into a sort of scowl as you pull him away from a very amusing story about his time in officer’s school.
“Two hours,” comes the almost robotic reply.
“Does that mean we should start, you know, heading out?”
Your breakfast had long since been finished and the wrappers thrown away. Your drinks were little more than melted ice and semi-chewed straws at this point.
After ruffling his hair and twisting his watch around a few times, he finally sighs.
“Yeah, probably.”
Forcing a tight-lipped smile, you slap his shoulder as you finally stand up from the picnic table.
“Come on, Seresin. You got me as your wingman for a second round today. No time like the present.”
Grabbing hold of both of your near-empty drinks, he too lifts his leg over the side of the bench and stands up with a playfully annoyed, “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up now, Pits.”
The ride to his dad’s house is filled with Christmas music played by two different country radio stations. As the odometer slowly creeps up mile by mile, you can see the difference in your companion’s composure. He started out relaxed, almost lounging in his seat. And then it grows more rigid; with his hands clutching the steering wheel like it had personally wronged him.
Last night, the two of you had talked about the upcoming shitstorm of a holiday get-together.
You knew Josh would be there again. But you would also be meeting his other brother, Justin, and his wife and kids of course. And then there was his sister, Jess, and her brood - as he had put it.
Just from the way he talked about his siblings, it was clear that Jake did not get on with - nor keep in close contact with - any of them. He seemed particularly hung up on his sister more so than his older brothers. And while you were sure there was a story - or two - there, you didn’t feel it was the time, or place,to pry.
And then, of course, there was the infamous Mr. Seresin himself. Of him, you knew the least amount of information. Only being told that you should keep your conversations limited if not just nonexistent. You weren’t sure how well that idea would apply in reality, but for your friend’s sake, you promised to keep things to his plan.
As the radio DJ announces yet another Thomas Rhett song, Jake finally hops onto an exit ramp, signaling that you were close to the inevitable get-together.
In almost two hours, you had covered a variety of topics pertaining to work. But seeing the great amount of tension currently attacking your wingman, you finally relent with a different story.
“I got my pilot’s license at seventeen.”
Only because you’re at a stoplight does Jake look over at you, wide-eyed and mouth slightly ajar as the beginnings of a smirk curl into place.
“Do tell.”
You chuckle as he turns the wheel.
“Whole line of aviators, actually. Great-grandpa was a paratrooper during Korea and I guess he just missed the adrenaline when he came back to the States. His son took up commercial flying and my dad got his license just because it seemed like everyone else in the family was doing it.”
“And you?” his sage green eyes meet yours for a quick second before he focuses back on the road ahead of you.
With a shrug, you draw your knee up on the seat and stare out the passenger window. Swatches of dusty farmland and wooden fences pass you by.
“Guess I was always just growing up around them. My grandpa took me flying all the time when my dad was busy working. Did my first solo ride at fifteen in a glider and got my license two years later.”
You can see his grin from out of your peripheral and count it as a victory.
“Any other incredible talents you’ve kept hidden under that smartass exterior?”
“Hey!” you gently slap his arm, pulling a fake pout. “If there was, I’m not telling you now.”
“Alright, alright,” he bites his lip, tapping the steering wheel as a sense of ease washes over him. “I’ll play nice.”
With a roll of your eyes, you mutter under your breath, “Fat fucking chance.”
There’s a seemingly dramatic sigh from him which is immediately followed by a hand being jabbed into your flank and a screech of laughter erupting from your lips as Jake proceeds to tickle your side.
“G-god fuckin- STOP, y-you asshole,” you try to squirm away from his touch, but his fingers seem to know your exact weak points and there’s only so far you can scramble away.
“Give it up, Pita,” he croons sweetly, still somehow managing to drive the car steadily down the road with his left hand.
“Mercy! Mer-cy, you jackass!”
You shove at his hand until he finally relents. Absolutely beaming as he looks over at you, unable to stop his own chuckle from seeing the state of you. He sighs, the bubble of laughter on his lips as he turns down a dirt road.
“Sure know how to distract a guy.”
With a huff of indignation, you say, “I’m sure there’s more alluring ways to do that.”
Only when Jake chokes on his own spit do you throw your head back in a howl of laughter.
“Christ, the look on your face, Seresin.”
“Ha ha,” he deadpans, catching your gaze in the reflection of the rearview mirror. “Laugh it up, sweetheart. Cause we’re almost there.”
That does seem to sober you both up almost instantly.
The radio sways in and out between bits of static break-up. As the houses fall further and further back from the road, it seems like you’re looking at nothing but straight-up copper-dusted fields.
Hangman leans forward on the wheel as he peers out at the stretch of dirt road, checking the numbers on the mailboxes that pop up every mile. And then, at last, he finally slows the car down to a steady roll.
And while Lady A is singing about it being an absolutely Wonderful Christmastime, you watch as all signs of joy seem to drain from your friend’s face as he turns onto the long-winding drive of his father’s ranch. The tires kick up dirt and pebbles, leaving a trail of dust in your wake. You’re jostled in your seat from the rough terrain of the unpaved driveway.
“Can’t believe I’m fucking doing this,” he murmurs, staring up ahead at the trucks already parked next to the white barn.
The house itself is a massive ranch-style home, with wood siding that almost makes it look like an older cabin. But the windows are clearly modern and sleek. It was no question at all that Jake’s father had some serious money to his name here. If the accompanying acres of farmland weren’t already a dead giveaway.
You wait for him to park, killing the ignition and resting his arms on the steering wheel with a resigned look in place of his usually bright eyes.
“When, uh, when was the last time you were here?”
With a sigh, his chin resting on the wheel now too as he stares up at the sprawling house.
“All the time as a kid. It was my granddad’s. Went on to my uncle until he ran himself straight into debt from all the gambling and drinking. Then this one - ” he jerks his head in the general direction of the house once again, “ - got it passed onto him. Haven’t been back since my granddad passed. So maybe… fourteen years?”
With a singular blink, you mutter an equally pressed, “Jesus, Seresin.”
“Yeah, well…” he just shakes his head, having already given you the gist of everything last night. No point in rehashing old news.
“Looks like everyone is here,” you comment after glancing around at the other numerous vehicles in the drive.
He nods, finally pulling the keys from the ignition and swinging the chain into his hand.
You follow him up the path to the front porch – a once beautiful piece of craftsmanship now deteriorating and stained. The floorboards of the deck squeak under your shoes and a handful of the railings seem to be either broken-off or missing entirely. A black bear carved out of wood greets you both with a simple welcome sign held in its fur-textured paws.
Jake gives a solid rap to the door before he grabs hold of the handle and shoves it open. More of a courtesy knock than anything.
With a little squeeze to his bicep, you give him your best encouraging nod and follow after him as he slides through the entryway where a massive pile of boots and shoes has been deposited.
You’re only afforded a sliver of a proper view into the main living space, but the noise level is already on par with an F18 ready to take off from the flight deck.
As you kick off your shoes into the sprawling mess of footwear, you’re assaulted by the sound of screaming children, raucous cheers, a football announcer blasting through surround-sound speakers, and the faint twang of Christmas music radiating out from a speaker somewhere in the middle of it all.
Mixed with the pungent smell of sweat-soaked shoes and rosemary-scented turkey roasting in an oven, you reach out to grab hold of Jake’s arm – simply from the overwhelming amount of things happening all around you before you even see a single person.
“You good?” he murmurs, a shocking amount of concern etched onto his usually playful features.
“Mhmm,” you manage.
A warm hand eases its way onto the small of your back and you feel the madness fall into a pinpoint tunnel where it’s easily manageable and not so disconcerting.
“Never better,” said through a set of clenched teeth is all you can work up for him.
With another squeeze to his arm, you allow Jake to guide you – by the hand still on your lower back – down the front hall to the large open-plan living space. To your left, several women lean against the russet-colored cabinets, with glasses of dark red wine in hand and ringing laughs as short blonde-haired children weave their way through the space.
To the right, near the stone fireplace sits the majority of the men on overstuffed leather couches and recliners as they stare up, with rapt attention, at the game currently projected on the large flat screen mounted above the mantel.
“Uncle Jake!”
Your eyes lock onto the blur of yellow and red that comes charging toward you both. Stepping out of the fray, you watch as your companion drops to his knees to scoop up the girl with the maroon ribbons laced through her platinum hair.
“Kenna Kenna Kenna,” he grins, grabbing hold of the young girl around her waist as he hefts her up and swings her back and forth in his embrace.
A smile that you can’t seem to control graces your lips as you watch the scene play out.
Oh, the guys back on the carrier would kill to see this side of Hangman right now. What a privilege it was for you to bear witness to.
From over his shoulder, you’re presented with the curious brown eyes of the girl who then jabs her hand against Jake’s chest and demands:
“Who’s that?”
You watch as your companion’s grin slips down for just a brief second before he forces a tight smile.
“That,” comes the familiar voice of the older Seresin brother, who rises from one of the leather recliners with a beer in hand, and a too-smug smile on his face. “Is Uncle Jackie’s girlfriend.”
The girl gasps, staring up at Jake with a pure look of wonderment, “You have a girlfriend?”
Out of instinct alone, you wrap a hand around his right arm – encouraging the act from him.
“I do,” he nods at last, glancing over at you with those piercing green eyes. And then he’s laughing, dropping the girl back down onto her feet as he says, “God, when’d you get so big?”
“Probably sometime between your last visit and now.”
Your gaze snaps over to the woman in a denim blouse in the kitchen area, swirling her wine before she finishes it off.
If you had to take a guess...
“Jess,” he greets, short and to the point with a curt nod of his head.
Bingo.
As the girl, Kenna, skirts off to join the other kids currently hanging back by the patio doors near the massive Christmas tree, another man wanders over. Similar to Josh and Jake, he’s got dimpled cheeks, darker blonde hair, and a distinctive swagger to his walk.
“Hey man,” he claps Hangman on the shoulder, presenting him with a bottle of beer in his other hand. “Long time no fucking see. Look good though.”
Jake takes hold of the drink before he slinks his arm back around your waist, guiding you forward and into his side.
“Justin,” he nods, half in greeting, and half in explanation for your current confusion.
Ah, brother number two.
“And you’re the mysterious girlfriend,” his eyes slip past his brother to land firmly upon your face.
You offer your hand in return, along with your name.
“Never thought we’d see the day,” he grins in return. And then he’s backing away, gesturing toward the fridge, “Something to drink? Beer, wine, Coke?”
Surrounded by so many people who all seem to be particularly interested in scrutinizing your every move, you merely shake your head, “Think I’m good for now, thanks.”
Jake squeezes your side and you look to your left to see him already staring down at you with a soft smile. Emboldened by his apparent approval, you begin to make your rounds with him never far from reach.
You’re introduced, quickly, to Gwen. His bubbly stepmother with dark roots and straw-colored hair who hands you a glass of wine without taking no for an answer. She’s brightness personified and the definition of a doting host. Beside her stands a rather quiet fixture in the kitchen.
Marissa is the curly-haired young wife of Justin Seresin. She watches on with a bottle held between her chipped-red nails as Jess hollers at Kenna from across the room when she tries to drop a handful of slime on her uncle’s head.
The woman remains silent, though she holds an amused smile, as she watches the madness of her inlaws take place. There’s a brood of children that moves and weaves through the adults who remain largely indifferent to their antics.
From the countertop, where an array of appetizers are laid out, you watch as the two seven-year-old twins – Dawson and Dixon – gulf down scoops and scoops of bean dip. While their sister - Brynlee, as Jake’s stepmother manages to tell you over the noise of the get-together – seems content to cling to Marissa’s pant leg as she stares up at the towering adults overhead.
Your nerves begin to ease as a sort of familiar feeling washes over you. If you convinced yourself hard enough, you could almost pretend this was one of your mom’s extended family reunions.
Sure, you weren’t well-acquainted with everyone yet. But if you forced a good smile and made an effort to be courteous, you were sure you could get through the ordeal without tarnishing your wingman’s reputation.
Slowly, Jake guides you through the room, until, at last, you’re sat on the armrest of one of the leather recliners, watching with distant interest as the announcers recount the last play in the game before halftime.
“So, you gonna introduce us properly?”
Your eyes shift toward the couch where you spot the gray-haired tresses and stern sun-baked face of Daniel Seresin. Your companion, who had been standing off to the side of the living room speaking in quiet conversation with his eldest brother, seems to straighten up to full attention as if an admiral had just entered the room.
With a twinge of discomfort, your gaze tracks Jake as he strides over to you, a hand resting on your shoulder when he finally comes to a stop. You can feel his breath on your neck, the rise and fall of his chest against your back.
In a rigid tone bordering on inspection-line worthy, he introduces you by name and rank to his father.
A smile flits across the older man’s face as he beams up at you, rising from his lounged position on the couch to properly shake your hand. He looks the part of a typical rancher with his light-washed jeans and buttoned-down shirt tucked in with a flashy belt buckle.
“Real pleasure to meet you,” he grins. His hand is large, calloused by years of work. “I can’t tell you the last time Jake mentioned a girl catching his interest. Isn’t that right, buddy?”
You feel rather than hear the clipped mhmm that Jake gives in return. His gaze remains largely focused on the wall behind his father where an array of framed family photos resides. Never affording the man with the respect of holding his gaze.
Daniel claps your shoulder warmly and invites you to sit down with promises of their dinner being a real feast.
“She’s a saint, Gwen,” he tells you as you resume your position on the side of the armrest.
Jake, pointedly, slouches down in the actual recliner, his fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle as he stares – unseeing – at the TV.
“Hell, damn near blew myself up last year with the fryer. Don’t think she’ll let me in the kitchen, will ya, honey?”
He shouts the last part, to be heard over the crowd. Followed by a ringing you bet your ass I won’t coming from the vicinity of the stove.
You watch as Josh shakes his head in amusement, cradling a wriggly toddler in his arms. But your attention ultimately falls to the man seated to the side of you. Lost in his thoughts, trapped in his own head.
Reaching down with a tentative hand, you squeeze his fingers with your own.
It takes a minute, but then those welcomed meadow-green eyes meet your gaze and you can almost see the momentary relief that crosses his face as he squeezes your hand in return.
Dinner at the Seresin house is a decidedly casual affair in comparison to the meal you had shared with Patricia the day before. Gwen dishes out the seasonal fixings onto Christmas-themed heavy-duty disposable plates. Accompanied by wrapped bundles of plastic cutlery in Santa Claus paper napkins.
Balancing your plate on your lap is a true feat of talent as you’re the main entry and exit point to the kitchen, still settled on the armrest beside Jake.
The nieces and nephews, all eight of them, are situated on the floor on a big fleece blanket that quickly becomes an absorbent towel for their stray food bits more than anything else. Your hostess has the foresight to turn the game down to a more reasonable level, though the noise in the living room is still on par with a jet engine firing.
You find yourself shouting to be heard whenever anyone graces you with a question, which isn’t many... at first.
“ - anyway, after he pulled them over,” Jess continues her story about her husband, Nick: the Statetrooper. “He told them that he – god damnit! MacKenna Jaymes, are you or are you not watching your sister?”
Your attention, involuntary, falls to the oldest grandchild who has a mouth full of food as she stares helplessly at her younger sister who’s let her plate slip and spill all over the blanket.
“Fucking Christ,” Jake scoffs in heated breath, too quiet for anyone besides you to hear. His anger isn’t directed at his niece, of course, but at his sister.
Shoving his plate onto the other armrest, he peels himself up from the chair and crouches down to the oblivious toddler who has orange cheese sauce all around her lips – which he wipes clean with a napkin.
Jess, for her part, rolls her eyes and continues on with a biting tone about children needing to take care of their own messes. But Jake merely scoops up the girl’s food and settles the plate back down on the floor in front of her with a gentle ruffle of her sweet blonde locks.
You hold his plate for him when he returns to the chair, running a hand through his own hair.
“Thanks, honey,” he says in a cadence so natural it almost makes you drop his plate.
When he’s settled, you chance a look at him before you find your gaze trailing over to the far too smug brother seated on the chair adjacent to yours.
“See? This is the shit I was talking about last night,” he waggles a finger between the two of you as an example.
“Dad, do you remember when he brought over that girl? God, Jackie, what was her fuckin’ name?” Josh perks up, sitting on the edge of the cushion as he grabs his father’s attention, and, inadvertently, Jake’s as well.
“Oh, gosh,” Daniel starts, slapping his knee in thought as he stares up at the ceiling for the answer.
After a beat, you hear the soft utterance of, “Sarah.”
You glance down at Jake who keeps his head bowed under the weight of old memories.
Josh snaps his fingers, “That’s it! Fucking head cheerleader wrapped around his damn finger and did he even spare the girl a glance? I swear to God, he - ”
“Christ, can you knock it off with the swearing already?” Jess snaps.
The mischievous brother merely grins at you in a way that seems to say you see what I’m dealing with here?
“Must be all that growing up that’s got you so enamored.”
Settling your hand on Jake’s left shoulder, you give him a reasurring squeeze. You’d already dealt with his brother’s annoying antics and personality last night, what was a few more hours of unending torture under a familial microscope?
He lets out a long ragged breath, but you can feel his shoulders loosen marginally.
You almost miss the biting sound of the Seresin sister when she mutters, “Doubt it.”
But Jake doesn’t.
And he latches on to it like an enemy target on his radar system.
“Something you wanna say?”
The room falls to a stifling silence like the distant whistle of a falling shell about to make impact. You fear for the fallout from the impending crater.
She has the audacity to look aghast, a hand held to her heart in surprise as she manages to finish off her potato salad in one quick bite.
“Jacob. If you can’t say something nice, you don’t say anything at all.”
“And yet you always manage,” comes his lightning-quick response.
“Well,” she drawls. “On a holy day like Christmas, I think you can find a way to keep your opinions sealed up.”
The other occupants watch the sparring of words like a tennis volley. But someone seems to have had enough.
“Oh, bless your heart dear!” Gwen says, standing quickly from her position on the couch beside her husband as she makes her way over to you. “You’re all out of casserole. Come on, now. Let’s get you fixed back up.”
Your chest tightens as you’re literally pulled to your feet by the determined woman, who quickly leads you into the depths of the kitchen. The words from the two siblings are still just as biting, but slowly the trickle of grandchildren also make their way into the kitchen.
Just another Christmas get-together for them as the grown-ups row.
As Gwen tops your plate to the point of sagging with more food, you watch MacKenna as she settles her younger sister on her hip while holding a hand on top of the toddler’s head.
“You’ve got your hands full,” you manage to say, hoping the smile you offer her isn’t tight with worry as the noise in the living room continues to grow.
The girl shrugs, as much as she can with a one-year-old in her arms. She tracks her siblings as they settle onto the hightop stools and begin to rummage through the lower cabinets.
Josh has his hands out as he tries to delegate between the bickering siblings, but Justin and Marissa just have the peace of mind to leave the scene altogether – also journeying over to the sanctuary of the kitchen.
“Don’t worry,” the eldest brother says to you, leaning on the counter as he carefully pushes his twin sons away from the bowl of Chex mix. “They always get into it when they’re together. Has nothing to do with you.”
“Oh,” is all you can say in return.
“Here, hun,” his wife says to the nine-year-old struggling to hold onto her baby sister any longer. “Give your arms a break.”
With a handful of chips in his mouth, Justin points at his wife, “We’re not having another one.”
She nods congenially, patting the baby’s back with her hand, “I know that.”
Jess is on her feet now, pointing a dangerous finger at Jake, but you feel rooted to the spot because this was never a discussed topic of possible scenarios between the two of you back at the hotel.
“Abandoning your fucking family because you have goddamn daddy issues. Get the fuck over yourself, Jacob!”
For all the hostility his sister throws his way, your companion remains level and coolheaded as always.
He stares up at her with a perfectly blank face, “Can’t go one damn holiday without throwing a tantrum can you?”
Gwen coughs, pulling your attention away for just a moment as she all but shoves a platter of cookies in your face.
“Want one? Got more than the two of us can eat here. I made peanut butter, peppermint, pecan – ”
“ - and you think you can just show up here like it’s all water under the bridge and everything’s fine and dandy just because you have a girl on your arm? That doesn’t make up for the last decade of your shit.”
You take a step toward the living room, where even Josh has shrunken down onto the couch with his head between his hands. Daniel remains completely stock still as he watches the seemingly one-sided fight drag on.
“Just ‘cause you found the first broad to give you the time of day, doesn’t mean you can just waltz in here and – ”
Before you can even register the words, Jake is on his feet.
Staring down at his sister with a heaving chest and balled fists.
You break away from the cluster of family members as you make your way to his side. Tentatively, you reach for his hand – easing his fingers away until you can entwine your hands together. His nostrils flare as words that have been building up since childhood begin to battle their way up to his lips, but it all comes to a halt when you murmur a gentle:
“Baby?”
With a slow turn of his head, he looks down at you – fight dissipating from his eyes as you squeeze his hand. Giving a gentle tug, Jake follows you over to the sliding doors of the back deck.
Behind you, you can hear Josh give an admonishing, “Never known when to close your massive fucking trap, do you?”
But you push aside the door and lead your wingman into the fresh afternoon air before you can hear her likely cutting response.
Having no real idea of the lay of the land, you pull him down the back steps and find yourself traversing a small pebble path around the back of the house. Jake, still in a state of silence, allows you to guide him forward without so much as a peep.
Near the back wooden cattle fence dividing the backyard from the actual farm property, you stop under the shade of a large tree. The billowing branches bring not only cool shade but a sense of privacy away from the prying eyes of the bickering family inside.
Releasing your grip on his hand, Jack takes a few unsteady steps forward before he drops down onto a faded old wooden porch swing. It creaks under his weight but seems sturdy enough as he eases his heels into the ground and pushes back and forth.
You stand there, staring out at the vast fields for a long long moment before you hear your name whispered into the breeze.
Turning back to your wingman, you take a seat beside him, your knees brushing as he continues to make the old swing sway.
Out here, if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine you’re in the cockpit on a smooth return flight. The only noise comes from the gentle breeze drooping over the tall grass that bends like ripples in the water.
But your attention ultimately falls to your friend. With his knuckles gripped white on his knees, his head bowed down with his shoulders hunched high to protect him.
This version of Hangman would never be seen by your squadron, nor would it ever be mentioned.
With a steadying breath, your voice cracking as you force out the words, you say, “I have a soft spot for disco music.”
It takes a second for the words to register, but Jake slowly lifts his head and stares at you with pure confusion.
“What?”
“Disco. It’s my... thing? And I’m swearing you to fucking secrecy, Bagman. But... I belt out ABBA songs when I’m alone. Donna Summers too.”
The making of a grin begins to form on the corner of his lips.
“I’ve got it bad for the Bee Gees.”
His brow raises ever so slightly.
“Do those private serenades also include a dance number?”
With a bark of laughter, you tuck your hands between your knees as he rocks you further back on the wide swing.
“Oh, absolutely.”
When you look up, you find his eyes narrowed and scrutinizing. But not in a harsh way. More like you were a puzzle he was just only now figuring out the missing pieces of.
“Why are you telling me this?”
Giving a shrug, you say, “Because I wanted to. Also, no one will ever believe you.”
There’s a beat of silence before his lips tug up into a radiant smile that has him shaking his head.
“God damnit, you’re right.”
You let your left shoulder bump into his right as his laughter slowly ebbs away to silence once again.
He spares the house a furrowed expression before he lets out a slow exhale of breath.
“This thing,” he starts, twisting his watch back and forth on his wrist. “Between me and Jess, it goes back years.”
“You don’t have to explain it,” you assure him with a soft utterance.
But he presses forward despite it.
“Josh and Justin were already out by the time things got bad. Just me and her in the house. Not that she paid much mind. She was ‘bout to graduate and I was just some snot-nosed ten-year-old.”
He eases into the swing, dipping his head back over the headrest to stare up at the swaying green leaves above the two of you. You find yourself turning to face him, pulling your left knee up onto the seat.
“Mom started drinking ‘round then after she found out he was fucking his bowling buddy. Had been, for the last two years or so. But Jess didn’t know that shit, just saw Mom passed out on the couch with an empty bottle on the floor.”
Jake shakes his head, pushing away the memory.
“They never said it to my face, but I know. I was the save the marriage baby.”
“Jake...”
Offering you a tight grimace, he continues.
“Spoiled as hell, got whatever I wanted and then some. Private school, the works. Brothers didn’t care much, but Jess...” he trails off.
Your hand settles onto his forearm, offering a squeeze of comfort when your own words fail you. He dips his chin in return, welcoming the touch of familiarity.
“That’s what I meant by it the other day. They sided with him and I went along with her because I found out what was really happening. Don’t get me wrong, Gwen’s a good lady and the two of them are better off divorced. But... put a wedge between me and the three of them.”
Clearing your throat, you ask, “Is that why you left to join up?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “Couldn’t fucking stand to be around either of them by the time I graduated. Just wanted to start over, do something for myself on my own terms.”
And then he scrubs his palm over his face, wincing as he does so.
“Christ, I don’t know why I’m fucking telling you any of this.”
“I said you didn’t have to, you know,” you nudge him with a teasing tone.
With a look of pure exasperation, he holds his hands out like a confession, “Got me bleeding my heart out here like I’m Freeze or something, Pits.”
“Eh,” you sigh, twisting your body to pull up both of your legs onto the bench – only to deposit them both right across Jake’s lap with little fanfare. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of it.”
Something funny flits over his features for a moment before he places his hand over your calf and resumes his gentle rocking of the swing.
Eventually, you both manage to peel yourselves off the swing and wander back into the house. Jake says something about being completely okay with ditching the whole thing and heading back to the rental car. But you have to remind him that your shoes are still currently lost in the massive pile in the front entryway.
He then tries to convince you to leave them, going so far as to say he’ll buy you a new pair before your flight.
But, reluctant as he is, you walk hand-in-hand back into the house. You get lost in the excitement of the kids who want to open up all their presents right this very second and it seems like, for the moment at least, the fight has been put on hold to allow the true joy of Christmas to take place.
Though Jake and his sister remain on opposite sides of the room for the entire duration of the madness that is eight kids scrambling to unwrap their numerous presents the fastest.
While Justin plays the role of gift hander-outer, Jess lounges on a barstool in the kitchen, watching the mess play out with a stink eye. Jake, for all his hold-ups on the day, also drops to his knees to help the younger nieces unwrap their gifts.
Which leaves you, surprisingly, with a small bundle of drooling baby in your arms since her own mother would rather watch from afar than interact with her own children.
June is happy to suck on the left foot of her new stuffed buddy, lounging out in your lap as you rock the recliner back and forth. Jake shoots you several amused glances before he gets tugged into the decidedly un-fun realm of opening up all the plastic-wrapped toys for the kids.
The living room floor is heaped with wrapping paper and ribbons, loose twist ties, and chunks of cardboard and plastic molds by the time he returns to your side. This time, he’s the one resting on the armrest as he gently taps the snoozing baby’s foot with his fingers.
“Out like a light.”
“No better way to celebrate the day,” you agree.
The sleeping babe must be used to the chaos that is the Seresin family, as her siblings and cousins run amok with their new toys that beep and jingle. Tiny feet thundering against the hardwood floors as they zoom up and down the long hallway separating the living area from the rest of the house.
“Now that’s a picture if I’ve ever seen one.”
You lift your gaze to Gwen as she rounds the corner, a wine glass in hand as she settles in next to Daniel on the couch across from the three of you.
“Think you two will ever settle down stateside?” he asks with a true glimmer of hope in his graveled voice.
Jake winces, hand falling to your inner thigh for support.
“I, uhm, I could never ask Jake to put his career on hold for that,” you find yourself saying.
“Same for you,” he adds a second later.
Gwen, for her part, gives an understanding nod – settling a hand on her husband’s arm to stifle the topic down.
“How long have you two been flying together?”
Your wingman seeks out your gaze as the two of you mentally run through the tangle of memories.
“Three, almost four years now?”
“Mhmm.”
“And what set this all off, if you don’t mind me prying?”
Jake clears his throat, and you have to turn your head to hide the beginnings of laughter that bubble up to the surface. He shifts his weight, draping his right arm over the back of the chair, a finger playfully tugs at the fabric of your shirt.
“It was after a mission debrief. Fourteen hours, dead on our feet,” the story, completely fabricated, comes to him with a true sense of ease.
“And, I dunno. Everyone was shuffling outta the room and I just looked over and saw Pita and thought...”
At the pause, you turn your face to look up at him only to find his softened eyes seeking you out.
“Wow. I can’t have this girl out of my life.”
That piercing expression nearly takes your breath away and you want to applaud Jake for his terrific acting on the fly.
Pulling your gaze back to the seated couple, you add, in jest, “I’m sure my greasy hair and flight suit was what did it for him.”
“Hundred percent!” he grins, tugging a strand of your hair.
At some point, the others filter back into the room and Marissa kindly takes the snoozing June from you. You have to shake out your arms just to return the blood circulation. Who knew kids that little could be that heavy?
And while you get lost in the rushed conversation of two seven-year-olds trying to tell you all about the mechanical workings of their new RC cars, Daniel pushes up from the couch and weaves his way over to Jake, before saying something in his ear. You can feel the way he goes rigid as he slips his arm away from you and slowly stands and follows after his father.
You watch as the two men disappear down the hall, toward one of the bedrooms or office from the looks of it. A cold dredge of worry washes over you, cooling your insides and twisting your stomach into another uncomfortable slosh of concern. He had just started smiling again.
“He’s really got you bad, doesn’t he?”
Pulling your gaze away from the empty hall, you find the piercing eyes of Josh inspecting your face as he leans across his chair to speak to you.
“You. You’re worried about him.”
“Comes with the job,” you say.
A smirk tugs his lips into a twisted look as he too glances down the hallway.
“He’ll be fine. Little testy with whatever Dad’s about to try pulling. Won’t be too surprised if that’s the end of our little visit.”
Your brows pinch, “That bad?”
He chuckles, easing back into his recliner, “Always.”
You try to focus on the happy children occupied with their new toys and the soft lull of the TV sportscaster, but you find your primary focus pulled toward the long empty hallway.
He had told you all about the history between him and his old man, both in the backyard confessional an hour prior and the day you arrived in Austin. Yet now your mind was conjuring up worse and worse scenarios of what was happening in a closed-door room several feet away.
Another few minutes pass where you try your best to ignore what could be transpiring a few yards away, but the sound of a door opening followed by a pleading voice saying:
“Jacob, come on now. Jake. Jake.”
You crane your head just in time to see your companion striding down the hallway, directly toward you – pushing both Justin and Gwen gently out of his way. You’re on your feet by the time he reaches you and before you can even ask are you okay, he’s grabbing hold of your arm.
“Think we’re done here, sweetheart.”
Trying to get a read from his expression alone is useless, so you merely nod in return.
“Okay.”
As Jake directs you toward the entryway once again, with a trail of family members walking a few steps behind you both in silent anticipation, Daniel Seresin finally makes a reappearance.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he just shakes his head in return to his wife’s questioning look.
Hangman can’t seem to move fast enough, even as the nieces creep past you to get to him.
“Are you leaving now, Uncle Jake?”
“When am I gonna see you again?”
He’s halfway between tying his left boot when he looks up at the little faces curled with worry and childhood innocence. Frozen, unable to find the right words to explain his hasty escape as he peers up and over their heads at his father standing silently at the end of the hall.
“Oh, that’s my fault, I’m afraid,” you say, leaning down to grab your own boots as three braided-blonde heads turn to look up at you.
“We need to hurry to the airport to catch our flight, don’t we, honey?”
A flash of gratitude in his eyes and a slow exhale has Jake nodding, quick to play along to your tune.
“That’s right, sweetheart. We have to go see Pita’s family now. Wouldn’t be fair to keep her away on Christmas, yeah?”
Shelby clings to his leg, her face squished into his thigh as she murmurs, “But I’ll miss you.”
Jake shoots you a clear help me look, but your rescue comes in the shape of Josh Seresin who swoops in and collects the five-year-old up into his arms.
“I’m sure you’ll hear from Uncle Jackie soon. Won’t you?”
Your companion gives a fast nod, “That’s right, kiddo. Soon as we’re back on the carrier, I’m gonna call you right up.”
The little girl peers over her uncle’s shoulder and you meet her soft gaze.
“And Pita too?”
Jake almost laughs, but he curves it into a smile instead.
“Yeah, her too, honey.”
Oh, your breakup in a few weeks was gonna be fun to talk through with a kindergartner.
Pushing that thought from your head, you righten your boot into place and fall back into Jake’s easy embrace, his hand finding a too-familiar spot on your waist.
The drive back to the city is shared in silence with only the familiar Christmas tunes from the radio there to fill the void between you both. And even then, the holiday spirit has already seeped out of the vehicle and into the vast countryside. No amount of classic jingles could fix that at this point.
When you arrive back at the hotel, it’s as though you’re waiting for the missile to hit. That weapon of course being Jake himself.
But the man in question is as silent as ever as he drops down onto the edge of his bed. Too tired to even remove his boots as you carefully tread around him to take care of your own shoes.
His silence makes you even more cautious in your moves, tiptoeing across the carpet to your bag and back again. Afraid to make any noise that could set him off. Oh, you could handle the fallout, of course. You’re just not sure if he could at this point.
When you emerge from the bathroom, now dressed in your sleepwear, Jake is lying flat on his back with his legs hanging over the edge. His eyes open and staring, almost unseeing, at the popcorn ceiling.
After spending a moment to assess your situation, you unceremoniously flop down on the bed beside him, a hand plopping down on his right knee.
And there you sit, in the stillness of the hotel room for a series of long-passing minutes. You watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, curling your fingers tighter and then looser on his jean-clad knee. Until, at last, he speaks.
“Should have never did this to you.”
You wait until his eyes land on you before you respond.
“Oh, fuck off, Bagman.”
It takes a second, but he eases up onto his elbows.
“I’m serious. Yesterday with my mom was one thing. But this shit? Today? God,” he drags a hand down his face in annoyance.
Releasing a breath, you lay down beside him on the bed. He stares down at you for a long moment before he falls back down next to you.
“I told you, I don’t care. I agreed to this entire insane endeavor and I told you I was gonna see it through no matter what. So, lose the bullshit grief, and don’t worry about me.”
Tugging on the loose fabric of his seafoam-colored button-down, you give him the space to respond or not. Hell, you were gonna be the last person to try and press the man for anything right now.
“I just...” he exhales, resting a hand on his chest. “I dragged you across the country, away from your own damn family, just to do this.”
Rising up slightly so you can stare down at him, you retort, “Which I agreed to. If I didn’t want to do this for you, do you honestly think you could force me to do any of this? Honestly?”
Jake glances back at the ceiling before a smile graces his lips.
“Hell no.”
“Exactly,” you reply, dropping back down.
“Well... at least it’s over.”
You hum in response.
Come morning, you would take the rental car back to the airport and board separate flights. You up to Michigan and Jake back to California. You would enjoy a family-filled holiday and he would be...
Your stomach turns at the thought.
Alone.
After everything that had transpired over the past forty-eight hours, after all that he was dragged through. Jake would be alone come Christmas day. Alone with his own damn thoughts and whatever reemerged trauma that came with this particular visit produced.
Maybe that’s why, after several more minutes have passed you both by, that you turn toward him and say:
“Do you... I don’t – well, that is to say, uhm...”
You can feel the look he gives you but you have to crane your neck back to properly look him in the eyes. There’s something there in the meadow green of his irises that emboldens you – allowing the words to come easily.
“Jake, would you like to come home with me for Christmas?”
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#jake hangman seresin x reader#jake seresin x reader#hangman x reader#top gun fan fic#series: home for the holidays#my fic
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"being alone over the holidays is so sad" um no actually rather than deal with traffic/airports and potentially contract covid just to be re-traumatized by dysfunctional family, i choose instead to be incredibly sexy and take a lovely staycation that is just me and my glorious self splurging on delicious food, media, and leisure time
#if i binge the entire home alone series while feasting on 2 servings of shrimp pad thai followed by a generous amount of cheesecake#while you go to bed early with a stress headache from your parents' triggering behavior#one of us is in need need of sympathy and hint! it isn't me#anyway stop pressuring people into making commitments to visit family on the holidays just because it would 'sad' to be alone#trust me it's a lot sadder to be stuck spending time with people who make you uncomfortable and stressed
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Fuck it Friday
Here’s Buck and May’s first meeting from I’ve been sleeping so long in a 20 year dark night (now I’m wide awake). I’m so close to finishing this one. It was meant to be just a small 2K fic but it’s more like 5K now .. whoops 😅. Got a few things left to type and then I can edit and maybe get someone to read it and she’ll be good to go!
Prev snippet here.
Buck closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting the sea air fill his lungs to the brim. Evan Buckley has finally been boxed up, tape sealing the lid shut. This is his fresh start. He exhales, opening his eyes and setting off in search of breakfast and coffee, so much coffee.
The Main Street of town consists of different shop fronts including a grocery store, flower shop, hardware store, butcher and a cafe called Abuela’s. Buck sighs in relief as he opens the door to the cafe and it quickly turns into an appreciative moan as the smell of freshly brewed coffee hits him.
“If you’re letting out sounds like that just from smelling the coffee, we may need to put a warning sign up on the door for the noises you make when you actually drink some.”
A blush begins to creep up Buck’s neck as he looks behind the counter where a young woman is standing. She’s maybe 18 or 19 with warm brown skin, dark brown shoulder length hair and a face that should really be on tv or in magazines. She’s beautiful, and Buck can tell just from her kind eyes and warm smile that it’s not just a skin deep beauty.
“Uh sorry, it’s- it’s been a long couple of days and I’ve been living off of shitty gas station coffee and- and whatever they’ve had in their hot boxes.” He rubs the back of his neck, ducking his head sheepishly.
“Well today you’re going to be having fresh coffee and an equally fresh breakfast.” The young woman states, leaning casually against the counter. “I’d go with the chocolate chip pancakes, they’re extremely popular and for good reason.” She picks up a menu and slides it across the countertop towards Buck who steps forward to grab it, leafing through the pages. “I’m May by the way.”
May holds her hand out towards him and Buck accepts it, shaking her hand. “I’m Buck, and chocolate chip pancakes sound amazing.” She smiles at him and Buck is helpless but to return it with one of his own, a genuine Buck smile, not the fake one he’s had to wear for so many years. “And the biggest cup of coffee you have. I don’t care what kind, surprise me.”
No pressure tagging: @jamespearce9-1-1 @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @callmenewbie @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @wikiangela @lover-of-mine @rainbow-nerdss @giddyupbuck @devirnis @fortheloveofbuddie @loserdiaz @spagheddiediaz @malewifediaz @wildlife4life @weewootruck @exhuastedpigeon @eddiebabygirldiaz @theotherbuckley @try-set-me-on-fire @athenagranted @disasterbuckdiaz @fiona-fififi @homerforsure @hoodie-buck @honestlydarkprincess @jesuisici33 @jeeyuns @ladydorian05 @clusterbuck @captain-hen @bekkachaos @monsterrae1 @prettyboybuckley
#this is before Buck meets Chris and Eddie 😊#fic: I’ve been sleeping so long in a 20 year dark night (now I’m wide awake)#daylight series#daffi writes#it’s school holidays here in Australia so I have two kids home instead of one which means less typy typy time#but I’m also loving having both my kids home 🥰#but Mumma also needs space 😅#haha parenting is fun!#(it’s hard and rewarding and all the emotions rolled into one)
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Woven
- a Bringin' Home the Rain Interlude -
"Bringin' Home the Rain" Master List:
[ Part One ] 🌹 [ Part Two: "Salvation is a Deep Dark Well" ]
Fandom: MCU - Age of Ultron, Black Panther
Pairing: Ulysses Klaue x F Reader
Chapters: 1 of 1
Word count: 3.9k
Rating: Explicit
Summary: As winter begins to settle in, the darkening days are unexpectedly brightened when you end up with the chance to spend a little more time with Ulysses Klaue.
Summary: Explicit! Rating, Fluff, Christmas Fluff, Smut, Public Teasing, Semi-Public Touching, Yes There's a Bed and Breakfast, Hotel Sex, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, You Have to Be Quiet, Klaue is Still a Menace But He's a Soft Menace, Fingering, Being Held Down, Reference to Edging, Unprotected PIV, Creampie, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation
A/N: So I seem to have written some fluff, and holiday fluff, no less. I mean, it's still smutty fluff, and while I did go back and forth a bit with this, I really just wanted soft!Klaue, and finally reminded myself it's my story and I can write what I want (and apparently in whatever order I want 😂).
Also, yes, this this falls between the next two chapters of "Salvation is a Deep Dark Well" that as of this telling haven't been written yet. However it doesn't affect the rest of the story, it's more of a very self-indulgent interlude, and while I may come back to edit in a few details once chapter two is published, it doesn't change the narrative.
As always thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy this slightly late holiday fluff. ❤️
Header by me, banners/dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics. ❤️
[ A03 Link ]
Shades of early December silver and grey are rapidly setting over the landscape, the dark even faster.
Although the sun doesn’t set much earlier than it would if you were in New York City (ten minutes to be exact), being in the mountains makes it seem as though it does, and as the days tick by you find yourself craving a bit of light.
The holidays are coming, so you take the excuse to drape a strand of lights over your dresser, the soft glow helping to warm the nights a little.
Still, you’re quickly becoming bored of winter, and it's only exacerbated by the new loneliness that works its way between your ribs when Klaue is gone - which is, of course, most of the time. You can only fill your days with so much work, and now that snow is settling into the mountains your options for distraction are growing limited.
Among your searches for things to occupy you, holiday festivals come up, and after a little more investigation you discover that Bucharest has a Christmas market that happens to be the largest winter festival in Romania, with the opening night and tree lighting ceremony this coming weekend.
Klaue wasn’t supposed to be getting back for a couple more days and while you’d mentioned your plans to him, when you step onto the train platform you nearly trip over your boots when you recognize a familiar form.
Your stomach flips and something else swirls lower when you see him standing among the other passengers, hands in the pockets of a heavy black wool coat.
He hasn’t seen you yet so you make your way over to him, staying just behind his shoulder.
“Come here often?”
Klaue turns with a start, appearing as though he’s about to say something but his words falter when his eyes catch on your bundled form.
A coy grin slowly curves your lips at catching him off guard.
“Got in a little early, came here straight from the airport to see if I could catch you.” he finally explains “I’ll still need to make some phone calls, but I’ve freed up the rest of my day. If you’d like some company. But if you- ”
“Of course, yes!” You assure him, a newly familiar warmth in your chest that he met you here, that he’s offering. “How could I not take advantage of you being back early.”
As eager as you are, there’s still a layer of uncertainty.
It’s the first time you’ve spent any time with Klaue outside of the compound. Not to mention that very little of the time you have spent together has passed while you weren’t desperately wrapped in one another - certainly not a full day.
Though maybe it’s better this way; less time to overthink, less time to anticipate, simply having to adapt to a new situation. You’re good at that, you remind yourself.
It doesn’t mean that your thoughts aren’t tinged with frustration, because even though he’d only been gone a few days this time your body is already humming with desire as you board the busy train and settle into your seats against the window.
You manage to watch the scenery for a while, focusing on the mountains and the forests interspersed with other, smaller cities as you approach the capital, but your gaze is steadily drawn back to Klaue while he works across from you.
Your eyes drift to his mouth, the memory of his growl when you nip and tug at the pouting curve of his lower lip leaving you shifting in your seat.
The motion draws his eyes to your hips before sliding up your body with a knowing look.
The full train douses any chance of much more than heated glances, but as you look around you, you note that the passengers across the aisle seem to be thoroughly engrossed in their own conversations and devices.
And you get an idea.
Appearing to casually adjust your things, you move your coat to your side facing the aisle, bunching it so that it blocks your legs from the view of anyone not standing over you.
Or sitting across from you.
Klaue’s posture stiffens when he catches the movement of your hand along the seam where your crossed legs meet.
You keep your arm still so that just your wrist slowly flexes, shivering as your fingers sweep up and over the place between your thighs that’s already warm with arousal, before retracing the path back down again.
He's utterly still except for the muscles tensing in his jaw, eyes intent on the slow drag of your fingers.
When he licks his lips your breathing becomes shallower. The gentle tingling in your nerves spreads through your thighs to swirl deep in your core, and you realize you’re rapidly becoming more aroused than you anticipated, and as much as you had thrilled at a chance to tease him you’re going to need to stop.
You hand stills and you take a slow breath to collect yourself, reaching into your bag for your phone hoping to distract yourself for the rest of the ride. But even before you can unlock it a message notification pops up on your screen.
>Who said you could stop?
Your eyes widen, finding Klaue’s gaze sparking blue and expectant when you look up at him.
Patiently waiting for your phone to disappear back into your bag.
For your fingers return to their activity.
Clearly pleased that your tease has been turned on you, a smug grin on his lips when your eyelids flutter.
The light touch isn’t enough to get you close, but it’s enough to make you ache, to leave you fighting to suppress the shivers that roll through you with the slick clench of your cunt as you watch his eyes darken.
Glancing down between where his hands rest on his broad thighs you can see the fabric beginning to strain there, the ache deepening at the thought of his stiffening cock, but you’re satisfied at least that he’s not unaffected by your state.
Wrapped up in the haze of sensation you start when the conductor’s voice comes over the speaker to announce that you’ll be coming into Bucharest in less than ten minutes.
Hitching a sigh, the world around you filters back in, and you bite your lip at the realization of what you had been doing, of how easily he once again had you giving in to him, even here.
Eventually you take your phone back out, trying to calm yourself down before you reach your stop.
It’s late afternoon by the time the bus drops you off at the outskirts of the market grounds, only a brief glimpse of sun left as it slides between the clouds and the horizon, but you still have plenty of time to explore before the tree lighting.
Making your way through the busy streets you take in the festive decorations, a popular restaurant absolutely dripping with evergreen boughs and giant candy canes, innumerable strings of lights already illuminating the streets as dusk settles over the city
As you make your way through the streets, you begin to think that it might have been a better idea to book a hotel room rather than taking the late train back tonight, but it’s too late now, everything is likely booked solid in the area.
If it had just been you then you would have figured something out, found a cheap place on the outskirts of the city, but since Klaue is with you you’re hesitant to ask. On top of not wanting to be presumptuous of his time, while you’ve spent as much time together as you could since that first night, you haven’t woken up next to him before.
You don’t dwell in your conflicted thoughts for long, though, because you nearly get taken out by a group of Hora dancers as you round the corner of a cobblestone street.
Klaue quickly maneuvers you out of the way of the oblivious dancers lost in their steps, your arms instinctively reaching to tighten around his waist as you laugh at your lack of awareness.
“I've got you,” he chuckles, not letting you go. “Are you alright, darling?”
“Yeah, no, I’m good.” You assure him. “Apparently I need to pay a bit more attention around here. ”
Being pressed against his body warms you and your eyes can’t help but flick to his mouth again, startled by how badly you want to kiss him right now.
But you’ve never kissed him when you weren’t, well, naked - or about to be. A heated press of lips when you have to say goodbye, sure, but although you’ve both opened up a bit you’re aware this isn’t exactly the kind of relationship (not that you’re sure you could call it that, exactly) that allows for moments of casual affection.
So instead you smile and tip your chin down, and both of you take a wide berth around the circling dancers.
But your heart still races when he doesn’t let you go, keeping you tucked against his side as you approach the bustling Square.
The delicious smells of festival food wafting over you are a quick reminder that you haven’t eaten since breakfast, too distracted on the train to think much about it, so as soon as you arrive you make your way to food cottages.
Spiced kebabs for him and a steaming vegetable stew for you, followed by plum dumplings and papanasi, a kind of cheese donut that has no right to be as good as it is, and the time you’re standing in the square awaiting the lighting of the tree, you’re warm and satisfied.
A light dusting of snowflakes begins to swirl as the crowd counts down, one section briefly faltering until with a rousing cheer they all light up with the rest, glittering bright.
It’s bright and beautiful and exactly what you needed, but when you glance up to see Klaue’s reaction you find yourself wishing for a little less light, your cheeks growing hot against the night air when you see that he’s looking at you instead, the glint in his eyes perhaps not entirely a reflection of the lights that surround you.
Afterwards you peruse the eclectic mix of Christmas ornaments, stoneware and other handmade items, sharing a little about your days as you wander between vendors.
You describe a type of welding certification you’re thinking about getting, even though you’d really only need it if you were working in aerospace tech, and Klaue mentions to you that he’ll be away for an additional few days next month for a conference in Vienna.
Disappointment jabs between your shoulder blades at the fact that he���ll be gone for longer than you already expected, but there’s a sense of relief, too, that he’s still letting you know about his plans - as much as he can, at least.
You hadn’t really planned on making any purchases tonight, but at a cottage selling embroidery and needlecraft a crocheted patchwork blanket catches your eye, the woven pattern making you think of tea and honey, of coming in from the cold and being made warm on a dark winter day.
After collecting your find, Klaue makes a phone call while you double back one more time to pick up some handmade cards to send to a few friends, pocketing the device as you make your way back towards him.
“Ferris wheel, then?” He asks, tilting his head towards the brightly lit ride.
“Yes! Oh, wait..” Pulling out your own phone you ucheck the time.
“Oh,” you deflate a little. “Actually we should probably start heading to the train station, it’s getting pretty late. Can’t say I’m looking forward to how busy it’ll be.”
“Well, if you wanted to - everything near the market is full, but there’s a place on the other side of the city that has rooms available.”
You stare at Klaue for a moment. Having already dismissed the idea of staying somewhere in Bucharest tonight you’re unable to hide your surprise that he’s suggesting it. Still fighting the thought that you’d be imposing on his time, you mentally point out that he wouldn’t have bothered finding something if he didn't want to.
He raises an eyebrow.
“You really don’t want to take the train back tonight, huh?” You try to joke in an attempt to disguise your eagerness.
He steps slowly toward you, leaning in until the scruff of his beard brushes your cheek.
“I really don’t want to wait much longer to make you come, darling.”
He must hear the hitch in your breath as you shudder at his words, pulling back to give you a knowing grin.
“Ferris wheel it is, then.”
***
The glittering view as you start to rise is stunning but neither of you manages more than a few cursory glances out the window before you’re moaning into his mouth and he’s sliding a hand between your legs. A pleased sound gritted from his throat when you rock eagerly into his touch, his lips tasting of frost and spiced wine when your tongue slips between them.
Your own fingers tighten around the heavy fabric of his coat to steady yourself, one hand sliding above the collar to brush over the warm skin there, short shorn hair prickling beneath your fingers when they curl around the back of his neck to pull his mouth more firmly against yours.
Unfortunately it feels like no time at all before the wheel is slowing and Klaue is reluctantly removing his hand from your now aching sex, your hips bucking when he gives you one last firm caress as you come to a stop at the bottom once more.
“I’ll call us a taxi, then?” He breathes against your lips.
“God, yes.”
A gentle but steady snow is falling by the time you arrive at the small bed and breakfast, the thickening blanket of white softening the glow of multi-coloured lights on the trees outside.
The owners quickly realize that you have no bags with you, and they’re kind enough to offer some pajamas for you to borrow in the form of sweatpants and shirts.
Unfortunately on the ride over Klaue had received a call about something that requires his attention for a while longer, so you’re currently still clothed and sitting next to him on the bed, your new blanket draped over your legs,
You’d picked up “Jurassic Park”, the only english book on the small shelf in the common area, and you try to read a bit while he wraps up his business, stealing the occasional glance at him while he works.
When a hand slides over to squeeze your thigh you shift instinctively into his touch, able to feel the heat of his palm even through the woven fabric.
“Patience, my darling.” He hums, his teasing smile deepening the creases around his eyes.
“Oh, you have no idea how patient I’ve been, Ulysses,” you reply, biting your lip at the soft growl that betrays his own restlessness has you biting your lip.
As antsy as you are, and while it’s unlikely you would have been able to name it, exactly, you also feel content. Lulled by the shape of him at your side, the sound of Romanian Christmas choir music drifting through the walls, and the electronic tapping from his phone.
Your eyes wander around the room, amused by the volume of kitschy knick knacks and holiday decorations spread across the shelves, including a candle in the form of three Victorian carolers that looks to be many faded years old, yet seemingly never burned.
While you’re wondering whether the tiny bust paintings hanging by the door are family of the owners or just thrift store finds, Klaue shifts to face you.
Lifting the edge of the blanket he nudges you over so that you’re both lying on your sides beneath it.
“All done?” You ask as his arms wrap around you, pulling you against him, letting out a pleased sigh when you feel the already stiff ridge of his erection against the swell of your ass.
“Finally.” The word vibrates through you as a hand slides down between your legs, curling around your clothed mound.
You immediately arch into him, reveling in the twin sensations of his fingers pressing damp fabric against your cleft and the slow grind of his hips behind you.
“Even like this I can feel how warm your cunt is.” Klaue rumbles softly. “You’re wet, too, aren’t you?”
“You know I am,” you sigh, trying to keep your voice low. Aware that if you can hear music through the walls it won’t take much to be able to hear you.
“I should take my time with you. Especially after your...bahaviour on the train.”
HIs hand finds its way under your shirt, and you note the jut of his hips against you when his palm slides over your bra to cup the soft swell of your breast, thumb and forefinger plucking at the stiffening peak of your nipple beneath the fabric.
“Should run my fingers over every inch of your body,” he rasps, an urgency filtering into his movements, into the rough, whispered rush of his words as his fingers reach back down to tug at the waist of your pants.
Quickly you move to unbutton them, working them down along with your panties as you feel him shifting behind you, and then the hot length of his cock is sliding against your folds, slicking himself with your arousal.
“Should tease this needy little pussy until you're ready to beg.”
Klaue bites back the last word as he presses the thick head of his cock against your entrance.
“But fuck, I need to feel you come.”
Normally so thorough with you before letting his control slip, Klaue’s bare need has you unraveling and your moan is deep and unexpected when he suddenly sinks into you, a response to the sweet desperation in his voice as much as from the relieving stretch of his cock.
“I know how much you love to make pretty sounds for me,” he pants in your ear, his large hand kneading the flesh of your hip and thigh. “But you’re going to have to be quiet tonight. Can you do that for me, darling?”
Half-stretched and aching, you somehow manage to swallow your moans, taking a few deep breaths to steady your voice enough to speak.
“Yes.” You finally breathe in a low, half-whisper. ”l’ll be good.”
He nudges deeper and you bite your lip to hold back the sounds that want you to make, that he draws from you so easily now.
“Yes, you will.” Klaue hums against your neck.
The only sounds in the room now are your panted breaths intertwined with the slick sounds of his cock slowly thrusting into you, the gentle creak of the bed frame beneath your shifting bodies.
Suddenly pulling the blanket off of you he grips your ass, pressing you open so that he can see where your tight hole is stretched around him, and while he normally takes his time to relish the sight he only lasts a few more deep strokes before he’s shifting you onto your stomach, his weight and his cock pressing you down into the mattress.
With your pants still bunched around your knees Klaue impatiently nudges your legs apart as best he can before working a hand beneath the curve of your hip and you buck, a squeak slipping from your throat when his fingers find your clit.
His chest heaves against your back, the tight, circling pressure of his fingers firm and insistent as your body swiftly draws taught beneath him.
Instinctively you try to respond, to roll your hips into his touch as you chase the rough crest of your orgasm but you’re trapped, the broad warmth of Klaue’s body holding you in place as his fingers relentlessly work your clit until your muscles begin to flutter and tighten.
”There you go” A rough whisper clenched between his teeth. “Let me feel you. Come on, darling, squeeze my cock.”
You try to stay quiet but you can’t help the tremulous whine that escapes your throat as your climax surges through you, Klaue letting more of his weight press into you as your body spasms beneath him, every muscle trembling as you clench hard around his cock.
“Christ you feel so good. Fuck, you’re going to make me come, oh fuck- ”
The tight grip of your cunt seems to be all that he needs tonight because with a sudden hard jerk of his hips you feel the blissful throb as he comes, muffling his own moan against your shoulder as spends himself helplessly inside you.
Klaue continues to grind into you as the pulsing of his cock slows, making sure his cum stays plugged deep in your cunt exactly where he knows you want it, the stroking of his fingers not letting up even as you twitch and gasp beneath him.
“One more, Mot. Please. For me.”
Your clit flutters at his pleading words, and barely able to hold back your cries, your hand flies up to cover your mouth as he continues to work your swollen bundle of nerves, his hand slippery with your release that leaks out around where he stays buried in you.
Aching and breathless, feeling the muscles of his forearm flexing against your hip, your body finally succumbs to the needy slide of his fingers, muffling your half-swallowed whimpers behind your hand as he expertly coaxes a second, softer orgasm from your oversensitive sex, gravelly praises whispered against your ear as you stiffen and shudder beneath him.
Klaue stays pressed against your back as you both slowly recover, the weight of him warm steady, calming the tremble in your limbs as you float down through the afterglow.
Eventually you let your fingers fall away from your lips.
“I’m sorry…I couldn’t- I tried to be quiet,” you stammer. “Wanted to be good, I- ”
“You’re always good for me, darling.” Klaue soothes, pressing his words and lips against your neck, behind your ear. “Always.”
***
After a quick shower you both change into your makeshift pajamas, then turning off the bedside lamps you settle back under the knit blanket, the lights filtering through the curtains casting a warm glow on the walls of your room.
“Come with me.” Klaue mumbles into the crook of your neck.
You were almost asleep, and it takes a moment to realize that he’d spoken.
“Come with…where?”
“The conference. Vienna. There’s a gala.”
“Are…are you awake?”
“If you’re asking whether I’ll remember this in the morning, the answer is yes.” Klaue chuckles softly. “You said you’d never been. Beautiful city. Wear a beautiful dress for me.” His voice drops as he pulls you more firmly against him.
You pause, considering, unable to ignore the soft thrill in your chest that he’s willing to share this with you.
Another thread of your life intertwining with his, invisible threads looping over one another and knotting tight, tugging together into a pattern you’re still trying to bring into focus.
“Alright.” You sense a notch of tension release from Klaue’s body when you finally give him your answer. “I’d like that.”
It’s difficult for you not to overthink, especially when thoughts of what you’re going to do when your contract ends are becoming more persistent every day.
But knowing that you’re going to have to return to reality tomorrow regardless, right now you allow yourself to relax against him. With the tops of his thighs fitting against the backs of yours, soft music floating at the edge of your consciousness and his hand resting warm against your hip, eventually you find yourself caught in a net of sleep and dreams.
A/N: I was looking a little wistfully at all the lovely holiday fics that were coming out, and thinking that I didn't really think I had anything that would really work. Then I got to playing around with a mood board and accidentally inspired myself with Christmas market thoughts, and now here we are!
Thank you for reading, and I hope you get through the remainder of the holiday season with as much light and little stress as possible. ❤️
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all you lovely people!
#ulysses klaue x reader#ulysses klaue x f reader#ulysses klaue x you#ulysses klaue smut#ulysses klaue#x reader#bringin' home the rain series#salvation is a deep dark well fic#woven#holiday fluff#fluffy smut#mcu fanfiction
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Selena + Chef: Home for the Holidays.
#tonight#hbo#stream#series#selena + chef#chef#selena#home for the holidays#Selena home#selena gomez#cute#selena marie gomez#lovely#pretty#rare#gomez#famous#celebs
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My big logistical issue for memorized your smile lines is that I can't decide whether Jonathan goes home for spring break or whether (as was helpfully suggested to me) Joyce manages to visit him in NY for a couple of days or he just doesn't see them entirely.
It makes more sense for him to go back, but I'm not sure whether that would break the story flow or whether I'd hand-wave it with a few lines of exposition or what, but if Joyce visits him then she can see him in a different environment (which I think would make him self-reflective), plus then there's a little less reliance on the OCs.
This mostly happens because it's probably unrealistic for him to just not see them at all (it's doable, between being unable to swing travel expenses or being busy with work/schoolwork or other practical issues). (Of course, if she does see him, then she can gently suggest that he give therapy an honest try after all, maybe give him a little reality check. Several people suggest this to him; a couple others are more on the "fuck therapy" side. He's got a lot to think about, basically.)
On the other hand, he almost certainly saw them over the holiday break, so... I dunno, is this one week that big a deal? (I mean, this dude is very worried about his family back home, so it seems weird if he doesn't take the opportunity to check on them...) I dunno, it's just definitely easier for me, story-wise, if he stays in NY by himself and doesn't see anyone.
Spoilers (the ending, basically).
The last scene is Jonathan and Nancy meeting up, finally, after missing each other the whole story and having their plans repeatedly fall through. Previously, this happened over spring break, but it just seemed increasingly like Jonathan needed more time to process what was happening and, also, for all that stuff to actually happen.
Entirely too many things happen in this story, tbh, considering it's basically a one-shot that grew legs, more than a proper long-form story. So there's an issue of how long a time frame it has to be in order to accommodate all of that in a reasonable way without giving Jonathan just one, like, incredibly action-packed week (and also long enough to heal a bit). It's a lot. (But, like, I'm definitely gonna make 'em all fit.)
Anyway, so I guess now they're going to meet up on a long weekend or something later in the semester, but there's still the issue of just what exactly I have Jonathan doing for spring break.
#writing tag#please don't wake me series#memorized your smile lines pdwm#i can't really take anything out though because it's a very 'you tug on one thread...' situation#where they're all interconnected#i like joyce seeing him because she can learn things about him (like the vegetarian thing)#and hear about things he hasn't been sharing in his weekly phone calls#but it would definitely have to have a certain amount of narrative weight if she makes a whole-ass trip up to ny for him#this is a holdover from me not being sure at first when it was set#so originally my issue was whether he went home for the holiday break or not#but then i moved the whole thing to the spring semester#to give jonathan more time to settle in
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Found the blurbs I wrote and the worldbuilding I created in my google docs for a chrollo series and goddamn is it good must revisit this when i am out of assignment hell
#theres like a month and a half left of the semester#but even winter holidays wont be very free#im thinking of doing personal projects to get better at coding and figuring out what to major in because imstill unsure#i have a whole self discovery journey to go on during the winter#but ill be going home! i already got the ticket#so maybe the self discovery journey will have to be in front of my mother but issok her worst worries arent my existential crises#also!!! i have a very powerful and stronk line for this series that i want to deliver perfectly#*there is nothing I cannot steal in this world yet your heart I have to ask permission for*#i love this line sm i was sleep deprived when i came up with it#zuri rambles#is it too obvious im still down bad for this dark haired fiend#damn i must find merch
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YOU’RE BACK!
LOL hi. i keep forgetting about this blog 😭 new life series soon though so i will. probably be around a bit more :3
#look i have my like. 20 follower main blog and i stay there all day. this blog is like a shitty old holiday home#but yeah. i'll maybe post a bit more. really depends on if I get invested in this new series bc my interest has waned a bit as of recently#i say that like it isnt obvious from how i dont post on here LMAO
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365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 365
Adjective: Gentle
Noun: Reaper
Definitions for those who need/want them:
Gentle: having or showing a mild, kind, or tender temperament or character; moderate in action, effect, or degree, or not harsh or severe; (of a slope) gradual; (archaic) (of a person) noble or having the qualities attributed to noble birth, or courteous and chivalrous
Reaper: a person or machine that harvests a crop; short for Grim Reaper
#cos this is the final writing prompt of the series and thus year i wanted to post this before the year itself was over#my girlfriend and i are currently watching the last three episodes of orphan black#that way we finish before the new year#and before we got home we went to my house to do laundry and spent time with my parents#we actually even watched the menu (2022) with them which is now the only movie my girlfriend and i watched more than once this year#both my parents thought it was okay which is upsetting cos my girlfriend and i both love it#but alas thats fine i guess#we also gave them their big holiday gift (a keurig) and they seem to like it#so thats all good and nice#so im hoping we end the year on a good note and start the new year on a good note as well#as for this final prompt i wanted to end this series with something thats a real ending#so i went with something aligned with death (hence 'reaper')#ive already written a poem about a 'reaper' that is 'gentle'#but im looking forward to writing another#perhaps from a more objective perspective#regardless i think it will be a nice ending#next up a year of poems! wish me luck!#thanks for reading#writing#writer#creative writing#writing prompt#writeblr#trying to be a writeblr at least
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Last one, and I got my prizes!
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Home for the Holidays | Part 1
✦ Summary: Never let it be said that you weren’t willing to do just about anything for your squadron. As you find yourself roped into an elaborate ruse to help fool Hangman’s mother for Christmas all seems to be going according to plan. But when that plan spirals out of control, the line between real and pretend begins to blur.
✦ Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Female Reader
✦ Warnings: Anxiety, fake dating, hurt/comfort, light mentions of divorce, minor angst.
✦ Word Count: 7.5k
✦ Author's Note: Who are we blaming for this mess? Say it with me: @top-hhun ! The true enabler of all things Jake Seresin. I owe it all to you, love <3
[Master List]
The gym was nearly deserted this time of day. The USS Abraham Lincoln was a mere 48 hours away from port and the crew was anxiously anticipating their first bit of proper leave in over nine months. Your air carrier wing, however, was due to leave in the morning.
You should be packing your things and cleaning up the mess in your locker. But you felt the need to blow off some steam first. And somehow, he always knew when and where to find you.
Even with your earbuds in, you can sense his presence just before he makes himself fully known to you - hovering back by the treadmills. You let him sweat it out, finishing the final few steps of your post-workout cool down on the floor mat, your gym playlist coming to a perfect conclusion.
If he was going to seek you out during your off time, then he would have to wait.
Wiping the sweat from your brow as you stand back up, muscles aching with a pleasant burn, you pull your earbuds out one at a time before turning to face your companion. Hangman is leaning casually against the side of the squat rack now, watching you with that ever-present smirk on his face.
“So,” he drawls in that familiar accent of his, “We doing this?”
You let your eyes trail over his features for a moment, chest still heaving from the afterburn of your workout. How dare he look so put together in his flight suit while in the presence of your sweat-soaked gym clothes.
“What? Just drop trow and do it on the floor?”
You make a grab for your water bottle, taking a refreshingly cool swig before wiping your mouth dry. He doesn’t even have the decency to look fazed by the question.
“At least let me lay down a towel first since I’m not being afforded the luxury of getting dragged back to your berth like one of your other lady friends.”
His eyes narrow and his smirk grows.
Some people had ship wives when they were deployed. Jake Seresin had you.
That wonderfully strange mix of teasing flirtation and sworn rivalry that you somehow balanced between the two of you.
“Don’t tempt a man,” he grins wolfishly, uncrossing his arms and taking a step forward to meet you halfway. “Just say the word, Pita. And your dreams could just become reality.”
You scoff, sidestepping him, “What, the less-than-stellar sex or this convoluted plan you came up with?”
“We - ” he quickly reiterates, waving an accusing finger between you both, “The convoluted plan that we mutually came up with, thank you. Gotta share the credit.”
There was this thing the two of you started doing, way back in the day. The savior swoop, you think he coined it.
The whole thing started with a lovely hole-in-the-wall bar in Sydney during a week-long leave. You had been happily content minding your own business with the three other women from your squadron - Rocky, Juggs, and Barb- when in came an overly smiley Hangman, who had quickly wrapped an arm around your waist and muttered, behind clenched teeth.
“You’re my girlfriend. You’re my girlfriend and I will give you all the money out of my wallet if you sell this for me.”
You had stared at him for a long moment, followed by an affronted, “Yes, hello, Pita. Nice to see you too - ”
That was when he roughly pinched your side. A young woman appeared just a moment later with a lipstick-coated smile that seemed to fall the moment she spotted you. Realization dawned and you pulled the best obnoxious girlfriend ruse you could with six shots of vodka in your system.
At the time, it had never really crossed your mind as to why he approached you out of everyone else. Eventually, you just wrote it off as the fact that you were far more familiar with the man since you had been flying together the longest. That and you knew for a fact that any one of them would have left Hangman out to dry.
It was a thing then. A very non-recurring, once-in-a-blue-moon sort of thing.
Hangman became your cover boyfriend when a pushy marine wouldn’t seem to take a hint. You filled in when two civilians, eager to hook up with a uniformed airhead, kept him from his pool game. It was just a mutually beneficial back-and-forth for the two of you.
No feelings required. Just the occasional dropping of a honey or babe when it was necessary to sell the point, much to the amusement of your fellow aviators who loved to egg it on even more.
This little plan, however, was taking the fucking cake.
You can’t even remember who got started talking about the upcoming homecoming and eventual leave.
The Vigilantes must have pleased the big names over in the admiralty because your air carrier wing had secured ten days of leave right over the Christmas holiday. It was virtually unheard of. But your squadron had just returned from a lengthy tour and you knew at least one or two new chest candies would be heading your way soon.
But there you were with Hangman, shooting the shit in the officer’s rec room with a few other guys from the squad. Freeze was going to propose to his girl finally, Sparky had his whole family coming up from Arizona, and Cosmo was planning some big soul-searching trip to Mount Rainier.
Maybe someone had asked if Seresin was taking his girlfriend back home to visit his family - followed by several good-natured laughs. Maybe it was the obnoxious aviator himself who suggested it with a flash of clear amusement in his eyes.
Either way, here the two of you were, a day shy of flying back to Lemoore, with this massively stupid plan waiting in the wings.
“I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s our stupid plan. An unnecessary plan, I may add. You could just tell your family that you’re not - ”
“Too late now. I told my mom you were coming - you know, when we agreed to it a week ago,” he mimics your annoyance with a great big grin.
You stare down the corridor, wondering if you could just make a run for it and avoid the conversation - and the plan - entirely.
There was a fundamental difference between doing the act to throw off an inebriated barfly and another thing entirely to fly across the country to play house for one of your families for the day.
Hangman crowds your space, staring you down with a knowing look in his bright sage green eyes. Fixing your own stare in return, you stand your ground - lips tight and eyes narrowed.
“You could literally just tell her we’re friends. Only friends.”
He laughs, outright laughs in your face then.
“And miss out on the fun? Where’s your sense of adventure, honey?” he smiles for a moment before finally relenting.
His features soften, taking a quick cursory glance around to seemingly insure your current privacy from the rest of the crew.
“Look, you’d be doing me an honest-to-God favor if you came along.”
You knew that. Hell, you had a whole conversation about it six nights ago actually. You knew Hangman’s family was a mess from the day you and him had crossed paths on the flight deck for the first time. It was just written into his very being.
“Yeah, yeah. Classic savior swoop. Pull at my heartstrings some more while you’re at it, Seresin.”
His features light up as he places a stick of gum between his lips, giving a signature smirk, “You’re gonna make a hell of an impression, Pita. I’ll give you that.”
You pat his shoulder playfully, “Thank me after I get your mother permanently off your back.”
“Will do,” he says with a sort of yes ma’am tone as he watches you walk back to officer’s country before your next debrief.
The journey back to Lemoore had been blessedly smooth flying. The raucous crowd spilled past the barrier the minute the first aviator stepped down onto the tarmac. Families and loved ones flung themselves onto their long-lost loves. Wives and girlfriends with single-stem roses, newborn babies, and weepy toddlers holding signs and tiny flags. It was a familiar, happy sight.
You watch from afar, zipping your helmet back into its carrier, and shouldering your duffle bag.
There was no point in having your family fly out just to meet you here. They were going to see you in three days anyway. Might as well save everyone on the crazy airfare for a change.
A sudden scream pulls your attention to the aviator on bended-knee, with a sobbing brunette now throwing herself into his arms.
“He almost lost the ring before we left.”
You eye Hangman as he sidles in next to you, running a hand through his helmet hair. He’s got a fond smile on his face as he watches the newly engaged couple - Freeze is walking his girl back to the hangar and she’s wrapped herself around his waist like a sloth.
“Seriously? Should start calling him Frodo,” you muse, hefting your bag higher on your shoulder.
“Think Smeagol would be more appropriate.”
You know that he can see you openly mouthing the word Nerd with an air of fake judgment. He just gives a silent head shake of a laugh and double-checks the zipper on his own helmet bag.
The two of you watch as the immediate rush of people seems to ease back, clearing the tarmac.
“So…” he grins, “We still doing this?”
Turning to get a good look at him, you take in the very teasing expression on his face. Though his eyes are too squinted from the overhead sun to get a real good take on his exact inner workings.
“Well, as fun as it would be to leave you hanging for a change - ”
He chuckles, taking a step back to grab his own duffle bag from the ground, “Admit it, Pita. You’d start to feel bad for me. With that aching heart of yours and all.”
“Hah!” you tilt your head back with a bark of laughter, “Oh, Hangman. You have no idea just how steel-coated this heart is. I would delight in seeing you hung out to dry. However, I make it a habit to hold true to my promises.”
“Good,” he nods with a surprising sureness. Plucking his signature box of toothpicks out of his pocket, twiddling with a single pick for a moment, he adds, “Because I would have hated having to chase you down and drag you back to Texas on my own.”
“Mmm, in your alpha male dreams, Hangman.”
You part ways in the parking lot with plans to catch up in three hours. It would, theoretically, be enough time to unpack the essentials, clean yourselves up, and pack a carry-on for the flight.
The on-base house has remained the same as when you left it six months prior, albeit a thin layer of dust covers parts of the room that you swear you’ll get around to cleaning before you fly back out. After your gloriously long, hot, uninterrupted shower, you manage to throw together a reasonable bag in no time flat. Rolling shirts and pants up with expert ease.
And then there’s a knock on your door, one minute before your set meet time. It makes you wonder how long Hangman was waiting around, trying to time it just right, before he came up onto the front porch.
You unceremoniously toss your bag into his arms as a way of greeting, locking the door behind you as he laughs.
“Hello to you too, darlin’.”
“Coffee,” you say by way of explanation, pushing by him. “I need coffee and food if you want to keep me from ripping your head off before we board.”
He gives a sharp nod, following after you to the waiting Chevy pickup in your driveway, “Can do. Gotta keep my girl happy.”
“Oh god,” you groan, turning to look back at him as you pull open the passenger’s door, one foot on the running board. “Are we starting that now?”
His eyes flicker with amusement as he carefully shoves your bag in behind your seat, holding the side handle as he peers up at you.
“Well, you know what they say - ” he flips the toothpick in his mouth around with the roll of his tongue, lips tugged into a smug grin around it, “Practice makes perfect.”
You blank, staring down into the all-too-confident eyes of your wingman.
“And I can still catch another flight,“ you retort with an equally Cheshire-like grin.
His smile falls in an instant, “Right, coffee for the missus.”
The howl of laughter you give is worth it as he seemingly scrambles to shut your door for you, jogging around the front of the truck, before hopping into the driver’s seat.
“I’m not a cheap date either, Seresin,” you warn, clicking your seatbelt into place. “None of that gas station stuff. I just spent months with mediocre instant brews and I deserve something to keep me awake and smiling for this little ruse.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles good-naturedly as he places his hand on the back of your seat, peering over his shoulder as he backs the truck out of the driveway.
The awkwardness hits the minute he pulls out onto the main road, just past the east entrance gate. As though the barbed-wire fence offered a semblance of safety when you were still behind the traffic barrier. But now the cloak was pulled free and you were both fully aware of the situation you were in.
You had spent the better part of a year and a half with this man, both on and off a carrier. You knew his breakfast preferences and his anal retentiveness when it came to the upkeep of both his flight gear and his hair. His argument-worthy movie choices and his pre-flight rituals. It was just a normal part of co-existing on a carrier in the middle of the ocean, you suppose.
And yet, here you were - for seemingly the first time ever - with just him in an enclosed proxy. There was no Freeze or Sparky there to break the tension with an off-the-cuff joke. No Freud to poke fun at the tension itself - should we give you two lovebirds space or do we get a free show?
No, it was just you and Hangman, in his truck, with the genuine realization that you were actually doing this hovering in your quickly sobering thoughts.
Maybe ideas had after doing a twelve-hour, start-to-finish, mission weren’t actually the best things to be acted upon.
There’s the soft hum of a splotchy country radio station that keeps coming in and out of range to fill that voided space between you. A twangy Christmas cover croons over the speakers as you stare out at the open desert landscape that surrounds the empty stretch of road.
You want to say something, anything really to break that strange note of silence.
But for once in your long career of being a give ‘em as good as they get kind of officer, you find the words surprisingly dried up on your tongue. And that doesn’t particularly bode well for the two of you if you have to spend the next forty-two hours together.
Hangman, for all intents and purposes, appears entirely unfazed by the arrangement. As he reclines back in his seat with one hand on the wheel and the other draped against the closed window, catching a bit of direct sunlight.
The only true difference, besides the civvies, is the tightened line of his lips. And his usually slicked-back helmet hair is surprisingly… fluffy, for lack of a better descriptor. You wonder if, like yourself, he only used product when it came to being in uniform or if he just didn’t have the time for it in the mad rush to get to the airport at a reasonable time.
“See somethin’ you like?”
The quip is a loud, sudden intrusion into your silent introspective. He glances over at you with a teasing smirk already in place.
You huff in abhorrence, eyes flicking back to the road in front of you - refusing to fall into an obvious trap like that.
“Remind me why I agreed to this again?” you ask instead.
He switches hands, gripping the steering wheel with his left as his right comes to rest on his inner thigh. He rubs at the denim for a moment as he seems to contemplate his answer.
“I think it might have something to do with my next month’s worth of bonuses being up for grabs.”
The smile on your face dims for a second.
You weren’t particularly interested in prying Hangman’s money from him. If it had been anyone else in the squadron, you would have found yourself in a similar situation - you were sure of it. It’s just the fact that the two of you had the practice in hand for this one strange stunt.
But you would have done the same for Sparky, Cosmo, or Freud in an instant. It wasn’t about the money, it wasn’t that kind of favor. He knew that, right?
Turning it around, you kiddingly press on, “And the free flight, free meal, and free accommodations, right?”
He cracks another look at you as you come to the first stop sign in over six miles, “You really aren’t shaping up to be a cheap date, are ya, Pita?”
“Hey,” you hold your hands up in a way that seems to say you brought this upon yourself. “You asked me, Hangman.”
He scoffs, “Yeah, ‘cause my options were real ripe for the pickin’.”
The truck glides through the four-way; no other vehicle in sight.
“Well,” you lean back into the side of your seat, pushed against the window so you can really get a good look at him. “Did you even bother asking anyone else?”
You can see the thick crease of his brow as he bites down on the toothpick, eyes squinting slightly against the afternoon sun.
“Did you even think to ask Captain Manning to go in on this with you? I bet if anyone could get your mom off your back, it’d be him.”
That at least makes Hangman grin, all bright and genuine as he reaches for a pair of sunglasses attached to his visor. He fiddles them on, one-handed, before peering over at you once again.
“Oh, I have no doubt good ole Zilla would win over my momma’s heart. But the man can’t lie to save his teeth. So, excuse me for bypassing him.”
“Such little fate,” you mock.
“Nah,” he taps the steering wheel with an idle finger, “We’re here now, ’s all that matters.”
You were sure it had nothing to do with the fact that out of your squadron of thirty-eight, you were only one of four female aviators currently flying with the Vigilantes. And certainly, the only one even remotely considered to be close to Seresin.
Of course, the alternative would have been trying to convince some random girl to come along with him for the holiday. And while you didn’t doubt Hangman’s ability to pull, it was a bit of a hard sell given the time of year - even for the likes of him and his classic Ken-doll appearance. And chicks loved the Ken-doll appearance.
No, the truly worst alternative would have been making him face the company of his own family alone. The horror.
Letting the now less-than-awkward silence filter back into the cab, you settle in for the rest of the short ride into the nearest city.
The actual town of Lemoore is far more lively and bustling than the base stationed just thirteen miles west of it. Hangman easily follows your directions to a coffee shop off the main drag - immediately glancing down at his watch, as if trying to mentally calculate the maximum amount of time you could deviate from his schedule.
After parking out front, he holds the door open for you and another couple as the rich aroma of fresh brew and baked goods hits your senses. Was there ever a sweeter smell? After months at sea, with only the array of mixes in the officers’ mess to keep you going, this was like walking into paradise.
Hangman scooches in next to you in line. His sunglasses are at least clipped to the front of his t-shirt’s collar now as he peruses the colorful red and green menu with an appraising kind of look - flipping that damn toothpick of his around in his mouth as he weighs his options.
It’s still decidedly strange to be doing this with him.
While you frequently found yourself in the company of your squadron, both on and off duty, this was notably uncharted territory.
There’s a slightly stoic demeanor that Seresin has when out in public, but the minute you’re called up to the register, he’s got the biggest grin on and good old boy charm ready to go. While he ends up ordering a breakfast sandwich and a surprisingly high-sugar content pumpkin spice frappe, you go for the turkey melt and an iced coffee. He pays for it all - out of some sense of duty to the mission, you suppose - and stuffs a twenty dollar bill in the tip jar for good measure too.
The two of you hover at the end of the counter, next to the hanging snowflake decorations, while you wait for your order to finish up. He’s got his arms crossed and a downturned look on his face as he stares at the coffee shop’s patrons - couples spread out amongst the two-seater tables. A modest indie version of “Santa Baby” and the quiet hum of chatter keep either one of you from speaking until his name is called by the barista.
But as you head back outside, he stops you at the hood of the truck - his brow pinched.
“I’m not gonna be insulted if you back out, you know.”
Scrunching your lip, you say, “Good to know - ” while making a move for the passenger door, clutching your drink and carry-out bag in one hand.
“I mean it,” his voice raises slightly as he rounds his side of the vehicle, continuing the conversation from across the open doorway as you hop in. “We get to Fresno and you take a flight back home and we’ll act like this whole plan never existed.”
You wonder, briefly, where this change of heart is coming from. But you give a little nod, slotting your condensation-heavy coffee into the cup holder - it might be December but it certainly didn’t feel like it out here.
“I mean if you’re looking to get rid of me so easily…”
“That’s not - ”
Hangman groans, slamming his door closed with more force than probably necessary as he scrubs a hand down his face. He stares ahead for a moment before finally saying, in a much more even tone:
“It’s a lot to ask of someone. And I’ve been sitting here for the past twenty minutes wondering what the hell I was thinkin’ asking you to do this in the first place.”
You have the good grace to leave your sandwich wrapped up and on your lap as you turn to give your companion your full attention.
You’re reminded of the conversation the two of you had nearly a week ago.
He was just about staring daggers into his meal when you found him in the Wardroom, well past the dinner rush. There was a pen settled between his fingers like a damn cigarette that he kept twirling around as his gaze drifted past the food in front of him.
And you - like any good person would - asked him what the hell the plate ever did to him.
As you joined him at the empty table, he admitted that he had just gotten the third email that week from his mom going on and on about his future and how he’s getting older, and that the eligible dating pool is vanishing before his very eyes.
“What, is she dead set on having grandkids before she kicks it or something?” you had asked with a pitched tone.
He had just shaken his head, ruffling a hand through his hair - food long forgotten in front of him, “Nah, she’s got nine already. She just gets into a mood around the holidays. But it’s been getting on more and more like this lately.”
“Guess you got no choice but to get hitched the minute you get your boots dry.”
At least that had managed to pull a laugh out of him, even if it seemed hollow and lackluster compared to his usual booming tone.
“Nah, I’m being serious here, Hangman. Have a 72-hour marriage for show, break it off before we head back out. Just give her something for the holiday so she’ll get off your damn back for a while.”
And though it took a moment, his face had lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree. As though he had made the ultimate connection in his brain and had come up with the idea all on his own. As though you hadn’t been joking in the slightest.
“Someone who could pull it off. Someone who has real-time experience with yours truly, right?”
You’re not sure how, in only a matter of an hour, Hangman had convinced you to go along with it. To play the role of doting and loving girlfriend for a one-night-only performance for his mother, of all people. But, at that exact moment, it had seemed like the greatest idea known to man. Hangman, specifically.
But here you were, only hours from hopping on a commercial flight together to put on a show for the big leagues. Was it any wonder either one of you was getting cold feet?
“Seresin.”
His eyes finally drift over to yours. His face is just about as stoic as he can make it be outside of an inspection line. But his eyes, that’s where the real trouble lies.
“I’m already here. I don’t back out of promises - even the most ridiculous kind. So, get the damn ignition started, and let’s go before we get stuck in security for the next two hours.”
He takes you in for a long contemplating kind of moment as you try to be reassuring with only your earnest expression alone. Whatever he finds there, he must deem it good enough for him and his sensibilities because not a second later the truck engine purrs back to life and he’s pulling out onto the street.
He has the good sense not to bring it up for the rest of the drive. When you pull into the airport’s parking lot, he makes a vague last-chance kind of gesture, but you just yank your bag out of the backseat and head towards the terminal entrance. He rushes to grab his own gear to catch up to you.
You discover how much of an antsy flier Hangman is when it comes to flights he’s not personally manning. Constantly checking the time, mumbling about the slow-moving lines - which you remind him is attributed to the fact that you were in an international airport, traveling five days before Christmas.
He had you rushing to get to your gate a good hour before you were even required to be there. And by that point, he was on the edge of his seat, wringing his hands, just waiting for the second your boarding party was called.
His mom snagged the two of you business-class seats for the trip the minute she heard her son would be bringing home a girl this year. You want to feel guilty about it, but you’re actually grateful for the upgrade as you stretch out into the padded seat next to him. The last thing you wanted was to be packed in with the other sardines in Economy.
The flight to Dallas is about as interesting as a FOD walk. With Hangman pulling out a tablet once you’re at cruising altitude, while you pop in your earbuds and almost immediately pass out for two hours straight.
It’s his amused green eyes that you awaken to.
The rough press of his hand against your shoulder and your last name being repeated with louder and more serious persistence. You feel a bit like a zombie as you shuffle alongside him to your next gate after disembarking. That spontaneous nap had been a bit too deep and dreamless for that short of a period, as you woke up feeling more tired than when you initially fell asleep.
There’s a nearly two-hour layover there in Dallas. But you just inch forward through the crowds until your boarding group is called and you’re back onto another plane. The skies outside the window have faded to a vibrant amethyst color, splattered with rays of gold and amber as the bright lights of the city disappear into the distance.
This flight is short in comparison, which you’re thankful for as the grime of travel seems to hang off you now. Roughly an hour out and you would finally be able to debark and collapse face-first into a hotel room.
Hangman has his tablet out again, though he seems far less interested in picking up where he left off on his E-book now. He’s got his right leg crossed over his left at the knee, anxiously tapping his foot and therefore jostling his tablet as he peers at the headrest in front of him.
He had traded for the aisle seat this time, so it takes you a moment to pull your attention away from the changing scenery of the landscape outside your window to properly notice his change in demeanor.
“Hmm?” you hum in question.
He shoots a glance at you - something coming to terms on his face - before he ultimately shoves his tablet against his side and turns as much as he can in the confines of the seat to face you properly.
“My favorite color is blue; dark blue, not sky blue. I hated all of my English classes in school. I track the Longhorns’ scores religiously when we’re out. I despise almonds in their entirety. Non-dairy substitutes are an absolute no-go.”
You stare at him for a long moment before saying, “Okay…?”
With a roll of his eyes, “We’ve been dating for however long. These are things you’d know about me at this point, right?”
“Ahhh, gotcha,” you settle against the armrest in between you both to really look into his eyes. “See, I didn’t realize that to enter your mom’s house I would have to pass the Seresin partner pop quiz first.”
“Oh, fuck off,” he pulls away, running his hand through his unkempt hair.
You kick your foot at his shin, just a playful tap really, to get his attention.
“You prefer sausage links over patties. You won’t shut the fuck up about Hudson Card and his current stats - which are shit, by the way. You suck at poker and any other card game we’ve ever played. You have a lucky pair of briefs that you wear every time we - ”
“Okay,” he quickly interrupts, holding up his hand to cut you off.
“Come on,” you grin. “We’re in too tight of a circle to not know the damn basics about each other at this point. How about, instead of playing twenty questions until we land, you tell me about the off-limits stuff.”
At the questioning raise of his brows, you elaborate.
“Any triggers words? Like, I have an uncle Edward who, if you mention iPhones, will go on an unhinged rant about 5G towers and radiation until he runs out of breath. Anything like that I should be made aware of?”
His features seem to relax at last as he rubs his hand along his jawline for a moment, “Best not mention my Dad at all. Avoid the name Gwen, if you can.”
“Stepmom?”
He nods, blowing out a long breath, “Stepmom.”
“Think I can manage that. Anything else?”
For the rest of the flight, you cover the basics of the trip. His mom, Patricia - but call her Patty - is a bit of a germaphobe.
She has two guest rooms and will gladly offer to accommodate you both for the night, but she’d actually hate it if you took her up on the offer. She’s a traditionalist when it comes to Christmas dinner; none of that fusion food at her table. She’ll sneak off to the kitchen for a not-so-sneaky drink if the conversation takes a turn at all.
But most importantly, she definitely does not want to hear about any missions he has been on, though she’s very proud of his current career.
“And where are we on the PDA scale?” you ask as Hangman grabs your bag from the trunk of the rental car.
You had been stuck at the baggage carousel for forty-five minutes, the car rental counter for another twenty, and then the drive from the southern part of Austin up to the northern part had taken over half an hour. At this point, you were done.
But, for once, you had to admit that the company wasn’t the worst to be had.
“Ehh, probably on the low side? Enough to pass as a couple but not enough to make her grab hold of the metaphorical pearls.”
You hum in understanding, noticing that he’s still got his fingers looped through the strap of your bag along with his own as you head for the side entrance of the hotel, up to your room on the third floor.
After nabbing the key card from him, you unlock the door and immediately flick on the lights - making a straight line to the double bed by the window and unceremoniously flopping down on it, face first. Your bag is dropped next to your leg, making the bed jostle slightly, but you merely grunt in acknowledgment.
You can hear his tired chuckle somewhere above you, followed by the sound of his boots being kicked off.
“Before you disappear on me again, Pita. Be a dear and take a look at that informational on the table and find us some damn food.”
Giving a lazy thumbs up in his general direction, Hangman gives a departing laugh before he heads into the bathroom - but only after securing the deadbolt on the main door first.
It takes a moment, but you finally summon the energy to pull yourself up onto your elbows. Snatching the paper brochure from the bedside table with a listing of the local attractions and restaurants. You skim the names until you find a pizza place that’s supposedly open til midnight. It was only - you glance at the radio clock - 10:46 pm, so you should be good to send in a delivery order.
“Pizza?” you call out.
You can make out the muffled what he yells back in return.
“Do you want pizza?”
Your louder query is immediately responded to with a rough I can’t fuckin’ hear you in here.
Flipping onto your side, you wait for him to emerge from the bathroom to bother communicating with him again. Pulling out your phone, you search for the restaurant and casually scroll through their menu until you hear the click of the door.
Hangman shuffles out, grabbing his abandoned hoodie from the bed and methodically folding it up, “What were you hollering about?”
“Pizza sound good?”
He grunts, nabbing his boots and moving them into a more reasonable location in front of the open closet by the door.
“Depends on the place.”
You look at the name on the webpage, “Market Street Pizzeria?”
With a nod, he pads across the room and plops down heavily on the bed opposite yours, running both hands through his hair as he seems to stifle a yawn before it can escape.
“They’re good,” lifting his hips up from the bed, he grabs his wallet out of his back pocket, rummaging for a moment before he tosses a card at your face. “Here, get whatever. I’ll just pick off anything too offensive.”
You glance down at the card before immediately slamming it down on the nightstand, “Yeah, I’ll get this one. And I hope you don’t find pepperoni and cheese too obscene for your standards.”
He stares at you for a long moment before relenting and swiping up his debit card. You eye him as he tosses his wallet down at the foot of his bed before he props the pillows up and rests back against them - grabbing hold of the TV remote.
“Should be twenty minutes,” you announce, dropping your phone down on the bed as you push yourself up into a sitting position.
He hums in acknowledgment as you unzip your bag and fish out a pair of pajama pants that you had packed near the top of your items. You disappear into the bathroom to do your business and change - staring at yourself in the mirror for a long moment. Two flights and an impromptu nap had not done you any favors and that was a fact. After splashing some water on your face, you join Hangman back in the room.
He’s got just about everything settled already. A phone charger’s meticulously looped and plugged into the bedside outlet, a toiletry bag on the left-hand side of the dresser, and his own travel bag secured away in the closet next to his boots. The efficient bastard.
When you get the notification that your delivery has arrived, he heads down to collect your food and tip the driver. He ends up sitting at the desk to eat while you sit cross-legged on the end of your bed. The news is playing on mute in the background with the closed captions turned on.
“So,” you say after taking another bite, “What’s our story, in case she asks?”
He wipes his fingers off on one of the napkins before crumbling it up into a ball and taking aim at the trash can - it lands, of course.
But then he seems to remember that you asked a question as he turns in the rolling chair, legs spread wide as he gently sways side-to-side, “Like how we met?”
You roll your eyes, licking your fingertips clean of pizza grease, “I think it’s pretty apparent how we met, Seresin. What I meant was, how long has this - ” you gesture a hand between the two of you - “been going on. I mean, you’re taking me back home for the holidays, so it’s probably pretty serious at this point.”
He gives a chuckle, tapping his fingers on his knees, “How long a period of time is considered appropriate to bring a partner home?”
“Hell if I know,” you chortle, kicking your legs down over the side of the bed as you lean back on your hands.
His brow hitches up, “What, never taken someone home before?”
You don’t like the pointedness of the question as you squint back at him, “Been a bit busy, Bagman. What about you? What’s your excuse?”
“Had a high school girlfriend, dated for three years. Had her over for Christmas our senior year.”
“No one since though?” you ask.
“Like you said,” he leans back in the desk chair, folding his hands together over his stomach, “We’ve been busy.”
You nod, letting the topic settle in front of you both.
It wasn’t unheard of for people to get together on deployment, even less so on the carrier when you were forced into a confined space with the same individuals for months at a time. Shore leave was good for an easy hook-up or two, but real relationships? Those usually only happened prior to getting your orders for the most part.
The majority of the guys you knew had gotten together with their significant others around their time at the Academy, if not even sooner. Half of them got hitched right after graduation so their girl could get a place on base before they shipped out or went to flight school. But after that? Well, there wasn’t a hell of a lot of time for regular dating.
And it wasn’t that big of a deal when your focus was on your career. People like you and Hangman were all about that life. You didn’t go through the rigors of TOPGUN just to ask to be relocated to a desk job in Pensacola so you could settle down with a nice man and have a few all-American kiddos of your own this early on in your career.
Half your squadron had someone waiting for them back home. It was just a handful of you now that were still noticeably single - happily single, you should add.
“Five months,” you finally announce.
When you’re met with a curious pair of olive green eyes, you reiterate.
“We tell her we’ve been together for five months. Long enough to be serious, but short-term enough to make it seem like we were just being cautious about announcing anything too soon to our families.”
Hangman chews on his lip, mulling over your idea before he leans forward and extends his hand for you to shake, “Sounds like a plan, sweetheart.”
You just shake your head as you grip his hand tightly, “Guess I need to get used to those cutesy little pet names, huh?”
He laughs, pulling back to scratch at his chin, “Mmm, need to start with calling me by my real name for a start.”
“What, no Jakey or Jakers?”
His eyes light up in the soft glow of the hotel room’s incandescents as he dips his head back to laugh, “I swear to god, it’ll be a miracle if we pull this off.”
“Have a little faith in my acting abilities, baby,” you bat your lashes heavily, your voice turning soft and overly sweet. It probably didn’t help that you were functioning on almost nothing but coffee and pizza at this point.
He immediately pushes up from the chair, “I’m heading to bed before you make me hurl my food into the damn sink.”
“Don’t say that, sweetie-kins!” you coo, flopping over on the bed as you watch him collect the pizza box and methodically crush it in half to fit into the small black garbage can.
“Maybe I’ll call Guy up and see if he’s still available,” he muses with an irritated tone of voice, just to spur you on further as he nabs his toiletry bag and heads into the bathroom - leaving the door ajar.
“Now that is a show I would pay money to see,” you finally relent the act, pushing back the white comforter on your bed.
It only takes him a few minutes before he emerges. Jake smirks as he makes his way back to the bed, wearing nothing but his white t-shirt and briefs.
It must speak something to his level of exhaustion that he doesn’t even bother to make a you like what you see sort of comment. Not that you’d never seen him, or any other member of your squadron for that matter, in that level of undress before during pre-flight suit-up. But being at near eye-level in a hotel room was definitely a change in pace, though you also choose not to comment on it.
He merely rolls his comforter all the way to the end of the bed before he gets under the sheets, “You’re not an obnoxious snorer, are you, honey?”
You heft yourself up and cross the room in search of your own toiletry bag, “Guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.”
His tone is edged with a false sense of frustration as he grunts a low, drawn-out, “Lucky me.”
When you return to the room, the TV is off and he’s lying flat on his back.
The luminous blue light of his phone casts his face in sharp brightness as he quietly scrolls through something. You let him have his silence as you deposit your shower bag on your side of the dresser and carefully place your folded bra back into your backpack.
Only once you’re under the covers of your bed, with just the single bedside light on, does Jake relinquish his phone - placing it on the charger. He meets your gaze from across the way and, for a moment, it seems like there’s something he wants to say as he worries at his bottom lip.
But he ultimately just gives you a gruff: Night, Pita. Immediately followed by a curt nod before he turns off his light and rolls over to face toward the door.
With a shake of your head, and an accompanying: Goodnight, Hangman, you roll towards the window and try to settle in to sleep.
The sound of rustling sheets and agitated breaths fills the room for some time before the whirl of air conditioning kicks on. And then it’s only a matter of time before the darkness and the white noise soothes you into the lull of proper sleep.
Story Masterlist || Next Chapter
#jake hangman seresin x reader#jake seresin x reader#hangman x reader#top gun fan fic#series: home for the holidays#my fic
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i think a lot about exactly 1 thing from the roman empire: the concept of bread and circus. the idea was that if your population was fed and entertained, they wouldn't revolt. you are asking us to give up our one small life, is the thing - for under 15 dollars an hour.
what would that buy, even. i am trading weekends and late nights and my back health. i am trading slow mornings and long walks and cortisol levels. i am trading sleep and silence and peace. for ... this. for what barely-covers-rent.
life really is more expensive right now. you aren't making that up. i make almost 3 times what i did 5 years ago, and despite an incredibly equal series of bills - i am still struggling. the most expensive line item i added was to own a dog. the money is just evaporating.
we were okay with it because it's a cost-benefit analysis. i could handle the customer harassment and standing all day and the manager's constantly changing temperament - i was coming home to hope, and my life planned in a blue envelope. three hours would buy me my dog's food for a month. i can give up three hours for him, for his shiny coat and wide, happy mouth. three days could be a new mattress, if i was thrifty. if i really scrimped and saved, we could maybe afford a trip into the city.
recently i cried in the car about the price of groceries.
business majors will be mad at me, but my most inflammatory opinion is that people should never be valued at the same place as products. your staff should not be a series of numbers in an excel sheet that you can just "replace" whenever you need something at that moment. your staff should be people, end of sentence.
it feels like someone somewhere is playing a very bad video game. like my life is a toy. like someone opened an app on their phone and hired me in diner dash ultra. they don't need to pay me well or treat me alright - they can always just show me the door. there is always someone more desperate, always someone more willing.
but i go to work and know i could save for years and not afford housing. i am never going to own my own home, most likely. i have no idea how to afford her ring, much less the wedding. my dog doesn't have his own yard. everything i love is on subscription. if i lose my job, i have no "nest egg" to catch my falling.
this thin life - they want me to give up summer for it. to open my mouth and throat and swallow the horrible hours and counted keystrokes. they want me to give up mountains and any non-federal holiday. to give up snow days. to give up talking to my mom whenever i want. to give up visiting the ocean and hearing the waves.
bread and circus worked for a while, actually. it was the kind of plan that would probably now be denounced by republicans as socialist commie liberal pronoun bullshit.
but sometimes i wonder if we should point them to the part of the history book that says: it worked until it didn't.
#spilled ink#warm up#writeblr#i have a good job please shut the fuck up before telling me to get a better job#girl i have vision and dental.#if u blame the victim that's wild. do u know about economic systems
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𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃, 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 —
a small series of Jujutsu Kaisen men as your husband !
☆ OUR STARS : Nanami Kento, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Choso Kamo, Aoi Todo, Toji Fushiguro, and more !
━ REQUESTED BY : none
━ WARNINGS : none
ෆ PIXIE'S NOTE ! : heya pookies I know it's been a while 🙏🏻 but here I am creating another series to pay off the days I wasn't posting so much — forgive me my pookies 🏃🏻♀️💨 we have holiday break so I'm going to grind a lot 😝
NANAMI KENTO, as your husband !
• Nanami is the perfect standard for male wife, argue with the wall — this man knows how to cook, clean his home, does his own laundry, and mostly basic life skills that most men barely know which is pretty much a big turn on.
Nanami who always supports your decision as long as it doesn't have any bad effects in your life, he respects you a lot to whatever you do in your life — he thinks that just because you are married it doesn't mean he have full possession on you, though sometimes when you asked for his opinions about your decisions in such situations he isn't shy of what he thinks.
Nanami the type of husband who will always do small and big things for you even though you can do it yourself — carrying groceries for you, helping you in the kitchen, sending you to your work, helps you clean the house, and goes to the mall with you.
; he surprisingly took the shopping bags form your hands gently "your hands will get numb, this is pretty heavy." he says with his usual tone as he looks at you softly, you can't help but to smile in his small little gestures and gosh it's making her heart melt.
"thank you, kento." you say as you gave him a big smile and pressed a kiss on his cheeks making him grin.
Nanami who is being a worrywart when you don't reply quickly when you're out with your friends late night —
; kento | sent a message.
10:24 pm
kento : just got home love ❤️
kento : what time are you going home?
11:04 pm
kento : love, tell me when you're going home I'll pick you up ❤️
kento : is everything going alright?
kento : kind of worried, hope you respond soon 😅
11:07 pm
kento : please reach out to me when you can so I can pick you up ☺️
kento : I'm worried 😢
you : love I'm fine sorry, we we're drinking just a tiny bit 😭
you : you can pick me up now 🏃🏻♀️💨
Nanami the type of husband to use cringe emojis but you appreciate it anyways, he barely use his phone or try to use emojis — headcanon : he learned using emojis from yuji or gojo 🙏🏻 you find it silly and cute anyways.
Nanami who's phone is always filled with your photos and some sceneries with you in it — he doesn't like taking photos of himself that much though, he loves taking photos of you and look through it when he's not busy or when he misses you and he's at work.
Nanami when he learned how to use Instagram and he can't stop posting you — Gojo probably tried influencing him to use social media once and he was like no??? not until one time you took a photo of him during one of your dates and you asked him, "hey can I post this?" and of course he said yes and after that you kept posting him at some times which led him to the idea of posting you as well since he thinks you deserve it too.
; nanami.kento1990
tagged : @y/n.igcom | ❤️
itaaa.yuji and 13 others liked this post.
gojosatoru | he knows how to use Instagram 😦 ???
gojosatoru | WHO TAUGHT YOU ⁉️
itaaa.yuji | first post !!
nobaraaaa | parents 🙏🏻
Nanami who is nervous to talk about the future he wants with you — not totally nervous it's more like when you talked about kids you wanted soon with him he will always be like, "sure I also thought about that." with his usual tone but deep inside talking about it was his hyper fixation and he can't stop thinking about it.
Nanami who never in his life forget about giving you flowers in small or big occasions —
; "happy mother's day." he says softly with a grin in his face as he hands you a bouquet of your favourite flowers, "kento, I'm not a mother yet." you laugh as you take the bouquet from him, admiring the flowers for a second. He never fails to make you feel happy, "maybe soon?" he chuckles then makes his way to give you a hug. "sure." you laughed and happily hugged him back tightly, exchanging I love you.
Nanami who never left by your side especially when you are not okay, he will leave his work for a day or even weeks if you really need him by your side — he will never get tired of comforting you; if you need a shoulder to cry on? He's there. He can stay all day in bed with you to make you feel better — take you out in a vacation if that's what you really need or probably do every house chores just to make you rest.
─ REBLOGS, LIKES, AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED FEEL FREE TO REQUEST!
#nanami kento#nanami kento x reader#jjk nanami#nanami angst#nanami fluff#nanami kento fluff#jujutsu nanami#nanami smut#nanami kento angst#nanami kento smut#jujutsu kaisen smau#jjk smau#gojo x reader#choso x reader#geto x reader#jjk men#toji fushiguro#aoi todo
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Selena + Chef: Home for the Holidays
will premiere on the Food Network on Thursday, November 30th at 8 p.m. EST.
#new#show#tv#familiar#nice#project#selena + chef#selena gomez#chef#Christmas#selena#cute#selena marie gomez#pretty#gomez#Selena home for holidays#home for holidays#celebs#rare beauty#series#hbo
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i'll be home for christmas | part one
Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
Summary: Having just caught your fiancé cheating on you, you decide to come back home from the big city to Austin for the month of December to try to figure out your next step. You had no idea you would be getting more than you bargained for with the handsome single dad who built your parents' house.
Chapter Warnings: no outbreak, modern day but Joel is 40, language, fluff, flirting, reader has a childhood nickname only her family uses, Hallmark tropes up the wazoo, soft!joel, reader's sister is pregnant, talks of infidelity, talks of divorce, alcohol use, kissing, (smut in part two)
WC: 9.1K
A/N: this is my take on a cheesy, fluffy, soft, smutty, Joel Miller Hallmark Christmas movie. It's just sweet and silly and makes me smile, and I hope it does the same for you. I also wrote this in less than 2 days and didn't really edit it much, so sorry in advance if there's any errors.
Found the pic on Twitter but can't remember the source, if you know please send me a message and i will credit them
Series Masterlist
It was the second week of December as you stood inside the airport in Austin, Texas, waiting for your luggage to emerge on the conveyor belt. You thought by coming home early, you would have avoided the holiday traffic, but you were wrong. All around you, people squealed with excitement and embraced, dragging their worn out luggage behind them as they made their way out of the bustling airport. You tried to keep the scowl from your face as you watched, but it was next to impossible, so you wrapped your Burberry scarf around your neck instead, hoping to hide your displeasure.
This was not the plan you had for Christmas. You should be in New York in a high-rise apartment in front of a roaring fireplace with a glass of wine and your fiancé - ex-fiancé - not back in Austin with your parents, who begged you to come visit for the holidays after you told them the news.
Coming home to visit wasn't your favorite thing, but you felt guilty having avoided the holidays with your family for so many years, and you would have ended up all alone in the city anyway. So you caved, using up all the PTO you saved for the wedding, and took the rest of the year off from work.
Your designer luggage stood out like a sore thumb when it tumbled down the conveyor belt. You winced after watching the impact and snatched it up quickly. Glancing around, you saw a beacon in the storm: a familiar green, glowing sign in the distance - Starbucks. The line was long, but your flight was early, so you waited and got a latte, hoping it would lift your spirits a bit before you had to face your parents.
You tapped the side of your coffee cup anxiously as you rode the escalator down to the first floor, scanning the crowd for your mom and dad. There were a few people holding up signs with names on them, and when you saw the sign that said "Bucket" on it, you cringed.
Your dad's tall, round frame came into view when the people in front of him dispersed. He looked almost exactly the same, except a little greyer. Still sporting a shockingly full head of hair and his signature thick mustache, he grinned and pulled you into a warm hug.
"Really, Dad? 'Bucket'?"
"Well, that's what we call you, ain't it?" he said with a smile. You rolled your eyes and tried to be annoyed, but you had to admit that you were happy to see him.
"Where's Mom?" you asked.
"She's waitin' in the car, didn't wanna pay for parking so we're in a pick up zone, let's hustle," he said, wrapping his arm around you as he led you outside. "How was the flight?"
"Long," you said, then gasped when the cold air hit you. "Wow, I didn't think it would be this cold yet."
"It's been a cold one so far this year," he nodded, directing you to the left where you could see your mom smiling and waving from the passenger seat of their white SUV. You waved back and grinned. Maybe coming home wasn't such a bad idea, after all.
"Hiya, Bucky!" your mom said happily, leaning out of the window to give you a half hug while your dad loaded up your belongings in the back.
"Hey, Mom," you replied. "I like your sweater."
She was wearing one of her tacky Christmas sweaters that she wore every year - unironically. It amazed you how some things never change.
You climbed into the back seat as your dad carefully exited the parking spot and joined the line of cars that were slowly inching towards the main road.
"We're so glad you decided to come home this year, you can finally see the new house!" your mom said excitedly. They had built a brand new house, and the way she provided updates and pictures to you over the phone for the past year, you felt like you had already seen it.
"Yeah, can't wait," you said, staring out the window.
"Hope you don't mind, but we're throwin' a party tomorrow night," your dad said, glancing at you in the review mirror. "Wanted to have our friends over to see the place and have an early holiday party. They'll be so happy to see you, it's been so long since you've been home, Buck."
You had been hoping to spend most of the next three weeks in bed moping and scrolling on your phone. The thought of a party and seeing all those people looking at you with pity made your stomach turn. Your mom must have sensed your discomfort.
"It's alright, honey. They won't say anything," she said softly, and you squeezed your eyes shut.
"Okay," you replied, your voice pained as you opened your eyes to stare at the passing traffic on the thruway.
You'll make an appearance for an hour, and then try to sneak back upstairs until the party ends, already fabricating a headache to blame it on.
The house your parents built was impressive, even you had to admit. It was a two story colonial with four bedrooms and three bathrooms. The open floor plan was stunning as you made your way from room to room. The first floor alone had a spacious living room with vaulted ceilings, a kitchen with an attached dining room, and a separate family room off the back. There was even a small office by the front door that you missed the first time around, and a pantry as big as your closet back home.
You cringed at the thought, reminding yourself that it was no longer your home. That was part of the problem. You had moved in with Will, and when you discovered he had been cheating on you, you crashed at your friend Melanie's place. When you tearfully told your parents the news a few days later, they asked you to come home. Just for the holidays, your mom had said. Just to give you time to figure out your next move.
"This is beautiful, Mom," you said honestly, admiring the fine details on the cabinets.
"Thank you, sweetie. Took a long time, but Joel built it just right for us," she said, beaming.
"Oh, the contractor, right?" you replied, distracted now by the backsplash above the counters.
"He's such a sweet man, he was so patient with us when we changed our minds a million times over every little thing."
"Well, tell him he did a great job," you murmured, opening and shutting different drawers.
"You can tell him yourself, he'll be at the party tomorrow," your dad said, opening the fridge to scrounge for some snacks.
"You invited your contractor to your holiday party?" you asked in disbelief.
"Sure we did. We either saw him or spoke to him almost every single day for a year. He's a good man."
"Okay," you said slowly, still finding it a bit strange, but reminding yourself that things worked a little differently in the south.
"Bucket!" you heard your sister call from the front of the house. A smile plastered across your face instantly as you rushed to the door, both of you squealing as you wrapped your arms around each other and jumped in a circle, unable to contain your excitement.
"Cassie!" you said, pulling back to look at her, brushing her sleek, dark brown hair over her shoulder. "You look fantastic!"
"Ugh, I feel like shit," she said, and you laughed, glancing down at her barely swollen belly.
"How far along are you again?" you asked.
"Twenty weeks, but I'm ready for this to be over! I'm so tired all the time, it sucks," she said, flopping down on the couch in the living room after she gave your parents quick hugs.
"Where's Josh?" your mom asked, referring to your brother in law.
"He's still working, he'll be by later," Cassie said, waving her hand. "Gives us a chance to catch up," she added with a wink.
"You girls do that, we need to go to the store for tomorrow night. Do you need anything?" your mom asked, and you shook your head, eager for them to leave so you could be alone with your sister.
"Tell me everything," Cassie said the moment the door clicked shut.
If it were anyone else, you wouldn't have been in the mood to talk about the mess that was currently your life, but you've always been able to talk about anything with your sister. You trusted each other implicitly and there was no judgement, no matter if you had cheated on a test or gotten drunk during prom, you told each other everything.
So you did. You told her how for months, you felt like something was off with Will. How he would stay out late and say it was for work, but none of his work friends ever posted about going anywhere those nights on social media. He grew more distant and you tried to ignore your paranoia, but when he collapsed into bed one night, too out of it to wash up, and you saw the lipstick on his neck the next morning, you lost it. He hardly even tried to explain himself, barely even attempted to lie, and you began to think maybe he wanted to get caught. Maybe he wanted you to do the dirty work and end things so he didn't have to. Fucking coward.
"What a piece of shit. I never liked him," Cassie said when you were finished. "He acted like he was so much better than everyone when he was here, do you remember the comments he made about the wine mom had? It was so fucking rude."
"Yeah, I know," you agreed.
"So why were you even with him?"
"We had been together since college, Cas," you said, exasperated. "I knew him before he was like that. He used to be sweet and fun. Then he got that finance job and met all those assholes and he became just like them."
"Well, I'm just glad you didn't end up married before finding out what he's really like," she said, shifting her weight on the couch with her hand cupping her small stomach. "That would have been a huge mess."
"It's still a huge mess, I have no where to live now, and I can only couch surf for so long," you said, burying your face in your hands.
"You'll figure it out, Buck. I'll help you look for places online while you're here. Maybe set up some appointments so you can tour them when you get back."
"Thanks," you said, giving her a weak smile. "That would actually be great."
"Now, on to more important things," your sister said, slapping her palms against her knees to stand.
"Baby names?" you asked.
"No! Let's figure out what you'll wear to the party tomorrow," she said, wiggling her eyebrows. "I wanna look through all your fancy designer clothes."
You giggled and stood to join her.
"Fine, but I'm still dropping baby names while you look," you replied.
After spending a majority of the next day helping your parents decorate and prepare food for the party, you finally were able to excuse yourself to shower and get ready. Cassie had picked out a Ralph Lauren lace cocktail dress that Will had bought for your birthday last year. You slipped it on, running your hands over the fabric as you adjusted the dress in the mirror. Just because he bought it didn't mean you couldn't wear it again. You snatched the glass of wine from your dresser and took a sip, trying to push the thought of him from your head as you made your way downstairs.
Cassie and Josh were already in the kitchen, munching on appetizers and chatting with your parents. Cassie let out a low whistle when you entered the room. You waved her off and gave Josh a big hug and kiss on the cheek.
"Good to see you," you told him with a smile. "All ready for the baby?"
"Getting there," Josh replied, wrapping an arm around Cassie's waist. You tried to ignore the ugly, jealous pit in your stomach as he told you how the nursery was coming along. You wasted so many years of your life on Will. Your sister was already married and starting a family, and here you were, basically homeless and starting over. Pathetic.
Family friends slowly began to trickle into the house, luckily being whisked away by your parents to give them a tour after you meekly greeted them and hid back in the kitchen. As more and more people arrived, you began to wonder how your parents kept so many close friends when you barely had a handful back in New York.
A few kids raced by you in the kitchen as you made your way to the bar to refill your wine. Even though it was loud, you could still hear your dad's booming voice as he regaled a friend with a fishing story. You wandered around a bit, trying to find Cassie and Josh so you didn't look out of place, but stopped dead in your tracks when you saw them chatting with Mr. Tanner and his son, Troy, backing away before they could see you. Troy used to have the biggest crush on you when you were kids. If he found out you were single, you wouldn't be able to shake him all night.
You eventually found yourself alone, back in front of the snacks. You picked at the chips on your plate, not really interested in eating but hoping to avoid any awkward conversations, so you kept your eyes down, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. Apparently, it wasn't good enough because you felt someone sidle up next to you.
"Those any good?" a deep, unfamiliar drawl spoke from your side. You looked up to find the softest pair of brown eyes you've ever seen on a man. Blinking, you took a moment as your gaze raked over his patchy beard and the dark, tousled curls on his head. They looked so soft, you had to resist the urge to reach out and touch them. What was wrong with you?
"Huh?" you managed to squeak out after you realized you had waited too long to reply. Idiot.
"The, uh, chips," he said, pointing at your plate before rubbing the back of his neck.
"Oh!" you said, looking at your plate, completely forgetting you even had it. "Yeah, they're alright."
He nodded and glanced around the room, unsure of what to say next. He cleared his throat and tried again.
"How do you know Paul and Martha?"
Distracted, you watched as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, stretching the fabric of his red flannel over his shoulders, pulling the material taught. You had to remind yourself to pay attention and stop gawking at this man like he was a piece of meat. Jesus, maybe you should stop drinking.
"They're my parents," you said after a moment, your eyes flicking across the room, finding them with a group of their friends with your dad's arm wrapped around your mom's shoulder as she giggled and gazed up at him adoringly.
"Oh, you're Cassie," the man said, his eyes dropping from your face to your stomach, and you swore you saw a glimmer of disappointment.
"No!" you said quickly, your hand subconsciously resting on your midsection. "That's my sister, I'm their other daughter." You told him your name and briefly explained you lived in New York and were just visiting for the holidays.
"They must be real happy, havin' you home for so long," he replied, and you shrugged.
"Yeah, it's been a while since I've come home for a visit. I was feeling pretty bad about that," you said, choosing to leave out the biggest reason you were there. This stranger didn't need to be burdened with your love life drama. "Besides, they were so excited to show off the new house," you continued, waving your arm around the room.
"Took us long enough, but it finally came together," he replied with a smile.
"Oh! You must be Joel," you said, realization finally dawning on you.
"Yeah, sorry," he said, shaking his head and stretching out his arm. "That was rude of me, don't know what I was thinkin'." His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you shook his hand.
"My parents always have such wonderful things to say about you. The house is beautiful, I was blown away when I first saw it," you told him. "I especially love the little details on the cabinets."
"Thanks," he said with a soft smile, averting his gaze to look at the cabinet behind you. "I actually did that myself. It's kind of a hobby of mine. Closest to art I'll ever get, I guess."
"I don't think it's just 'close' to art, I think it is art. It's stunning," you told him, running your fingertips over the intricate floral design. "You're very talented."
"Well, thank you," he said sheepishly, rubbing his beard to hide his smile. You could see the blush creeping up his neck and you bit your lip with a grin, turning your head to try to give him a moment. Were you making him nervous? He was painfully good looking, could this guy actually be into you? Were you even interested? The break up was still so fresh and it had been so long since you've dated anyone besides Will, you hadn't even considered it yet.
"So, how long have you worked in construction?" you asked after a minute, discarding your plate on the counter to give him your full attention.
"Oh, my whole life. Me and my brother started the business when we were in our twenties. Only thing we were any good at, and luckily it pays the bills," he told you with a shrug, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "What do you-"
Joel's question was cut off by a young girl with curly brown hair in a red velvet dress bouncing up to him.
"Dad! Can Uncle Tommy take me outside so we can look at the pool?" she asked. Dad? You looked down when he pulled his hands out of his pockets, palming one of the girl's shoulders to quiet her down, and noticed the gold wedding band. Of fucking course.
"The pool? Sarah, it's freezin' out," Joel said, and she grinned.
"I'm not going in, Dad, I just wanna see," she said, rolling her eyes. She glanced over, noticing you for the first time, and smiled. "I really like your dress," she said.
"Thank you," you said, running your hand down the fabric. "I like yours, too."
"Uh, yeah, that's fine. Just make sure Uncle Tommy sticks with you, alright?" Joel relented, and she clapped her hands gleefully before running off again.
"She's cute, how old is she?" you asked him, looking around the room to see if Sarah had run back to a woman who could be Joel's wife.
"She's sixteen," he said, eyeing you carefully. He hadn't thought this far ahead and hoped he wasn't scaring you off.
You turned to him, startled, having guessed she was younger.
"You must have had her young," you said, the words slipping out before you could catch them. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean that like it sounded-"
"No, it's alright," he said with a chuckle. "I did. I'm forty."
You nodded and took a sip from your glass, letting your eyes drift away, rethinking your conversation. Maybe you misread him and he was just being friendly. There was no way he would be flirting with you at a party with his kid right there. But then he cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to him.
"Listen, I hope I'm not bein' too forward, but are you here with anyone?"
You raised your eyebrows at him over your glass. There was no misreading that. Blinking rapidly, you tried to formulate a reply that wouldn't cause a scene. Was he seriously hitting on you with a ring on his finger? You put your glass down on the counter and opened your mouth to reply when your sister's voice interrupted you.
"Bucket! Come here, you remember Troy, right?"
You cringed, at both the nickname and the person in question, before slowly turning your body towards her and forcing a fake smile.
"Of course. How are you?" you said with a hug.
"Doing great, just got a new job with a law firm downtown," Troy said, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans and shifting his weight nervously. He began to ramble about his new job as your sister introduced herself to Joel behind you. You resisted the urge to strangle her, reminding yourself she was carrying your baby niece or nephew and that you'll have to wait until after she gave birth to kill her. She knew you couldn't stand Troy, but she probably couldn't get rid of him, either.
You stood there, draining your wine glass while he prattled on for the next twenty minutes. By the time Troy's dad walked over and ushered him away, Joel was nowhere to be found.
Probably for the best, anyway. You were getting really sick and tired of only attracting unfaithful men.
You hadn't considered how annoying it would be to have your parents hovering around you all the time, worried that you were slipping into a depression and trying to get you to join them on activities outside the house. After you felt forced to go sledding with them the day before, you decided to make yourself scarce today, which is why you found yourself at the mall in downtown Austin browsing for a Christmas gift for your future niece or nephew.
As you were looking through a storefront window, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Taking it out, you saw a text from a friend back home.
Sydney: You'll never guess who i just bumped into
You were typing out your response, chin tucked into your chest, when you felt someone knock into you. Startled, you looked up only to lock eyes with Joel the contractor.
"Oh!" you managed to stammer out. His deep brown eyes lit up and a warm smile spread across his face when he looked up and recognized you.
"Sorry, wasn't payin' attention," he said. "How, uh, how are you?"
"Good," you said, nodding and clutching your phone in your hand. "You?"
"Good. Was actually just thinkin' about you," he admitted, looking down and shifting the bag he was carrying from one hand to the other. "Never got to say goodbye to you the other night."
"Yeah, it was pretty crowded. I didn't realize my parents were so popular," you joked. "Is Sarah with you?"
"No, she's in school," he replied, and you bumped the heel of your hand against your forehead, rolling your eyes. Of course she was, it's the middle of the day.
"Duh," you said quietly, finding it hard to hold his gaze without getting butterflies, so you looked away.
"So, uh, I hope this doesn't sound creepy, but I asked your sister if you were seein' anyone the other night," he began, and you felt your face instantly heat up. Why didn't Cassie warn you?? "-was wonderin' if I could get your number."
"Huh?" you asked, your eyes widening as you tried to control your breathing. You glanced down at his hand again when he looked away and saw he was definitely wearing a ring.
"Thought we could go out sometime? If you're interested?" he asked, his own nerves wreaking havoc as he shifted his weight and chewed on the inside of his cheek, praying his face wasn't as red as it felt.
"Are you serious?" you asked him, narrowing your eyes. The audacity of some men!
"'Course I'm serious," he said with a nervous smile. "Thought we hit it off the other night-"
"Joel, listen. I'm not going to say what I'm really thinking for the sake of my parents and everything you did for them, but I am not interested in dating married men," you said with a scowl. He frowned, giving you a confused look before you turned on your heel and stormed away, joining the crowd of Christmas shoppers bustling by.
He looked down at his hand, making a tight fist before swiveling his head around, trying to locate you in the crowd before he lost you.
"Hey, wait!" he called out, pushing past clusters of people as he jogged to try and keep up with you. He called out your name as he got closer. You stopped suddenly but didn't turn around, causing surprised shoppers to have to redirect at the last minute to avoid running into you.
"Hey, I'm sorry-"
"You should apologize to your wife!" you said loudly, causing a few people to turn their heads in your direction as they walked past. Joel looked around nervously.
"I'm not married," he clarified quietly. You looked down at his hand again and he flexed his fingers.
"Can we get a coffee or somethin'? And I'll explain," he begged, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each second that passed as you considered your answer. "Please."
"Fine," you agreed, and his face relaxed once again.
You sat down at a coffee shop within Barnes and Noble as Joel ordered you both something to drink. As you watched him at the counter, you admired his long legs and broad shoulders underneath his brown coat and wondered what possible excuse he was going to come up with.
Oh my god, what if she died?
You rubbed your eyes, hoping you didn't just insult a widower in the middle of a crowded mall.
Joel joined you at the table and set your coffee down in front of you with a smile.
"Thank you," you said softly, fiddling with the cup and avoiding his eyes as he shrugged his coat off, revealing a navy blue V-neck sweater underneath. Your eyes drifted to the small patch of bare chest that was exposed and your stomach clenched. Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to meet his gaze, but he was staring down at his ring finger.
"I'm not married anymore, just wanna make that crystal clear," he began, still staring at his ring.
"Okay," you said slowly, waiting for him to continue. He sighed.
"We've been divorced for a few years now," he said, finally looking at you. "It was... hard. Really hard. I, uh," he scratched his beard as he struggled to find the words. "I've had a tough time lettin' go. Thought for a while we might get back together, so I didn't take it off. Then I guess I just got so used to it, I never thought... I'm sorry, I sound like a mess," he said with a sad smile.
"It's alright, I think I understand," you told him, and he looked at you with renewed optimism, encouraged to continue.
"I never took it off because I never thought 'bout askin' anyone out til now," he said. "Didn't realize how that would come across, you just took me by surprise that night and I couldn't stop thinkin' 'bout you."
You blushed and looked down at your coffee, trying to hide your smile behind your cup, but he saw it and grinned.
"Are you still in love with her?" you asked him. You didn't want to get wrapped up in something that would end up hurting you in the end.
"No," he said firmly. "I mean, I'll always care for her. She gave me Sarah, how could I not? But I'm not in love with her anymore."
You nodded as you absorbed his words, glancing around the little coffee shop before dragging your eyes back to his. He was looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to ask anything else that would make you comfortable with accepting a date from him.
"Well, thank you for being honest with me, but I'm not sure I'm ready for a relationship just yet."
Joel tried to hide the disappointment in his face as he nodded in understanding. The first time in five years he asked someone out and he got shot down.
"It's not you," you clarified. "It's bad timing. I just got out of a really long term relationship. Well, I was actually engaged, and I caught him cheating," you explained with a wince, not expecting to bring this up today. "Probably why I was so sensitive about the wedding ring," you said with a half smirk. He nodded quietly and looked down at the ring on his hand, twisting the metal around with the pad of his thumb as you spoke.
"Sounds like we've both been through a tough time," he murmured, and you quietly agreed.
You sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping your coffees and trying to figure out how to end this awkward interaction without making things worse. You were going to lie about having plans so you could leave when he suddenly spoke up.
"No pressure, but, uh, what if we just went on one very casual date?" He looked at you with those soft, brown eyes and you felt your resolve crumbling. "Sounds like we could both use some practice. You're leavin' at the end of the month anyway. Could just be fun, help get us both back out there."
You paused, not expecting that. He had a good point. It's been so long since you've gone on a date with anyone, and it sounded like he was just as rusty. Besides, what else would you be doing with your time over the next three weeks?
"Okay," you agreed softly. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, parting his lips slightly as he straightened up in his chair.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," you said with a grin. "Why not?"
Early the next morning, you heard your phone buzz on the nightstand next to your bed. With a groan, you cracked an eye open to look at the time, then reached for your phone.
"7:30? Who the hell..." you grumbled, squinting at the bright screen, your eyes widening when you saw Joel's name. You sat up in bed, fully awake now, and slid the notification over to open the text.
Joel Miller: Morning. Are you free tonight?
You grinned, flicking on your light so you could see better to respond, then you paused. Should you make him wait before replying? Would you look too desperate if you answered right away?
You shrugged, deciding to answer him. It was casual, you both knew it wouldn't go anywhere, so who cares how it looked?
You: Good morning, you're up early! And yes, what did you have in mind?
You chewed your thumb nail as you waited for his answer.
Joel Miller: This is nothing, I've been up since 5. For some reason, clients expect me to be at job sites early. How about ice skating?
You giggled and tapped out a reply.
You: I'd love to!
Joel Miller: Great - I'll pick you up at 7
Realizing you forgot to reply to Sydney the day before, you switched messages and shot her a quick answer before sliding back down under the covers to scroll on your phone.
You resisted the urge as long as you could - a whole fifteen minutes - before you typed Joel's name into Facebook. His name popped up with two mutual friends and you rolled your eyes. Of course your parents were friends with him. Clicking on his name, you scrolled down his page, tapping through photos of him and Sarah that looked out of date. He didn't seem like the type to update social media often, and his page reflected that hunch. He didn't have many pictures so it didn't take long until you scrolled all the way to the end, presumably his first photo from when he joined. It was a grainy picture of him with a huge smile and his arm slung around a woman with dark, curly hair, just like Sarah's.
She was pretty, you couldn't deny that, and you vaguely wondered why they broke up. He made it sound like he didn't want a divorce, and you figured he would have mentioned cheating since you brought it up.
You closed the app. If Joel wanted to tell you, he would.
Dragging yourself out of bed, you made your way downstairs on the hunt for coffee. Pouring yourself a cup from the machine, you burrowed into the couch, wrapping yourself in a blanket as you waited for your coffee to cool down and flipped through the various streaming services your parents subscribed to.
"Hey Buck, you're up early," your dad said as he descended the stairs and headed to the coffee.
"Hey, Dad," you said, taking a sip from your mug and wincing as you burned your tongue.
"What're you up to today? You wanna come to dinner with your mom and me?"
"Actually, I have a date," you told him, bracing for the reaction.
"Whoa-ho! Been here not even a week and you got yourself a date? Don't tell me... Troy?" he asked with a big grin, sitting down at the other end of the couch.
"Ew, no!" you said, scrunching your nose. "It's, um, Joel," you said quickly, taking another sip from your mug.
"Our contractor?" he asked incredulously.
"Yeah, we met at the party," you told him. "Then I ran into him at the mall."
"Ran into who at the mall?" you heard Cassie's voice from down the hall.
"When did you get here?" you asked as she rounded the corner and gazed at your coffee enviously.
"Just now. Who did you see at the mall?"
"Joel," you said, glaring at her. "Got something to tell me about that?"
"Oh, yeah," she said, wiggling her eyebrows. "He was asking about you at the party. I made sure to let him know you were single."
"Yeah, he told me, thanks for the heads up, by the way," you said. "We're going out tonight."
"I didn't realize he was single, I just assumed he was married because he's always got Sarah around," your dad said, beginning to zone out to the movie that was on the TV.
"He's single," was all you said, picking your phone back up.
"He's cute," Cassie said, and you blushed. "I'm glad you said yes, mom and dad already love him, so he'll fit right in."
"I don't even live here. It's a casual thing, we're just hanging out," you told her.
"Yeah, okay," she said, giving you a wink. You rolled your eyes and pinched her as you passed by.
"I'm going to shower, then maybe you can help me pick out something to wear," you told her over your shoulder, walking back upstairs.
Joel arrived at your parents' house promptly at 7, just as he promised. He pulled into the driveway, checking his hair in the review mirror quickly before sliding out of his truck and making his way up the porch. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this nervous as he glanced down a the green flannel he wore, praying he didn't miss a button or a stain. He was with his ex for so long that he could barely remember a time when he was nervous around her.
But with you, he felt the butterflies the moment he saw you at the party. You didn't notice him at first, but he saw you enter the living room and freeze in the doorway, your eyes locked on someone across the room before backing out the way you came, as if you were looking to avoid them. He couldn't catch who it was, having hardly known more than five people in the whole house, but he felt compelled to follow you. To see if you were maybe looking for a husband or boyfriend. But when he saw you alone in the kitchen, staring down at your phone, he couldn't stop himself from saying something to you.
Joel never did things like that. He always kept to himself, very quiet and reserved. He was content with his work during the day and hanging out with Sarah at night.
For the most part, he was happy. It was only at night when the loneliness crept up, when he tucked himself into his big, cold bed and tried his best to fall asleep as fast as he could, so he wouldn't lay there wishing someone who cared for him was just in the bathroom washing up.
Tommy had been encouraging him to get back out there, always offering to watch Sarah if he caught Joel looking a little too long at a waitress or a neighbor. Sarah was old enough to be on her own for a few hours, but he still asked Tommy to stop by, anyway. Maybe part of him wanted his brother to know that he was going on a date, if only so he would stop trying to set him up all the time with women he had no interest in.
Joel reached out to ring the doorbell, cringing when he noticed it was one of those camera doorbells. Paul must have installed it after the house was finished. He heard heavy footsteps on the other side of the door and held his breath, realizing he hadn't thought about your dad's reaction to your date.
Paul swung the door open, greeting Joel with a deep scowl as he leaned up against the doorframe.
"What's up, Joel?" he asked. Joel cleared his throat.
"Hey, Paul. I'm here to pick up your daughter," Joel replied, bracing himself. Paul just stared at him, breathing deeply as he looked Joel up and down. Joel wasn't a small man, but Paul had at least sixty pounds on him. He tended to have an intimidating look until you got to know him.
"Oh, yeah? For what?" Paul asked, clenching his jaw. Joel froze, wondering if there was a reason you didn't tell your parents about tonight, unsure what to say. Finally, Paul's face broke into a huge smile as he began to crack up, doubling over at the waist.
"I'm sorry, Joel, I had to," he wheezed, standing back up and clapping Joel on the shoulder. "Couldn't help myself. Come on in," he said, still laughing as he led Joel down the hall and towards the kitchen.
"Jesus, Paul, scared the shit outta me," Joel admitted, his heart racing as he rubbed his forehead.
"Beer?" Paul asked, and Joel shook his head.
"No thanks, I'm drivin'," he replied, and Paul raised his eyebrows with a nod.
"Good man, passed the first test," he said with a wink as he twisted open a beer for himself. "Hey, uh, in all seriousness, I just wanna talk with you before she comes down."
"Yeah, 'course," Joel replied, leaning up against the counter.
"I ain't sure what she's told you about the asshole she was with before, but he really hurt her. Now, I know it ain't got nothin' to do with you, what's in the past is in the past," he said. "But just keep that in mind, will you? I can't stand seein' my little girl hurt like that again."
Joel nodded solemnly, understanding completely.
"I ain't like that, I'll be respectful, I promise," Joel replied. "Besides, we both know she's goin' back to New York in a few weeks. We're just gettin' to know each other, is all."
"Yeah, she said the same thing to her sister earlier, but then she spent all damn day on the phone, pickin' out an outfit and gettin' herself ready," Paul said with a sigh. "I'm just sayin', be careful with her."
Joel felt a flutter in his chest and tried to hide his smile when he found out you had been thinking about him all day. He was glad he wasn't the only one.
"I hope you weren't waiting long," you told Joel as he backed out of your driveway.
"Not at all," he said with a smirk. "You're worth the wait. You look beautiful." He glanced down again at the light pink sweater with a small designer logo he was unfamiliar with in the corner.
You blushed and bit your lip, quietly thanking him and trying to hide your reaction behind your scarf, but he saw it. He always does.
Now that he knew you were looking forward to this date just as much as he was, he felt a little more confident.
"Did you have a good day?" he asked, giving you a sideways glance as he merged his truck into traffic.
"Yeah, did you?"
"It was alright," he said, slowing the truck down at a stop light. He turned to face you now. "Couldn't wait to see you, though."
You turned a darker shade of pink and he smiled, pleased to see that he could elicit that reaction from you, the same way you do to him.
"So, ice skating?" you said, trying to take the heat off of you. You looked at his hands on the steering wheel, noticing he made sure to take his ring off.
"Yeah," he said, pressing his foot on the gas as the light changed. "Thought you could teach me somethin'."
"Teach you? How do you know if I can even skate?" you asked teasingly.
"Just a hunch. Was I right?" he replied, his mouth turning up into a half smirk. You giggled and he felt his stomach tighten. He needed to hear that again.
"Yeah, you were right," you relented. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and slapped the steering wheel in victory, making you giggle again, and his chest filled with warmth at the sound.
"Where's Sarah tonight?" you asked him as he pulled into a parking spot at the skating rink.
"My brother's watchin' her," he replied, disappointed that you got out of the truck so quickly. He had planned on opening the door for you.
"Does she like to ice skate?" you questioned as he led you inside to the counter to rent your skates.
"Oh, of course she does. But I usually sit it out and just watch her have fun," he said, picking up your rentals and heading over to a bench.
"You should have brought her, I wouldn't have minded."
"We don't have to talk 'bout her, you know," he said quicky, and your fingers froze over your laces.
"Why wouldn't we talk about her? She's your daughter," you asked slowly, straightening back up to look at him.
"No, I know. What I mean is, I know it ain't every woman's fantasy to go out with a single dad and all the baggage that comes with that. So, if you don't wanna talk about her, I get it," he said, casting his eyes down as he focused on tying his laces. You reached out a hand and gently placed it on top of his, immediately making him freeze at your touch.
"She's part of your life, so I want to hear about her. You shouldn't think like that, Joel. It's really not a dealbreaker for most women," you assured him, gently rubbing your thumb over his knuckles, his eyes glued to your hand as he listened. "And if it is, fuck 'em."
His eyes snapped up to yours now, then a slow smile spread across his face.
"Okay," he said softly, and you smiled, pulling your hand back, leaving him wanting more.
"Besides," you said, standing up on your skates as you made your way to the rink. "You have no idea what kind of fantasies I have."
You turned to give him a wink as you effortlessly stepped out onto the ice, holding out your hands encouragingly for him to follow. It was a miracle he was able to move his legs after that comment, but he managed just because he knew he would feel your warm hands on his again.
Joel was a quick study. He was nervous at first, you could tell that he didn't want to embarrass himself, but he did surprisingly good. Especially considering how crowded the ice rink was and how fast people were skating by. After about half an hour, he was able to skate - albeit, slowly - around the rink next to you without any assistance. Part of you wondered if he pretended to need more help than he really did just so it would make you feel good.
"So, anyway, that's basically what I do for work. It's pretty boring," you said with a sigh.
"Not boring. Marketing in New York City sounds like a dream," he replied.
"Yeah, except I work on all the behind the scenes stuff. It's not really as fun as it sounds," you admitted, not missing work in the slightest since you've been back in Texas.
"Well, d'you work with some fun people, at least?"
You paused, considering his question for a moment, before shaking your head with a dry laugh.
"Not really," you said, but he still tried to help you find a reason why you would put up with it.
"You were able to take off almost a whole month, that's pretty great. Not many places'll let you do that, can't be that bad," he offered, and you scoffed.
"It's the time I saved up for the wedding I was supposed to have," you told him sadly, and he groaned.
"I'm knockin' it outta the park tonight, ain't I?" he said, rubbing his face before almost losing his balance. You giggled and he couldn't stop the huge grin that plastered itself across his face.
"It's fine, you didn't know," you said, waving him off. And for the first time, you really didn't mind talking about it. Something about him made it easier.
"What'dya say we get some hot chocolate?" Joel asked, jutting his chin towards the vendor where you first came in.
"Yeah, that sounds great," you replied. Joel turned towards the exit without looking when a teenage boy, who was speed skating around the rink trying to impress a girl, smacked right into him, sending him flying backwards on the ice.
"Joel!" you exclaimed, rushing to his side. He groaned, rubbing the back of his head.
"Hey, why don't you watch it!" you yelled angrily at the teenager, who had managed to only stumble a bit upon impact.
"Sorry, man," the kid mumbled before taking off.
"I'm gonna kick his ass," you said, about to stand up to go after him, but Joel reached up to grip your arms, holding you in place.
"I'm fine, sweetheart," he said with a chuckle. Sweetheart. Your heart skipped a beat at the term.
"Are you sure?" you asked, your brow furrowed with concern.
"Yeah, just gimme a hand," he said, and you stood to give his arm a firm yank, allowing him to stand.
"Let's get you off the ice," you told him, ushering him carefully to the exit and finding a bench.
"Does your head hurt?" you asked, sitting down next to him. Your fingers reached up to graze the back of his head.
"No," he said breathlessly, staring at you as you continued to study him for any injury. God, you were so beautiful, he couldn't force himself to look away.
"That's good. How about your vision?" you pressed, still so focused on the fall and not seeing the way he was looking at you. But when you finally locked your eyes on his, your breath caught in your throat.
All the laughter and playful yelling surrounding you faded. You couldn't look away from his heated gaze, his deep brown eyes boring into yours so intensely, you almost forgot to blink. He brought his hand up to gently cradle the side of your face, his calloused palm meeting your soft skin. Your lips parted to accommodate your sudden need for more oxygen, and his gaze fell to your mouth.
"Joel," you whispered, and the way his name sounded coming from you was so damn sweet, it almost did him in.
"Yeah?" he whispered back, swallowing the lump in his throat.
"Kiss me."
He didn't need to be told twice.
He leaned forward, eyes sliding shut and slotting his lips against yours, deeply breathing in your scent so he could remember it tomorrow. He was determined to commit every second to memory, knowing that by morning he would be aching for you, aching for this. Against his better judgement, he pressed himself into your lips harder, unsure if he will ever get to feel like this again when you inevitably came to your senses. The idea of this feeling being taken away from him spurred him on, desperate and eager for every second you were willing to give him.
Your hand came up to the back of his neck, holding him against you as his lips massaged yours tenderly. You inched closer to him on the bench so you could tuck yourself into his broad chest. He was so warm and soft and strong that it was making you dizzy. Your fingertips stroked the curls at the base of his neck as you tentatively opened your mouth just enough to suck his lower lip between yours. The quiet noise he made when you did that made your insides clench with need, and against all odds, you felt yourself falling, completely losing yourself in him and the moment.
A startling voice over the loudspeaker announcing that the rink was closing in fifteen minutes finally snapped you out of it. You both pulled back but kept your foreheads pressed together as the world around you slowly melted back into focus. His hand still cupped your face and he lifted his thumb to gently trace your swollen lips.
"I should take you home," he murmured. At first, your stomach flipped, thinking he meant his home, but you realized he wasn't that type and he meant your parents' house.
You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and you sat back reluctantly, breaking away. His hand dropped from your face to the hand in your lap, his thick fingers wrapping around yours for a moment as he collected himself with a deep breath.
Finally, he forced himself to stand, still clutching your hand and helping you up. You glanced down at the floor and smirked.
"We should probably take our skates off," you said, and he chuckled, breaking the tension and sitting back down, his hand reluctantly letting go of yours to undo his laces.
After you turned in your rentals, his hand quickly found yours again, unwilling or unable to let you go as he led you back to his truck, this time making sure to open the car door for you. Thanking him quietly, you jumped up into the cab and watched him round the front of the car, running a hand through his hair and sucking in deep breath.
You grinned and bit your lip as he started the truck, swinging his arm around to grip your headrest and twisting his body to back out of the spot. It took everything in you not to scoot across the seat and tuck yourself into his side.
He let his arm drop loosely on the seat in between you as he drove down the street, one hand on the steering wheel. Your fingers inched forward, sliding your palm underneath his hand, lacing your fingers together. The corners of his mouth tugged into a smile and you drove in a comfortable silence, your hands intertwined the whole time, until he pulled into your driveway and cut the engine.
You sighed as you stared at the darkened house, already missing him and he wasn't even gone yet. He peered over at you, trying to think of a way to prolong the date, but aside from the obvious, which he wasn't going to do just yet, he was coming up empty.
"Lemme walk you up," he said finally, and you nodded, reaching for the handle of the door but he stopped you. You furrowed your brow, confused, until you watched him rush over to open the door, and you grinned, taking his hand so you could slide out of the seat.
You stared at the ground as he led you up the path to the porch, your heart pounding in your ears. You weren't sure what you had been expecting tonight, but it definitely wasn't this feeling. This was so much more.
"Well, thank you for tonight," you said as you reached the door, turning around to look up at him through your lashes. "I had a really good time."
"Yeah, me too," he said, his soft, brown eyes trailing over your face, locking away every little detail. Unable to resist, he stepped forward, his rough hand skimming around to the back of your neck. He tilted your face up, ducking down slightly to meet you halfway and brushed his lips gently over yours.
Your hands flew up to grip the collar of his flannel, keeping him pressed against you as you leaned against the front door. God, for someone who claimed to be rusty, he was a really good kisser. He was gentle and slow and it took your breath away both times. You knew you were getting in over your head, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. All you could think about was him and how badly you wanted more.
Nervously, you opened your mouth and flicked your tongue against his plush lips. He responded by parting his lips and allowing your tongue to dance with his own, his mouth applying more pressure than before as the heat flared between you.
Before you could stop it, a soft moan rumbled from your throat, causing him to pull back, panting slightly as his gaze flickered between your eyes. You gazed up at him, eyes dark and desperate, your fingers still gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly.
You weren't sure what he was searching for, but after a moment he seemed to find it because his mouth came crashing down on yours once again, this time with more yearning and desire. His tongue probed inside your mouth, licking past your teeth and in the back of your mind you realized he tasted faintly of mint and you wondered when on earth he popped a mint into his mouth but it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered except the two of you in that moment, each seeking something within the other that you never expected to find.
His chest ached knowing he would have to stop kissing you soon, or else he would never leave. He always considered himself a strong man, after everything he had been through, how could he not? But something about you made him realize he wasn't nearly as strong as he thought. Your lips were so soft compared to his, so sweet and perfect that it made him want to cry because in that moment, he knew he could never let you go.
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🪩 Yours Truly | popular jungkook x tsundere f reader | @solemnreads
🪩 Cherry Flavored | Biker!JK X Reader | OneShot | @jungkookstatts
🪩 Oath | JK X Reader | Mafia AU | Series | @bangtan-yeonghon
🪩 too young | single dad!jungkook X Reader | series | @jeonggukookies
🪩 How to Get Rid of Your Virginity | badboy!jungkook x theaternerd!reader | OneShot | @strvngeweather
🪩 Mr. Take Your Bitch | Idol!JK X Reader | OneShot | @bunnyhugs77
🪩 Focused on her | aged jungkook X Reader | OneShot | @000jeon
🪩 sorry (not sorry) | JK X Reader | OneShot | @angelguk
🪩 ALL AT ONCE | unhinged jungkook X shy oc | Series | @muniimyg
🪩 Valentine Vixen | Stripper! Reader x Rich! Jungkook | OneShot | @bunnyhugs77
#bangtan#jungkook fic#jungkook x reader#bts#bts jungkook#jungkook#jungkook imagine#jeon jungkook smut#yoongi#seokjin#jk recommendations#jk jk#jk icons#jk x reader#jk x ck#jk x you#jk x calvin klein#bts army
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