#NOT SURE ABOUT THIS HIStory SERIES...YET

[britneyshakespeare]

unfortunately it is not the time to be normal. it is time for me to watch richard iii (1983) directed by jane howell for the third time in six months.

[notquitecanon]

IRL Plug and Play || Poly!141 x Fem!Reader

Summary: Third part of my Search History series (based on Penelope Garcia from Criminal minds) , the dinner party. The culmination of a month of knowing the boy's browser histories. Not much of a summary, it's pretty much dirty from start to finish.

18+ NSFW MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Warning: Fem pronouns and genitals, alcohol consumption, alcohol used during sex, porn, emulating porn, group sex, unprotected sex, tagging dub con just to be on the safe side but not really if you read the other parts you get it, Oral (M & F recieiving), fingering, penetration (F receiving) , allusions to penetration (male recieving), inappropriate use of cigar ashes. Genuinely this is just me being gross about these men for almost 12,000 words, proceed with caution. Say it with me one more time- irl this would be workplace harassment and NOT sexy. However, these are fictional war criminals who ARE sexy so we’re forgiving it. 

Original Idea First Prev My Masterlist

made a lil header for the first time these are the vibes of reader and 141 :) (not Penelope's psychical description just her vibes)

pssst see how they're all on their mics in the pics?? its cuz your the voice in their ears :)

When you pulled into a parking spot on John Price’s street thirty minutes early, you automatically feel squirmy and a little foolish. Foolish because you’d convinced yourself that you were reading too much into things. So much so, that, somehow, the boys seeking out your porn twin had circled back around to you feeling like the unprofessional one. Squirming because you’d found the video they’d all watched more than once (more than three times) in the last days of their assignment. Barrack’s Bunny Get’s Gang Banged! 

 (Of course it was a military inspired orgy video, with four men and one woman that looked almost identical to you. Because, JFC, why wouldn’t it be? Was this actress in on the torment? Was she taking requests or was this some sort of cosmic joke where the punchline was your own sexual frustration?)  

Ok, how the hell were you not supposed to read into that? 

You hadn’t been able to watch it all the way through yet, having to pause and take breaks to calm yourself down. The thumbnail alone of your doppelgänger with four sets of hands and… other extremities... was enough to tempt you put your car back in drive and go back home. Because you weren’t sure you could look any of them in the eyes, and also for the third time in the last hour, you were second guessing your outfit. 

Because what the hell does one wear to the porn-party with their boss and superiors? (Ok, maybe you should start by stop calling it the ‘porn-party’, because outside of your own finding in their browser histories, they’d yet to mention any actual porn to you in real life, but what else were you supposed to call this?)

After leaving work, you’d spent a long time debating if you needed to change and, if so, into what, and would it be delusional to put on a matching set? Johnny did say he liked seeing something soft… And were your work clothes too stiff? Was the skirt too presumptuous after that video Kyle liked titled Easy Access ? And was it just you or did your work blouse look slightly too much like the one from the office-scene Price had bookmarked? And why the hell was this all you could think about? Strewing your clothes around your bedroom like a teenager before a party, different combinations and options littering your bed and dresser until you got frustrated with yourself and your closet. With a what the hell moment of ambivalence, you’d settled on something comfortable, but switched into a lacy bralette, lying to yourself that it was more comfortable than the one you’d worn to work, and if the lacy strap happened to coquettishly accent your shoulder when your sweater sleeve slipped down your arm? Well, if it wasn’t a Porn Party, then no one would notice, and if it was, well it’d be sure to draw some appreciative eyes. 

Your car was still cranked as you sat slightly down the block from Price’s house in your casual sweater and hidden matching set, anxiously killing time by alternating between tik tok, instagram, tumblr, and oh yes,  the Barracks Bunny Gets Gang Banged video that you’d been working through thirty seconds at a time because any longer had your overheating and threatening to leave a snail trail on your upholstery. So enthralled and flustered, you’d barely thought of the fact you were quietly playing porn over your car’s bluetooth system, you’d made it to the official halfway mark, and each time you’d switched out to a different app, the ‘break’ was short lived as you went back for more, one hand white knuckling your steering wheel as if this was a particularly good movie with a plot twist you just couldn’t miss. 

So enthralled, that a sudden knocking on your window startled you so bad that you half-tossed-half-dropped your phone with a sound that could only be described as a ’squawk’  as you slammed the mute button to your car’s stereo. It was as you were turning towards the knocker, that you realized you could 100% catch a public indecency charge for this, and somehow were still only half relieved to find Johnny leaning slightly down so he could meet your gaze through your driver-side window. He had his raincoat on, and a lit cigarette pinched between his thumb and pointer as he looked in on you with a cheeky smile and raised brows. When you just stared up at him like a deer in headlights, mentally trying to figure out just how long he’d been there and if from that angle he could’ve seen your screen and how good was the sound proofing on your car…. As you ran those mental calculations, Johnny simply knocked again and this time added a downwards motion with his cigarette, requesting you to roll down the window. 

You’d never noticed how slow your windows descended as the two of you held eye contact (awkward on your side, delighted on his), until there was no longer a pane of glass between you. The cool, damp night breeze carried the scent of tobacco and some kind of Old Spice fragrance into your little car as you looked up at the Scotsman. He seem amused, but happy to see you, "Coming?" 

Your brain short circuited for a moment. Were you… cumming? You stared at him wide eyed, convinced you’d misheard him. 

"What?" Was all you managed to respond with, your brain still trying to scrub filthy, lewd images from between its lobes, like a community service volunteer cleaning graffiti off subway walls. Johnny’s eyebrows only raised higher with his signature, Can’t wait to tell Ghost about this look, as he took another deep puff of his cig. 

"Are ye coming inside, hen?" He clarified slowly with that shit eating grin after blowing his smoke away form you- what a gentleman, "Or are’ye planning to sit out here all night?" 

"Oh, right." You mumbled, resisting the urge to scrub your hands across your face to physically redirect your thoughts. Instead, you nodded and started gathering your things, "Yeah, yeah, I’m coming inside." 

"Good, Si was getting impatient." Johnny grinned, stepping back so you could open your car door after you fished your phone from the passenger floorboards and cut the engine. Si? You hadn’t head that nickname for Ghost before, hell, you still excusively called him Ghost to his face, because you’d not received permission for anything else. Simon was personal, Si… was intimate...  He watched you expectantly, snapping you out of your thoughts, and when you only responded in silent confusion, he reached inside the still open vehicle and tapped the buttons, "Window, bonnie, s'raining." 

Cheeks heating in mild embarrassment, you quickly cut the battery back on so you roll up the window and then get out. You’d always been a little scatter-brained, prone to being in your own little world, but this was getting excessive. Maybe all the porn really was melting your brain… With the windows up and double checking the car was off, you finally got out of the car. Johnny immediately took the plate of brownies out of your hand in the guise of gentlemanly conduct, but actually snuck one from under the plastic wrap before you could scold him.  

"Why so grim? Y’look like yer marching off to war." Johnny seemed pretty pleased with his own little joke, his free arm resting in the small of your back to guide you up Price’s porch step and into the house like you might run off down the street without his guidance. You were considering it anyways. 

"I don’t look grim." You shot him a look but didn’t shake off his arm, nor could you prevent the smile that was fighting at the corners of your mouth, snatching the brownies back from him before he could snag another, happy to have something to fidget with as you smoothed the plastic wrap back into place. 

"No, you most definitely do not." And there was the other sergeant, Kyle, holding the door open for the two of you. Smiling as charmingly as ever, Kyle was already taking the dish out of your hands only to hand the dessert back to Johnny to carry off somewhere else. Then, he was on you, "Glad you could make it, love. Don’t listen to Soap, you look beautiful.” “Hey! Dinnae say she couldn’t be grim and beautiful.” Soap called back, already on his way deeper into the house. 

"Such a shameless flirt." You scoffed just loud enough to drown out Johnny with your own teasing smile, a more usual routine amongst all the overthinking you’d been doing, as Gaz helped you out of your coat. Maybe you were imagining the sensuality, but you were not imagining how his touch lingered, and how his fingers grazed the fabric of your sweater as it was exposed. Hell, he was basically unwrapping your raincoat like it was the gift wrap on a present, "Don’t look half bad yourself, though." 

All the boys looked good in their civilian clothes, hell they’d all look good in anything (or nothing… Focus. Focus.). But Kyle? In his stylish and tailored clothes? He always looked he’d walked off a J. Crew magazine cover when he wasn’t on base. His burgundy sweater looked like something you wanted to rub your cheek against, soft and warm and it fit him like a glove. Gaz grinned at your little praise, not speeding up his maddeningly slow pace of peeling off your raincoat and adjusting your hair for you afterwards, which distracted you just enough that you didn’t notice the others watching his little show. One of his lingering fingers seemed to all together abandon it’s mission, instead tracing the arced lace strap of your (meticulously chosen) lace bralette strap that had fallen off your shoulder. You watched Kyle’s finger follow the flowery lace pattern for a moment before fixing back on your shoulder with an audible snap! that made you jump a little from the sting. 

This time you did see Johnny’s amused grin and slightly devious eyes as your own went wide and you let out a little yelp, snapping your eyes over your soldier at the sergeant. Gaz was quick to soothe the ouch, humming at you before you could get disgruntled while his warm palm cupped the curve of your shoulder and rubbed the slightly stinging skin softly. And if you were still reading into things (you were) you could swear it was just for him to have a reason to touch you more.

"Sorry, love, had to fix it, was bothering me." Was the only explanation offered for his actions. Once your jacket was off, Gaz hung it on the foyer hooks, it looking comically small and feminine between all four of theirs. You knew your brain was melted from all the porn when the visual immediately reminded you of the stupid video’s thumbnail picuture… the pretty, feminine actress with four huge actors surrounding her… Fortunately, Kyle tugging you further into the house pulled you out of your dirty-thought spiral. 

In the kitchen, John Price was waiting, marinating a platter of steaks. You couldn’t help the amused quirk of a smile at seeing the apron tied over his civilian clothes, an unlit cigar in the chest pocket for easy access. The captain smiled first to Gaz with an approving nod, and then to you with a teasing smirk, "Thought you’d sit out in your car all night." 

"I’m early." You defended yourself, cheeks now must be permanently stained into a flush with how easily they managed to fluster you. Gaz parked himself right beside you, leaning on the counter but standing so close that his shoulder was slotted slightly behind you, half his chest pressed to your back, distractingly proving your early guess that his sweater was, in fact, very soft.  It took the steam out of your vehement defense, "You said, eight. It’s 7:50." 

"Yeah, but you’ve been sitting out there since 7:30, love." Kyle chided. You wondered if it was the whiskey he was sipping that gave him the courage to puncuate his teasings with a slight pinch to your hip that made you squirm. His closeness kept you from slipping away as he shifted his attention to his captain, that easy going smile still on his face, "She brought brownies." 

"I know. Johnny’s already had two." Price smiled, slathering another steak with marinade and massaging it into the meat with tender but deliberate ministrations of his long fingers that, for a moment, made you jealous of a dead slab of beef. His eyes caught yours staring at his hands, chuckling as he cleared his throat, "We had something else in mind for dessert. Very sweet of you though." 

Something Price said made Kyle chuckle like it was some kind of inside joke, his fingers still on your hip, tracing little circles that were almost as distracting as… whatever the hell it was that Price was doing to the steaks. 

"Now, go off and relax. I’m about to cut onions and we don’t want to mess up that pretty make up." Price ordered, shooing you off towards his stocked bar cart, before adding quietly enough you thought you might have hallucinated it, "Not yet, anyways." 

__

Later, after you’d been supplied a drink and deposited on the couch with Ghost to watch what you were pretty sure was a rugby match (you were a little distracted by his warm arm draped over your shoulder, fingers tracing the same floral lace Gaz had). 

"Gonna have to make some more room, love." Kyle grinned, looking down at you, holding his drink in one hand and one of your brownies in the other. You looked around yourself, already sandwhiched between the armrest of the sofa and Ghost who hadn’t closed his legs even a fraction when Johnny’d led you to the couch originally. Wasn’t much room to make room with. 

"Oh, I can just-" you started, standing carefully as to not spill the drink Kyle had made for you. Before you could step away to claim the plush arm chair by the mantle (a safe distance from Simon’s thigh against yours and Kyle’s lingering touches), a strong arm wrapped around your middle and tugged you right back down. Instead of your original seat, however, it was Ghost who had pulled you side saddle into his lap, his other hand steadying the drink in yours. Gaz chuckled, taking the spot you had been sitting in, both men unbothered by your startled yelp. 

Despite the fact that Simon had forecully and silently pulled you onto his lap, when you gave him a bewildered look, he seemed not to even notice the fact you were sitting on him, his amber eyes focused on the fame playing even as his finger’s kneaded distracting little circles into the plushest part of your waist, his arm still wrapped around you like you might try and escape. And when you just blinked at him, his only offering was, "Tha’s Price’s chair." 

"Ye look comfy." Soap chided as he came around the corner with a beer and a lo-ball glass of some sort of whiskey, beer for himself and the (presumably) bourbon was given to Simon, both however, were offered to Simon, "Crack that for me, Si?" 

You watched, wide eyed and enamored, as he lifted his mask over his nose and used his teeth to crack the bottle open before taking a long swig and then handing it back to Johnny in exchange for the whiskey. You had a front row seat to the bob of his Adam’s apple, and the way a scar split the top corner of his lip vertically (you wondered if you would feel the scar if he was kissing you, focus, damnit, focus). Soap noticed your expression and the blush in your cheeks with a twinkle in his eyes, " ’s not nice to stare, bonnie." 

You stared a moment longer before forefully shaking yourself out of the stupor and taking a swig of your own drink, thankfully ice cold. The momentary pause allowed you to dip back into your usual well of sarcastic wit, offering the Scot a raised eyebrow, "You’re just jealous I’m not staring at you." 

Johnny only shrugged, stretching his arms across the back of the sofa, making his broad chest only seem broader, his grin showing just enough teeth to appear wolfish as his thigh pressed into Ghost’s and therefore the round of your ass, "Aye, maybe I am."  

"Ignore him, he’s been watching too much…" Simon started swirling then sipping his bourbon before tugging his mask down again afterwards. You knew the answer to his trail off and your internal body temp went up five degrees, alarm bells ringing in your brain. Johnny elbowed the taller man, so Simon only shrugged and finished lamely with, "stuff." 

Porn. He’s been watching a lot of porn. You all have.  I know that. You know that. We all know that. You brain chanting in time with those stupid circles he was rubbing on your hip as Johnny took the liberty of adjusting the hair off your shoulder, his voice a challenging chide,  "What’s that look for, bonnie? What’d you think he was gonna say?" 

Your mouth opened, and then closed, and you were saved from answering by Price coming into the living room, declaring the steaks were marinating so they had a while to just hang out. He gave Kyle a shoulder squeeze in passing, and offered you a warm smile before settling in his chair by the mantle. The chair you’d tried to escape to earlier. 

For a get-together planned around watching the game, it occurred to you that not a single eye was on the TV at the moment. Instead, you realized they were all on… you. Price in his chair, smoothing his beard. Simon still had you on his lap, amber eyes carefully scrutinizing your expression as you flicked your eyes over to Gaz, who was watching you- or rather the rise and fall of your chest as he pulled your legs into his lap- with a slightly cocked head, a small smile on his lips. And finally, Johnny, who’d not stopped fidgeting with your hair and the neckline of your sweater. 

Once again, you were uncharacteristically at a loss for words, squirming a bit on Simon’s lap as you tried to figure out what to say or if to say anything at all, because all that was coming to mind right now were two options. Are y’all trying to fuck me? and How’s the weather?. Both options made you want to crawl in a hole and stay there. 

"You’re quiet tonight, sweet, something on your mind?" Price raised his eyebrows, still smirking, knuckles tapping against the armrest, "Something you wanted to tell the boys, right? What we talked about in my office?" 

How were you supposed to broach the topic of their internet history, essentially admit to knowing about your XXX twin, while sitting on your superior's lap, having your hair played with, and your calves massaged through your leggings… 

"No, no. Just… enjoying my drink." You muttered, draining the rest of the beverage before leaning over to place the empty glass on the side table, which was a mistake because it just had you practically sprawled over the three men on the couch, "What game are we supposed to be watching tonight?" 

"Never mind that, hen." Johnny shrugged, clicking the TV off before tossing the remote to Price, "We’ve been into a… different form of entertainment lately." 

Yeah. I know. The problem is that I know. You thought to yourself, now not even able to pretend to watch the screen, forced to focus on all the hands and eyes on you. 

"Let’s stop dancing around it." Simon gruffed, resting his head against the back of the couch, his fingers trailing from your hip to the top of your thigh, "She’s not daft." 

"Lieutenant Riley, always the subtle one." Gaz rolled his eyes before sliding his eyes over to Price who gave him an affirmative nod, not unlike they would do in the field, and then his eyes were back on you, "So, we know you aren’t blind, love, sure you noticed something going on here." 

You weren’t sure if he was talking about what you’d dubbed the porn party or if he was just talking about the general bond between the men that went deeper than just elite squad, so you just nodded, hoping he would proceed with some more context clues… any keep rubbing his thumbs around your calf. It was not helping you focus. Kyle just grinned, his hands gently roaming up your shins to your knees and then back down, "Well, we’ve noticed something, too, love. You." 

"Me?" You parroted, half sincere half forced faux shock, that sent you further back into Johnny’s chest, the Scot who was still fiddling with your hair had also pressed his nose into the crown of your hair to smell whatever products you used. "Don’t sound so surprised, bonnie." He murmured into your hair before leaning past you to Simon, planting an open-mouthed, 

wet kiss against the larger man’s mask right beside your own face. Your mouth dried out despite just finishing your drink, tongue seeming too big for your mouth, eyes flicking rapidly between them and Gaz. You were beyond flustered, your stomach twisting in a both nerve wracking and enticing way. You didn’t know where to look, or if you should look, or look away. You didn’t want to look away, seeing Soap’s tongue find Simon’s mouth even through the cotton. Did they want the illusion of privacy and if so, how were you supposed to give them that when Simon was half groping you at the same time Johnny was lapping at his tongue 

through the balaclava? Johnny slid his eyes to you, barely breaking from Ghost, "S’alright, hen, don’t mind you watching us. After all, s’only fair." 

Your eyes widened, owlishly turning to Gaz though Simon kept you from slipping off his lap. Was that them telling you that they knew you knew? Was this some confession about finding your doppelgänger and watching enough of her content to pay off her car? He rolled his eyes at the other sergeant, his easy going smile returning when his eyes came back to you. 

"They’re so impatient." He chuckled with a what can you do shrug, as if they’d simply skipped to dessert (innuendo intended) instead of started sloppily making out with you in their lap. He quit massaging at your calves, instead using his middle and pointer fingers to trace patterns (you could swear it was a mimic of the lace pattern he’d traced earlier). Your eyes flicked over to Price, who was still just watching, leaned back in his chair, jutting his chin back to Gaz as if telling you to pay attention. Sheepishly, you turned back to Kyle, "So, we’ve… discovered this person online, and she looks… so much like you. Genuinely, love, it’s uncanny. And there’s this video she made that really caught our attention-" 

"She knows the one." "Aye, She’s seen it." 

Both Price and Johnny answered at the same time. Price, because you’d brought up the issue to him in his office. And Johnny… had apparently been standing outside your car longer than you thought and could see your screen. Your cheeks had to be glowing by now. Kyle’s smile just grew, flashing perfect white teeth at you as he leaned in closer, "Perfect, then we can skip that explanation. But once we saw it… well, it kind of got under our skin. You’ve gotten under our skin, love."  

Johnny and Simon hadn’t stopped though they had shifted and suddenly there lips were back and forth on each other, and also over your neck and shoulders as you tried fervently to keep your eyes on Gaz as he leaned closer, pulling the sleeve of your sweater off your shoulder to expose that lace strap again, "And, judging by how you’ve been acting lately, we’ve gotten under yours too." 

"Yeah. Yeah. That’s one way to put it." You admitted in a released breath, eyes flicked down to Simon who’d been kissing and sucking right at the curve of your shoulder for several long seconds, like if he wasn’t already under your skin, he’d supplant himself there personally. Johnny wasn’t going under your clothes, but his hands were tracing the line of your spine, finding the waistband of your leggings, nosing into your hair so he could kiss the shell of your ear. All while Kyle just kept that pretty grin on you, somehow putting you at ease and twisting your nerves even more. 

"And, truthfully, we could sit here talking about it all night, Or…"  And Kyle Garrick, with that unfairly, stupidly charming smile of his, made a veritable orgy sound as commonplace and sensible as going to the pub afterwork, and you found yourself dumbly nodding along to his easy words before you anxieties, logical and/or otherwise, could convince you that group sex with your coworkers was probably not the most professional way to spend a Friday night. But, damn, the sparkle in those pretty hazel-brown eyes was doing a good job of easing any worries that charming smile had missed… 

Price finally spoke up again, but stayed in his chair, "You're nodding, sweet, but we gotta hear it. Out loud. Do you want this?" 

When you looked over again, John Price was looking wholly the Captain he was. If you thought he was making a point to manspread in his office earlier in the day, now… Now he was just showing off. He looked like he was posing on a throne, legs spread, elbows resting on the arms of the chair as he settled in, watching the three soldiers and you on the couch.  Seemingly completely nonplussed by his subordinate employees’ heavy petting on his couch. 

Your internal reflection was swift. You were already getting felt up. If going into the office was going to be awkward on Monday, it was going to be awkward regardless of whether or not you cut it off at groping. You might as well let them relieve the nagging itch in the back of your mind while you were at it. So after another dumb nod, you found your voice again, "Yes. Yes. I want it. Please." 

"So polite." Johnny murmured, taking you verbal confirmation as permission to slip his hands underneath your clothes, mapping your bare skin, "And you’ll say something if it’s too much?" 

"Yeah, yeah." You nodded fervently, turning your head to try and catch one of their lips, the sweater had been stifling for the past hour, but now it was itching at your feverish skin. Johnny just smiled, helping you out of the thing. 

"Good girl." Simon nodded before his amber eyes lit up a bit, "Well, would you look at tha’." 

His fingers dipped under the lacy band of the bralette you were wearing. Johnny had already run his hands over the fabric while Kyle just whistled lowly. Price was the one who spoke up about it, "Did you put that on just for us, sweet?" 

"Just in… just in case." You nodded in a breath, leaning back into Johnny as he started rolling your leggings down, exposing the complimentary lace waistband of your panties. Another round of appreciative comments and touches, Simon’s teeth nipping at the curve of your neck again. 

"Too good to us, love." Gaz shook his head, helping his fellow sergeant get your leggings all the way off and tossing them somewhere out of sight, pressing kisses to the top of your thighs, then your knees, and finally one too the inside of your ankle. " So you suspected all along. How’d you see the video?" 

"Go on, sweet, fill him in." Price prompted with that stupid little smirk, the one that tugged the corners of his beard up. The one that made you want to get on your knees and do anything to earn one of those approving nods. 

"I-I can see the websites y’all visit." You admitted breathlessly, watching as Kyle kissed his way back up your legs, how those eyes never broke contact with yours, "I have to clear them for security purposes. I’ve.. I’ve seen all the videos y’all’ve been sharing with each other." “

All of them. So 

that’s why you’ve been so quiet, bonnie?" Johnny hummed, a smile pressed into the base of your neck, watching Simon nip at your neck, teeth digging in harder every time, making you whimper which seemed to only egg Ghost on. 

"Flattered or offended?" Kyle asked, but his smile told you he already knew the answer. Because, with you sprawled over the laps of three men, if you were offended you had a funny way of showing it. 

"I should’ve been." You gulped after breaking off Johnny’s lips for a moment, adding on, "Offended."

"But you’re not?" Price prompted, head cocking to the side as he fiddled with lighting his cigar. 

No. For better or for worse, this roundabout workplace harassment approach had really worked on you. So you just shook your head, opening your mouth as Simon pulled his mask up and caught your lips, tongue domineering itself into your mouth almost instantly. 

"So cooperative, nice change of pace." One of them hummed, but you couldn’t place it, too focussed on the fingers kneading at your inner thighs, slowly working your legs open into a spread so your knee’s were hooked over each side of Simon’s wide spread legs, which exposed the dampened gusset of the deliberately chosen panties. 

"All right, deal’s a deal, Garrick," Simon all but growled into your mouth, your eyes fluttering open to see his amber eyes watching Kyle who was smirking like he’d just gotten away with something, "You get first taste. Warm ‘er up for us." 

Oh. Oh. Just diving right in. Though Gaz was ever the gentleman, charming through and through. 

"May I?" He asked softly, waiting with his fingers hooked in the lacy waistband as he sunk to his knees in front of you. Your breath picked up just from the sight, and it was only Simon holding you to him that kept you from leaning down and catching a kiss from Kyle as well. Since that wasn't an option, you jerked your head in a clumsy nod, punctuating with the cant of your hips towards him that just made him chuckle as your panties were discarded towards the same direction as your pants. 

"Please." You whined, the tone making all of the men snap their eyes up to you, the expressions all reading make her do it again. You didn’t even have time to adjust to the cold air on your exposed bits before Gaz’s hot mouth was covering the sensitive flesh, drawing a gasp as you threw yourself back into Simon’s chest. Ghost only hooked his chin over your shoulder, lazily watching as Gaz licked a flat stripe, first dipping into your entrance, teasing a bit as deep as he could get. Your clit got a little attention from his nose bumping it, make you breathe sharp breaths with little clipped moans. But when he withdrew and  traced his tongue  back up, finding your clit and slipping under the hood, your attempts at demure noises were nixed by a sudden and echoing moan. 

"That good? Yeah, Gaz’s pretty skilled with ‘is tongue." Johnny nodded, nuzzling at your other shoulder as he watched on too, palming himself through his jeans, "Meticulous thing he is." 

"How’s she taste, sergeant?" Price asked, adjusting himself as well. Kyle surfaced for only a moment, replacing his tongue with his fingers when you whined in disappointment. 

"Better than the bloody brownies, that’s for certain." He hummed, his corners of his mouth glistening, eyes flicking up to you as he rested a cheek against the inside of your thigh. You tried to be offended at the diss to your baking skills, but as Kyle dove back in, a skillful swirl and lewd slurp killed any smart comment on your tongue, or rather on his. You weren’t sure if it was even possible to actually decipher, but you were certain he was spelling barrack’s bunny over your clit with his tongue, letter by unraveling letter. All four men seemed to delight in how your breathing sped up, how your head seemed so heavy to hold up that it flopped backwards into Simon’s shoulder. Kyle tolerated your hips rolling twice, but his chivalry ended the third time, reaching up and placing Simon’s hand at your waist to hold you still for him, while his hands kept your thighs from closing around his head. The message was clear. Anything you were getting would come from him and only him. You recalled how so many of his preferred videos revolved around control, pleasure dom, a term you had had to google. All you could do was stare down between your legs and watch him devour you. 

"If she tastes half as good as she looks…" Johnny trailed off, catching the corner of your mouth for a short kiss, his fingers tracing the lace pattern right over your perked nipples, at least Simon was lenient enough to let you arch your chest into the touch, "Right treat you are, hen." 

Your first climax was a quick thing, a full body clench and vulgar moan clawing its way out of your throat, your thighs trembling around Kyle as he licked and slurped his way through your high, collected anything you put out for him. His movements only slowing when your body relaxed back against Ghost. He gave your pussy a comedically sweet kiss before sitting up, and it was only then that he pulled you down to him for your first real kiss from him. It was tender and sweet, with the appropriate amount of tongue, almost the kind of kiss you’d give on a really good first date, if it wasn’t for the fact you could taste your essence on him, your cum making his lips slippery against yours. 

"Called dibs on that weeks ago." He grinned, breaking the kiss to watch his fingers to dip between your legs, collect some more of your wetness and pop it in his mouth, eyes closing like he was savoring a fine wine.  You watched him with mouth agape and eyes half lidded, "Alright then, Tav, surprised you held yourself back this long, go on then."

Johnny’s smile was all teeth as he descended upon you, kissing any of your slick off your mouth that Kyle’d left behind like he was getting a sneak preview. Though, for someone so often ridiculed for being impatient, he was anal about this kiss. Making sure to try every angle of his mouth against yours, then repeating his tests with tongue, and then once more splitting your attention with Simon. Ghost played along for a while, letting his sergeant explore your lips and your chest before he nodded down to the floor when Kyle’d been. 

"Keep yourself busy, Johnny." Was the clipped order, as he took over kissing you, one large hand splayed along your face to keep you drawn to him, as if you might try to get away. He had nothing to worry about, the whiplash of switching partners and desires had you craving attention anywhere you could find it. You were already putty on his lap with Johnny taking over Kyle’s place between you legs. While it was still overwhelmingly pleasurable, his actions were more sloppy than Kyle’s. His strategy was to barrage your nerves as opposed to Kyle’s precision attacks. It still had you whining and squirming, which was enough to short circuit your focus. Johnny didn’t seem to mind you instinctively grinding into his face, in fact it only seemed to encourage him. Simon’s job was to keep you from melting off his lap, which he did while his kisses became harder and harder, sometimes biting at your bottom lip, "Now you just taste like his shitty beer, you’ll lemme fix that, won’t you, lovie?" 

When you nodded, he smiled, tugging the balaclava all the way off. You didn’t even have time to properly admire how handsome he was under the thing, didn’t have time to pepper those scars with kisses or wax poetic about how all his unconventional features played together harmoniously to make him exceedingly handsome. Before you could do any of that, he’d taken a sip of his bourbon, swallowing as he watched you watch him. 

"Open." He directed, nodding when you obediently dropped your mouth open. He tipped your head back at the same time as he took a longer draw of his bourbon, holding it in his mouth for a moment before pulling your lips up to his and kissing the liquor straight onto your tongue, burning off anything and anyone else. When he’d given you every last drop, he pulled back and manually shut your mouth, "Go on and swallow for me, don’t waste it. ’s hard to get this stuff ‘round here." 

Bourbon wasn’t often in your rotation for drinks, the taste smoky and sharp just like the man that had kissed it into your mouth, but one look into Simon’s eyes had you nodding again. As you forced yourself to swallow it, the burn going all the way into stomach, stoking the fires the men had started in you. After he watched your throat bob, he nodded approvingly. 

"Good fuckin’ girl." He praised which made the burning sting worth it, catching your lips in another punishing kiss when you moaned from Johnny’s sloppy slurping. Simon hummed, finding that your mouth now tasted like his preferred pour, "Much better." 

After kissing the taste of his bourbon off you, he pulled back for a moment just to watch you whine and grind against the sergeant between both sets of your legs. After a moment of appreciation for the garment against your skin, the bralette they’d all liked so much was roughly yanked down,  the straps down your shoulders while the cups and band bunched up under your now exposed breasts. Johnny was watching from the floor, his big blue eyes crinkling and lips pulling into a smile against you, while Simon ran his hands over your bare chest, stopping to squeeze and pinch when he pleased. “Johnny- 

Ghost-" You almost shrieked not sure who to call too or thank for the electric static in your nervous system, arching your chest up into his hands, and when the movement moved your hips away from Johnny, he just took your legs off Simon’s knees and hooked them over his shoulders, keeping you firmly in place, "

Shit." 

"Language, sweet." Price teasingly scolded from his chair, still stroking his beard from his arm chair. Gaz and Simon just chuckled when you pouted through another throaty moan. Simon was nudging your cheek with his nose, skimming his teeth across you jawline between kisses that trailed fown your neck, sucking marks that would stay for weeks, always finding his way back to what seemed to be his favorite spot in the curve of your neck. “Should’ve seen the Sergeants when they first found that video, acting like they’d won the fuckin' lottery. Been wanting you for months but tha’ really sealed the deal, lovie, couldn’t even get through the first quarter before this one was panting and rutting. Like it was the first time they’d ever seen a dirty video. Ain’t that right, Johny?”  It was the most you’d ever heard Simon talk in one go, every couple of words grunted and groaned out between kisses across any skin he could reach with you sitting back against him, breath hotly fanning along your neck as he went. And when he finished the thought, he reached down between your legs and fished the sergeant up by his mohawk, leaving both you and Johnny whine at the loss of contact. Simon just laughed coldly and gave Johnny a prompting jerk, much rougher than he’d been touching you, “You gonna answer us, Johnny?”  “Aye. Aye. Knew I had to get ma’ hands on ye.” Was all he managed before diving in for another taste of you, surfacing briefly again to relay a message up to Simon, half moaned half growled, 

"This cunt's like fucking silk, I’ll tell you, Lt.” Strong hands clenching into the plushest parts your thighs holding them around his face like he was 

hoping he’d suffocate down there, "Ye gotta get in here, ain’t nothing like it."

"You want that, sweetheart?" Simon hummed, moving from your lips to your jaw and down your neck, "Want me in you?"

"Fuck. Yes, fuck me." You rambled which just made them chuckle at you as one of your hands when into Johnny’s mohawk and the other palmed at your breasts. Johnny moaned when you tugged at his hair, sending subtle vibrations up with his tongue that almost sent you undone again. Simon easily pushed you down his legs, still supporting you with one hand as Johnny kept going, and freeing his erection with the other. Gaz and Johnny had worked hard to warm you up, to break you in for them, but Simon’s dick threatened to break you, period. He was just as thick as John, but almost as long as Kyle, cut, veiny, with a pretty pink tip. Como se dice, how you say… hung like a fucking horse.  

He must’ve seen your wide eyes, the subtle fear in your eyes that was chased away when Johnny drug his teeth over your clit with just enough pressure to make you choke on your own spit. Ghost reached down intermingling his fingers with your folds and Johnny’s tongue, "We’ll start easy. Just the tip, lovie. Johnny’ll handle the rest for now." 

They did just that. He held his hand out to Johnny, letting the man on his knees spit into his palm and then rubbed it against his dick, before pulling you back against him once more. Before he even attempted any sort of penetration, he slid his erection through your folds a couple of times just to collect some more slick,  "You are just like silk, Johnny was right." 

He grunted into your neck with another few slippery passes before reaching down as easing the tip into you. He was thick, enough so that it stung a bit as you tried to adjust. Despite his soft voice and unusually soft eyes, Simon’s control slipped, rutting a bit before you were ready. At you uncomfortable whine, Johnny mirrored the sound in disapproval of your upset, immediately going to remedy the hurt with his tongue, servicing both you and Simon with a flat lick up Simon’s exposed length and then up to your clit to help you relax. 

"Breathe for me, lovie." The Liutenant ordered, like he was trying to be gentle with you but his jaw was gritted, trying even harder not to snap his hips against yours and bully his too-big dick into your hole, "Try to relax for me." 

You were panting, cheeks puffing with your breaths, not sure if Johnny’s tongue was helping or just tensing you up more, but God, it felt good and you weren’t going to be the one to tell him to stop. Not yet at least. You got another inch in, which earned a kiss to your neck. 

" s’all I can take right now." You breathed, reaching back to support yourself against him. 

"Better than I did on my first go, eh, LT?" Johnny grinned up before kissing up the length of Simon’s cock that wasn't inside of you, flicking his tongue over the stretched rim of your entrance that was still trying to clench around the sudden intrusion, "She’s tryin’ so hard." 

By the look in his eyes, he wasn’t talking about you. The She in question was just your pussy. Simon nodded along, hissing curses into your hair. 

"Alright, lovie, alright, no more for now." He gritted out, " ‘m gonna move now, just try and stay loose as you can for me." 

Humming in agreement, you tried to let yourself be pliant against him, feeling his hips rock, the in and out of his movements pleasurable enough to draw out a keening moan despite the less than comfortable stretch. His lips were at your neck again as he continued his thrusts, slightly steadier, growing more confident. And then it was his teeth, nipping between sucks, though his words were still growled, "That’s it, doing so good for me, for us." 

Your mistake was losing yourself in the feeling, letting your hips rock because it shattered what little control Ghost had at the moment. He sunk in another few inches, teetering between painful and pleasurable, making you cry out, nails digging into his forearms as a tear slipped down your cheek. The dig of your nails only urged him on, the nip of your teeth turning into a full bite, enough to break skin just slightly. However, the moment your cry was one of actual discomfort instead of pleasure, he withdrew completely, kissing over where he’d bitten, "Sorry, sorry, lovie, got too rough, too quick with you." 

He slowly eased you off of him, nudging Johnny off as well, still kissing at the spot he’d bitten too harshly, fingers kneading comfort into your hips and then your thigh, "Y'alright? Need to stop?" 

You took a breath, let the initial shock of the stretch and the bite fade away, let him swipe the rogue tear off your cheek, let your body readjust…. and then shook your head, signalling you wanted to keep going, pulling him by the back of the neck down to you again for a kiss. Johnny was still at your knees, massaging your thighs, watching Simon deepen the kiss as much as you’d let him, and then pushing a little further, his fingers flexing hard into you again making you wince just a little. Honestly, you could’ve endured that, hell with another couple of kisses, you could’ve enjoyed it. But this time, he cut himself off, pulling back with a slew of curses that’d send a sailor to confession. 

"Fuck, ‘m sorry, sweetheart, I’ve never been good at taking it slow." Simon growled, jaw still clenched so hard you were afraid he’d crack a tooth., thumbs easing the irritated skin he’d clenched just slightly too hard, "You’re just too perfect, can’t keep my head on straight."

Ghost stopped to think for a moment, breathing hot and heaving against you skin, before flicking his eyes down to Soap who’d stopped massaging your thighs in favor of featherlight kisses where his stubble had chafed you. You’d seen this before, the internet called it cuteness aggression. 

"Price." He called, nodding to his Captain, a signal to take over. John nodded, and after meeting your still lust glazed expression, ascertaining you were alright, seemed rather amused by the tag-in.  It seemed, despite the civilian clothes  and whatever intimacy was shared amongst the group, rank hierarchy was still firmly present, because when Captain Price finally rose from his arm chair, the sergeants and Lieutenant wordlessly moved out of his way, presenting you along the way for him as his belt buckle jingled being loosened and discarded. 

Still, despite his evident imposition, his strength was gentle as he peeled you off his lieutenant who stood, manhandling Johnny off with him to the chair. Half dazed and panting, you were grateful for his patience as he asked with only a little teasing, "Can you stand for me, Sweet, just a little?" 

And when your legs were still jelly and trembling, he just chuckled, leaking cigar smoke into your mussed hair, "That’s alright, Sweet, you just let me lay you out all pretty." 

With that, you were bent over the arm of your boss’s sofa, callous hands traced slowly down your spine and then paused at your hips, massaging your flanks much as he had his cuts of steak. Price massaged his way from your hips, over and around your ass, and then worked from outwards to the inner most part of your thighs. Finally, he dragged a flat palm up your exposed sex, and when you looked over your shoulder, he was licking his tongue across that same hand, a deep rumbling growl shaking you to your core as you watched him taste not only you, but also notes of his boys, "Sweeter than fuckin’ sugar, love. Fuckin’ perfect." 

You just stared at him with wide eyes, limply spread over the arm rest, hips instinctively pressing back into him to find more touch, more friction, more him. Words failed, only high pitched whines made it out. Which made Johnny, off to the side, chuckle. 

"Think this is the longest I’ve ever seen her quiet." The scot chided, watching with great interest as Price took another swipe through your folds, coating his cock in whatever (whoever’s) bodily fluids he collected there. 

"Maybe you should take some notes, mutt." Simon gruffed, taking a fistful of the sergeant’s Mohawk and tugging it rather harshly backwards, exposing Johnny’s throat that his teeth descended upon almost immediately. Some time between being between our legs and being in Simon’s lap, Johnny’s shirt had disappeared, his jeans still on but unbuckled and Simon was fishing his erection out. 

"Ignore ‘em." Price chuckled down to you, physically redirecting your attention by giving your clit a bit of attention as he eased himself slowly in, all the way to his base, "Y’feel even better than you taste, sweet thing, y’know that?" 

You didn’t know that, but you’d take the compliment, if you remembered it, or your own name by the end of… whatever this was. He gave one slow and steady thrust, almost like an experiment, one hand holding your hips in place, the other holding his cigar up to his lips. 

"Dessert before dinner, how about that, lads?" 

There was a moment of recall to his earlier words, "Already had something else in mind for dessert" echoed with what he just said in your fuzzy mind. You had been dessert all along, and judging by the ravenous eyes with varying degrees of satiation,  the 141 intended to eat their fill, your online look-a-like was simply a taste test. A momentary taste of vindication on your tongue- you hadn’t been reading too far into things or fluffing your own ego, this was premeditated, and your matching set wasn’t presumptuous. Still, that only lasted a singular breath, the smug vindication was phsycially forced out of you with a rough snap of his hips, the first of many from the demanding, almost brutal, pace John set for himself. 

"There’s a girl, you just take it for me," He grunted between thrusts, seemingly pleased with your little cries and moans, "Just like that, sweet, you’ll be taking Simon’s cock in no time."  

John Price’s couch was not picked out with ‘being bent over the side’ in mind. Or perhaps, you were just a bit softer than the other’s that had had the pleasure of being bent over the arm like John had you at that moment. Taking mercy upon your ribs, or perhaps just for his own selfish purposes, Kyle slotted himself underneath your front and sat you up against his chest, throwing your arms over his shoulders. While John still had your hips over the couch arm, Gaz had pulled you chest up to his, his lips finding your lips, your cheek, jaw, and breasts as he went. 

"Poor sweet thing" Kyle cooed, his perfect pearly teeth nipping at your ear while is chest steadied you against Price’s onslaught that pushed a thought our of your mind with each quick, but deep, thrust, "Didn’t know what you were walking into, did you? And now look at what a mess we made you?" 

You couldn’t tell if Kyle was mocking you or praising you, kind words and little digs were both dipped in that sugary sweet tone that just made you nod up at him with wide eyes and a pouted lip. One of this thumbs reached up and swiped a mascara laden tear out from under your eye, the same thumb dipping into your mouth and holding it open in the pornographic O-shape after Price drew a vulgar moan out with a particularly deep thrust that also managed to scoot the sofa a couple of inches. Gaz didn’t even waver, just laughed a bit as he held you steady, "Mean, innit he?" 

Another moan blocked the chance at a snappy reply, not that you had the current brain power to make one. The sergeant just took the chance to swallow your noises with his mouth over yours, kissing you and biting your bottom lip as he pulled away. With what little fortitude you had, you grabbed the collar of that soft sweater and hauled him right back up to your mouth. It was aggressive kissing. Tongue and teeth and nails, sloppy and  dirty, your noses bumping together from the force of Price’s thrusting. 

When Price adjusted your hips, it forced you onto your tip toes to maintain the angle. And while the new angle provided incentive and reward in the way of relentless pounding of that delicious spongy spot inside you, that fact only made it harder for your already shaking legs to support you. 

"Hold her fast, Sergeant." Was the grunted order as he gave your ass a smack, like he was punishing you for the indiscretion of already having you legs fucked out from under your from the other men in his living room. Honestly, How dare you? Kyle took orders beautifully. The best multitasker on the squad, as he not only, held you at that perfect angle for his Captain, but also, trailed wet, hot kisses down to your chest, locking onto one of your nipples with devious precision, only sucking harder when you cried out. 

" ‘m gonna cum-!" It was strangled and whined into Kyle’s shoulder still fisting the collar of his shirt while your other hand posed serious risk of shredding the upholstery. 

"You gonna cum on me, sweet? Go ahead, but I’m not stopping." Price chuckled through his warning, leaning over your head and pulling Gaz in by the back of his neck for a sloppy kiss of his own. 

"Go on then. Give it to him." Kule urged in that sickly sweet tone, "The captain’s working so hard back there for you, least you could do is let ‘im feel how pretty you fall apart." 

Another moan, a garbled cry of both of their names mashed together when they pushed you over the edge in tandem with a well timed deep thrust and light smack to your clit from Price at the same time that Gaz tweaked both of your nipples.. 

"You feel that Cap? That flutter?" Gaz called, talking (literally) over your head as you sagged, twitching against him, unlatching from the hickey he was sucking into your collarbone, "That’s fuckin’ magic, that is." 

"Flutter? She’s wringing me dry in there." Price groaned, his pace only slowed by the vice like grip your core had as your eyes rolled back, "Sweet’s cunt’s practically swallowing me, bloody hell, greedy thing, aren’t you?"

The only reprieve you had was Price leaning forward so his warm chest pressed to your back, his big hands circling your clit like it might encourage you loosen back up for him so he could resume his movements, "C’mon, love, you gonna answer me?" 

"Yes…" You drawled, flopping your head over so you could meet his eyes over your shoulder, that signature mirthful smile twitching the corners of his beard of as he tweaked the little bundle of nerves to correct you. With a little cry, you answered once more, "Yes, sir." 

"Atta girl." Price nodded approvingly as he took a long draw of his cigar his pinkie shaking off little bits of ash onto your raised posterior (which should’ve made you feel degraded, or maybe it did which is why it made your eyes flutter again), both at the answer and at the relaxing of your muscles allowing him to build his pace back up.  

"Hear that, love?"  Kyle’s attention returned down to you when your face dropped back down into the curve of his shoulder, "what a good pussy, taking us all so well, and she just keeps wanting more." 

"More?" You croaked out through another moan, panting and trying to count the stars dotting your vision, not sure if you were requesting or parroting in disbelief. Though with a clearer mind, you wouldn’t have been so shocked. Price had barely stuttered in getting his rhythm back up to it’s pace, riding you all the way through your orgasm. 

"Told you, ‘m not fucking stopping." Price growled with another smack to the round of your ass. Something between a moan and a cry crawled out of your throat, but tapping our hadn’t once occurred to you. 

"You can take it, love, bet you can even give us another big finish, yeah?" Kyle encouraged. It occurred to you the Gaz had now coaxed you through two orgasms, and really hadn’t even asked for anything in return from you. And while you were sure, between the four of you, someone would throw him a bone(r), you decided to take that cross upon yourself, reaching down between him and yourself and wrapping around his dick. From what you could tell, he was on the leaner side, but he was the longest in the group, slightly curved. Which gave you plenty of room to rub and squeeze, from base to his tip where you thumbed the slit, spreading the precum back down as you followed the vein on the underside. Kyle tried to chuckle through a moan, "Bloody hell, love." 

Jerking off took on a new meaning as your movements, meant to be languid and smooth, turned jerky and choppy with the force of Price’s increasing speed, his rythym stuttering as he chased his own release. Kyle leaned down using one of his free hands to roll a nipple in his fingers, catching the other in his mouth as you continued to pump him. Between the two of them, it didn’t take long to come close to the edge once more, and you didn’t even have time to be proud of bring both of them over with you in tandem as your third orgasm tore through you, leaving all three of you dazed and breathless. You were vaguely aware of Gaz’s cum on you chest, kind of feeling the warm, sticky trail it left as it leaked down your front while John gave a few more lazy strokes as he softened inside of you. Though Gaz twitched hard again just watching your eyes roll back, and when Price was finally done, he gave your thighs a gentle, almost proud squeeze, watching his spend leak out for a moment before gently collecting you upright once more. With a sweet forehead kiss that contrasted so heavily from the cigar ashes and ass slaps, he gave your cheek a little pat, "Still with me, sweet?" 

"Mmmhm." You nodded, eyes only half opned as Gaz sat up behind you and sucked kisses across the back of your shoulders. You’d be wearing turtle necks for weeks. John’s attention shifted over to Simon, who you now realized had been watching the show with the darkest eyes you’d ever seen with poor Johnny taking the brunt of whatever storm Ghost had brewing. Your eyes fluttered watching the liutenant’s hand tighten around Johnny’s throat. Despite the tears on the Scot’s face, he didn’t appear to be too upset with his current predicament, in fact giving you a groan through a watery smile as Simon’s other hand tightened even more around Johnny’s leaking dick. 

"Got it all out of your system, Lieutenant?" Price asked with a raised brow, both him and Gaz still keeping you upright with gently roaming hands. Simon gave both his hands another squeeze making Johnny pant. 

"I’m solid." He nodded, surprisingly tender as he released Johnny, the sergeant stumbling off his lap.  Simon rose behind him, both men approaching the couch. You weren’t positive what ‘it’ was or why it needed to be out of Simon’s system, but Gaz nodded and pressed one last sweet kiss to the curve of you shoulder before letting Simon slide into his place. The largest of the men simply laid down on the couch, taking up most of the three-seater, efficently pulling you backwards so you straddled his lap facing away from him. 

"Nice and slow for me, lovie." Simon directed, lining himself up with your entrance after bumping your clit with his tip. Thank god for his strong hands guiding your hips down at the pace he set. Though Price had thoroughly broken you in, and you’d already partially taken Simon once, you still tensed up nervously but set your jaw with determination to do it again and get all of it from this new angle. With your back to his face, you had a front row set to the others watching hungrily. Kyle was leaning back against Price’s chest, the older man reaching around to palm the sergeant’s erection as Gaz pressed his back to Price’s front, grinding backwards. But Johnny, poor Johnny, with his cock almost purpled by Simon’s earlier teasing, rocking on his heels like he was just waiting for permission to join in, sapphire eyes bouncing between Simon’s face, your face, and the stretch of you pussy around Simon’s cock- like he couldn’t decide who was most jealous of. 

Inch after deliciously painful inch, Simon helped you ease yourself down until your ass was flush with his hips. From this angle, though Simon could still rut up against you, the pace was all your decision, making it harder for him to lose control again. With your hands braced against his tree-trunk thighs. Simon gave you a minute to adjust, to pant and try to focus your eyes. The soldier underneath you grunted, fingers flexing on your waist as he adjusted himself making you whimper and almost fall forward. 

"Si-" Johnny whined, his hands twitching forward like he wanted to help you, or maybe just touch you, his cock leaking down his leg. Simon’s voice was not as gentle to his sergeant, a gruff order. 

"No’ yet."  Before returning his attention to you, voice softening slightly, "Take your time, sweetheart, move when you want, I want you to feel good." 

Giving a jerky nod, you gave an experimental wiggle that nestled him somehow even deeper. Your moan was lodged in your throat as your eyes shut, but the movement earned a deep groan and hiss from Simon. With a deep breath, you managed to move past the acclimation stage so the actual pleasure started building again, which felt like crossing the finish line of a marathon. Next, a roll of your hips that genuinely blurred out your vision, feeling so good that our body instinctively did it again to chase the feeling. And then again, and again- head falling forward and then rolling back. 

"That’s it, lovie, find your rhythm." Simon tried to prain but it sounded more like a growl as his hands flexed again into the softest parts of your waist, his long fingers spanning so far that they kneaded into the plushness of your stomach, "Fuckin' hell." 

"Si-" Johnny whined again, drawing the clipped nickname into two syllables, this time his twitching fingers finding purchase in the arm of the sofa you’d been bent over earlier. If you weren’t so focused on Simon’s cock rearranging your internal organs, you might’ve heard the ominous creak of the fabric under his strength. When your eyes fluttered open, they locked onto Johnny’s bright blues, darkened to a stormy hue with impatient want. His Scottish brogue thickening deeply, "Ah keened you’d be better than the lass in the fuckin’ videos, so fuckin’ sweet and pretty-" 

"Alright." Simon gruffed  before his voice softened down again, "Go on, sweetheart, show the mutt some love, won’t you? He won’t shut up until you do." 

Even though the permission had been given to you, Johnny was immediately upon you. Much like Gaz, Johnny took up the job of supporting your upper body as Simon had your hips firmly in his grasp. With one knee pressed into the couch cushion, he hugged your chest to his, his hands groping and feel any part of you he could get his hands on like it was the first time he’d touched you or any other soft and pretty thing. Unlike Gaz, his mouth on your started out aggressive and when you would moan, he’d mirror the noises, groaning them right back onto your tongue. 

"And soft. Ye sound better too." Johnny groaned when Simon suddenly rutted against your rocking, leaving you crying out and digging your nails into Johnny’s shoulders. With strong but surprisingly gentle grip, your fingers were removed from his shoulders. Johnny led one of your hands in an exploratory trail down his chest, following the path of thick, dark body hair, past his abs, until he wrapped your hand around his cock which twitched even at your slightest touch. 

"So fucking soft, bonnie," he breathed, coaxing your hand into movement while kissing your other palm, before looking over to Simon, "Not a callous on her hands, Lt, dinnae even think about that." 

Simon merely grunted in acknowledgement of Johnny’s discovery, seeing as his focus was an entirely different part of your anatomy. The larger man seemed content letting his sergeant be the vocal one, sometimes rewarding you with a hiss or a strangled groan. He’d given up on letting you control the pace now that you were acclimated and half bouncing against him, rutting and grinding against you in time with your own rolling and rocking as you sped up. It was only natural for your hand on Johnny’s cock to speed up as well. 

"Sweetheart, why don’t you show him something even softer than your hands? He went through a lot for you, after all." He didn’t give you time to ask what that was supposed to mean, but you figured it had something to do the vicious series of bites and hickies on the man’s neck. You could tell Simon was moving because his cock was shifting angle inside of you, making you gasp. One of his large hands splayed against the small of your back, pressing you firmly forward and down. A sudden thrust as he applied pressure to your back made you go boneless, letting the men push your cheek first into Johnny’s stomach and then down to where your hand was still pumping Johnny’s cock. 

"Look at that, a multitasker. ’s why she’s such a good analyst for us." Gaz chided from the sidelines like he was commentating on a sports match, watching as you were stroking Johnny, holding your cheek against him while trying to catch your breath from Simon’s thrusts. Johnny helped guide himself into your mouth. It wasn’t so much length as the girth, even thicker than Price, that stretched your jaw uncomfortably. But the way that Johnny moaned sinfully above you when your nose pressed into the dark curls at his base, the way he all but melted over you like butter, encouraged to breathe through your nose and keep going. 

"Steaming Jesus, Si, I cannae last like this-" Johnny moaned, seemingly not even noticing how loud he was. Simon only laughed lowly, reaching around your thighs to dip between them, circling your clit. Your thighs were trembling, moans getting louder and less restrained, nothing about this was restrained anymore. 

"That’s alright, Johnny, neither will she, will you, lovie?" He asked with another deep thrust, "feel ‘ow she’s shaking?"  

You were shaking your head still with a mouthful of Johnny’s cock, because you weren’t going to last much longer, eyes rolling and fluttering, landing on the arm chair again where Gaz being treated as well, both him and John watching appreciatevly as Ghost and Soap had you in lopsided Eiffel tower. You were pulling out any trick for Johnny that you managed to remember between Simon’s thrusts, swirling tongue and bobbing heads. But what did him in was actually Simon’s doing. When Simon rolled his hips into you just right, hitting every good spot and giving your clit a swipe, your eyes crossed and you moaned, practically screaming around Johnny’s member, the vibrations and look on your face enough to finish him. His hand tightened in your hair, hips snapping, pushing your nose into his pelvis, and holding you there as he came with what some might call a battle cry.  After everything Simon had put him through earlier, he was pent up, leaving him cumming. and cumming, and cumming, until you had to swat at his thigh because you couldn’t take anymore. 

You swallowed what you could, taking a couple more spurts to your face and chest before Johnny crumbled onto the couch against you, kissing the taste of himself right off your tongue as Simon continued his thrusts, getting incrementally faster and harder as you proved you could handle it. The scot took over the praising and encouragement as his superior fell back into the quiet grunting and groaning against you, though you could barely make out any of the words as you approached your fourth finish. For the first time in your life you understood the phrase "fucked stupid". You were somewhat sure you were rambling gibberish accolades to the men, cries of ‘yes’ and ‘please’ and ’thank you’ intermingled with moans and curses that put your over the top XXX twin’s to shame. 

"C’mon, sweetheart, one more f’ me." Simon growled out, switching positions so quickly and effeciently that you didn’t even realize it until you body was pressed face down into the couch cushion, Simon still behind you, drilling into you with a pace that put mechanized machinery to shame. You weren’t even sure how you were taking it just that you were and if he stopped you might start crying, "I know you’re close, just lemme have it-" 

Johnny was back on his knees in front of the couch, catching your nipple in his mouth. And you turned your head towards John and Kyle, locked in their own encounter, and then it just snapped. Your orgasm not just washing over you, but a tidal wave crashing over you and frying every nerve a long the way. For a moment your vision whited out, the only thing you were aware of was Simon’s strokes slowing and working you through it. With your body practically vibrating with overstimulation, you let your unseeing eyes roam to to the cieling fan and let your mind wander as you floated somewhere above reality for a bit, enjoying the electric feelings between each neuron firing. Every noise and sight becoming background information as overstimulation fuzzed it all out except the aftershocks and twinges in your core. 

You weren’t sure how long it was before you came back to yourself, but you heard Johnny’s voice first, "C’mon, bonnie, float back down to us."

"There she is." Kyle cooed in tandem with the other sergeant while your cheek, "Lost you for a bit there. Alright?" 

You were more than alright, body more sated than it’d been in years, still thrumming and twitching with the aftershocks, so you just nodded slowly, trying to focus your eyes in on one thing at a time, voice slightly slurred with nothing to do with the drinks, " ‘m alright." 

"Was worried I broke you." That was Simon, who’s lap your head was in. You only offered a dopey smile and a lazily blink.

"You might’ve, but I’m ok, more than ok." You sighed with a dry laugh, turning your head so your cheek pressed to his thigh, though you noticed he’d slipped his sweats back on. 

"Si’s gotta work on being gentle, we don’t make him practice enough." Johnny teased, running soothing hands along your sides. Suddenly, a cup of water with a straw was placed in front of your face, and when you looked up it was Price holding it down to you before Kyle took it and held it steady for you. 

"Never see you complaining about it, McTavish." John teased right back, trading off the cup so he could smooth hair off your sweaty forehead, "Take as long as you need, sweet, y’did good for us. So good." 

His praise nestled deeply, right between your ribs, making you smile softly as Kyle coaxed the straw into your mouth, letting you sip on the water as he ran a caring thumb over the apple of your cheek.

— 

You must’ve dozed off, because when you woke up, you were still on the couch, but everyone else had moved around you liked you simply always been nestled amongst them. The thought made your lips curl in a dopey grin as you looked around them. Half upright and wrapped in someone’s hoodie, you were laying against Price’s chest, head tipped back into his shoulder as he worked around a plate filled for two, the atmosphere was cozy now, the electric  frantic tension from earlier had morphed into something warm and intimate. 

“Evening. Hungry?” His chest rumbled as he held the plate closer to your field of view. Two very juicy ribeyes, baked potatoes, green vegetable- the stereotypical macho man plate. John seemed all too proud of himself when you opened your mouth to accept a fork of perfectly cut bite-size steak, laughing when you hummed in approval, “There we go, sweet, worked up an appetite, yeah?” 

“Really? Thought we already stuffed ‘er pretty good.” Kyle teased, still gently swiping warm rags over your body, wiping away any evidence that wasn’t etched or sucked semipermanently into your skin, occasionally following his ministrations with gentle kisses and soft praises, “Feel ok, love? Need anything?” 

When you shook your head, gently squeezing his wrist in gratitude, he only smiled, giving you a tender kiss to the forehead before retrieving his own plate and sitting on the opposite side of Price, claiming the captain’s other shoulder for his own head.

Johnny was in the same boat as you, though whatever the hell Simon had done to him made his attention to you look like princess treatment, having obviously reigned himself in with you. Was that what Ghost was getting out of his system before coming back to you? Still, the scot didn’t seem to have many complaints after Simon sat him down between your legs on the couch, letting the sergeant lay facedown against the softest part of your stomach, where he’d nuzzled the hoodie out of the way so he could rest against your bare skin. It was then you noticed that you and Johnny were the only ones still in a state of undress which if your mind wasn’t moving at a snail’s pace, you might’ve tried to read into. 

Like you, he seemed half asleep and fucked out, a couple more bites around his neck that hadn’t been there the last time he’d been touching you. Soap’s mohawk gave you something to gently fidget with as Price nudged another bite against your lips. Simon took his seat on the floor, leaned back against the base of the couch with his head tipped back against the curve of your hip. One of his arms wrapped around the leg that Johnny had dangling off the couch, massaging gentle circles into the mans calf muscle. His other other arm was propped on his knee so he could catch your wrist where it flopped down on his shoulder. He was tender as he ran his ungloved hand over yours, massaging your fingers and comparing them to his much larger hands, murmuring himself, “No callouses.” 

“Told you, Si.” Johnny sighed almost dreamily into your bare stomach, leaning into your fingers in his hair. With the rest of the men doting on you and Johnny, Simon didn’t even retaliate or tease something back, just snickering quietly and fondly, offering straw topped water bottle to the sergeant. 

Another bite of food was offered to you, along with water, and something struck you funny, drawing a quiet chuckle out of you as you turned your face into Price’s neck to stifle the noise. It drew the group’s eyes, clearly waiting for you to divulge. “C’mon, hen, share with the class.” Johnny prompted with grin, always down for a laugh, propping his chin up on your belly so he could look at you through the valley of your cleavage, eyes shining like you’d hung the moon. 

“What’s on that pretty mind of yours?” Price rose his eyebrows, cutting another bite of meat for you. 

“Nothing, it’s dumb.” You snicker a little more, earning a expectant but amiable tug to your fingers from Simon, “It’s just all a little backwards, s’all.” 

“Backwards?” The liutenant parroted in that deep Manc accent, making you giggle a bit more, nodding against Price.

“I let y’all fuck me every which way from Tuesday, and you didn’t even buy me dinner first.”  You mused, ironically before taking another bite of one of the best steaks you’d ever had, which could be an effect of the post-sex endorphin rush, or maybe John was just a grill master. “Our apologies, sweet thing.” John rolled his eyes playfully, his apology deeply sarcastic as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. 

“In our defense, dinner and a very nice bottle of wine were on the agenda before, but some people,” Gaz’s eyes flicked over to Johnny and Simon who didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. Simon was stone faced as usual, still playing with and kissing at your fingers while Johnny just smiled into your belly, “got impatient.” 

“Hey, the first time Simon fucked me all I got was the drink mix and wet nap from his MRE.” Johnny whined which only made you laugh harder. 

“Y’didn’t ask for anything else.” Simon shrugged tilting his head to press an uncharacteristically romantic kiss to the curve of the Scot’s knee. “ ’sides, I got your mouth on her didn’t I? think I made up for it.”  And before you could question if Simon was really the one to orchestrate all of this, Price quieted you with a bite of potato while Gaz leaned over to distract you with his lips on your shoulder, “Don’t worry about it, love.”

  And for the first time since you’d seen their search histories, you weren’t worried about much of anything other than when this might happen again.

 ____ 

me, who doesn’t ever really write smut: yes i will enjoy writing a fivesome with at least ten hands, five mouths, ten arms, and four penises to keep up with. 

Y’all should see the notesapp where I had to like draw out stick figures to see if what I was writing was anatomically possible. I feel like this has gotten me on some kind of watchlist. 

Taglist in Comments because there were too many of y'all!! Thanks to anyone who has commented, liked, and reblogged! Whenever I'm feeling uninspired, I just scroll through y'alls comments and they make me smile so so much!!!

[salsakiyoomi]

sukuna had been gone for ten days.

he won't answer his phone, he won't answer his texts, you even tried to send him an email — yeah, no use.

by the tenth day, you were starting to feel less worried and more angry.

that's when he finally came knocking at your front door.

it was a random tuesday night when you were crying your eyes out at an angsty romance movie when a series of knocks came at your door.

quickly, you wipe away your tears and you head towards the door, creaking it open slightly to see who it is.

a gasp escapes you at the familiar sight of the tattooed face of your stupid, stupid boyfriend.

you swing the door open and before he could get any words out, you drag him in by the collar of his shirt and slap him across the face.

stunned is an understatement.

if anything, sukuna is thoroughly dumbfounded — sure, he knew you were feisty, except, he never thought you'd throw hands, especially as sexy as you did just now.

“where the hell have you been?!” you yell at him, but he's still flabbergasted, with his hand on his cheek where you had just slapped him.

“sukuna.” you growl, and he knows that he’s in trouble.

“sorry, something came up.” he says under his breath, rubbing his cheek.

holy hell, you sure knew how to throw a slap.

“really?” you huff, an angry scowl on your face at the audacity of his curt and vague answer, “that's all you have to say for yourself after ten whole days of being MIA?”

“look, baby, i'm sorry —” “i don't want your apology! i want an explanation! i called you, i texted you, i even sent you an email and you never responded!”

sukuna feels something close to guilt and maybe even…joy? because wow, were you really that worried about it? how flattering.

“i just had a deal going on.” he mutters under his breath, knowing you're going to reprimand him for it.

“what?” you utter out, “a drug deal?! seriously, ryomen? again?! you promised me you quit that shit!”

“it was a good deal, okay?!” he responds, starting to feel frustrated now, “and i needed the money.”

“you could've asked me for money!” you tell him and he scoffs, “yeah, like you're any less broke than i am.”

“sukuna.” you warn and he shakes his head, avoiding your gaze.

“look, i'm sorry, okay?” he says, “it was a moment of weakness.

“yeah, like all of the other times?” you ask sarcastically, “get out.” you add, pointing at the front door of your dorm and already ushering him out.

“oh, come on.” he chides, using the tone that he knows makes you weak, and looking at you with those stupidly convincing red eyes of his, “i said i'm sorry baby, okay? i won't do it again, i promise.”

“you stress me out, ryomen.” you huff, crossing your arms.

“i know,” he says smoothly, “i won't do it again, for you.”

he knows he's let you down again. in his history of fuck ups, this was probably one of the worst — breaking your trust, again.

and yet, he knows you'll always come back to him, forgive him and coddle him — just like you always do.

there was no denying that you were weak for him.

“....fine.” you mumble, “but if you do it again, i'm breaking up with you.”

“yeah yeah, i know.” he chuckles, his hands at your hips, “i won't.”

“good.” you huff.

he hums in response, leaning in to kiss you to make you forget about everything he's ever done and he practically feels the way you melt into the kiss, sinking into his touch as he caresses the soft flesh of your hips.

he was a manipulative piece of shit and he knew it, but if it meant having you under his touch? yeah, he won't give it up.

you bite on his bottom lip and he groans, pulling you closer.

after a moment, he pulls away, the both of you gasping for air.

he smirks, “i can tell you miss me.”

“shut up.” you huff and he chuckles, his hand sliding up to caress the back of your neck and pull you in closer.

“i'll hit from the back tonight if you let me.” he whispers in your ear and you blush, slapping his chest.

“ryomen!” you exclaim and he laughs, “come on, baby. don't you miss me?”

before you even get a chance to respond, he's hauling you up and carrying you to your bedroom.

sukuna's a manipulative piece of shit who probably has nothing better to do than play around and break hearts — he doesn't get attached.

and no matter how many times you threaten to break up with him, he knows you'll always stay.

he was just that good.

[esote-rika]

the memory of your lips | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: Flangst. Summary: At the end of a great date, you have to deal with the realities of dating a BAU agent. Content: Mentions of alcohol, reader is tipsy and flirty and LOVESICK, Spencer is a gentleman, kisses, no use of y/n, reader is called angel. I had s3 or 4 Spencer in mind when I was writing, but it works for any season.  Word count: 1.4k A/N: Here’s the fic for the Lovesick by Laufey (listen to it right here, PLEASE I BEG!!!) poll I did a while back. I know I originally planned for it to have smut, but I opted out because it didn’t feel right with the tone??? Anyways, this was just really fun to write, and I hope you enjoy! 

Three dates are an embarrassingly short amount of time to have fallen in love with someone, but in your defense, you have not encountered anyone quite like Spencer Reid in all your years of dating. 

Never have you met a man so intensely focused and attentive, so intelligent without any hint of pretense. His arrogance is founded, but he never used his genius to make you feel less; instead, he’s committed everything you’ve told him to memory, from your favorite book to the throwaway comment you made about liking a specific shade of lipstick. Two dates and he’s already memorized you like a poem. It’s exhilarating. 

This third date had been the one to seal the deal. 

Sure, the anxiety is still there, and it might have caused you to have one too many glasses of wine over dinner, but still. Everything had gone so beautifully. A stroll around the art gallery where Spencer had eagerly shared the history behind the paintings. When you’d paused at a particular hallway, he stood right by a window and was hit just so by the golden afternoon sun that his eyes turned to the color of moss, you could have sworn you’ve forgotten the ability to breathe. You’re convinced you were the walking equivalent to the heart eyes emoji at that point, staring up at him with a starry gaze, all throughout the following dinner at an intimate restaurant, where you allowed yourself to indulge in some wine. 

Not that you needed it. At that point, you felt so relaxed and at ease with him that you were afraid you might float away. The alcohol only served to heighten the giddiness, casting the world in soft hues of sparkling gold. Like Spencer’s eyes. Which reminds you—

“You’ve the prettiest eyes,” You’re giggling as he walks you to your door, a lean arm firmly wrapped around your waist  to steady you. Head angled up, all of your attention is on him while you walk up the stairs, which isn’t helping your stumbling gait in the slightest. 

Despite his attempts to fight it, a small smile pulls at his lips. He’s obviously trying to seem stern, but his eyes look upon you with fondness. “I should have cut you off sooner.”

“Mhm, no, I wouldn’t have let you.”

“You’re gonna feel this tomorrow,” he warns as he stops at your doorstep, “Keys.”

You fumble through your purse, quickly locating them and pressing the keys into his palm. He slots it easily into the lock, and turns. 

He hesitates. Your hands shake as you wait.

“Can I trust you to make it to your bed in one piece?” he murmurs, fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

“Probably not. You might need to help me out,” you whisper, even though you’re not really that drunk. It’s a (very thinly veiled) attempt to get him inside your apartment, in your bed. You’re not sure where you got the confidence.

But it’s Spencer, the sweet man who frequents the same bookshop in which you also spend a lot of time. The same man who’d been so shy about making a move that he decided to buy you a book and slip his number into the pages. 

So there’s no pressure, he had scrawled in messy, rushed letters. Embarrassingly, the note is in your wallet, kept as a memento.

It’s him, and the entire date has been a series of signs that simply validated the small (massive) crush you’ve had on him. You don’t want it to end yet. Or ever, really. If he’d let you keep him forever. 

Ever the gentleman, he nods and guides you inside. You stumble onto your couch with a low groan, an arm flung over your eyes as the harsh overhead light flickers open. Quick, shuffling footsteps, and then the couch dips beside you.

“Here, have some water.”

You accept the glass with a lopsided smile. The way his eyes linger on you would be enough to make you melt when you’re sober, but right now, with alcohol coursing through your veins, it’s downright cruel. “Your eyes are so pretty.”

“You’ve mentioned that already,” he says, urging you to drink, “Thank you. You have very beautiful eyes too.”

Once the glass is empty, he sets it on your coffee table and kneels down. With gentle hands, he eases the heels off of your feet, fingers pressing into the ankles carefully. 

“Come on,” he helps you to your feet, and you all but become deadweight in his arms as he walks with you to your bedroom. 

Spurned mainly by alcohol, you lift yourself to your tiptoes for a kiss. His surprise makes him pause, but he kisses you back gently, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. It makes you sigh, this tender way he likes to kiss, cradling your face as though it’s the most important thing he’s ever held. When your tongue sweeps across his lower lip, he pulls back.

“What—”

“You’re drunk,” his lips move to your forehead, “You need to sleep.”

“But Spence…” it’s childish to whine when he denies you, but it’s the only thing your dejected, alcohol-addled brain is capable of doing.

He chuckles, slowly walking you backwards onto your bed. “No, angel, it wouldn’t sit right with me.”

“I’m giving you all my consent right now.” you pout as he hands you a disposable towel from your bedside table. With a huff, you set on wiping away your makeup as he rummages through your drawers for pajamas. He finds some shorts and an old tshirt, and helps you out of your dress, shaking his head as you try (and fail) to seduce him into sleeping with you.

“Shouldn’t have had that last glass if this was how you wanted the night to end.” he says,  a teasing smile on his lips.

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, huh?”

He kisses your temple as a response, and gently pushes you to lay down. Chuckling, he sits on the edge of your bed, a hand on your knee. “I just don’t want you to be inebriated if we’re going to be physically intimate. Especially not the first time.”

You pout, “Boo, you’re too sweet for your own good.” It earns you a laugh from him, and it’s enough to wipe the pout off your lips, “Will you at least sleep over?”

He seems to consider it, running his hand up and down your thigh. However, it is as though the universe is conspiring against you, and his phone rings. You watch as his brows furrowed in concern as he checks whatever message he’s received. “I have to go in, we have a case.”

Your heart drops. The pout returns, “It’s Friday night.”

“I know, angel.” he leans forward and kisses your forehead again, almost in apology, “I’m sorry, I did tell you I don’t work traditional hours.”

Your hands close around his shirt and you pull him down. He surrenders to your eagerness this time, kissing you deeply, hands tangled in your hair, before he stops, breathing ragged. “I’ll make it up to you when I return, I promise.” he kisses you again, languidly, savoring the last few moments before he has to leave. 

You don’t have his eidetic memory, but you memorize the feeling of his lips all the same. “Stay safe,” you whisper when he finally pulls back, feeling oddly sobered up now that the reality of him leaving you is more present, “Text me when you can.”

“I will, angel.” he gives you one last kiss on your forehead before he stands up, “Drink lots of water tomorrow, okay? I’ll see you soon.”

You nod, and stare at his retreating back with a sad smile, blinking away the tears when you hear your apartment door click into place, signaling his departure. You try to tell yourself you’re being silly. It’s been three dates and you’re already acting so clingy. You chalk it up to the alcohol, twisting your feelings. Earlier, it had made the world seem effervescent, but now that he’s left, it only exacerbates your loneliness.

Is this how it’s going to be when you date him? He’d laid it out quite clearly during your conversations, that sometimes they get pressing cases that require them to drop everything else.  You aren’t sure you’re prepared to have dates be interrupted with one phone call. Morning afters without him beside you. With a sigh, you sink into bed, eyes closed, and only the memory of his lips to tide you through the night.

[solar-wing]

⚣ Jason: The Rebel 🏍️

⚣🏍️ A/N → @swimmingpainterhandsfreak Jason's installment of the High School AU Courting series. One day, I will learn how to keep a fic under 10k words... today isn't it though. Conner's up next and both his and Dick's are linked at the end. Enjoy! WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI | Omegaverse | Courting Rituals | High School AU | Alpha Jason Todd | Omega Male Reader | Angst | Fluff | Humor | No one is a vigilante | Dick and Jason are not brothers | Jason is the stereotypical bad boy | Minor Character Death | Smut | Explicit Language | jealousy & Possessiveness | Oral Sex | Fingering | Dirty Talk | Rough Sex | Breeding Kink | Creampie |

⚣🏍️ Summary → Jason's always been misunderstood, except by one person. Someone who's always stuck by him and defended him even when others were against him. Now, he plans to make sure he's always by his side. How though?

⚣🏍️ Words → 38.9K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! ❤️

⚣ ENJOY 🏍️

Jason Todd? Everyone knows who Jason Todd is.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and built like a damn Greek statue sculpted for war, he had the kind of physique that made gym rats jealous and made people think twice before testing him. His thick arms and solid chest stretched against whatever shirt he threw on, the fabric clinging to the kind of muscle that wasn’t just for show. Defined abs, powerful legs, and prominent veins running down his forearms made it clear: Jason Todd wasn't just strong—he was dangerous.

Wherever he went, people whispered, stared, or stepped aside, as if Gotham Collegiate Academy’s resident bad boy carried an aura that warned against getting too close. Some saw him as dangerous, untouchable, a walking storm wrapped in dark clothes and bad decisions. Others were drawn to him, intoxicated by the thrill of someone so effortlessly rebellious, untamed, and unpredictable.

He wasn’t just some brooding delinquent, though. Jason Todd had the kind of presence that made authority figures nervous and classmates curious. He was the guy who rolled up to school on a motorcycle, smirking at the rules he planned to ignore. The guy who didn't care about popularity but still managed to be one of the most talked-about names in the halls.

Everything about him screamed “don’t mess with me”, and yet—people did.

They stared. They whispered. They speculated. Because Jason Todd didn’t just look like trouble—he was trouble.

“How does a delinquent like him manage to get into one of the most prestigious schools in all of Gotham?”

“Well, obviously, he’s well connected. I mean, look who his friends are. If I were friends with the sons of two billionaires, I’d take advantage of those relationships too.”

Many—students and faculty alike—had their own speculations and theories about how someone like Jason was able to go to a school like Gotham Collegiate Academy. It wasn’t exactly classified information about where he came from or who his dad was.

BREAKING NEWS: NOTORIOUS LOCAL FIGURE ARRESTED IN CITYWIDE CRIME RING INVESTIGATION

“In a shocking turn of events, authorities have arrested Willis Todd, a well-known automotive shop owner with alleged ties to multiple criminal organizations, in connection to the recent string of high-profile robberies and thefts plaguing the city.

Law enforcement sources confirm that Todd, long rumored to have underworld connections, was taken into custody earlier today as part of an ongoing, large-scale investigation into organized crime operations. Authorities believe his business may have served as a front for illicit activities, potentially linking him to a wider criminal network operating across the city.

Details of the arrest are still unfolding, but officials describe this as a major breakthrough in the effort to dismantle one of the most elusive theft rings in recent history. More updates to come as this developing story continues.”

As one might imagine, Jason didn’t have the best home life.

Willis Todd had done the best he could with the scraps life had thrown at him. He’d fought, clawed, and hustled to carve out something—anything—that resembled stability for his son. If you had asked him, years ago, what kind of life he dreamed of for them, he’d never in a million years have said this.

Not handcuffs. Not mugshots. Not his son watching him get dragged away.

He swallowed hard, the weight of failure settling deep in his chest as he turned to face the boy he’d tried so damn hard to protect.

“Son... I’ve gotta go away for a while.”

His voice was rough, strained—like it hurt to say the words out loud. Maybe because it did.

Jason was only eight years old when his dad went to prison, left in the care of the only other family he’d ever known outside of his father and his deceased stepmother.

His birth mother? A blank face in a picture he’d never seen.

His dad never spoke about her. Never reminisced. Never even slipped up and said her name. If she was a ghost, she wasn’t haunting him—because ghosts left behind something. A memory. A whisper. A trace. She left nothing.

So, the only mother he had ever known was Catherine Todd, and even she had been taken from him too soon. Cancer, illness, something bad—he didn’t know what exactly. He only knew that one day, she was there, and the next, she wasn’t. Jason was five. Too young to understand, old enough to remember.

Life could be a lot of things, but for Jason? Kind wasn’t one of them.

His classmates wouldn’t understand that. Their biggest problems were petty fights, weekend plans, or the wrong shade of a designer bag. They called it “struggles.” Jason called it a luxury.

Because none of them knew what it was like to wonder if dinner would be stale bread or expired cereal with water.

None of them knew—and he was sure they never would—just how long it took for cereal to actually expire.

Maybe that’s why their nasty little words never got under his skin. Because how could someone like that hurt him? Someone who lost their mind over a scratch on their brand-new sports car? A missed vacation? A bad hair day?

They didn’t know strife. They didn’t know struggle.

Everything had been spoon-fed to them since birth. And yet, they had the nerve to look down on him.

They whispered about him in hallways, convinced he had cheated his way into Gotham Collegiate Academy—because clearly, someone like him couldn’t have earned it. Clearly, it had to be his best friends’ rich parents pulling the strings.

Jason laughed at that.

Because if they only knew the truth—that one of the few things Willis Todd got right was making sure his kid was damn smart—they’d choke on their silver spoons.

With no money for tutors or fancy lessons, what else was there for the youngest Todd to do?

Fix cars with his old man. Read every damn book the public library had.

And he did.

And yet, none of them would ever know it. Jason didn’t even really care to prove it, because there were only a few—a very small few—who mattered to him, especially one in particular.

So, while Jason Todd might have had the reputation of a reckless  who lived for trouble, the reality was different. He wasn’t aimless or cruel, nor was he the heartless rebel everyone assumed. Beneath the grit, the sharp edges, and the infamous scowl, there was someone intelligent, fiercely loyal, protective, and—though he’d rather chew glass than admit it—capable of being soft in the right company.

Despite coming from a family that had its fair share of struggles, Jason never played the victim. He worked for everything he had, even if past methods weren’t always… legal. He didn’t need peer validation, didn’t need approval from teachers or his peers. He had his real ones, and that was enough.

People made up their own stories about him.

Some called him a troublemaker—the kind you don’t want to owe, don’t want to cross, don’t want staring at you from across the hall with that sharp, unreadable expression. Teachers watched him closely, expecting him to lash out, to skip class, to prove their assumptions right. Parents warned their kids to steer clear, because a boy like Jason Todd? He had “bad news” written all over him.

Some called him a lost cause—whispered about how he didn’t belong at GCA, how he’d end up like his father, how one day, he’d stop showing up and no one would be surprised. The rich kids sneered, convinced he was some charity case riding on the coattails of his wealthy best friends, too stupid, too rough around the edges to have gotten in on his own.

And then there were the ones who just… wanted him.

Because trouble is intoxicating when it looks like Jason Todd.

Some wanted to know him—not the stories, not the reputation, but him. They wanted to understand what made him tick, what secrets he kept behind that dark, unreadable gaze. They wanted to be the one person he let in, the exception to his indifference.

And others? Many more than most would assume—just wanted him.

Because Jason Todd wasn’t just dangerous—he was gorgeous. All broad shoulders, sharp jaw, and muscle wrapped up in leather and bad decisions. His voice? Low, rough, like the distant rumble of his motorcycle on an empty road. His presence? Unshakable. People didn’t just see him—they felt him, like a pulse in the air, something you couldn’t ignore even if you tried.

And maybe that was the most frustrating thing of all.

Because no matter what story they made up about him—whether they feared him, pitied him, or wanted to pull him into the nearest empty bathroom stall and make a mistake—they all had one thing in common.

They couldn’t stop looking.

But one thing was clear: Jason Todd didn’t do relationships.

Which is why Gotham’s most prestigious high school was absolutely losing its collective mind over the rumor that he was seeing someone.

The only question was, who?

"Are you blind? It’s obviously Y/N," Sasha scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"OMG, yes! You’d have to be stupid not to see it. Those two have been orbiting each other since, like, birth," Manny gushed, practically bouncing in his seat. "They’re so cute together. I can definitely see Jason being a simp for him."

Kevin let out a low chuckle, spinning a football between his hands. "What is it with you omegas romanticizing some sappy, soft alpha?" he said, shaking his head. "You all act like an Alpha’s job is to whisper sweet nothings and play house. News flash—real alphas don’t do that shit."

He leaned back, smirking. "And Jason? No way in hell he’d be some love-sick puppy over an omega. He’s got everything an alpha needs to keep Y/N hooked—strength, presence, dominance, and the right kind of equipment to have him walking sideways. But then, only another real alpha like myself would recognize that."

Kevin threw a pointed look across the table. "Not like some of these soft-ass, house-trained alphas prancing around GCA—like his two little ballerina buddies, Dick and Conner." His smirk deepened. "They’re practically omegas themselves. No wonder they get along so well with you all."

A chorus of groans and eye rolls followed, earning Kevin a round of unimpressed looks from the group.

"Jesus Christ, Kevin." Sasha groaned, smacking him on the shoulder.

"What?" Kevin grinned, "Can’t say I’m not speaking truth."

"Oh yeah? Then I’m sure you won’t mind saying that to your football captain’s face, right?" Manny drawled, arching a brow in challenge.

Kevin’s cocky smirk faltered for half a second before he scoffed, shifting in his seat. "Pfft, I mean—come on, it’s just jokes. No need to get all serious about it. Besides, not like Conner would care anyway." He waved a hand dismissively, suddenly very interested in the football in his hands.

The table erupted into laughter.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought." Manny grinned, shaking his head. “Anyways, Jason might have that tough guy look, but it’s clear he’s got a soft spot. And that soft spot is Y/N. Because wherever Y/N is…”

Sasha suddenly perked up, her eyes locking with Manny’s as they both grinned

“...he ain’t never too far away.” They both finished together, laughing obnoxiously while slapping and hugging each other like they didn’t know what to do with themselves.

Clearly, some inside joke the two other boys at the table were not in on.

And while usually, he’d find the silly antics of his two friends amusing, Ethan, who had been mostly quiet up until now, suddenly scoffed, arms crossed as he leaned back in his seat. "Sure, Jason’s big enough to scare off anyone dumb enough to try something—but is that really enough? Y/N doesn’t need a guard dog. He needs someone who actually listens, someone who won’t just punch his way through every problem."

That earned him a few raised eyebrows.

"Oh?" Sasha smirked, resting her chin on her hand. "Do go on, Ethan. Tell us why Jason, our six-foot-plus human guard dog, isn’t good enough for sweet little Y/N."

Ethan rolled his eyes. "You know exactly what I mean. Jason’s… Jason. He’s reckless, doesn’t think before he acts, and he’s emotionally closed off. Sure, he can fight off anyone who looks at Y/N the wrong way, but that’s not what makes a good alpha. Y/N needs someone who actually listens, who knows how to handle emotions—not just punch his way through every problem."

The table went silent for half a second before Sasha let out a low whistle.

"Wow. That was a very heartfelt, totally unbiased take. Definitely nothing personal there."

Manny smirked, nudging Ethan’s arm. "Yeah, man. Sounds almost like… oh, I don’t know… someone who’s still salty over a 7th-grade crush on their lab partner."

Ethan’s face twisted into an immediate scowl. "Oh my god,  would you let that go? That was years ago."

"And yet," Manny grinned, "here you are, still pressed."

Kevin snorted. "And, dude, no offense, but Jason would break you in half. You may not be a direct threat being a Beta and all, but that dude’s got possessive written all over him. He barely leaves Y/N’s side.”

Suddenly, Manny and Sasha looked at each other again, “Wherever Y/N is…he ain’t never too far away.” The two recited together before bursting out into another fit of shits and giggles.

Ethan’s brow twitched as he shoved Kevin’s football off the table in retaliation.

"Whatever. Y’all are insufferable."

Jason Todd had always been a fixture in Y/N’s life, like a constant shadow, a familiar presence, something woven so deeply into his world that he couldn’t remember a time before him.

Their parents—specifically Y/N’s omega dad, his Papa, and Jason’s father—were old friends from high school. The kind of “old friends” that always made Y/N’s alpha dad narrow his eyes whenever the topic came up. Suspiciously long silences, pointed looks, a change of subject. 

"You and Willis were just friends, huh?" he’d ask, cutting into his steak with a little too much force.

Jason’s dad, leaning back in his chair with a lazy smirk, would take a slow sip of his beer before answering.

"Depends on what you mean by ‘just friends,’" Willis would say, all too pleased with himself.

Jason and Y/N never really understood why until they were older, when Y/N’s Papa would sometimes mutter about “old flames” and his Dad would immediately puff his chest out and skirt them away to their room to have a long serious “talk” that always ended with a bunch of noises and creaking.

Ignorance is bliss.

But whatever the nature of their parents’ past, one thing was clear: Jason and Y/N were inevitable.

Back when they were kids, Jason had been different. Lighter. Freer. Not as hardened by the world, not as reserved or closed-off as he was now. He was the kid who would laugh the loudest, drag Y/N along on every adventure, challenge Dick to races, and teach Conner the best hiding spots in the house. Their little group had been inseparable, but even among them, Jason and Y/N had always been the closest.

"C’mon, Y/N, hurry up!" Jason would yell, grabbing his tiny wrist and pulling him along toward his dad’s auto shop, the library, or some hidden corner of the house where they could plot their next grand adventure.

The two were inseparable, always up to something, always together, always getting into trouble with Dick and Conner.

Jason wasn’t as tough then, but his protectiveness over Y/N? That was always there.

"You’re not gonna cry, are you?" Jason would say, puffing out his chest whenever some bigger kid tried to push Y/N around. "‘Cause you don’t gotta. I’ll handle it."

And handle it he did. The amount of times Y/N’s Papa had to scold Jason for throwing hands on the playground was more than anyone could count.

But one of Jason’s favorite things—something he’d never admit out loud—was when Y/N listened to him read.

They’d sit on the floor of his dad’s auto shop, grease-stained books spread between them, Jason flipping through whatever novel he had gotten lost in that week.

"Do the voices," Y/N would insist, eyes wide with expectation.

Jason would groan, but he’d do it anyway—grumbling about how "annoying" Y/N was while still giving the best damn dramatic reading of a fantasy novel Gotham had ever seen.

And the motorcycle Jason rode today?

That was theirs.

"One day," Y/N had grinned, wiping grease from his hands as Jason tightened a bolt, "this is gonna be our ride. We’ll take it anywhere we want."

"Yeah?" Jason smirked, eyes bright with excitement. "Where to first?"

"Everywhere."

That had been a promise.

One Jason intended to keep.

Then everything changed.

Jason was eight years old when his dad was arrested. He had sat on the couch, legs swinging, watching the news in confusion as his father’s mugshot flashed across the screen.

The words didn’t make sense at first. "Criminal organizations." "Underworld connections." "Large-scale theft ring."

But then, he heard it.

"Willis Todd has been arrested."

And suddenly, everything made sense.

"Son..." His dad’s voice was rough, strained—like it hurt to say the words out loud.

Jason didn’t want to look at him.

"I’ve gotta go away for a while."

The words echoed in Jason’s head long after his father was dragged away in handcuffs. He didn’t cry. He just… stared.

And Y/N was there. Right beside him. Holding his hand.

That night, Jason packed a bag and moved in with Y/N’s family.

Y/N was thrilled. His Papa was more than willing. His father? Not so much.

"Are we really doing this?" Y/N’s Dad had muttered to his husband.

"He has nowhere else to go," his Papa had said simply, already making Jason a plate of food.

Jason pretended not to hear the hesitation, but he saw it. Felt it. He saw the way Y/N’s Dad watched him, waiting for the moment he’d "turn out like his father."

It wasn’t a secret that Y/N’s dad wasn’t exactly fond of Willis Todd. His suspicion extended to Jason, not because of who he was but because of who he might become. 

But he never did.

But Jason never did. And over the years, he grew on the man.

Maybe it was because Jason treated Y/N like the most important thing in the world. Maybe it was because, despite his rough edges, Jason never disrespected his authority. Maybe it was because Y/N’s dad saw the way Jason looked at his son, like he’d tear the world apart to keep him safe.

Either way, he softened.

So much so that by the time Jason was a teenager, the man who had once been his biggest skeptic had become his biggest supporter.

Which was why the man was also the first to set rules.

It was after Jason and Y/N presented—alpha and omega—that the rules slammed down like a damn gavel in court.

"No more sleepovers."

"No being alone in each other’s rooms with the doors closed."

"No unsupervised nights out."

Y/N hated it. "Dad, we’re not even dating."

"Not yet," his father had muttered.

Jason, for all his rebellious nature, didn’t argue. He understood better than Y/N did. Their dynamic had changed. Their instincts had shifted. And if anyone knew what kind of effect Y/N had on him, it was Jason himself.

So he didn’t fight the rules. He followed them—begrudgingly, but still.

At least, until he moved back home.

When Jason’s dad got out of prison, he went back home. He had no choice.

But the years that followed would be a lesson in cruelty—a slow, grinding proof that rock bottom is just a myth, and that no matter how deep you think you’ve fallen, there’s always further to go.

Jason’s knuckles ached.

His breathing was shallow, ragged, his heart hammering in his chest as he stood in the middle of the kitchen, fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. Across from him, Willis Todd glared, nostrils flared, muscles tensed, shoulders squared like he was bracing for a second round.

The house smelled like anger. Like hot-blooded rage barely contained beneath thinly veiled restraint.

The table was half-shoved against the wall, the chair Jason had knocked over laying in splintered pieces on the tile.

Willis wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, eyeing Jason with something between frustration and reluctant respect.

"That all you got, boy?" he muttered, voice thick with warning.

Jason breathed heavily, chest rising and falling, his body taut with the kind of tension that had nowhere to go.

"You back to working for them, huh?" Jason spat, his voice low, seething. "You back to being some errand boy for the assholes that got you locked up in the first place?"

Willis’s eyes darkened.

"Watch your mouth, Jason."

But Jason didn’t want to watch his mouth. He wanted to spit fire, to hurl every bit of frustration, of disappointment, of betrayal onto the man who had ruined his life and was too damn selfish to realize it.

"You think I’m stupid?" Jason snapped. "Think I don’t see the extra cash? The new parts you’re suddenly able to afford for the shop?" His teeth clenched. "How long till you get caught this time? Huh? Another five years? Another ten? And what—then I’m supposed to just sit back and watch while they drag your ass off again?"

Willis’s expression twisted, his hands slamming down on the counter.

"That’s not your got-damn business, Jason!"

Jason’s laugh was sharp, humorless.

"Not my business? Not my—" He let out a breath, shaking his head, eyes wild. "I was the one sitting in that courtroom. I was the one watching Mom cry herself to sleep every night while you were inside. I was the one visiting you behind fucking plexiglass."

Willis’s jaw tightened.

Jason’s voice cracked, his breath shuddering. "Did you think I wouldn’t find out? For two seconds, did you consider that your son is a lot older now and can tell when his dad is up to some shady ass shit?”

A pause.

"I’m not a kid anymore, Dad."

Willis exhaled through his nose, his head shaking, fingers flexing at his sides.

"Then stop acting like one."

Jason snapped.

Before he even thought about it, his body had already moved, shoving his father back against the counter.

Willis was older, stronger, broader, but Jason was faster, fueled by something raw, something relentless. He saw the way his father’s shoulders tensed, not from fear but from instinct, from years of being someone people didn’t shove around without consequence.

For a split second, Jason thought Willis was gonna hit him back.

And maybe some twisted part of him wanted him to.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Willis’s hands gripped Jason’s shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, his voice dangerously low.

"You think you’re grown, huh?" His father’s breath was hot against Jason’s face, his grip tightening. "Think you can take me just ‘cause you got a little muscle now?"

Jason’s chest heaved, his eyes burning, his throat tight.

"I don’t wanna take you," Jason muttered, voice thick with something he refused to name. "I just want you to be better."

The words hit harder than any punch could have.

Because for the first time, his father’s expression changed.

The anger didn’t fade. But beneath it, beneath the frustration, there was something else.

Something that looked a hell of a lot like guilt.

Willis let go. Turned away.

Jason didn’t stay to see whatever expression crossed his father’s face next.

Because his legs were already moving, his body already acting on instinct, carrying him out the door, down the street, toward the only place that felt like home anymore.

Between his father’s absence, the taunts from classmates, and the weight of his own anger, Jason had never felt more like he was constantly on the verge of burning out. He hated visiting his dad in prison, hated seeing him in orange, hated the way their time together always ended with an alarm and a guard telling him to leave.

But, through it all, Y/N was there.

Every visit. Every fight. Every time Jason came home angry, every time he didn’t want to talk, every time he needed a way out.

"Window’s open."

Jason barely remembered the run to Y/N’s house. By the time his phone vibrated with the text signaling his green light to go in, all he knew was that his breath was ragged, his hands were shaking, and his body felt too tight, too wound up, too full of something that had nowhere to go.

His muscles burned, his blood ran hot, and the storm inside him—the one that started the second his father spat those words at him—was still raging, still clawing at the edges of his restraint, still begging for a way out.

He didn’t waste a second. Didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

Just moved.

He scaled the tree like he had a hundred times before, the cold night air biting at his skin before he swung himself through the window with a practiced ease that should’ve been concerning.

And then—fuck.

The scent hit him first.

Warmth. Comfort. Y/N.

His room was dimly lit, golden hues stretching over the sheets, the books stacked on the nightstand, the sweatshirt Y/N had probably stolen from him days ago. But Jason barely registered any of that because his scent was everywhere—strong, thick, filling Jason’s lungs, wrapping around his senses like a noose.

Lavender and something sweeter, something uniquely Y/N, something Jason had spent years pretending didn’t make his pulse quicken and his instincts snarl.

And before he could even breathe properly, something solid, warm, and impossibly soft crashed into his chest.

Jason cleared his throat, shaking off whatever the hell that slip-up was, before huffing out an "Oof—" as Y/N burrowed against his chest, his body warm and pliant from sleep.

Jason staggered back, only barely catching himself as Y/N practically melted against him, bare skin brushing against fabric, his body all heat, all curves, all sleepy weight pressing into Jason like he belonged there.

And fuck, Jason was not ready for this.

"Are you okay?" Y/N mumbled, voice thick with concern but also soft, wrecked drowsiness, like he had been waiting for Jason even in his sleep.

His cheek pressed against the fabric of Jason’s hoodie, right over his chest, right over his got-damn heartbeat that was now slamming hard enough to break through ribs.

Jason sucked in a slow, measured breath, his grip on Y/N’s hips too tight, too desperate, his fingers twitching where they clutched the soft skin beneath his shirt.

He needed to answer. Needed to move, needed to do something other than feel.

But Y/N was in his arms, open and pliant, warm and vulnerable, pressing into him like he didn’t know what he was doing to Jason’s self-control.

And Jason was too wound up, too exhausted, too fucking weak to fight it.

His instincts screamed.

To pull him closer. To nuzzle against his throat, breathe him in properly, let that scent flood his system until it drowned out everything else.

His jaw locked tight—breath hissing between his teeth, his entire body coiled in restraint so fierce it made his bones ache.

He wasn’t okay.

Not even remotely.

But Y/N was here. In his arms. Holding him, grounding him, filling his senses with something so sweet, so intoxicating, it almost made the pain go away.

Almost.

Jason’s fingers curled tighter into Y/N’s shirt. He exhaled, low and rough.

"Yeah."

A beat.

His grip tightened.

"I am now."

Y/N gave a small tug at his hoodie.

"Come on. Bed."

Jason hesitated.

He wasn’t sure he could handle this.

But he let himself be pulled anyway.

The moment they hit the mattress, Y/N curled into his side like it was second nature, like this was where he belonged. One arm slung carelessly across Jason’s stomach, his leg hooking over his like he had every right to drape himself over an alpha twice his size.

Jason wasn’t two seconds from unraveling.

He already had.

His throat burned, his hands still half-clenched into fists, his mind still spinning with too many thoughts he didn’t know how to put into words.

And then—soft fingers.

Threading through his hair. Scraping lightly against his scalp.

Jason let out a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling in time with Y/N’s.

"I hate him," Jason muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

"No, you don’t."

Jason swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the fabric of Y/N’s hoodie. "I want to."

A pause.

Y/N shifted, pressing his ear against Jason’s chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

"You don’t have to figure it out right now."

Jason let out a breath, his fingers unclenching as he lifted a hand to rest against Y/N’s back.

"You’re so damn small," Jason muttered, voice still rough, but softer now, the fight draining out of him.

Y/N huffed. "And yet, I’m taking up more space in this bed than you."

“Well, yes…because you’re a bed, sheet, and blanket hogger.”

Y/N lifted his head to turn an arched brow towards the alpha, “Don’t push it, Todd.”

Jason exhaled a short laugh, his shoulders finally relaxing.

He wasn’t okay.

Not even close.

But right now? With Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, with the scent of lavender and warmth pressing into his chest, with the sound of Y/N’s even breathing grounding him—

He could pretend he was.

And for tonight, that was enough.

Y/N was his anchor. The one thing in his life that didn’t feel like it would get ripped away. But Jason knew better than anyone—nothing lasted forever.

And deep down, he feared the day or even just the possibility of a day when Y/N might decide he was done dealing with him and would leave him behind, just like everyone else important to him.

But, as deep as that fear gnawed at him, the chance of it happening was slim to none as Y/N would constantly go out of his way to reassure Jason, without even saying it that he wasn’t going anywhere.

That didn’t mean there weren’t outside forces that would try to take the omega from him either. As they grew older, Jason would settle with the belief that life, the universe, Baba Yaga, or whatever mystical force out there had a bone to pick with him, and him only, as it seemed intent on trying to take the one source of his happiness away from him.

Then again, he is a teenager and thus has the dramatic capabilities of a thousand Broadway actors so there’s that.

But, as they grew older, and approached young adulthood, it became clear that Jason wasn’t the only one who wanted to have and keep Y/N in their lives forever, as more than just friends. He really should have seen it coming.

Y/N had always been the type to draw people in, all warmth and easy smiles, the kind of omega that had alphas tripping over themselves just to get a second glance. It had always been like that—even before they hit their secondary gender presentations, even before Jason really understood what it meant to want someone like this.

And for a long time, it hadn’t mattered.

Because Jason had always been there first.

Until the other alphas stopped just looking and started acting like they had a chance. It started to feel like he was one wrong move away from snapping, because for months—months—he’d been forced to watch, to endure the constant, infuriating reminders that he wasn’t the only one who wanted Y/N. And he’d been dealing with this shit for months now.

Or maybe longer. Maybe it had been years of this slow, creeping realization clawing at the edges of his mind, waiting for him to stop being such a dumbass and just accept it already.

Because everyone else already knew.

Dick had given him the look months ago, arms crossed, smirk way too fucking smug.

"Dude. You’re gone for him."

Conner had just snorted. "Oh, he’s been gone. We’re just waiting for him to catch up."

Even Y/N’s omega dad, who had always been nothing but warm and understanding toward Jason, had just patted his shoulder one night and sighed, knowingly.

"You poor thing."

Like Jason was some lovesick bastard everyone could see drowning except him.

And maybe he had been.

Because suddenly, everything felt different.

The way Y/N would lean against him without thinking, tuck himself into Jason’s space like he belonged there. The way his scent had stopped just being familiar and started being fucking intoxicating.

And worse—the way Jason’s instincts responded to it.

Like some primal, animalistic part of him had already decided—this is mine.

Like he was just waiting for Y/N to catch up.

But the worst part? The part that had Jason on edge, restless, constantly biting back frustration?

Y/N had no fucking clue.

None.

Didn’t notice the way people looked at him. Didn’t realize when alphas got too close, let their hands linger, smiled too long. Didn’t see the way Jason was this close to wrecking someone every got-damn time it happened.

And that?

That was gonna be a fucking problem.

Jason already had the reputation of a rebel, a problem, a walking time bomb just waiting to go off. A future delinquent, just like his old man.

And if things kept going the way they were going, he wouldn’t just live up to that reputation—he’d shatter it. Hell, at this rate, he’d outdo his father in record time.

Thankfully, Y/N, in all his infinite wisdom, had suggested Jason find an outlet for his anger, something to keep him from self-destructing.

"Maybe you just need something physical to work all that aggression out," Y/N had mused one night, casually twirling his pencil between his fingers as they lay on their stomachs doing homework.

Jason had immediately short-circuited.

His body froze, his breath caught, and suddenly, he was thinking about things that had absolutely nothing to do with exercise.

And Y/N—oblivious, innocent, completely unaware of what he’d just done to Jason’s brain—kept talking.

"You know, like boxing, maybe wrestling? Even just running?"

Jason exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing himself to shove the very unhelpful mental images away while also squeezing his front against the floor, thinking maybe if he suffocated it, his hard-on would go away.

Logic is key.

But, Y/N had obviously meant actual physical activity.

Not what Jason’s instincts immediately jumped to.

Which, in hindsight, was stupid, considering Jason was no stranger to the gym.

People didn’t just stop and stare at him because of his reputation, or because he was at a school they thought he didn’t belong in.

No—they stared because Jason Todd was built like a fucking problem.

Broad shoulders, a strong, sculpted chest, thick arms that flexed under the weight of whatever he was lifting.

A physique that made it painfully clear that Jason wasn’t just strong—he was the kind of strong that made people nervous.

And Y/N?

He wasn’t nervous.

He just smiled at him, completely unaware that Jason was barely keeping himself together. Then again, it always felt like he was keeping himself together.

Whether it was him standing in some random house on a Friday night, at some stupid house party he didn’t want to be at. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching Y/N laugh at something—head tilted back, eyes shining, fucking beautiful.

And then, some wannabe alpha sat too close, got too comfortable.

Jason watched as the guy brushed his hand along Y/N’s wrist, leaned in like he had the right, like he thought he had a shot.

Jason’s jaw locked.

Every muscle in his body coiled tight.

He smelled it before anything else—that faint hint of something territorial, a challenge.

Like the bastard had the nerve to think he could even compete.

Jason’s vision went red.

The next thing he knew, he was moving.

Didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. Just stepped forward, slid into the space between Y/N and the asshole, and let the weight of his presence do the talking.

The guy barely had time to register the shift before Jason was staring him down, slow, deliberate.

"Problem?" Jason asked, voice low, rough, dangerous.

The alpha froze, throat bobbing. "Uh—no. No problem, man."

"Yeah? Then move."

He did.

And Y/N?

Didn’t even notice.

Just turned to Jason with that same easy smile, like the alpha hadn’t just sent some dickhead running with a single look.

"You good?" Y/N asked, like Jason hadn’t just come within inches of wrecking someone for daring to touch him.

Jason gritted his teeth while subtly grabbing Y/N’s wrists, rubbing his fingers over it. "Peachy."

Or the night after another fight with his dad—yelling, slamming doors, Jason’s fists clenched so tight his knuckles ached, the rage still simmering beneath his skin like a lit fuse.

And somehow, like instinct, like fate, like the only goddamn place his body knew to go when everything else burned around him, Jason found himself in Y/N’s bed again.

The window had still been slightly open from where he’d climbed through, letting in a chill that should’ve cooled the room.

But Jason didn’t feel the cold.

All he felt was heat. Actually…

It felt like he was fighting for his goddamn life.

First, it was the scent—thick, saturating the air, clinging to him, sinking into his lungs. He barely made it through the window without feeling like he was about to be consumed whole by it.

That familiar sweetness, that pulsating warmth—overpowering whatever fucking candle Y/N had burning, drowning out everything else, until Jason felt like he was sinking.

Jason sucked in a slow, sharp breath because—fuck.

It was everywhere.

The scent. The heat. The subtle press of something soft and pliant nestled against his thigh, just beneath the sheets.

Jason went rigid.

Too close.

Too dangerous.

His instincts once again had snarled, a sharp, territorial need coiling deep in his gut, flooding his veins like an intoxicant he couldn’t shake off.

Because it wasn’t just warmth pressing against him—it was need.

It was the soft, feverish h eat between Y/N’s thighs, the part of him Jason had no business being hyperaware of, but couldn’t ignore if he tried.

And fuck, why was it so warm?

Jason’s breath came out rough, uneven, his fingers twitching where they gripped the back of Y/N’s hoodie like a lifeline.

He needed to focus.

On anything else.

But Y/N was breathing slow and steady against his chest, his scent thick, heavy, so got-damn sweet it was practically drugging Jason on the spot.

The omega was practically folded around Jason, wrapped up against him like a second skin, like he was meant to be there. His arms draped lazily across Jason’s stomach, his body tucking into his side, his leg hooking over Jason’s like it had every damn right to be there.

Jason clenched his jaw, shifting slightly, trying—failing—not to notice the slick heat pressed up against his hip, the way every slight movement had it rubbing against him in a way that was making his own situation dangerously uncomfortable.

Fuck.

The frustration, the exhaustion, the leftover anger from the fight with his dad—it all tangled with something deeper, something baser, something Jason knew damn well he shouldn’t be feeling right now.

Not when his cock was already straining against the fabric of his sweats, throbbing, aching, caught between desperate restraint and something far more primal.

Not when every primal, alpha-driven instinct in his body was howling at him to roll over, press Y/N into the mattress, and rut into that soft, needy heat until it was dripping with him—until it was stretched, swollen, stuffed full with his claim.

Not when his instincts demanded he take, ruin, own—mark every inch of that trembling body, make sure Y/N never smelled like anything but him again.

Not when the thought of knotting him, filling him, locking them together in something permanent, something carnal, something undeniably his made Jason’s entire body ache with the kind of need that bordered on pain.

Jason bit the inside of his cheek, hard.

How the fuck was Y/N sleeping through this?

How did he not feel what he was doing to the alpha? Not sense his utmost distress and peril at the situation he was in? 

Jason squeezed his eyes shut.

This is why sleepovers got banned.

Holy shit, this is exactly why sleepovers got banned.

And the worst part?

Jason was starting to wonder if those rules had been for both of them.

Or if they’d been for him.

Because this? This was torture.

A slow, burning kind of agony, caught between the instinctual need to take and the desperate need to stay right here, safe, wrapped in Y/N’s warmth, without ruining everything.

And fuck, he didn’t know which one was worse.

Y/N was the only thing that could steady him and wreck him in the same breath. The one person who could pull him back from the edge, quiet the chaos in his head— but also the one who could drive him out of his fucking mind without even trying.

He wasn’t sure how the hell he survived the night.

But the next morning, as he watched Y/N stretch, shirt rising to expose a sliver of bare skin, hair messy, eyes still heavy with sleep—

Jason knew.

He wasn’t gonna survive much longer.

So, that Monday night, Jason Todd did the one thing no other alpha had the balls to do.

He went to Y/N’s father.

Because Jason was done waiting.

And if he was gonna do this, he was gonna do it right.

The front door he was very familiar with but often never used felt heavier than usual.

Jason stood there for a solid ten minutes, hands clenched into fists, running through every possible outcome of this conversation like it was a goddamn battle plan.

He’d been in rooms with Gotham’s worst before when visiting his dad. He had thrown hands with grown-ass alphas and men twice his size. He had taken beatings, dealt with cops, lived through shit most people wouldn’t believe.

But this?

This was a new level of terrifying.

Before he could bitch out, the door swung open, and Jason suddenly found himself face to face with Y/N’s father—broad, unimpressed, and already raising an eyebrow.

"Jason."

Jason swallowed, forcing himself to meet the man’s stare head-on.

"I wanna court your son."

Better to just rip off the band-aid than keep beating around the bush…or not? He didn’t know—he was fucking nervous.

Silence.

The longest fucking ten seconds of Jason’s life.

Y/N’s dad just stared, unreadable as ever, before tilting his head slightly.

"That so?"

Jason nodded, standing his ground even as his heart tried to punch its way out of his ribcage.

Another long pause.

Then, the man exhaled, glancing over his shoulder before calling out—

"Babe, I owe you twenty bucks!"

Jason blinked. What?

A second later, Y/N’s other Papa appeared from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel, looking annoyingly smug.

"Told you he’d get there before graduation," he said, waving a hand in Jason’s general direction.

Y/N’s father grumbled under his breath, reaching into his wallet. "Damn kid had me convinced he was gonna be dense about it forever."

Jason stood there, completely thrown. "You… bet on this?"

Y/N’s Papa smirked, leisurely counting the cash from his husband before finally locking eyes with Jason.

"Took you long enough."

Jason’s brain short-circuited. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or deeply offended.

Then, with the kind of knowing smirk that Jason was all too familiar with from his son and that made his own stomach twist, Y/N’s Papa added,

"But just so we're clear—if you're officially courting my son, I can’t keep pretending not to notice your little late-night ‘visits’ through the window anymore."

Jason felt the heat rush to his face as his heart nearly slammed out of his chest.

Shit. One can imagine the very interesting and tense conversation that happened afterward as they waited for Y/N to come home, especially from the Omega’s father, who also was not overtly happy at the mention of the late-night visits.

That same night, when Y/N returned home and spotted the familiar motorcycle parked in his driveway, a warm flicker of anticipation bloomed in his chest.

Jason was here.

But that warmth was doused immediately when his eyes landed on him.

Jason Todd—the same Jason who could stare down a room full of people without flinching, who never backed down from a fight, who laughed in the face of authority—was sitting on his porch, hunched over, elbows braced on his knees, hands clenched into fists.

And he looked… nervous.

Not angry. Not frustrated. Nervous.

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

Jason could be furious, and it wouldn’t shake him. He could be bleeding, and Y/N would roll up his sleeves and handle it. But this? This was new.

His hands felt clammy as he climbed the steps, heart hammering, because Jason looking like this—like his mind was at war with itself, like he was fighting something bigger than his usual battles—meant something serious.

And serious, when it came to Jason, could mean a lot of things.

Y/N swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady. "Jay?"

Jason’s head snapped up immediately, like he hadn’t even heard him approach, like he had been too caught up in his own storm to notice the outside world.

And the second those piercing blue eyes locked onto him, something in Jason’s entire body just—unclenched.

Like he had been holding his breath this entire time and only now, now, that Y/N was standing in front of him, could he actually breathe.

Y/N stepped closer. "What’s wrong?"

Jason let out a slow, uneven exhale, then shook his head, like he was still trying to get himself together.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"Nothin’s wrong." His voice was rough, but softer than usual, like there was more sitting behind those words. More that he wasn’t saying yet.

Y/N narrowed his eyes. "Bullshit."

Jason huffed out a small, barely-there laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, maybe not nothin’… but it’s not bad." He shifted, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

And that? That made Y/N even more nervous.

Jason never hesitated.

"Okay…not gonna lie, you’re kind of freaking me out here. What’s going on, Jason?"

Jason let out a long, suffering sigh, leveling Y/N with a flat stare—the kind that usually made people nervous.

But Y/N wasn’t people.

And the omega knew that look for what it really was.

Pouting.

Jason Todd—Gotham Collegiate’s most infamous bad boy, the alpha who had everyone either terrified or thirsting—was pouting.

All because Y/N had called him Jason instead of his usual nicknames.

Y/N barely had time to register it before Jason’s brow twitched, his voice dropping into a low, grumbling mutter.

"You know I hate it when you call me that."

Y/N arched a brow. "It’s your name."

Jason’s scowl deepened, arms crossing over his broad chest, making him look even more like an overgrown, sulky teenager. "Yeah, well… it doesn’t sound right when it’s coming from you."

And Y/N knew exactly what he meant.

Jason had never been just Jason to him.

He had always been Jay. Or, more notably—Jaybirdie—among other names to come.

The nickname was one of those things neither of them really remembered starting, only that, according to their parents, Jason had been obsessed with birds as a kid—specifically robins.

"I don’t know what it was," Y/N’s Papa had laughed once, recounting the memory. "But Jason had a phase where he was convinced he was a damn bird. Would run around flapping his arms, chirping, climbing everything in sight—"

"—still climbs everything in sight," Y/N’s dad had grumbled.

Y/N had beamed at a then nine-year-old Jason, eyes twinkling with mischief. "You’re like a little jaybird!"

And just like that—Jaybird and subsequently ‘Jaybirdie’ was born.

It was a name that had followed them through childhood, whispered between giggles under blanket forts, shouted across the playground when Jason was daring Y/N to keep up with his reckless stunts, scribbled into the margins of school notebooks when passing notes in class.

It was his name—a name no one else called him.

Because Jason had never let anyone else call him that.

Not even Dick, who had tried once in middle school only to be met with the most unimpressed, deadpan stare imaginable.

"Try that again, Grayson, and I swear to god—"

But when Y/N said it?

Jason melted. Not that he’d ever admit it.

After that, it became law—no one but Y/N called him Jaybirdie. And Y/N should ever call Jason anything but, or one of the other plentiful nicknames he’d had for him.

"Jason—"

…

Call the cops because the law’s been broken.

Jason, looking entirely done with this conversation, exhaled sharply and muttered—

"Whatever, just—here."

As if deciding something in real-time, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out.

Jason glanced at him, clearly catching his reaction, because his lips twitched, a shadow of his usual cocky smirk ghosting across his face. "Relax, sweetheart. Not that kinda box."

Y/N did not relax.

Because Jason still looked serious. And Jason only looked serious when things mattered.

Slowly, he opened the box, revealing a simple yet striking silver ring inside. Simple, unpolished, but solid. Sturdy.

Familiar.

Y/N’s stomach flipped because—holy shit.

It was made from one of Jason’s old bike chains.

The same damn chain Y/N had broken last year when he’d taken Jason’s motorcycle for a joyride and crashed it into a very unfortunate mailbox.

Y/N had come out with only a few scrapes, but Jason was still pissed. Not because of the bike.

Because Y/N had gotten hurt from it, even if it was in a small manner.

And now, here he was, giving him a ring made from that same damn bike.

Y/N almost teared up.

Almost.

Jason exhaled, rubbing a thumb over the metal before looking back up at Y/N, something raw flickering behind his eyes. "It’s for you."

Y/N’s voice felt stuck in his throat. "Jason, I—"

But Jason wasn’t done.

He stood up, stepping closer, pulling something else from beside him—a motorcycle helmet.

Sleek. Sturdy. And unmistakably red. A match to his own.

And somehow—everything made sense.

Jason exhaled slowly, shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

Then, voice low, he said, "The ring's from the old chain. Figured it was fitting, since you can’t seem to keep your hands off my damn bike."

Y/N stomach did a flip at that, as he tried to hold in his nervous laugh. He just wouldn’t let that go. 

Jason smirked, but it softened almost instantly. He tapped the helmet.

"This is the real thing, though."

His voice dipped lower, softer.

"The helmet’s so you can always be with me. Whenever you wanna be."

Y/N’s throat tightened.

Because the motorcycle wasn’t just Jason’s.

It was theirs.

It was years of sneaking out, of riding under Gotham’s neon lights, of Jason showing him how to shift gears, of Y/N pressing his cheek against Jason’s back as the wind roared around them.

Y/N’s chest ached.

He knew what Jason was really saying.

Jason Todd didn’t share things. He didn’t give pieces of himself away to just anyone. But here he was, offering Y/N something that meant more than words ever could.

It was a delcaration, a silent I choose you, a this is forever if you want it to be.

Y/N’s throat tightened. "Jason…"

Jason held his gaze, shoulders tense, eyes unreadable. "Say somethin’, sweetheart."

Y/N didn’t think.

Didn’t hesitate.

He just moved.

One second, he was standing still. The next, he was grabbing Jason by the collar of his jacket and yanking him down into a kiss so deep, so desperate, so all-consuming, it stole the breath straight from his lungs.

Jason made a sound—low, surprised—but he recovered fast.

Really fast.

Because suddenly, strong hands were gripping Y/N’s waist, yanking him flush against a firm, solid chest, and—fuck.

Jason kissed like he fought—with everything he had.

Heat. Teeth. Desperation. Like he had been waiting for this, needing this, for a long, long time.

And Y/N?

Y/N was gone.

The feeling of Jason’s hands on him, the way his lips moved, the low, near-growl in his throat—it was enough to send a shiver down his spine.

The motorcycle helmet hit the porch with a soft thud, forgotten.

Jason was the first to pull back, just barely, his breath ragged, forehead still pressed against Y/N’s.

He huffed out a small, breathless laugh, voice a little rough but undeniably fond. "So… I’m guessin’ that’s a yes?"

Y/N, still dazed, still completely wrecked, somehow still managed to find his smart mouth.

“Technically, you never asked me a question.” His lips curled, teasing, knowing exactly what he was doing. “But, if I’m assuming correctly, then…” He tilted his head, smiling. “It’s a maybe.”

Now it was Jason’s turn to freeze. His expression shifted—lips parting slightly, brows twitching downward.

A full-body offense.

"A maybe?"

A full-grown alpha, pouting, arms wrapped around Y/N’s waist like a clingy damn koala. Jason nuzzled into his throat, breath hot against his skin, muttering, grumbling, sulking.

"Unbelievable."

Y/N bit back a laugh, hands sliding over broad shoulders.

"I mean, I dunno, Jaybirdie, you didn’t exactly—"

Jason bit him.

Not hard, just enough to make Y/N squeak—just enough to shut him up. Childish…but effective.

Jason pulled back, scowling, still clinging, and—fuck, he was adorable.

"Try that again," Jason grumbled, low, almost grumpy. "Because I swear to god, Y/N—if you leave me hanging with a maybe after all that—"

Y/N was laughing now, warm and breathless, hugging him back.

"Okay, okay," he hummed, fingers tangling in Jason’s hair, voice soft with something more real.

He pressed a kiss to Jason’s jaw, right over the spot he had just nipped.

"It’s a yes, dummy."

Jason huffed, but Y/N could feel his grin.

"Good."

And then—because Jason Todd was a menace—

He kissed him again.

Obviously, the school was buzzing with gossip the next day when Jason pulled up to the front entrance with Y/N perched on the back of his motorcycle, both donning their matching helmets like a damn statement piece.

But that? That wasn’t what had people stopping mid-step.

No, the real show—the thing that had the entire hallway vibrating with whispers—was the silver ring glinting on Y/N’s hand.

A ring that, at that exact moment, was enclosed in Jason Todd’s much larger one as he strode down the hall, cutting a direct path through the crowd without a single glance at anyone else.

Jason didn’t need to look.

He could already feel the stares.

And the thing about Jason Todd?

He thrived off that shit.

Shoulders squared, chin lifted, his entire presence radiated smug, alpha satisfaction as he led Y/N to his locker like he was escorting a prize only he had the right to claim. And judging by the bitching expressions of half the alphas in the building? He wasn’t wrong.

Jason’s chest puffed up just a little more, an unmistakable fuck you energy rolling off him as he caught sight of the bitter stares from guys who had never stood a chance in the first place.

Because, let’s be real—Y/N was never theirs.

And now?

Now, he never would be.

Jason squeezed Y/N’s hand, fingers tightening possessively around his while unconsciously playing with the ring on the Omega’s finger as they stopped at his locker. Then, finally, he flicked his eyes up, gaze lazily sweeping over the crowd of sulking, jealous bastards.

And fuck—it felt good.

Conner and Dick found them shortly after, spotting Jason still keeping Y/N tucked against his side like some overgrown, territorial wolfdog. But, to their credit, Jason wasn’t actively growling at them, which—by his standards—was basically rolling out a red carpet of acceptance.

The pair of alphas shared a look, an entire conversation passing between them as they took in the absolute sight in front of them.

Their two closest friends.

Finally. Together.

It was about damn time.

Dick, naturally, was the first to speak up.

Hands on his hips, grinning like a damn idiot, he let out a dramatic sigh. "Wow. So it only took you, what—your entire life to finally make a move?"

Jason’s eye twitched.

Conner snorted, crossing his arms as he tilted his head in fake contemplation. "I dunno, Dick. I think we might be giving him too much credit. Could’ve easily taken another five years at the rate he was going."

Jason scowled, shoulders tensing like he was about two seconds away from decking them both.

Y/N, however, was cracking up, pressing his face into Jason’s shoulder as he tried (and failed) to contain his laughter.

Jason turned that glare on him next. "Don’t encourage them."

Dick smirked. "Oh, no, no. Let him laugh, Jay. This is a monumental occasion." He pressed a hand to his chest, eyes mockingly emotional. "My little Jason—courting like a real alpha. Who would’ve thought?"

Jason clicked his tongue, face deadpan. "I will throw you down a flight of stairs."

Conner chuckled. "Relax, dude. We’re happy for you."

Dick grinned, slinging an arm around Jason’s shoulder in the worst decision of his life. "Yeah, bro. Really. We love this for you."

Jason immediately shoved him off. "Don’t touch me."

Y/N, still shaking with laughter, squeezed Jason’s hand, leaning up to peck his cheek. "They’re just messing with you, Jay."

Jason huffed, but Y/N could feel the tension leaving his body.

Conner smirked. "Seriously, man. Took you long enough, but… you did good."

Dick winked at Y/N. "And you must be so proud of him. Your big, bad alpha finally figured out how to ask you out. What an achievement."

Jason bristled. "Okay, I’m leaving."

Y/N just laughed harder.

“Oh, my FUCK! They’re so CUTE together!”

Manny screeched, nearly vibrating out of his skin as he watched Jason Todd—grumpy, brooding, anti-social Jason Todd—casually holding Y/N’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Down the hall, standing at their usual locker hangout spot, he, Ethan, Sasha, and Kara were practically witnessing a historical event.

Ethan, rubbing his ear with a pained expression, groaned. “Manny, volume please.”

Manny waved him off. “Oh, hush you with your sensitive ass ears. You are not about to tell me that this isn’t the most romantic thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life.”

Sasha gushed, practically vibrating with excitement. “I know! I heard from Caitlyn earlier that the ring Y/N’s wearing isn’t just some random accessory—Jason made it himself. Like, actually put it together with his own hands.”

Manny gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been struck. “Fanfiction could never…”

Unless?

…

Pfff, yeah right.

Kara crossed her arms, smirking. “Oh yeah, we totally suffered watching Jason Todd be a dramatic, lovesick idiot all this time.”

Manny nodded violently. “Exactly! And now LOOK AT THEM! They’re literally giving black cat/golden retriever energy. Ugh…my fucking dream. Oh, to be Y/N? Think I could find a witch to cast a spell to switch our bodies?”

Ethan, long-suffering, just sighed. “Manny, you seriously need to—”

“OH, SHIT! LOOK! LOOK! Jason’s GLARING at anyone who stares too long! MY GOD, HE’S FERAL! THIS IS BETTER THAN TELEVISION.”

Sasha actually cackled. “How long are you guys betting before he physically body-checks someone for looking at Y/N too hard.”

Kara raised an eyebrow. “I give it until lunch.”

Ethan, frowning at the sore sight, but not wanting to be left out hummed thoughtfully. “I say by next period.”

Manny, grinning like a madman, slammed a twenty on the table. “Bitch, I say ten minutes.

Kara grinned, shaking her head. “Y’all are terrible.”

Just a note: Manny won the bet.

After dropping Y/N off at his class, Jason leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, watching like he always did. Dick and Conner flanked him, still snickering and talking shit, their teasing only getting worse now that Y/N was out of earshot.

Jason, as annoyed as he was, just rolled his eyes, exhaling through his nose. He let them talk. Let them have their fun.

Because his focus was elsewhere.

And then—it happened.

One of Conner’s teammates—some over-bronzed, protein-powdered, roid-raging benchwarmer from Kevin’s crew—made the worst decision of his life.

The guy, a walking case of bad judgment and even worse acne, had been eyeing Y/N for weeks.

Just another alpha in the long line of idiots convinced he had a shot. Another poor bastard with a plan.

He was in the same class as Y/N. Had probably been waiting for the perfect moment to make his move—to ask him to the upcoming dance, maybe try his luck.

But the problem?

Jason got to Y/N first.

And Pimple Roid Rage?

He wasn’t handling it well.

Jason wasn’t oblivious—he’d clocked the guy’s pathetic pining a long time ago.

Always hovering near Y/N in class, standing just a little too close. Always watching him, lingering, waiting for a chance. Always shooting Jason dirty looks across the cafeteria, like some scorned, lovesick puppy who just realized his favorite toy was already claimed.

As mentioned before, one of the main reasons Y/N’s father had warmed up to Jason long before the idea of them becoming a couple was ever on the table was the younger Alpha’s unyielding protectiveness over his son.

Even back then, Jason had been watching out for Y/N, stepping in when necessary, making it very clear that no one—no one—was going to mess with him and get away with it.

So while Y/N’s father wasn’t exactly thrilled about the chaos after getting a call from the school’s principal, he also wasn’t disappointed, either.

Not even close.

If anything, it only reinforced his decision to grant Jason his blessing to court his son.

And, well…

The idea of having Jason Todd as a future son-in-law was starting to sound more appealing by the day.

So much so, in fact, that he may or may not have casually floated the idea of a wedding planner to his husband later that evening—

But…what even happened?

Well…

Long story short, Pimple Face decided to shoot his shot anyway, convinced that a little direct confrontation would somehow tip the odds in his favor.

And sure, Y/N was seated at his desk, but that didn’t stop the dumbass from getting bold—too bold.

One second, the guy was smirking, fingers daring to slip under Y/N’s chin, tilting his head up like he had any right to touch him.

The next?

The next moment, he suddenly was no longer in the classroom. Then, he was airborne. And, finally, in the blink of an eye, he was slammed against the lockers in the hallway—hard enough to leave a dent.

The entire hall went silent.

The air crackled with Jason’s fury, his teeth bared, shoulders squared, and one massive hand fisting the guy’s collar so tight his feet barely touched the ground.

"You must be out of your fucking mind." Jason’s voice was low, dangerously calm in the way that promised imminent destruction.

The guy gasped, struggling against Jason’s grip, panic flooding his expression.

Jason didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t move—except for his other hand, which slammed right beside the guy’s head, denting another locker on impact.

"Go on. Say something. Give me a reason not to make you regret waking up today."

Y/N, still processing, barely had a chance to breathe before Jason turned his dark, burning gaze on him.

"You okay?" The question was simple, but the way he said it—deep, thick with possession, with a silent tell me yes before I put him through the wall—made heat bloom in Y/N’s stomach.

Y/N swallowed, heart racing, breath shaky.

Not because of the alpha currently reaching zen with the metal lockers, fuck him. No, Y/N was currently trying to calm his racing heart because Jason was pissed.

And it was hot as hell.

Y/N exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to Jason’s chest—not to push him away, but to remind him he was there.

"Jay," he murmured.

Jason’s eyes flickered, still locked on Y/N, jaw clenched so tight it could shatter stone.

Y/N licked his lips.

"I’m fine."

Jason inhaled sharply. Then, after a beat, he turned back to the alpha, who was still choked up with fear at the menacing and disgusted look thrown at him.

“Touch him again and you’ll be lucky if any doctor is able to fix your hands,” He whispered, before letting go—shoving the guy aside like he was nothing.

The poor bastard stumbled, barely catching himself, before bolting down the hall like his ass was on fire. Within five minutes, the entire school was buzzing like a swarm of bees, whispers spreading like wildfire.

And in the middle of it all?

A very smug Manny, lounging at his own locker, grinning ear to ear as his phone pinged repeatedly—each notification another $20 from his very salty friends reluctantly paying up.

“Easiest money I’ve ever made,” he typed into the group chat, attaching a meme for maximum gloating.

Jason didn’t get suspended like he usually would’ve for a stunt like that, but the principal did still give him detention along with the other alpha for essentially sexually harassing Y/N. Y/N’s parents along with Willis both made it clear that if Jason was getting punished, so should the football player who put his hands where they didn’t belong in the first place.

Jason was merely defending him.

And the principal was smart enough to put them in separate classrooms for the duration of their punishment. More so for the benchwarmer’s protection, which didn’t help his ego.

Conner—who of course witnessed the whole thing firsthand—promised Jason he’d make the Alpha pay for it double at practice after the whole ordeal. And detention wasn’t too bad.

Ms. Ridges was the one monitoring, which basically meant Jason had free rein to do whatever the hell he wanted since she barely paid attention to anything other than her crossword puzzles.

So, naturally, Jason spent his time doing the most important thing possible—

Texting his omega.

Jason: this is 100% your fault

Jason: u need to stop being hot

Y/N: wow. tragic. truly.

Y/N: but i simply cannot do that. would be a crime to rob the world of… well, me.

Y/N: besides, I wasn’t the one who practically tackled Richie and left some poor kid’s locker looking like a car crash scene…

Jason:

Y/N: RUDE

This was their relationship and Jason’s courting almost in a nutshell.

Honestly? It was like watching two people who were already married—except they were still seniors in high school.

Jason had never made a big deal about courting the way other alphas did—at least, in his mind he didn’t. To him, it was just stuff he’d do anyway—whether they were friends, dating, married, or even enemies.

And who doesn’t love a good enemies-to-lovers trope?

If anyone brought it up, Jason would just roll his eyes, shrug, and mutter some bullshit about “formalities” and “making sure his dad’s happy.”

And by dad, he meant both of their dads.

Willis Todd was surprisingly traditional about this kind of thing—had even placed his own money on the bet with Y/N’s parents for when Jason would eventually propose. But more than that, he had made sure Jason did things right and respectfully.

He even helped make Y/N’s ring.

Y/N only figured that part out much later, which, in hindsight, made the gift all the more special.

And while Jason acted like the whole courting thing wasn’t a big deal…

Y/N knew the truth.

Because even though Jason’s version of courting wasn’t flashy like the rich preppy kids at their school, he damn sure took it seriously.

And, unlike half the wannabe alphas in their class, Jason prided himself on proving—every single day—that he was the best and only alpha fit for Y/N.

It was practically his day job. Just… without the pay rate.

Or salary.

Or health benefits.

Or a 401K.

Or a retirement plan.

...Actually, the retirement part might be included.

The point was, Jason didn’t need extravagant gifts or public displays of devotion. And not just because he couldn’t afford them.

He cared about the smaller things.

The thoughtful things.

The practical things.

It was Jason instructing Y/N to pop his hood, while making his way to the front of his car with that sexy, dominanting walk. Y/N had casually mentioned his engine making a weird noise while they were cuddling on the couch, and within 20 minutes, Jason went home to grab his toolkit and was back at the L/N’s residence working on the Omega’s car.

Apparently, Y/N was long overdue for an oil change. It’s not his fault he didn’t know though…he’s just a baby.

That night, Y/N’s Dad called Willis Todd to tell him what a hell of a son he was raising.

Which, considering the tense history between them? That was a big fucking deal.

It was also Jason volunteering to carry every single grocery bag inside after tagging along with Y/N and his Papa to run errands.

Y/N had barely gotten a single bag in his hands before Jason was already grabbing—snatching everything away from him while giving the omega an offended scowl and a look in his eyes that told him to just stand there and look handsome.

"Was Dad like this when he was courting you?"

His Papa, sipping his lemonade, didn’t even hesitate.

“Yep. Still haven’t carried a bag to this day.” And that’s on waiting for the right one.

But it wasn’t just groceries.

It was his bookbag, his schoolbooks, even a single notebook.

Because, according to Jason—

"Why should you carry it when I’m right here?"

It was Jason always walking Y/N home, opening the door for him, bringing him food, making sure he had medicine when he was sick.

And if anyone ever questioned it?

Jason would just glare, deadpan, and say—

“What, you think I’m gonna let someone else do it?”

Because no.

Jason Todd would not, in fact, let anyone else do it.

Hell would have snow days before that happened.

And Y/N would just smile, shake his head, and let him have his way.

He wasn’t the poetic type. He wasn’t going to write love letters or give corny, dramatic speeches.

But his actions?

They screamed devotion louder than words ever could.

Like when Y/N mentioned offhandedly that he liked a specific brand of snacks—and the next day, Jason was pulling them out of his book bag for him during lunch.

Or when Y/N shivered in class once—and Jason somehow had a hoodie waiting for him within minutes, placed over his shoulders like it was nothing. Or when Y/N sighed, exhausted, after a long day, and Jason just pulled him into his lap without a word, carding his fingers through his hair until he dozed off.

And Y/N would tease him about it.

“Jay, you’re basically already my boyfriend. What’s the courting even for?”

Jason would just grunt.

“Formality.”

Because Jason was damn sure he was going to earn Y/N’s parents' approval. And if he didn’t?

Well. That wouldn’t change a damn thing about what he was doing. But, it was nice to do it without having to hide or be sneaky.

Unless we were talking about his late-night visits—which only stopped for about a week. Then, Y/N texted him one night and…well, the picture is already clear.

He’d already been busted for the late-night visits, and while he was hesitant to outright defy his parents’ orders, he was—unfortunately, or rather very fortunately— far too weak to resist the sight of his Omega lounging around in nothing but a thin tank top and those damn sleep shorts that clung just a little too high on his thighs and rode up every time he shifted.

And it wasn’t always just about sneaking in to see Y/N—sometimes, Jason just needed an escape. A break from his own house. A place that actually felt like home.

So, while his parents weren’t exactly thrilled about it, they also weren’t too hard on him. That being said—Y/N’s dad was still strict. And very clear about his boundaries.

“You put a baby in my son… I put a bullet in your ass.”

He was half joking, half serious.

(…Mostly serious.)

But it didn’t do much to deter them. They were teenagers, after all. And now, with the shift in their relationship, those late-night sleepovers? Things had taken a very quick turn.

Y/N could feel it every time—the way Jason’s breathing deepened, the way his grip tightened just a little more than usual, the way his mouth brushed over the back of Y/N’s neck, slow, teasing, while he held him firmly from behind.

And then—his voice.

Low. Rough.

“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”

Y/N shivered. And, if he was being honest?

He was definitely at fault.

Ever since that one night—that one time and then every time after that Jason had slept over and had to fight every primal instinct not to pin Y/N down and rut into him—it was like walking on a tightrope every time he got into that bed.

Because Y/N?

Y/N was also a menace just like his boyfriend.

Always cuddling too close, rubbing against him, stretching in ways that made Jason’s self-control damn near non-existent.

And tonight? Tonight was no different.

Except this time?

Jason nearly gave in. He was seconds away from losing his fucking mind.

Y/N was already pinned beneath him, flushed and trembling, thighs slick and spread, making a fucking mess on the sheets. Jason had no business being this goddamn hard, this close to breaking, but Y/N wasn’t making it easy.

He should’ve rolled off, thrown himself in a cold shower, done literally anything other than what he was doing right now. But, no…what was he doing instead?

He was grinding against the omega, slowly, teasingly, letting Y/N feel every inch of his cock straining through his sweats, letting him ache for it, letting him need. Jason grinned against Y/N’s skin, slow and mean, fingers teasing along the slicked-up skin of his thighs, his ribs, his chest, taking his sweet, vengeful time.

Jason shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be doing this.

Shouldn’t be grinding against Y/N, shouldn’t be letting his cock drag against slicked-up skin, shouldn’t be letting himself feel exactly how ready Y/N was for him.

Because fuck, he could feel everything.

Even through the thin fabric of his sweats, Jason could trace the heat of Y/N’s rim, could feel just how soaked he was, the slick dampening his own clothes—warm, wet, and so fucking inviting that Jason nearly lost it right then and there.

And then Y/N had to fucking whine. Loud.

Jason’s body reacted before his brain could catch up. His hand was over Y/N’s mouth in an instant, pressing firm, shutting him up.

Y/N went still immediately, wide-eyed, pupils blown, body locked in place like instinct had taken over. Jason exhaled slowly, nostrils flaring. His fingers curled around Y/N’s jaw, tilting his head back, holding him still, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Do that shit again, and I’ll gag you next time.”

A high, muffled noise left Y/N’s throat, his thighs squeezing together, and Jason groaned, eyes dark, heated, fucking dangerous.

“Got-damn it.” Jason buried his face in Y/N’s throat, inhaling deep, his grip tightening, his cock throbbing painfully against his sweats. “You don’t even fucking realize what you do to me, do you?”

Y/N whimpered against his palm, his body trembling, soaking the sheets with slick, and Jason felt every second of it.

Every twitch. Every shiver. Every desperate attempt to move, to grind up, to find friction.

Jason let out a rough, breathless chuckle, voice dripping with authority.

“You wanna be loud? Huh?” His tone was mocking, taunting, sharp with amusement. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Let’s wake the whole fuckin’ house up. Let’s have your dad walk in here and see just how much of a desperate little mess you are for me.”

Y/N’s whole body fucking seized, a strangled whimper muffled against Jason’s hand, hips twitching upon instinct.

Jason grinned, sharp and knowing. “Oh, you like that, huh?”

He ground his hips down again, slower this time, deliberate, letting Y/N feel every inch of him pressing up against where he needed it most.

And then—

The scent shifted and Jason froze.

Something sweet. Something new.

His eyes snapped down to Y/N’s heaving, sweat-slicked chest, and fuck.

Y/N’s nipples were wet, a thin, milky fluid pearling at the tips, trickling down the curve of his ribs. Jason’s entire fucking brain short-circuited. Because he did that. He fucking did that.

A deep, guttural growl rumbled in his chest, pure fucking alpha pride flooding his system, primal instincts howling that he’d driven Y/N so far into arousal that his body couldn’t help but respond.

Y/N, half-dazed, still gasping, followed Jason’s heated gaze, blinking in confusion before—

His face went red.

“Oh my god—”

Jason grinned, slow and predatory, fingers sliding over Y/N’s nipple, smearing the warm fluid with his thumb, rolling it between his fingers.

“Would you look at that?” His voice was mocking, taunting, dripping with satisfaction. “And here I thought you weren’t desperate enough to soak the sheets for me, but now you’re fuckin’ leaking too?”

Y/N let out the most pitiful noise Jason had ever heard, body tensing, thighs clenching around his waist.

Jason groaned, his cock throbbing painfully, because fuck, this was it. This was the second highest form of omega submission, second only to being knotted.

This was his. His omega. His body, responding to him and only him.

Jason didn’t even realize he’d moved until his lips were wrapped around Y/N’s nipple, tongue flicking slow and teasing, collecting every drop.

The second it hit his tongue—

Jason fucking groaned.

Because holy shit.

Sweet. So fucking sweet.

It was warm and rich, like the deepest honey, but better, smoother, more intoxicating, rolling over Jason’s tongue like fucking liquid gold. Jason sucked harder, letting more of it coat his tongue, letting the taste sink into his bloodstream, burning him up from the inside out.

Y/N let out a wrecked, broken sob, body shuddering, back arching up into Jason’s mouth.

Jason growled against his chest, his free hand sliding down, gripping Y/N’s hip, locking him in place.

Mine.

His instincts screamed it, his body demanded it, and for one wild, dangerous second—

Jason nearly fucking snapped. Because he needed more.

He needed to bury himself deep, make Y/N take it, knot him right here, fuck him until his body couldn’t do anything but take Jason’s seed—

Jason ripped himself away, panting hard, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

Fuck.

Fuck.

"You’re lucky I’m not fucking you full right now. You’d be a fucking mess by morning."

Y/N whimpered, squirming, but Jason held him still, keeping his body pinned and pliant.

"Bet you’d like that, huh?" Jason murmured, dragging his tongue over the other nipple, groaning low at the taste. "Bet you’d love for me to fill you up, knot you right here, make you fucking take it."

Y/N shuddered, another helpless whine escaping, his body flushed all over.

Jason just grinned against his chest, loving how wrecked Y/N looked. His beautiful, leaking, slick-dripping omega.

“Gotta say, sweetheart,” Jason murmured, voice thick with amusement, dangerous in its slowness, “this is only fair.”

Y/N, half-gone, dazed and twitching, barely managed a breathy, “What—?”

Jason chuckled, dragging his fingertips through the thin, pearly streaks of fluid still trickling from Y/N’s nipples, spreading it, letting Y/N feel how messy he was, how exposed.

“Oh, you don’t remember?” Jason taunted, his grip tightening around Y/N’s thigh, pulling it higher around his waist. “Let me remind you, baby. You remember all those nights I slept in your bed? How you’d roll over and press that hot, needy mess against me?”

Y/N whimpered, cheeks burning, body tensing beneath him. The Alpha’s smirk widened.

“Yeah. Now you remember.”

His fingers dipped lower, sliding just close enough to tease, but not nearly enough to satisfy.

“You don’t know how many nights I woke up hard as a fucking rock because you couldn’t keep still,” Jason muttered, grinding his hips just enough to make Y/N feel exactly what that frustration built up to. “You’d rub all over me, make those little noises in your sleep, and I had to fucking sit there, suffering, pretending like I wasn’t about two seconds from flipping you onto your back and making you take it.”

Y/N let out the softest, most pitiful sound, thighs clenching, hips twitching involuntarily.

Jason groaned, pressing a teasing kiss to Y/N’s jaw, smug as hell. “And now look at you,” he crooned, mocking, mean, eating up every second of Y/N’s helpless little squirms.

“Dripping. Leaking. Practically begging for me.”

Y/N hid his face in Jason’s shoulder, shaking. Jason just chuckled darkly.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Jason murmured against his ear, his tone sickly sweet, full of smug satisfaction. “Can’t handle what you started?”

Y/N whined again, thighs clenching around Jason’s waist, slick dripping down between them. Jason felt it. Smelled it.

And fuck, he wanted to ruin him.

To press Y/N down, spread him wide, fuck him so deep he’d still feel it tomorrow. His instincts were screaming at him—breed, claim, mark, take.

It would be so easy. So fucking easy.

But Jason?

Jason was in control. He had to be.

Even as he felt his self-restraint slipping, even as his body was aching to give in, even as his mouth watered at the scent of slick soaking into the mattress—

Jason forced himself to stop.

He ripped his hand away from Y/N’s mouth, dragging his thumb across swollen lips, smirking when Y/N tried to chase it.

“That’s what I thought,” Jason murmured, voice thick with satisfaction.

Y/N let out a desperate, broken whimper, thighs still twitching, body still aching for more.

Jason smirked.

"Be patient, sweetheart."

Because when Jason finally knotted him?

Y/N wouldn’t be walking for a week. But, it seemed the omega was willing to try his luck tonight, as Jason felt fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his sweats, just barely brushing him—

Jason growled. A low, guttural warning.

“Stop.”

Jason’s grip tightened. His body locked up, every inch of him wired too tight, too hot, too close to breaking. He exhaled slowly, his breath hot against Y/N’s throat, trying to get himself under control.

“…Behave,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked, pressing a grounding kiss to Y/N’s shoulder.

Y/N barely managed a nod.

“Good boy. Not yet,” Jason exhaled through his nose, gripping Y/N’s chin, forcing his dazed gaze back up to him. His lips curled, but it wasn’t teasing—it was fond. “I want you,” Jason’s voice dropped, rough and thick with heat, his thumb brushing over Y/N’s bottom lip, lingering. “But not yet. Not like this. I’m not gonna—” He swallowed, voice softer now. “I wanna do this right. You deserve that.”

Y/N’s fingers curled into his shoulders, pulling him closer, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. Soft at first. Then hotter, needier, tongue flicking against his pulse point just to hear Jason’s breath stutter. And Jason—big, bad Jason Todd—fucking melted. His weight fully pressed down, his grip tightened, and suddenly—Y/N was flipped onto his stomach.

Jason’s breath was hot against his ear, his body grounding and deliberate as his hand slid between Y/N’s thighs, spreading them wider. His fingertips brushed against slick, damp shorts and Jason groaned, half in frustration, half in approval. “Oh fuck, baby. You’re driving me insane.”

Y/N whimpered, hips trembling, thighs slick and shaking, pressing against Jason’s hand like he couldn’t help himself. Jason smirked, voice thick with amusement. “Be patient.” Then, slowly, he sank his teeth into Y/N’s shoulder—hard enough to bruise, but not break skin. Y/N gasped, back arching, thighs clenching around Jason’s wrist.

Jason groaned, satisfied, his free hand sliding up Y/N’s stomach, palm pressed firm against his ribs, holding him in place.

Jason was really trying to behave himself.

Really.

But another look at Y/N—flushed, dazed, lips swollen from his teeth, completely pliant beneath him—and Jason lost his patience.

A low, wrecked growl rumbled in his chest, his body moving before his brain could stop him. His hands shot down, fingers hooking into the waistband of Y/N’s shorts and underwear, yanking them down in one sharp motion.

The next second—his own sweats and boxers were shoved down, his cock finally free, thick and flushed and aching—

And then—

Bare skin. Heat.

The moment Jason slotted their bodies together, the moment he felt the slicked-up warmth of Y/N’s entrance pressing right up against his cock, he nearly fucking lost it. A deep, animalistic groan tore from his throat, his hips rolling forward instinctively, grinding into the wet heat, the tip catching just barely against the soft, sensitive rim.

Y/N gasped, back arching, thighs trembling, and Jason’s restraint shattered. Because fuck, he could feel everything.

Every soft, wet, aching inch of Y/N’s body ready to take him. His cock throbbed painfully, the tip leaking against slicked-up skin, every muscle in his body tight, coiled, on the verge of snapping again.

He could just—

Just a little more—

Just one good push forward—

He could feel every inch of Y/N’s slicked-up entrance, could feel the wet heat pressing right against his cock, the way his body trembled, opened up, begged to be taken. But it wasn’t just that.

It was Y/N’s reaction.

The way he whimpered, the way he squirmed, the way he fought to get Jason inside. Y/N was clinging to him, arms wrapped around Jason’s shoulders, legs locked tight around his waist, hips rolling, grinding up, trying so fucking hard to pull Jason in.

“J-Jason—” his voice cracked, high-pitched, needy, fucking wrecked.

Jason growled, locking Y/N’s hips in place, holding him down, refusing to let him move.

Y/N whined. Loud. Desperate. Pitiful.

His fingers dug into Jason’s biceps, his nails scratching down his back, clinging, yanking, trying to push him deeper. Jason could feel the tremors rolling through him, could hear the whimpering little sobs, the broken, pleading moans, the way his omega was fighting to be claimed.

Jason smirked against his throat, mocking, cruel.

“That bad, sweetheart?”

Y/N nodded frantically, writhing beneath him, hips rolling up again, chasing the friction.

Jason tightened his grip, forcing Y/N down, refusing to let him have what he wanted.

“No—please—” Y/N was barely coherent, panting, gasping, eyes unfocused, lost in the need.

Jason chuckled, voice low, taunting, dripping with amusement.

“You think crying’s gonna change my mind?”

Y/N’s body convulsed and a wrecked sob tore from his throat. And it was the most beautiful thing Jason had ever heard.

So much so that he gave in—for just one second.

His hips rolled forward, letting the tip of his cock slide against Y/N’s entrance, pressing just barely against the slicked-up rim, letting Y/N feel just how fucking close he was to having it.

Y/N let out the most broken, shattered moan Jason had ever heard, full-body trembling, clinging to Jason like he’d die if he pulled away.

Jason groaned, lips pressing against Y/N’s ear, voice thick with restraint, rough with frustration.

“You want my dick that bad, sweetheart? Hm?”

Jason stopped. A sharp, wrecked inhale. A visible shudder. Then Jason’s voice—low, teasing, still full of hunger.

“Too bad.”

Y/N let out a full-body shudder, a sob of frustration, trembling beneath him.

Jason ripped his lower end away, forcing his hips back, shaking, panting, his cock still aching, flushed, dripping against his stomach.

Y/N whimpered at the loss, still shaking, still needy, still desperate. Jason smirked, but it was wrecked, his voice low, teasing, but tinged with frustration.

“You almost got me, sweetheart,” he murmured, grinding one last time before finally pulling away completely.

Y/N whimpered again, a helpless, wrecked sound that nearly undid him. Jason chuckled darkly, pressing his forehead against Y/N’s.

“Tell me who you belong to.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, lips parting, a full-body shiver rolling through him. Jason’s fingers tightened around his jaw, tilting his face up.

“Say it.” Jason’s voice dropped, slow and dangerous, thick with possession.

Y/N swallowed. “…You.”

Jason grinned, sharp and predatory.

“Damn right.”

And then, with a final bite to Y/N’s bottom lip, Jason separated them. He forced himself to breathe, forced himself to pull away, even as his cock throbbed between his legs, demanding to raid the fertile and lush sanctuary between the omega’s assailable thighs.

It really needed to be studied how he could go from damn near feral to soft in the blink of an eye.

One minute, he had Y/N pinned beneath him and then on top of him, breath hot against his skin, whispering filth into his ear—praising, promising, taunting.

The next?

He was cleaning the omega up himself, taking his time, hands slow and careful, his body still wired too fucking tight to even think about calming down. He was wiping him down gently, a warm, damp rag sliding slowly over sweat-slicked skin.

Once satisfied, Jason pulled out a fresh pair of underwear and shorts from the Omega’s drawer for him, turning around to give him privacy while he fixed himself up. His body ached, hard and unsatisfied, his dick pressing painfully against the waistband of his trousers, wanting nothing more than to penetrate, fuck, knot, breed.

He gritted his teeth, willing it away, finally tugging his own sweats back up before climbing into bed. He grabbed Y/N’s wrist and tugged him down. And instead of pulling Y/N against his chest like usual—Jason laid directly on top of him.

Y/N huffed. “Jay—”

Jason just grumbled, burying his face against Y/N’s chest, wrapping his arms around him like a goddamn teddy bear.

“Shut up…this is where I live now,” Jason muttered, voice muffled.

Y/N snorted.

Jason’s weight was solid and warm, his grip strong, but the way he nuzzled into Y/N’s skin was so soft that it was almost unfair. Slowly, Y/N lifted a hand, threading his fingers through Jason’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

Jason groaned in satisfaction, shifting closer, tucking his arms tighter around Y/N’s waist. Y/N smiled sleepily. “…Clingy.”

Jason scoffed, but it wasn’t nearly as gruff as it should’ve been.

“Shut up.”

But he didn’t let go. Not even a little.

If anything? He held tighter.

Because Jason Todd was many things.

A menace. A rebel. A walking disaster.

But when it came to Y/N?

Yeah…he was clingy.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Jason murmured against his skin.

→ This story concludes on AO3:

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

🏈 | Conner: The Jock | 🏈 • 😉 | Dick: The Popular Kid | 😉

[with-my-calamitous-love]

burnt toast, sunday / i wanna teach you how forever feels

katsuki bakugou x reader

the morning after a fight with katsuki. for the yail series ❄️

inspired by all of the girls you loved before

bakugou sat up, groaning a bit as his back ached. he looks around, hit with his surroundings. he slept on the couch, in the midst of the living room torn apart from arguing.

he knew you were probably still pissed at him. worst of all, he couldn't even fully recall why you two had been arguing the night before. he only remembered that it was really, really bad, and you had ended up locking him out of the bedroom. just the thought of not sleeping next to you hurt blonde’s chest.

he lets out a sigh as he got up from the couch and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. when he sits up, he sees you walk in.

he cringes slightly, seeing your puffy red eyes. you had been crying all night, probably.

“…hey.” you say, softly.

he grunts in response, his words unable to reach his throat.

its a sunday, a quiet morning to contrast a loud, abrasive saturday night. the two of you resolve to make coffee silently, only speaking when you need a spoon he’s standing next to or when he needs you to move so he can grab the sugar.

the silence felt incredibly awkward. the two of you just stood there, quietly making your own cups of coffee. the only noise in the room was the sound of the coffeemaker brewing. bakugou’s thoughts were a mess. he couldn’t believe the two of you had gotten in such a big fight, and he wasn't even entirely sure why it happened. but he knew he was probably at fault, he was the one with the explosive personality after all.

he curses at himself quietly when he realizes he grabbed two pieces of bread. he does that normally- one for you, and one for him. but right now, you’re pissed at each other. he’s a little worried that making two pieces of toast will be seen as a violent act of aggression.

he moves to grab plates, too absent minded to notice that the toast is now burning. you take it out for him. thats when he noticed you’re still wearing his shirt, even though you’re mad.

he picks up his phone and scrolls, trying to distract himself. thats when he remembers what the fight was about.

whoever it was that got ahold of katsuki bakugou’s dating history was really obsessed or really, really bored, maybe both. for whatever reason, his fans were now talking about all his previous partners, the good and the bad. and, because you’re dating a celebrity, they just have to question your worthiness to be dating the handsome and strong dynamight.

he feels his anger flare up as he doom-scrolls some more. it pisses him off, thinking about how people would so mindlessly say things. it pisses him off more that its getting to you. don’t you know that he loves you?

he has yet to do anything about it, to address his dating life and who he’s with now. truthfully, katsuki doesn’t feel like he should have to. his pr team already works overtime for his asshole-self, anyway.

he’s so distracted by his own thoughts, he fails to notice the way his elbow knocks over your mug, sending it shattering on the floor. maybe its the silence, but you honestly jump a little when it happens.

both you simply stand there at first, blinking. did he do that on purpose? no, he wouldn’t break his own mugs.

maybe he just wanted your attention.

nonetheless, you wave it off with a soft “its okay” before kneeling down and carefully cleaning up the shards. he’s silent as he gets down in front of you, helping you clean the mess he made.

he wants to tell you its okay, and that he’ll take care of it. he wants to tell you that he’s sorry and that he loves you. but this is the closest he’s physically been to you since the argument, and he wants to relish in it for a moment.

“are you still mad at me?”

he almost flinches when he hears your meek voice. why would he be mad at you?

“..what are you talking about, babe?” he sighs, his voice gruff.

he is mad, but not at you. mostly at himself for not seeing how the recent speculations about him had been bothering you.

“i don’t wanna repeat myself. i just… i don’t know. i know you don’t want me to care about what everyone else is saying, but, i do.” you admit, still on the floor in front of him. at this point, you’ve both forgotten about the coffee and the shards.

he can see how upset you are, and it makes his chest tighten. “yeah, well… i don’t want those shitty extras getting to you. even if what they’re saying is the farthest thing from the damn truth.”

he so desperately wants you to know that he loves you. that when he’s with you, he doesn’t think of all the times he woke up to someone else, feeling alone. he doesn’t think of late night arguments that left him feel empty. when he looks into your eyes, he’s reminded of everything he wants to protect.

but you don’t see that as clearly as he does. “i guess i just… wonder if you agree with them. you never say anything to address those rumours, about your exes. and its not your fault, i get you don’t want to get involved, but, still…”

bakugou’s heart twinges as you bring up those accusations. he hates that you wonder such things, that you wonder if he agrees with those rumours or not. he wants to reassure you that you are the one he loves, the only one he loves. but he knows you wouldn't believe him right now, especially since he's been acting so shitty towards you lately.

“damn it, dumbass, i just want you to know that i love you. not any of those other bitches.”

“i don’t like when you call them that, katsuki.” you correct him. he nods, though both of you should be used to his sailor tongue by now.

“they’re people you’ve loved before… and thats okay. sometimes i just wonder if you love me more. i know its stupid.” you sigh.

he finally gets the courage to hold your hand, his calluses gentle against your skin. “..i feel i shouldn’t have to say it, i guess. in my head, you’re the only damn person in the world who matters.”

“maybe i’m just insecure.” you chuckle, self deprecatingly. you’re both tired of the arguing, now. “you’re #1, you’re gorgeous… and i’m me.”

he looks at you like you’re a complete idiot for that.

he hated hearing you say those things about yourself like it was a bad thing, that you were just you.

“just you? you really think it’s a bad thing to be you, dumbass?”

he pulls you in tighter, wanting you to really hear what he says.

“you’re amazing, you're incredible. there’s no one else I want to be with. I don't want anyone else, just you. you’re way too good for me, [y/n], in more ways i can count.”

“…you really mean that?”

he scoffs, a beautiful smile on his face. “yeah, i mean it. i love you.”

you give him that smile he loves, the one that made him fall so deeply in love with you all those years ago. “thats all you had to say, kats.”

your past and his are parallel lines. he isn’t sure how he got so lucky. how, by some cosmic miracle, the starts aligned so he could intertwine with you. you’re all he needs.

he hugs you deep, burying his face into your neck. he loves how you smell, how smooth your skin is. theres bot much proof, but he sees enough in you. he feels enough when he holds you, his entire world in his arms.

“i’m sorry.” he says, quietly for only you to hear. “you’re everything to me. i’m in love with you.”

your heart swells, ignoring the burnt toast and spilled coffee. you’re wearing his shirt, and he’s keeping his word. thats enough to make you melt, hugging him back, arms thrown around his muscular back. “i’m sorry too. i shouldn’t have doubted you. i love you too.”

he pulls back slightly to kiss you, making sure you’re in front of him and that this is real. for once, he let’s go of all of his fears and his ghosts. you’re his best friend, the love of his life and every beautiful thing he loves. he hears it in the silence, on his way home, and in your voice.

“if anything, i think i’m grateful for everyone you’ve loved before.” you chuckle, face close to his. his blonde eyebrows knit in confusion. “what do you mean, babe?”

“because the people you love make who you are, even if you’ve only loved them for a moment.” you say, squeezing his hand. “all those dead-end streets led you to me.”

he pauses, strange look on his face when he realizes you’re right. all that fake love, the teenage heartbreak and pains he’s been through- it’s made him the man you love. all those breakups, those unsaid goodbyes, they’ve led him hear.

he huffs, and then smiles, pressing his forehead to yours.

“i wouldn’t change a damn thing, then.” he says. “it all led me to you, dumbass.”

you stroke his cheek affectionately, pressing a kiss to his temple. his eyes close when you do that, relaxing into your touch. everyone that he knew brought him hear. and now, he gets to know what forever feels like.

“and in the end, it doesn’t matter who loved you before.” you conclude. “cause i love you more.”

he almost laughs at how cliché it is, resigning to press kisses all over your face. “i love you more, i’m not arguing on that.” he says, holding you in his lap. he’s tough, and explosive, and “too good for all that clingy couple bullshit”. at least, thats what he lets the world believe.

you’re his, and he’s yours. he’s so god damn thankful for everyone you’ve loved before. ‘cause now he gets to love you 10x more.

[mrsfancyferrari]

Need Saving

Summary: You are the first woman to be racing in Formula 1 and you and Max are already best friends. To Jos' dismay.

Song: Me and Your Mama by Childish Gambino

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 Author’s note: CW: sexist comments, domestic violence (not from Max). I'm still salty about Daniel Ricciardo's exit to Formula 1 so I decided to add him a little here. THIS WILL BE A SERIES AND THANK YOU FOR THE 500 FOLLOWERS! Please like, reblog and share this! <3 ALSO IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!

Word count: 10.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

You are making history as the first woman to compete in Formula 1 with the Red Bull team, stepping in for Sergio Perez.

This groundbreaking achievement not only highlights your talent but also paves the way for future generations of female racers in a sport traditionally dominated by men.

Your personality shines through with a warm and friendly demeanor that makes you incredibly approachable. Colleagues and fans alike find you likable, creating an inviting atmosphere wherever you go.

This charm not only endears you to those around you but also helps foster a supportive environment within the competitive world of racing

Some have affectionately dubbed you the "Mini Honey Badger," a nod to the legendary Daniel Ricciardo. This playful comparison reflects your fierce determination and tenacity on the track, qualities that resonate with fans and fellow racers.

Your unique blend of charisma and competitive spirit is sure to leave a lasting impression in the world of Formula 1.

Luckily, you found yourself paired with one of the most talented drivers in the sport, Max Verstappen.

From the very beginning, you and Max clicked effortlessly, perhaps due to your shared sense of humor or the lighthearted way you both approached life outside of racing.

Max, known for his fierce competitiveness on the track, also had a playful side that drew you in. Whether it was sharing funny anecdotes from your childhood or engaging in friendly banter about each other's driving styles, the connection felt natural and invigorating.

You both understood the pressures of the sport, yet you managed to find joy in the little moments, whether it was a shared laugh over a silly meme or a light-hearted debate about the best racing video games.

This bond not only made your time together enjoyable but also fostered a sense of trust and teamwork that would prove invaluable as the season progressed.

During your initial week in Formula 1, the team was treated to a mix of corny jokes and uproarious laughter, creating an atmosphere that was both fun and relaxed.

It was clear that the camaraderie between you two was something special, and it didn’t take long for everyone to notice. The garage, usually filled with the tension of competition, transformed into a space of joy and lightheartedness.

You and Max would often engage in playful challenges, like who could come up with the worst dad joke or who could impersonate the team’s engineers the best.

These moments not only broke the ice but also helped to build a strong team spirit.

The mechanics and engineers, who often worked long hours under pressure, found themselves smiling more often, and the overall morale of the team improved.

It was as if your infectious energy had a ripple effect, reminding everyone that while racing was serious business, it was also about passion, fun, and the love of the sport.

Christian Horner, the team principal, seemed to recognize this chemistry right away.

He confidently remarked to the media about the dynamic of having a girl and a boy on the same team, suggesting that he had a good feeling about the partnership.

His words resonated with the fans and the media alike, sparking conversations about the evolving landscape of motorsport and the importance of diversity within the sport. It was evident that the two of you were destined to make waves together on and off the track.

Christian’s faith in your partnership only fueled your determination to succeed.

You both knew that the expectations were high, but instead of feeling overwhelmed, you embraced the challenge.

"Joseph, can you give me an update on the gap behind?" you inquired, your voice steady as it crackled through the radio to your race engineer.

The sound of your own heartbeat echoed in your ears, a reminder of the high stakes at play.

"You're looking at a 5-second lead over Norris, Y/N," Joseph Duke responded, his tone calm and focused.

As you navigated the track, the adrenaline surged through your veins, heightening your senses.

The smell of burning rubber and the roar of engines filled the air, but your focus remained solely on the asphalt ahead.

Max was currently leading the race, and you were right on his tail, just a heartbeat away from making a decisive move.

With the world championship points on the line, every second counted, and the team’s strategy was crucial.

"Copy that, Joseph. I’m feeling good about this pace. Should I push to overtake Max?" you asked, weighing your options.

The tension in the air was palpable, and you could almost hear the roar of the crowd in your mind, their cheers and gasps fueling your determination.

You could picture the fans waving flags, the excitement building as the race unfolded.

"Remember, he’s leading the championship, so those points are vital for him," Joseph reminded you, his voice steady and measured.

You took a deep breath, considering the risks and rewards of your next move. The thought of overtaking Max was tantalizing, but the consequences of a miscalculation loomed large.

"Understood. But if I don’t make a move soon, he might pull away," you replied, your mind racing through the possibilities.

You could see the track ahead, the curves and straightaways that could either make or break your race.

"Just keep your head in the game, Y/N. Focus on your lines and stay patient. The opportunity will come," Joseph advised, his experience guiding you through the chaos.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, reminding yourself that patience was key.

As you approached the next turn, you felt the car respond to your every command, the tires gripping the asphalt with precision.

You could see Max’s car just ahead, a flash of blue and white, and the urge to push harder surged within you.

"Alright, I’ll hold back for now, but I’m ready when the moment strikes," you said, determination lacing your words.

The opportunity to seize the grand prix had slipped through your fingers, leaving you with a bittersweet taste of second place as Max celebrated his victory.

It wasn’t that you felt anger towards him; after all, the stakes were high, and the competition was fierce.

You had performed admirably, even outshining Checo this season, and Red Bull was finally back to their P1-P2 glory.

As you stepped out of your car, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you spotted Max waiting for you, his helmet off and a look of concern etched on his face.

He rushed over, his expression serious as he enveloped you in a quick hug. “You don’t hate me, do you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the unexpected question. Removing your helmet, you met his gaze with a warm smile. “Of course not! But don’t think I’ll go easy on you next week,” you replied playfully, your competitive spirit igniting once more.

Max’s face lit up with a genuine smile, the tension dissipating. “Mate, I won’t go down that easy!” he shot back, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of rivalry.

As you made your way to celebrate with the team, you noticed the difference in how they treated you compared to Max. While he was hoisted into the air, receiving enthusiastic cheers and bone-crushing hugs, you felt a more cautious approach directed your way.

It was a subtle reminder of the gender dynamics at play in the sport. You brushed it off, focusing instead on the camaraderie and the shared passion that brought you all together.

The post-race atmosphere was electric, filled with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional shout of joy.

You joined in the celebrations, clapping your hands and cheering for your teammates, but a part of you remained introspective.

You replayed the race in your mind, analyzing every corner, every overtaking maneuver, and every missed opportunity.

The thrill of competition was intoxicating, but so was the desire to prove yourself, not just to the team but to the world.

As the evening unfolded, you found yourself lingering at the periphery of the lively celebration, your gaze fixed on Max as he reveled in the spotlight of his victory.

He was the star of the night, the one everyone clamored to congratulate, while you stood in the shadows, merely the second driver.

Christian approached, giving your shoulder a friendly pat, a gesture of appreciation for your support. Yet, it felt insufficient.

You masked your feelings with a bright smile as you watched Max raise his glass, laughter spilling from his lips as the clock inched toward midnight.

“Goodnight, Max,” you called out, aware that your boyfriend, Jake would be less than pleased if you lingered too long.

“Goodnight, best friend! Did I mention you look lovely tonight?” Max replied, his words slightly slurred as he pulled you into a warm embrace.

You felt your cheeks heat up. “No, you didn’t! Thank you, Max. You look great too!” you managed to say, your heart fluttering at the compliment.

As the night wore on, you exchanged goodbyes with the others, the atmosphere buzzing with joy and celebration.

You decided it was time to head home, opting for a taxi since you had indulged in a few drinks earlier.

Once inside the cab, you leaned back against the seat, reflecting on the evening. The laughter, the cheers, and the way Max had shone like a beacon of success.

It was hard not to feel a twinge of envy, but you pushed it aside, reminding yourself of the bond you shared.

The driver navigated through the city streets, and you pulled out your phone, scrolling through the photos from the night.

There was Max, grinning ear to ear, surrounded by friends, and there you were, a supportive figure in the background.

Just as the car turned, your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you glanced down to see a message from Jake.

“Where are you?” he texted, the words appearing on your screen like a gentle reminder of the warmth waiting for you at home.

You smiled, feeling a rush of affection as you typed back, “Just left the party! On my way home now. Can’t wait to see you!”

The taxi weaved through the city streets, and you could almost picture him waiting for you, perhaps pacing a little, his brow furrowed in that adorable way he did when he was worried.

You could hear his voice in your head, teasing you about how you always took too long to say goodbye, but you knew he loved it just as much as you did.

As the taxi pulled up to your building, you felt a flutter of excitement. You paid the driver and hurried inside, your heart racing with anticipation.

As you stepped into the apartment, a heavy scent of alcohol hit you like a wave, and your heart sank.

The cheerful anticipation you had felt moments before evaporated, replaced by a knot of anxiety in your stomach. You knew Jake had been struggling lately, and the telltale signs of his mood were all around you.

Empty bottles cluttered the coffee table, their labels peeling and faded, remnants of nights spent drowning sorrows that seemed to multiply with each passing day.

Taking a deep breath, you cautiously made your way further inside, hoping to find a glimmer of the warmth you once cherished, a flicker of the love that had once filled this space.

“Hey, babe, I’m home!” you called out, trying to inject some cheer into the atmosphere, but your voice felt small and fragile against the oppressive silence that enveloped the room.

The silence that followed was deafening, and you could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

Just then, he emerged from the shadows of the living room, his eyes glassy and unfocused, as if he were peering through a fog that had settled deep within him.

“Oh, look who decided to show up,” he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, each word laced with bitterness. “Did you have fun pretending to be normal out there?”

You felt a chill run down your spine as he continued, hurling insults that cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

It was as if he was trying to push you away, to create a chasm between you that felt insurmountable.

And yet, amidst the hurt, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man you loved, the one who was lost beneath layers of pain and anger.

“Why do you always have to do this?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly, the vulnerability in your tone betraying the strength you wished to project. “I just want to help you.”

He scoffed, dismissing your concern with a wave of his hand, the gesture almost theatrical in its disdain. “Help? You mean control. You think you can just waltz in here and fix everything? You’re just like everyone else, trying to tell me what to do.”

The words stung, and you felt the weight of his accusations pressing down on you, each syllable a reminder of the distance that had grown between you.

“I’m not trying to control you,” you replied softly, “I just want to be there for you. Can’t we talk about this?”

But as you looked into his eyes, you realized that the man you once knew was slipping further away, lost in a haze of his own making.

His gaze, once so full of life and passion, now seemed clouded, distant. It was as if he was peering through a murky window, unable or unwilling to see the vibrant world outside.

You could see the shadows of his struggles etched on his face, the lines of worry and anger deepening with each passing day. It pained you to witness this transformation, to see the light in him dimmed by his own fears and insecurities.

“Why can’t you see that I’m trying to help?” you pressed, your heart racing as desperation crept into your voice. “I’m not your enemy. I want to understand what you’re going through.”

You took a tentative step closer, hoping to bridge the gap that felt insurmountable.

But he recoiled slightly, as if your words were a physical blow, and the distance between you felt more pronounced than ever.

“Understand?” he scoffed, his tone laced with bitterness. “You think you can just waltz in and understand? You have no idea what it’s like to feel trapped, to have every choice taken from you. You don’t know the weight of this burden.”

His voice cracked, revealing a flicker of vulnerability beneath the bravado.

As soon as you opened your mouth to speak, Jake brushed by you, grabbing his coat and shoes in one swift motion.

"I'm heading out for a walk. Don't even think about following me," he snapped, his words laced with the sting of alcohol.

You simply nodded, feeling a mix of concern and frustration, but you stayed rooted in place until you heard the door slam shut behind him.

With the sound echoing in the silence, you finally exhaled, the tension in your chest easing just a bit. You glanced around the room, the remnants of the night scattered everywhere—empty bottles and crumpled napkins littered the floor.

"Guess it's cleanup time," you muttered to yourself, bending down to gather the bottles. As you worked, your mind raced with thoughts of him.

Just then, your phone buzzed on the table. It was a message from your best friend, Sarah.

"Hey! How's everything? You okay?"

You sighed, typing back quickly. "Not great. He just stormed out after a fight. I’m cleaning up the mess now."

A moment later, your phone chimed again. "Want me to come over? I can help."

You hesitated, glancing at the door. "No, it’s fine. I just need to sort things out."

"Are you sure? You shouldn’t be alone right now."

You paused, considering her words. "I’ll be okay. I just need to think."

As you continued to tidy up, you replayed the argument in your mind. It had started over something trivial, but the alcohol had turned it into a full-blown fight.

You could hear his voice in your head, the way he had raised his tone, the way he had dismissed your feelings.

"Why does he always do this?" you whispered to yourself, frustration bubbling up again.

You were well aware that he wouldn’t be returning anytime soon.

After tidying up the house, you decided to treat yourself to a long, relaxing bath.

The warm water enveloped you, washing away the day’s worries. Once you felt refreshed, you slipped into your favorite pajamas and crawled into bed, the soft sheets providing a comforting embrace.

He hadn’t always been this way—filled with anger and lost in the depths of alcoholism.

You both had shared a beautiful love story, starting as high school sweethearts. You could still remember the way he used to look at you, his eyes sparkling with affection, mirroring the love you felt for him.

As you lay there, memories flooded your mind. You recalled the laughter, the late-night talks, and the dreams you had built together. But now, those dreams felt like distant echoes, overshadowed by the weight of his struggles.

Maybe it was the pressure of work that was taking a toll on him. You thought back to the last time you had a heart-to-heart.

“Do you remember when we used to talk about our future?” you had asked him one evening, the two of you sitting on the porch, the sun setting in a blaze of colors.

He had sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I remember. It feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Things can get better, you know. We can work through this together,” you had urged, your heart aching for the man you once knew.

He had looked away, his expression clouded. “I don’t know if I can. Sometimes it feels like I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to swim anymore.”

You had reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re not alone in this. I’m here for you, always.”

But as the days turned into weeks, the distance between you grew. The man you loved was slipping away, replaced by someone you barely recognized.

Now, lying in bed, you couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever find his way back to you. Would he remember the love you once shared? Would he fight against the demons that haunted him?

With a heavy heart, you closed your eyes, hoping that tomorrow would bring a glimmer of hope, a sign that the man you loved was still inside, waiting to break free.

As you settled into bed, the glow of your phone screen illuminated the dark room, revealing a flurry of notifications that had accumulated while you were winding down.

Most of them were filled with excitement, congratulating you on your impressive second-place finish in the race. However, amidst the sea of cheerful messages, one stood out—a private note from Max.

While some comments stung with negativity, suggesting you didn’t belong in the world of Formula 1, Max’s message was a beacon of warmth.

“Thanks for coming to celebrate with me 👍,” it read, and a smile crept across your face, momentarily pushing away the weight of the harsh words.

You felt a mix of emotions swirling within you, and for a moment, tears threatened to spill over. But instead of succumbing to the sadness, you decided to respond to Max.

Your fingers danced over the screen as you typed, “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, you deserved it! 😁” The moment you hit send, a sense of relief washed over you.

It was a reminder that amidst the criticism, there were still those who appreciated your presence and celebrated your achievements.

You could almost hear Max’s laughter echoing in your mind, a sound that always seemed to lift your spirits.

Just as you were about to put your phone down, a new message popped up from Max. “You really made the night special! I’m glad you were there. Let’s catch up soon?”

His words filled you with warmth, and you could picture him grinning with alcohol still in his system, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“Absolutely! I’d love to,” you replied, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

After setting your phone aside for the night, you drifted off to sleep, the soft hum of the world outside fading into a distant memory.

When you awoke, you were enveloped in a warm embrace, the kind that felt like home. Instantly, you recognized the familiar presence of Jake, his body radiating warmth against yours.

The scent of alcohol lingered in the air, a reminder of his previous night out with friends, a detail that both amused and concerned you.

A smile crept across your face as you turned to see him, his features relaxed and serene, a stark contrast to the tension that had marked his demeanor the night before.

Curiosity sparked within you, igniting a flurry of questions as you pondered where he had spent his time, what stories he might have to share, and whether the night had been as wild as you imagined.

You felt a rush of affection for him, a desire to know every detail of his adventures, to understand the man who had captured your heart so completely.

Despite the warnings from your friends urging you to reconsider your relationship, your feelings for him remained steadfast, unwavering like a lighthouse in a storm.

They claimed he was a source of trouble, a tempest that could jeopardize your career and stir up scandals that would ripple through your life.

Yet, deep down, you understood him better than they did, seeing the layers of his character that they overlooked. You believed in his integrity, in the goodness that lay beneath the surface, and you knew he wouldn’t intentionally cause chaos in your life.

Their concerns echoed in your mind, but they felt distant, like the sound of waves crashing against a far-off shore.

You were determined to forge your own path, to trust your instincts, and to embrace the love that had blossomed between you, even if it meant standing alone against the tide of skepticism.

Although your relationship was already in the public eye, with whispers and speculation swirling around you like autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind, he had yet to join you in the paddock due to his work commitments.

You felt a mix of anticipation and longing, a bittersweet ache in your chest as you navigated the bustling environment without him by your side.

As you glanced at your phone, the screen illuminated the early morning hour, signaling it was time for your daily jog.

You carefully extricated yourself from Jake's embrace, trying not to disturb his peaceful slumber.

Just as you were about to tiptoe out of the room, you caught a faint mumble escaping his lips, a mix of sleep and concern. “Where are you going?” he murmured, his voice thick with drowsiness.

You paused for a moment, torn between the urge to reassure him and the need to stick to your routine.

“I’m just going for a quick run, love. I’ll be back before you know it,” you replied softly, hoping to ease any lingering worries. His brow furrowed slightly, even in his sleep, as if he sensed your departure was more than just a morning ritual.

“You always run too early… what if someone sees you?” he muttered, a hint of jealousy creeping into his voice, even in his dreams.

With a gentle smile, you leaned down to plant a quick kiss on his forehead. “I’ll be fine, I promise. It’s just me and the open road. You know I love my morning jogs.”

You could feel the tension in the air, a familiar weight that often accompanied your outings. “Okay,” he finally said, though the uncertainty lingered in his tone.

You quickly changed into your jogging attire before stepping out of the house. With a sense of urgency, you slipped into your comfortable workout gear, ready to embrace the fresh air outside.

The fabric of your favorite moisture-wicking shirt clung to your skin, and the soft elastic of your running shorts felt familiar and reassuring.

You laced up your well-worn sneakers, the soles still resilient from countless miles, and took a moment to stretch your legs, feeling the anticipation build within you.

Once dressed, you felt the excitement of the run ahead, eager to hit the pavement and enjoy the rhythm of your feet against the ground.

The world outside beckoned, vibrant and alive, as you opened the door and stepped into the crisp morning air. The scent of dew-kissed grass and blooming flowers filled your lungs, invigorating your spirit.

You took a deep breath, letting the coolness wash over you, and with a quick glance at the sky, you noted the sun just beginning to rise, casting a golden hue across the horizon.

As you began to jog, the familiar cadence of your heartbeat matched the steady thump of your feet on the pavement. Each stride felt liberating, a release from the confines of the day-to-day.

You could feel the tension of the week melting away with every step, replaced by a sense of freedom and clarity.

The rhythmic sound of your breath mingled with the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds, creating a symphony of nature that accompanied you on your journey.

As you were enjoying your morning jog through the park, the rhythmic sound of your feet hitting the pavement was suddenly interrupted by a group of enthusiastic voices.

A cluster of women and girls approached you, their faces lighting up with excitement. "Excuse me! Miss Y/N! Can we get your autograph?" one of them exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with admiration.

You paused, a bit surprised but also flattered, and smiled at the eager crowd. "Of course! I’d be happy to," you replied, pulling out a small notepad from your pocket.

Amid the chatter, a young girl stepped forward, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "I want to start go-karting because I want to be just like you!" she declared, her voice filled with determination.

You could see the passion in her eyes, and it warmed your heart. "That’s amazing! Go-karting is such a fun sport," you encouraged her. "What do you love most about it?"

The girl beamed, her confidence growing as she shared her dreams of racing and the thrill of speed. "I love the idea of being in control and going fast! It looks so cool!"

You nodded, feeling a sense of responsibility to inspire her. "You know, every champion starts somewhere. If you really want to do it, just keep practicing and never give up. Surround yourself with people who support you, and you’ll go far," you advised, hoping to instill a sense of belief in her.

The girl’s eyes widened, and she nodded vigorously. "I will! Thank you so much!"

As the group dispersed, you felt a renewed sense of purpose, realizing that your journey could inspire others to chase their dreams, just as you had. . . .

As the days rolled on, the team decided to spice things up a bit before race week by organizing a fun game called "How Well Do You Know Each Other."

The idea was to not only entertain the fans but also to give everyone a glimpse into the camaraderie between you and Max.

You found yourself standing in front of the camera, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling inside you, while Max lounged comfortably on the sofa behind you, his headphones snugly in place, unable to listen in.

The staff kicked off the game with a playful tone, "Alright, let’s start with you! The first question about Max is… what is Max's favorite food?" You grinned, confident in your knowledge of your teammate.

"Oh, I know this one! Max is a huge fan of both Italian and Dutch cuisine, while I personally lean more towards Spanish dishes," you replied, your voice filled with enthusiasm.

The crew chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter, and you could see Max nodding in agreement, a smirk on his face even though he didn't know what you said.

After a few more questions, it was time for the roles to reverse. You took a seat on the sofa, and Max stood in front of the camera, a playful glint in his eyes.

The staff asked him the same question, and he leaned forward, a teasing smile forming. "Well, I know my teammate pretty well! She loves her Spanish food, but I think she secretly wishes she could cook like an Italian chef," he joked.

"You better be getting this right, I wanna beat Charles and Carlos' record," you said, feeling the competitive in you to beat Ferrari's record of 18 out of 20 right.

Max only turned around and gave an okay sign since you couldn't hear him, adding a little small wink for the tease but it was caught on camera.

In the end, both you and Max aced all the questions, and the excitement bubbled over as you jumped up and down, your energy infectious. Max stood nearby, a wide grin spreading across his face as he watched your enthusiasm.

"See, everyone! Red Bull is clearly the superior team compared to Ferrari, so make sure to support us this week!" you exclaimed, wrapping up the video with a flourish.

As you turned to Max, you noticed he was still gazing at you, lost in thought. It took you by surprise.

"Max, do you want to add anything to what I just said?" you asked, a playful grin on your face as you nudged his shoulder gently.

Snapping back to reality, Max turned to the camera, a hint of sheepishness in his expression.

"Oh, umm, yeah… Red Bull domination, I guess?" he replied, his voice a mix of uncertainty and enthusiasm.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter at his response, and Max's smile widened, clearly pleased that he could make you laugh.

"Alright, everyone, that's a wrap! We'll catch you all soon. Fingers crossed for another P1-P2 finish, but maybe next time we can switch things up a bit," you said, waving enthusiastically at the camera.

As the camera clicked off, you turned to the crew with a warm smile, expressing your gratitude for their support. You shifted your focus to Max, who was standing nearby, a mix of anticipation and amusement on his face.

"Hey, Max," you began, a playful glint in your eye. "How does it feel to be the most compatible drivers on the grid?"

Max's eyes widened slightly at the phrase "most compatible," and you could see a hint of color rising to his cheeks. But as soon as he processed the word "driver," his expression shifted to one of mild disappointment.

"It feels nice, I guess," he replied, a smirk creeping onto his lips. "Just another thing to brag about to Lando, right?"

You chuckled, knowing how much Max loved to tease his fellow drivers. "Oh, absolutely! I can already picture it—Lando rolling his eyes while you go on about how you and I are the ultimate duo."

Max laughed, shaking his head. "He'll probably come up with some ridiculous comeback, like how he’s the best driver in the world or something."

"Well, he does have a knack for that," you said, leaning against the wall, enjoying the banter. "But let’s be honest, you two are like an old married couple. Always bickering but secretly caring for each other."

Max rolled his eyes dramatically. "Please, I’m not ready for that kind of commitment. I can barely handle my own sleeping schedule!"

Max shrugged, a hint of humility creeping into his demeanor. "But honestly, having you around makes it easier. You bring a different energy to the team."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. "Thanks, Max. That means a lot coming from you. I think we balance each other out pretty well."

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah, it’s like we have this unspoken understanding. You know when to push me and when to let me breathe. It’s refreshing."

"Exactly! And it’s not just about racing; it’s about the camaraderie we build off the track too. Those late-night strategy sessions and the random moments of laughter—they all add up."

Max chuckled, recalling a particularly ridiculous moment from a previous race weekend. "Remember that time we got lost trying to find the catering tent? We ended up in that random fan zone instead!"

You burst out laughing, the memory flooding back. "Oh my god, yes! And those fans were so excited to see us, they thought we were there for a meet-and-greet! We ended up taking selfies with them for an hour."

"Right? And then we finally found the catering tent, only to discover they were out of your favorite pasta!" Max added, shaking his head in disbelief.

"That was a tragedy," you said, feigning a dramatic sigh. "But it turned into one of the best days. I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything."

Max’s gaze softened as he looked at you, a genuine smile breaking through. "Me neither. It’s those little things that make all the hard work worth it."

You both stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the camaraderie between you palpable. The atmosphere around the paddock buzzed with activity, but in that moment, it felt like you were in your own little world.

"Alright, enough of the mushy stuff," Max said, breaking the moment with a playful nudge. "Let’s get back to business. We’ve got a race to prepare for, and I can’t let you steal all my glory."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Oh, please! You know I’m just here to make you look good. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of overshadowing the reigning champion."

What you two didn't know was that the cameras didn't stop but recorded your little moment, which went viral in the few minutes that it was posted. . . . .

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

You knew that the public would start shipping you and Max together sooner or later but you weren't bothered with it.

You had a boyfriend who you cared for deeply, someone who had been your rock through the ups and downs of your racing career. Yet, his reaction to the swirling rumors about you and Max took you by surprise.

You never imagined he would be so affected by the gossip that seemed to spread like wildfire through the paddock and beyond.

Here you were, caught in a web of emotions, torn between the thrill of a new chapter and the loyalty you felt towards your current relationship.

As you stepped through the door of your home, the familiar scent of your shared space enveloped you, but it did little to ease the tension that hung in the air.

You found Jake lounging on the couch, his eyes glued to his phone, the glow of the screen illuminating his furrowed brow. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, and you could sense that something was off.

“Hey, babe,” you greeted him, trying to sound cheerful despite the weight on your shoulders. He barely looked up, his fingers scrolling furiously, as if searching for answers in the digital chaos.

“Did you hear about you and Max?” he finally snapped, his voice laced with irritation, cutting through the silence like a knife. “It’s all over social media. Are you really going to let this get to you?”

You felt your heart sink; you had hoped for a different reaction, one that would reassure you that your relationship was strong enough to withstand the storm of rumors.

“Come on, it’s just rumors,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, though the tremor in it betrayed your inner turmoil. “You know I’m committed to only you.”

You watched as he shot you a skeptical glance, his jealousy bubbling to the surface like a volcano ready to erupt. “Yeah, but how can I trust you when you’re out there with him all the time? It’s not just a coincidence that everyone is talking about it.”

The words stung, and you took a deep breath. "Babe I love only you-"

"Please, don’t even think about it! You know I’m stuck here because if I walked away, your fans would make my life a living nightmare," Jake exclaimed, his voice laced with frustration.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you reeling from the harsh reality of your situation.

It was as if he had taken a knife and twisted it, exposing the raw vulnerability you had tried so hard to hide.

You could feel the sting of tears welling up in your eyes, but you fought to keep them at bay. "I didn’t ask for any of this," you replied, your voice trembling slightly.

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, and you could sense the tension between you growing thicker by the second. It was a battle of emotions, and you were losing ground.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know it’s not fair, but you have to understand the pressure I’m under. It’s not just about us; it’s about my career, my fans. I can’t let them down."

His eyes softened for a moment, revealing a glimpse of the man you fell in love with.

"But I don’t want to lose you. Can’t we find a way to make this work?" You pleaded.

"I don't know," he muttered, not lifting his eyes from his phone before standing up and walking past you to get his coat and shoes. "i'm gonna take a walk,"

This has been a pattern for weeks now. You would come home, he would start an argument then make up an excuse to leave the house, leaving you to either pick up his mess or go to sleep without your partner. To only wake up with him cuddling you in the morning and apologise for his action last night.

You were getting sick of it but you still love him too much to break up with him. . . .

The days that followed were a blur of introspection and emotional turmoil. Each time you caught a glimpse of Jake’s name on your phone, a knot formed in your stomach.

You had always been the type to see the good in people, to believe that love could conquer all, but the reality of your situation was becoming harder to ignore.

The moments of tenderness were overshadowed by the growing unease that settled in your chest like a heavy stone.

You spent more time with Sarah, who seemed to sense your internal struggle. She filled your days with laughter and distraction, taking you out for coffee, long walks in the park, and movie marathons that kept your mind off the impending decision.

Yet, no matter how much you tried to push it aside, the thought of Jake lingered like a shadow, reminding you of the grip he had on your heart—and not in a way that felt safe or loving.

One evening, as you and Sarah sat on the balcony watching the sunset, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink, she turned to you again.

"Y/N, I know it’s hard, but you have to prioritize your happiness. You can’t keep living in this limbo," she said, her voice steady and unwavering.

You looked out at the horizon, the beauty of the moment contrasting sharply with the turmoil inside you.

"I know," you replied, your voice thick with emotion. "But what if I’m wrong? What if he really can change?"

The fear of making the wrong choice loomed large, a specter that haunted your thoughts.

"Change is possible, but it has to come from him, not from you hoping for it," Sarah said gently. "You can’t be the one to fix him. You’re not responsible for his happiness or his growth. You deserve to be with someone who respects you and makes you feel safe."

Her words struck a chord deep within you. You thought back to the last time he had gripped your arm, the way his eyes had darkened, and how you had brushed it off as a moment of frustration.

But now, in the light of day, you could see it for what it was—a warning sign that you had been too afraid to acknowledge.

That night, as you lay in bed, the silence of your room felt deafening. You replayed every moment of your relationship, the good and the bad, and slowly, the scales began to tip.

The holiday seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye, and soon you found yourself stepping into the paddock alongside Sarah and Jake.

As you walked, you could feel the tension in the air; Jake wore a strained smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, gripping your hand a little too tightly.

“Hey, look at all the fans!” you exclaimed, trying to lighten the mood as you waved enthusiastically at the crowd, signing autographs for those who called out your name.

Sarah, taking a break from her hectic job, had decided to join you, her laughter ringing out like music amidst the bustling atmosphere.

“Isn’t this amazing?” you said, glancing at Sarah, who was snapping pictures with her phone. “I can’t believe how many people came out today!”

She nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “It’s like a mini-celebration! But where’s your boyfriend? He seems a bit off today.”

You shrugged, trying to brush off the concern. “I don’t know, maybe he’s just tired. We haven’t really talked much since we got back.”

You stole a glance at him, who was still smiling, but it felt forced, like he was putting on a show for everyone around.

You made the decision to invite Jake into your driver’s room for a heart-to-heart conversation. As you settled into the familiar space, you turned to him with a gentle concern.

“Hey, are you doing okay?” you asked, your voice soft and inviting.

Jake looked at you, his expression a mix of regret and longing, as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. “I’m alright, really. I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting lately,” he replied, his tone sincere.

In that moment, you felt a rush of warmth; you had missed the comfort of his touch more than you realized.

“Jake, I need to let you know that I have to leave soon,” you murmured, trying to keep the conversation grounded. But he seemed lost in his own thoughts, his gaze intense and filled with desire.

“Why don’t you just quit your job already? I can take care of you, I promise,” he suggested, his voice dripping with temptation.

The idea hung in the air between you, and for a fleeting moment, you felt the pull of his offer.

It was tempting, but the passion you had for Formula 1 was a flame that burned too brightly to extinguish for anyone, even someone as captivating as Jake.

You took a deep breath, weighing your options. “Jake, you know how much this means to me. Formula 1 isn’t just a job; it’s my dream,” you replied, your heart heavy with the conflict.

He stepped back slightly, his expression shifting from desire to disappointment. “I get it, but can’t you see how much I care about you? I want us to be together, and I thought you felt the same way,” he said, frustration creeping into his voice.

You could see the struggle in his eyes, and it pained you to know that your passion for racing was creating a rift between you.

“I do care about you, but I can’t just walk away from everything I’ve worked for,” you insisted, hoping he would understand.

As you stand there, the tension weighs heavily in the air, palpable and thick, as Jake's frustration spills over, his voice tinged with a mix of hurt and desperation.

"But what about me?" he asks, his eyes searching yours for an answer that you know is difficult to provide. "Since you started this job, we haven’t done anything together. All you've been doing is hanging out with that Max boy. Don’t you see it?"

His words cut through the silence, piercing the surface of your mind and forcing you to confront the tangled web of your life that feels all too overwhelming at this moment.

As you gather your thoughts, aware that the job has transformed your priorities and the once-familiar relationship with Jake has shifted, you attempt to articulate your feelings, to bridge the widening chasm of misunderstanding.

"Jake—" you start, your voice tremulous, hoping to weave a delicate thread of connection that can pull you both back to a place of understanding, but he interjects, the intensity of his emotions propelling him forward before you can offer your perspective.

"I’ll show you—don't worry," he mutters, the frustration lacing his tone beginning to dissipate as he suddenly wraps his arms around you, pulling you close in a gesture that is both protective and possessive.

The warmth of his body against yours sends a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the bond you once cherished.

Feeling the urgency of the moment, his lips find yours, a kiss that ignites a flicker of hope amid the turmoil of doubt and fear swirling around you. . . .

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After the holiday break, you had started to act differently, almost as if a shadow had fallen over their usual camaraderie.

Whenever he approached to nudge her shoulder playfully, she would flinch, a look of surprise crossing her face as if she were bracing for something unpleasant.

It was a stark contrast to the easygoing banter they once shared, and he couldn't help but notice how she had become more withdrawn, often lost in her thoughts, her laughter replaced by a distant gaze.

He believed you were feeling down because the team was struggling to achieve the results they had hoped for.

Typically, his father would reach out to him after a disappointing race, sometimes even resorting to physical punishment if the outcome was particularly disheartening.

It was a routine he had come to accept, thinking it was a common experience shared by many.

However, everything changed when his therapist pointed out that not everyone endured such treatment, which sparked a rebellion within him against his father's harsh ways.

"Why do you always have to be so hard on me?" he had shouted one evening, frustration boiling over.

His father, taken aback, responded with a stern look, "Because I want you to be the best, Max. You need to learn that life isn’t always fair."

But Max felt differently; he wanted to be supported, not punished.

As he pondered your situation, he couldn't help but wonder if you had faced similar challenges.

"Do you have someone in your life who treats you badly?" he asked cautiously, trying to gauge your response.

Your eyes widened at the sudden question before you shook your head, a small smile breaking through the clouds of doubt.

"No, not like that. Everyone is really supportive of me these days."

Max felt a wave of relief wash over him, grateful that you had not been in that cycle of abuse he had been so familiar with.

In many of the recent races, both you and Max found yourselves finishing in the P2 to P4 range, or sometimes not making it to the podium at all, which left the team feeling quite disheartened.

The once-promising season had turned into a series of missed opportunities, and the weight of expectations began to take its toll on everyone involved.

The atmosphere in the garage was thick with tension, and the engineers were working overtime to analyze data and strategize for the next race, but the results were still falling short of what the team had hoped for.

This situation also prompted Max's father, Jos, to plan a visit during the race weekend. He intended to check in on his son and perhaps give him a much-needed reality check, quite literally.

As the race day approached, Jos observed his son engaging in cheerful conversation with you, rather than focusing on the engineers to gather crucial insights, a routine Max typically adhered to before a race.

This deviation from his usual pre-race preparation did not sit well with Jos.

He had always believed that the hours leading up to a race were critical for mental conditioning and strategy formulation. To see Max laughing and joking instead of poring over telemetry data or discussing race strategies with the engineers was concerning for him.

Jos's frustration grew as he watched the interaction unfold. He believed that your presence was a distraction, pulling Max away from the intense focus required for peak performance.

In his eyes, the bond you shared with his son was undermining Max's potential to excel on the track.

He felt that friendships weren't important and they should not come at the expense of Max's dedication to his craft.

Jos was determined to address this issue head-on, convinced that a serious conversation was necessary to realign Max's priorities. . . . .

In the midst of a lively discussion filled with laughter and camaraderie, Jos abruptly interjected, "Max, I need to talk to you right now."

His tone cut through the jovial atmosphere, drawing the attention of both you and his son. The laughter faded, replaced by a sudden stillness as everyone turned to witness the unfolding scene.

Max's expression shifted from joy to disappointment as he glanced at you, yet he managed to offer a reassuring smile before reluctantly following his father away from the group.

"Yes, Father?" Max responded in Dutch, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of apprehension. The way he spoke suggested a mix of respect and wariness, as if he were bracing himself for a conversation he knew would be anything but easy.

Jos wasted no time in launching into his concerns, his words spilling out with a sense of urgency.

"You must distance yourself from that girl; she is a distraction that will hinder your performance in the race," he asserted, his tone firm and authoritative, as if he were delivering a decree rather than a request.

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, a stark contrast to the lightheartedness that had just moments ago enveloped the gathering.

Max, however, was quick to defend you, his loyalty evident in the way he stood a little taller, his brow furrowing in determination. "No, she doesn't distract me, Father. She's my teammate," he stated, his voice steady and resolute.

The conviction in his tone reflected a bond that transcended mere friendship; it was a partnership built on shared goals and mutual respect.

Yet, as he spoke, the tension between father and son thickened, a palpable clash of wills that seemed to reverberate through the quiet space around them.

Jos, sensing the resistance in Max's voice, shifted his approach, employing subtle manipulation to sway his son’s perspective.

"Think about your future, Max. You have so much potential, and I only want what is best for you," he continued, his voice softening slightly, as if trying to appeal to Max's aspirations.

The words were carefully chosen, designed to instill doubt about your influence, to paint you as an obstacle rather than an ally.

Max hesitated, caught between his father's expectations and his own feelings.

The internal struggle was evident on his face, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features as he grappled with the conflicting loyalties that tugged at his heart.

"It is evident in your results over the weeks, you've been falling off the high scores recently, hardly been able to reach third place because of that girl!" Jos stressed out and Max became quiet, letting those words sink in.

"Max, think about it," Jos continued, his tone shifting to one of persuasion. "You need to focus on your game and not let distractions get in the way. She's not worth it."

Max felt a mix of emotions swirling inside him. He had always admired his father's wisdom, but now he sensed a subtle manipulation at play. Jos was trying to steer him away from his feelings, and deep down, Max knew it.

Yet, the idea of disappointing his father loomed larger than his own desires.

"Okay, Father," Max finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

He felt a pang of regret as he agreed, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing a part of himself in the process. As he walked away, he contemplated the choices ahead of him.

Was it worth sacrificing his happiness for the sake of competition?

As he walked away, the sound of his father's footsteps fading behind him, he contemplated the choices ahead of him.

The internal struggle was just beginning, and Max knew he had to find a way to balance his passion for the game with the complexities of his heart.

He thought of you—the woman who had sparked something within him, a light that had ignited a warmth he hadn't been able to feel like Daniel left.

After he began to distance himself from you, he noticed a change in your demeanor.

You seemed more withdrawn, putting on a facade of happiness with a constant smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You were hiding behind long-sleeved coats, even in the warm weather, creating a barrier between yourself and the world around you.

The vibrant laughter that once filled the air when you were together had been replaced by a silence that hung heavily between you, punctuated only by the occasional forced chuckle or polite nod.

Max could see the way your shoulders slumped slightly, as if the weight of unspoken words and unshared feelings was pressing down on you.

Your eyes, once bright with enthusiasm and mischief, now seemed clouded, reflecting a deep-seated sadness that you tried so hard to conceal.

He remembered the long pointless conversations, the dreams you both had shared, and the plans that now felt like distant memories. It pained him to witness your struggle, yet he felt powerless to bridge the growing chasm between you.

Despite the guilt that gnawed at him, Max couldn’t help but recognize a shift in his own performance on the racetrack.

He found himself consistently finishing on the podium, a stark contrast to your struggles as you remained trapped within the top ten.

Each trophy he lifted felt heavier than the last, a reminder of the friendship that had once fueled his passion for racing.

He could hear the cheers of the crowd, feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, but all he could think about was how you used to be there, celebrating alongside him, your face alight with pride and joy.

While he celebrated his achievements, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something important was missing.

The camaraderie they once shared seemed to slip further away with each passing race, leaving him to wonder if the price of success was worth the cost of their connection.

He often found himself glancing over at the empty spot in the pit where you used to stand, your eyes sparkling with encouragement, your voice ringing out with advice that had always kept him grounded.

As the races continued, Max felt a growing urgency to reach out, to break through the walls you had built around yourself.

But his father kept him grounded and not letting that thought come to life anytime soon. . . .

As you maneuver through the winding turns of the racetrack, adrenaline surges through your veins, a heady blend of focus and exhilaration.

"Joseph, what's the gap to Max?" you inquire, your voice steady despite the chaos enveloping you as you glance at the rearview mirror, noticing Charles's fierce pursuit as he falls into your peripheral vision, momentarily eclipsed by your recent strategic overtaking maneuver.

"2.3 seconds in front of you, Y/N," Joseph replies, his tone equally crisp yet slightly strained, hinting at the intensity of the moment.

The hum of the engine, the vibrations of the car, and the distant roar of the crowd blend into a symphony of speed, and as you negotiate the track, your mind sharpens with determination.

You consider your next move with meticulous care, knowing that a split-second decision could alter the course of the race.

Holding tightly to the steering wheel, you then ask, “Do I have permission to take over?”

Pause hangs in the air like a fragile breath, and you can almost anticipate Joseph's reply, especially given the longstanding tradition wherein hesitance often blankets these life-altering decisions.

Sure enough, after a fleeting silence, you prepare for the inevitable response that would echo in your ears like an unwelcome refrain, one you were all too familiar with.

But just as you brace yourself for a “no,” the radio crackles to life again—this time with a tidal wave of unexpected urgency.

"Yes! Y/N? Can you hear me? The team has approved the overtake of Max! Go for it!" Joseph’s voice bursts through with a burst of energy, jolting you from your reverie.

Instinctively, your foot plunges onto the accelerator as you channel every ounce of skill, focus, and ambition into propelling yourself forward.

You swiftly navigate the corner, your car gliding through the air like a bird released from captivity, and in that moment of pure adrenaline, you find yourself eclipsing Max, reclaiming the lead with undeniable ferocity.

As you settle into your newfound position at first place, the tension morphs into an exhilarating electrification coursing through your body.

Max, having momentarily lost his grip on the lead, now battles to fend off Charles and Lando from making any hazardous moves that might threaten your dominion at the front.

In the heat of the moment, the radio blaring with strategic updates fades into the background as your vision narrows solely on the track ahead—you are a race car driver, a gladiator in this battle of speed, and nothing else matters.

The world dissolves into monochrome, your focus unwavering as you grip the wheel like it’s a lifeline.

Distant cheers from the crowd seep through your concentration, yet you silence those voices, drowning out distractions as you become acutely aware of the weight of the race, the dreams that hang delicately in the balance—everything is at stake.

You feel sweat trickling down your temple and a syrupy mix of anticipation and fear soaring through your chest, but as you approach the final laps, triumph struggles to emerge from the depths of your hardwork.

Amidst the exhilarating distractions, your attention sharpens when you catch a faint echo of Joseph’s voice cutting through the chatter. "Y/N! You did it! You won!"

The joyous eruption on the other end floods your senses with disbelief, a tidal wave of emotions crashing over you.

In that electrifying moment, as you maintain your grip on the wheel for the last few seconds, reality begins to wash over you like an exhilarating wave, and the tears you could feel brewing now threaten to spill, your triumph intertwining with your vulnerability.

With the checkered flag waving triumphantly in the air, you ease down on the accelerator, the sensation of victory swelling inside you as you let a muffled cry of delight escape your lips.

You slow your car and finally breathe, releasing all the pent-up energy, as the realization of your success resonates in every fiber of your being.

"You did it, Y/N! You won the grand prix!" Joseph's voice dances through the radio, resonating with an infectious glee.

A burst of laughter escapes your lips, and for the first time, the roar of the crowd—a melodic blend of cheers—warms your heart.

As you roll to a stop, the world around you crescendos into a celebration of your harrowing journey—each twist, each turn, each heartbeat racing in sync with the rhythm of victory.

The moment is surreal, and as you step out of the car, you are not just a racer anymore; you are a triumphant force that turned dreams into reality, and no title could encapsulate the pride swelling within you.

You parked the car in front of the first-place stand, your heart racing as the adrenaline coursed through your veins. Stepping out of the vehicle, you took a moment to absorb the victory that had just unfolded; it was surreal, almost like a scene plucked from your wildest dreams.

You stood on the hood of your car, exhilaration bubbling up inside you as you raised your fists in triumph, thrusting them into the air with a euphoric fist bump that echoed your unrestrained joy.

The cheers of the crowd swirled around you, a chorus of celebration, and for a heartbeat, the entire world felt like it paused in honour of your hard-fought achievement.

The weight of every early morning, every late night, every moment spent honing your driving in the shadows now seemed beautifully light, overshadowed by the sheer thrill of the moment.

As you jumped off the car with a renewed sense of vitality, you sprinted toward your team, their faces lit up with genuine happiness.

It marked a pivotal moment, one where they no longer treated you as fragile or merely a woman in a male-dominated sport; instead, they embraced you like a teammate, a winner.

You felt the warmth of their hugs wrapping around you, their joy infectious in a way that washed away any lingering doubts you had ever held about your place in this fierce and demanding environment.

“I can’t believe we did it!” you exclaimed, looking around at their beaming faces, heart swelling.

Some laughing tears glistening in their eyes, as they crowded around you, lifting you momentarily off your feet, celebrating not only your victory but the growth of a team bound together by perseverance and shared dreams.

Max eventually pulled up in front of the second-place station, his car’s engine rumbling to a soft stop just a few feet away from you. He stepped out, the sunlight catching the edges of his helmet as he removed it, revealing a look of pure delight plastered across his face.

It was a sight that brightened your heart; his genuine smile mirrored your own, a silent acknowledgment of the fierce competition that had just transpired on the track.

You could hardly control the emotions that swelled within you. With an impulsive rush, you charged toward him, unable to contain the joy of your victory.

In a flurry of excitement, you leaped into his arms, a spontaneous act born from the adrenaline still dancing through your body. He caught you effortlessly, his hands cradling your back protectively, and in that moment, the world shrank down to just the two of you.

“I won!" you declared, breathless, your voice a mixture of disbelief and sheer happiness, as if saying it out loud might make the victory feel more real.

A grin split Max's face wider, and you could see the pride sparkling in his eyes. “Yeah, you won! Congratulations!" he echoed, his voice turning melodic with the thrill of your accomplishment.

His embrace tightened around you, and you melted into the moment, filled with a sense of camaraderie and respect that had blossomed between you two over the course of your racing journeys.

As he set you back on your feet, laughter bubbled up once again, infectious and wildly free.

"I hope I didn't catch you off guard with that leap," you admitted, a hint of embarrassment creeping into your voice as you took a sip from your drink.

"Not at all! I’m just thrilled for you," Max replied, his cheeks flushed with excitement as he gave you a friendly pat on the back.

After the interview with the top three winners, you, Max, and Charles settled into the conference room, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement as the race replay flickered on the screen. The tension was palpable as the footage captured the thrilling moments of the competition.

"Wow! That was such a turn!" Charles exclaimed, wiping the sweat from his brow, clearly still feeling the adrenaline from the race.

He was referring to the intense maneuver where he nearly overtook Lando, a moment that had everyone on the edge of their seats.

As the race continued to unfold on the screen, you found yourself lost in thought, your mind racing with the events that had just transpired.

You focused on your breathing, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. You had actually won.

Max, sitting beside you, noticed your silence and turned his attention toward you, his eyes filled with concern.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asked softly, breaking the tension in the room. His voice was steady, a comforting presence amidst the chaos of the race replay.

You nodded slowly, appreciating Max's concern but still feeling the weight of the moment. "Yeah, just processing everything," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

After the conference wrapped up, the divers were given the freedom to either retreat to their driver’s rooms or celebrate with their teams and families.

However, the atmosphere was tinged with concern. The race winner was notably absent, and everyone had been eagerly anticipating a celebration for your first victory.

But after you dashed out of the conference room in a flurry, you seemed to vanish without a trace.

Everyone, especially Max, who had reached out to congratulate you repeatedly, was waiting, eager for you to join them in the festivities.

Max had noticed your absence almost immediately after the conference ended. The smile that had danced on his lips dimmed when you didn't join the team to celebrate; he frequently glanced toward the driver’s room, a sense of unease gnawing at his gut.

The more he thought about it, the more his concern deepened; it wasn't like you to shy away from such moments of triumph.

As teammates and family began to cheer and revel in the evening's wins, Max made the decision to search for you.

His quest took him to the paddock and then to your garage, but each passing minute only heightened his worries. "Where could you be, Y/N?" he murmured to himself, frustration lacing his voice as he traversed the familiar paths of the circuit, searching desperately for a glimpse of you.

His heart raced with anxiety; he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Finally, his gaze landed on the door of your driver's room, slightly ajar, like a whisper beckoning him to enter. Without a second thought, he approached and knocked gently, "Y/N, are you in there?"

Listening intently, he leaned closer to the door and was met with faint whimpers that sent a chill down his spine.

Panic surged through him.

This wasn’t just a moment of celebration for you; it felt like a cry for help, echoing through the cold corridor.

Without waiting for a response, he pushed the door open wider, bracing himself for whatever he might find—though nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met his eyes when the door creaked open.

The scene unfolded before him like a nightmare; your so-called boyfriend stood menacingly above you, his hand raised as if poised to strike, while your frail form displayed clear signs of distress—your face bruised, tears streaming down your cheeks, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment as he took stock of the situation, the cruel contrast of celebration outside and the terrifying reality inside your room.

"What the hell is going on here?" Max's voice cut through the air, laced with fury as he stepped into the room, instinctively placing himself between you and the looming threat.

In that instant, your boyfriend's grip on your collar slackened, surprise washing over his features as he turned to face Max.

“Stay out of this, Max! This has nothing to do with you,” your boyfriend snarled, his bravado faltering under the sudden scrutiny.

But Max remained steadfast, stepping closer, his presence commanding as he glared at the man who had dared to raise a hand against you.

“You’re wrong. It has everything to do with me. Y/N is my friend, and I won’t let you hurt her,” he replied, his voice steady yet filled with palpable tension.

Your eyes met Max's, a flicker of hope igniting amidst despair, and despite everything, the warmth of that friendship washed over you.

Max's voice echoed through the room, a mix of frustration and urgency. "You need to leave now!" he shouted, his eyes locked onto your boyfriend, who stood there with clenched fists and a scowl that could cut glass.

The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to slice through. Your boyfriend hesitated, his anger simmering just beneath the surface, but something in Max's tone made him reconsider.

"Fine," he finally muttered, his voice low and filled with resentment. "I’ll go, but this isn’t over."

With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him, leaving you and Max in a heavy silence.

“Max, please…” you managed to choke out, your voice hoarse as the fear and pain slowly ebbed. “I just…I just wanted to celebrate, but I didn’t know who I could trust. I thought…”

Your voice faltered as the tears resumed their steady flow. Max's gaze softened as he turned back to you, the protective barrier he had formed in front of you embodying more than just physical defense.

“You can trust me, Y/N,” he said firmly, his expression shifting to one of concern.

With Max's unwavering support behind you, the resolve within you began to build.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling, but a hint of strength colored your tone.

[theonottsbxtch]

TEEN IDLE | MV1

an: god this idea came to me while listening to teen idle by marina and lowkey kinda liked where i ended it, so i hope you enjoy it just as much and i won't write a pt 2 to this- unfortunalety for me my beloved friend hasn't proof read this one so apologies

wc: 2.8k

MAX VERSTAPPEN WAS RAISED FOR THIS. Before he could walk, he was sat in a go-kart; before he could read, he knew the weight of a steering wheel in his hands. His father made sure of that. Other kids had footballs, bicycles, summer holidays. He had telemetry sheets and tyre wear reports.

He was bred to be a champion, and so he became one.

By twenty-eight, Max had won everything there was to win. Multiple titles, records shattered, his name etched into the sport’s history books. And yet, looking back, it all felt like one long, unbroken blur—an endless series of podiums, press conferences, mechanics’ murmurs, and the relentless pressure of being the golden boy.

He could barely remember what it was like to be young, not properly. There were flashes, though. The sharp, acrid scent of petrol in the garage. The weight of his father’s expectations pressing down on him like a vice. The way his stomach had twisted before every junior race, knowing that second place was never good enough.

And then there were the times he could barely remember. That he should remember.

He had been seventeen, teetering on the edge of adulthood but feeling nothing like a man. She had been older—how much older, he wasn’t sure anymore, but old enough for it to feel like something forbidden. He’d told himself it was what he wanted, that he needed to do it. To feel something, to prove something.

Afterwards, he had stared at the ceiling, waiting for some grand revelation, some fundamental shift inside him. It never came.

He didn’t feel like more of a man.

And now, sitting in his driver room in another city, another race weekend, another meaningless milestone approaching, he wonders if anything ever really has.

He saw himself in the mirror across the room, still in his race suit, half unzipped, the fireproofs underneath clinging to his skin. His hair was damp, sticking to his forehead. He looked older than he remembered. Maybe it was the lighting. Maybe it was the exhaustion.

Maybe it was just the truth.

His phone vibrated on the bedside table. Another message he wouldn’t answer. He knew what it would say. Some journalist fishing for a quote. Someone from the team reminding him about media duties. A half-hearted invitation to drinks he had no interest in.

He ignored it.

Instead, he let himself sink back into the mattress, staring at the ceiling, replaying it all again. The wasted years. The wasted youth. The pretty lies, the ugly truth.

He had once thought that if he just won enough, if he proved himself enough, it would all start to mean something. That the hollow feeling would go away. But it never had.

He remembered being ten years old, crying in the back of his father’s car after a race he should have won. The slap, sharp and stinging. If you want to be the best, you can’t be weak.

He remembered being fifteen, standing on the top step of the podium, trophy in his hands, cameras flashing. His father’s arm around his shoulder, grip just a little too tight. See? This is what you were made for.

He remembered being seventeen, sheets tangled around his legs, a woman whose name he barely knew tracing her fingers down his chest. Was that what you wanted?

He hadn’t known what to say then. He still didn’t.

His driver room was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning, the city lights seeping through the gap in the curtains. He had spent years surrounded by noise—engines screaming, crowds chanting, his father’s voice drilling into his skull—and yet, in the quiet, he still heard it all.

He exhaled, long and slow, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. It was easier not to think. Easier to let the days blur together, one podium, one interview, one flight after another.

But some nights—like this one—he couldn’t help but wonder if he had ever really been alive at all.

He stayed there for a while, sprawled across the bed, staring at the ceiling as if it might give him some sort of answer. It never did. The room felt too still, too clinical, the kind of place designed for fleeting stays and nothing more. He had lived in hotels and motorhomes for most of his life, but none of them had ever felt like home.

Eventually, he forced himself to move. Peeling off his fireproofs, he let them drop to the floor, stepping over them as he made his way to the tiny en-suite. The mirror above the sink reflected someone he barely recognised. Shadows clung beneath his eyes, and a faint red mark on his forehead from his balaclava made him look even more exhausted than he felt.

He turned the tap on, splashing cold water onto his face, then braced his hands against the sink, head hanging low. He needed to get out.

Throwing on a plain t-shirt and an old hoodie, he grabbed a cap from the side table and pulled it low over his eyes. It was enough to make him anonymous—just another man slipping into the night, nothing special.

The paddock had mostly emptied by now, a few lingering mechanics finishing up for the evening, murmured conversations carrying through the cool air. He walked with purpose, shoulders hunched, hands stuffed into his pockets. No one stopped him. No one even looked twice.

By the time he reached the edge of town, he found what he was looking for. A pub, run-down but still open, the glow of neon signs flickering in the window. It wasn’t the kind of place anyone from the paddock would go, which was exactly why he chose it.

Inside, the air was thick with the smell of stale beer and cheap cologne, a low hum of conversation and the occasional scrape of a chair against the floor. A few old blokes sat hunched over their pints, barely sparing him a glance as he made his way to the bar.

“Can I help?” the bartender asked, barely looking up as he wiped down the counter.

“Whisky,” he said, voice hoarse from a day of interviews and radio calls. “Neat.”

The glass clinked against the wood a few moments later. He took it without a word, moving to a quiet corner, away from the dim overhead lights.

He took a sip. It burned on the way down, but at least it made him feel something.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, nursing the drink, letting the noise of the bar blur around him. Long enough for the ice to melt, for the world outside to fade into nothing.

For the first time in a while, he felt like nobody. And somehow, that was a relief.

The whisky went down too easily. He swirled the last of it in his glass, watching the way the light caught the amber liquid, then tipped it back, letting it burn its way down. He wasn’t drunk, not yet, but the edges of everything felt softer. Less sharp. Less real.

He was about to signal the bartender for another when she appeared. She slid into the seat opposite him without hesitation, eyes flicking towards the entrance before settling on him.

He barely had time to register her presence before a man followed, taller, broader, the kind of bloke who walked like he owned the room. The girl didn’t look at him, just leaned forward, resting her arms on the table as she spoke.

“See, I told you my boyfriend was waiting for me.”

Max didn’t move. Didn’t react. But he caught the way her fingers curled slightly, gripping the edge of the table just a little too tight. The man hovered for a second too long, gaze shifting between them, then exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Right,” he muttered, before turning and stalking back towards the bar.

She waited until he was gone before she relaxed, shoulders dropping ever so slightly. Then she looked at Max properly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Thanks for that,” she said, not sounding particularly sorry.

He didn’t respond, just pushed his empty glass aside, already regretting getting involved in whatever this was. But she didn’t seem bothered by his silence. She tilted her head, eyeing the glass, then raised a brow at him.

“What are you drinking?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, shifting slightly in his seat. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk, least of all with a stranger who had just used him as an excuse to shake off some bloke she clearly had no interest in.

But she ignored him, her eyes flicking to the last few amber drops in his glass before he could move it out of sight.

“Whisky,” she said, like she had figured him out. Then, before he could protest, she got up and strode towards the bar.

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He should leave. Finish the last drops, disappear into the night, let her deal with whatever mess she was in on her own.

But when she returned, setting a fresh glass down in front of him with a quiet clink, he didn’t move.

“Cheers, boyfriend,” she teased, raising her own glass.

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly, but picked up the drink anyway.

For now, he stayed.

She took a sip of her drink, watching him over the rim of her glass. He could feel her curiosity, the way she was studying him, trying to fit him into a story in her head.

“So,” she said eventually, setting her glass down, “do I get to know my fake boyfriend’s name?”

He hesitated. It was a simple enough question, but it felt like a trap. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the whisky. Maybe it was the way she had just waltzed into his night without permission, without expectation. But before he could stop himself, he said, “Emilian.”

It was his middle name. He didn’t know why he hadn’t said Max, that was far more common that Emilian.

She raised an eyebrow. “Emilian, huh?”

He nodded once, taking a slow sip of his drink to avoid looking at her properly.

She didn’t question it. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, tilting her head slightly. “Alright, Emilian. What are you out drinking for?”

He considered lying again. Saying something easy, something normal. But the truth slipped out before he could think of anything else.

“I’m tired,” he said simply. “Needed a break from work.”

Her expression shifted slightly—not quite pity, but understanding. “Bad day?”

“Long day,” he corrected. “Long… few years, actually.”

That made her huff a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I know that feeling.” She took another sip, then rested her chin on her hand. “What do you do?”

He should have said something vague. Something non-committal. But the whisky was settling in now, loosening the grip on his thoughts, and the lie came out before he even knew why he was telling it.

“I’m a mechanic.”

It felt strange, saying it. Unfamiliar, but safe.

She hummed, tilting her head. “Huh. Thought you might be something like that.”

He frowned slightly. “Why?”

She shrugged. “Dunno. Just got the vibe.” Then she smirked. “Or maybe I saw the oil stains under your nails.”

His pulse jumped for a second before he realised she was joking. His hands were clean—too clean, probably, for someone who supposedly worked in garages all day—but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Must be a stressful job, if it’s got you drinking alone,” she added, watching him over her glass again.

He exhaled, glancing down at the whisky in his hand. “Yeah,” he said, and for the first time that night, it wasn’t a lie.

He rolled his glass between his fingers, watching the whisky catch the dim light. Then, without really thinking, he asked, “What about you? Why are you out this late?”

She exhaled through her nose, tipping her head back slightly. “Was walking home from a wake,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Then that bloke started following me, so I figured I’d use you.”

There was no shame in it, no hesitation. Just a casual admittance, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. She took another sip of her drink, then smirked slightly. “There’s always some sad sod drinking alone somewhere.”

He let out a small laugh at that—barely more than a huff of breath, but it surprised him nonetheless.

“Lucky me, then,” he muttered, shaking his head.

She raised her glass slightly in mock toast.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The bar buzzed around them, low conversations, clinking glasses, the occasional burst of laughter from a table near the back.

Then he asked, “Who died?”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift uncomfortably or drop her gaze.

“My dad.”

He blinked. “Shit.”

She shrugged, swirling the last of her drink.

“Sorry,” he said automatically, but even as the words left his mouth, he was already wondering—how would he feel if his dad died?

Would it be relief? Would it be grief? Would it be anything at all?

She must have seen something in his face because she let out a dry laugh. “Don’t apologise,” she said, tipping her glass towards him before downing the rest of it in one go. “He was a right old cunt.”

That made him snort before he could stop himself. He coughed, shaking his head as he took a sip of his own drink. “Christ.”

She grinned. “I mean, it’s true. Everyone was there, saying all this bollocks about what a great man he was, and I was just sat there thinking, what a load of shite.”

Max watched her, the way she spoke so bluntly, so freely. He tried to imagine standing at his own father’s funeral, people saying things about what a hard man he’d been, how much he’d sacrificed for his son, how proud he would have been.

He wasn’t sure he’d believe a word of it.

She leaned forward slightly, eyeing him. “Bet you weren’t expecting that answer.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “No. Can’t say I was.”

She smirked. “Well, you don’t look like the type to have a good relationship with your dad either, so…”

His grip tightened on his glass for half a second before he forced himself to relax. He didn’t reply.

She didn’t press.

Instead, she raised her empty glass, tilting it towards him. “Another?”

He should have said no. Should have left while he still had the sense to.

But he didn’t.

“Yeah,” he said, finishing the last of his whisky. “Go on, then.”

And just like that, he let himself sink a little further into the night.

The air was crisp as they walked, the quiet hum of the city settling around them. The streets weren’t quite empty—there were still a few late-night stragglers, people spilling out of pubs, voices carrying in the cool night—but it was calmer now, the chaos of earlier fading into something softer.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket, tilting her head back slightly as she walked. “Where you staying, then?”

“One of the hotels by the track,” he said, not thinking much of it.

She let out a low whistle. “Bet that’s a nightmare with the F1 on. Must be packed. Loud as hell.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Something like that.”

She hadn’t connected the dots. Maybe it was the drinks, or maybe she just didn’t follow motorsport enough to care. Either way, he didn’t correct her.

They kept walking, neither of them in much of a rush to get anywhere. Her bus stop wasn’t far, but she didn’t break pace, didn’t cut the night short. Neither did he.

It was nice, in a way, walking with someone without expectation. Without small talk that felt forced or questions that felt intrusive. Just two strangers, filling the quiet.

Eventually, the bus stop came into view. She slowed, glancing up at the electronic sign before rocking back on her heels slightly.

“Well,” she said, turning to him, “this is me.”

He nodded. “Right.”

She looked at him for a moment, like she was considering something, then just smiled. “Thanks for the drink, Emilian.”

He let out a small breath of laughter. “Yeah. No worries.”

The bus pulled up, doors hissing open, but she didn’t move straight away. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, eyes scanning his face like she was trying to work something out. Then, without another word, she stepped onto the bus.

He didn’t ask for her number. She didn’t offer.

The doors shut, and he stood there for a moment, watching the bus pull away.

Then he turned and started walking back towards his hotel.

The night was still. The world felt quieter.

And for the first time in a long while, so did he.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore

[crowsofdarkness]

Today's lesson with Bucky: Cumshot with a side of jealousy.

Part Four to the Teach Me series. If you haven't read the first three parts, you might be a little confused. Tags for this are open, just comment if you're interested!

18+ CW's below the cut( male masturbation, cum play with Bucky making a mess on you)

tags: @muchwita @chrisevansleftnipple @georgeyblast @justsebstan @memenerdlover @mrsalexstan @mandydornanjohnson @spencypookie13 @wintrsoldrluvr @ronjantz @buckysgirl27

“So I just lay here while you touch yourself?” I asked with a note of hesitation, glancing up at Bucky who knelt next to me on his bed. 

He gave me a warm smile while slowly taking off his shirt, showcasing his hard chest and all of his vibranium arm. Very briefly, my eyes flicked to the scars where flesh met the arm but I didn’t dare let it linger long. There were talks around the tour that it made him self conscious giving the history but right now, seeing those bright eyes drink me in I can say for certainty that Bucky did not mind me staring. 

“You’re going to lay just like this,” he helped me get better adjusted on the bed with my head on a pillow. “And I’m going to jerk myself off until I cum.”

Heat engulfed me at how deep his voice was along with the image of him doing just that. It had been a few days since our last lesson since he had been on a quick, one day mission. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t missed him. As nervous as I was in the beginning, I found myself loving these lessons. I’d been learning a lot thanks to Bucky and felt extremely confident that when the time comes for me to have a serious relationship, I’ll know what to do. 

I spent all night last night watching different videos on cum shots and thought for sure I’d become disgusted with the idea of being covered with someone's cum but I found myself becoming more aroused with every video I watched. Although the idea of someone cuming all over my face sounded hot, I don’t think I was ready for that yet. 

“Where are you going to-?” I asked, biting my bottom lip. 

Bucky made a low noise in the back of his throat as he dragged a thumb over my bottom lip, releasing it from my teeth. “I would love to fill this pretty mouth with my cum but we’ll work our way up to that. So it’s your choice: pussy, stomach, or chest.”

Swallowing thickley, I pointed to my stomach. “Here is fine.” 

I didn’t want to let him know my body was shaking with the idea of having his cum in my mouth or on my pussy. In theory it sounded scary but having it be Bucky, it made it less. 

“Do you want to take your shirt off or roll it up?” Bucky asked, quickly standing to take off his shorts, leaving himself in his red boxers. 

I did not miss the way his dick twitched when he stood to full height but I kept it to myself. 

“Uh,” I thought about it for a moment. If this was our first lesson, I would have kept my shirt on but now, I felt comfortable with Bucky. 

Without saying a word, I sat up to take my shirt off, letting it fall to the bed next to me. I sat in front of him in a green lace bra and a pair of my sleep shorts. Something dark bled into Bucky’s eyes as he dragged his eyes up and down my top half, resting them on my chest. 

“Green is your color,” he mused before kneeling on the bed after I laid down. 

He had me locked on the bed underneath him, one knee on either side of me, and he adjusted the pillow behind me again. 

“Ready?” 

I nodded. “Do you want me to touch you?” 

“You relax, doll,” Bucky smiled. 

My stomach fluttered at the nickname, loving the way it sounded on his lips. 

He took his dick out of his boxers, not quite getting all the way naked because I wasn't there yet, and began stroking himself up and down with his vibranium hand. I watched in a trance at how well he touched himself, a skill he honed in on with years of practice. 

“Doesn’t it hurt using your vibranium hand?” I asked, not daring taking my eyes off of his hand around his dick. 

He let out a grunt, eyes fluttering shut. “I like the pain.” 

Locking that admission away for future use, the next few minutes passed with Bucky’s moans echoing in his bedroom and my lips parted as I watched with wide eyes. He focused more on the head of his dick, swirling a finger around it to drag the precum all over himself. Like our last lesson, I wanted so badly to taste it, even a little just so I could prepare myself for oral. 

As if reading my mind, Bucky took a flesh finger to gather some precum before bringing it to my lips, dragging it over my bottom one. Instantly, my tongue darted out to taste and I let out a ravenous growl. He tasted so good, almost like honey, and I wanted more. 

I needed more. 

“You look so pretty underneath me, baby,” Bucky groaned, taking long strokes up and down his dick. 

“Bucky,” I moaned his name, urging him closer to me, wanting to feel him on me. 

“Say my name again,” he ordered, now moving his hand faster. 

“Bucky,” I repeated. “This is so hot.” 

A hint of a smirk played on his lips. “Watching my stroke my cock turning you on, baby?” 

I nodded which seemed to please him because soon, Bucky’s head fell back as his grip tightened at the base of his cock, holding it still as he spilled himself all over my stomach. His cum felt warm and almost sticky as he painted my skin. His orgasm must have been a strong one because Bucky nearly fell over onto me, holding himself up against the wall above the bed at the last second. His dick pressed against my stomach, making more of a mess with his cum as he slowly dragged his dick through it. My body tingled with the feeling of him like this and I didn’t want it to end. 

BUCKY

“Are you sure you’re alright?” I asked Y/N as she dressed again. 

I cleaned up my cum from her stomach with a warm wash cloth but told her it would be a good idea to take a shower once she returned to her room. We were standing near the door to my room and I couldn't help but stare at her. Her long legs, her soft hair that smelled like lilies, and her bright eyes that always sucked me in anytime I caught sight of them. 

When she first joined the Avengers team, I never even looked at her with more of a thought that she was a teammate. But now after these lessons, I found myself becoming attached and fond of her. A crush is what Steve would call it if I talked to him about it but I refused to let anyone know about our lessons. Y/N and I both agreed when we started this that there were to be no feelings to come of this yet here I was, going against it. 

“Yeah,” she nodded with a lazy smile. “I didn’t think I would be since cum is kind of a foreign substance but seeing you make a mess all over me was really hot.” 

And there goes my dick again. Calm down , you can’t let her see your boner. 

Shifting on my feet to hide my growing boner underneath my sweats, I gave her my own nod in return. “Same time tomorrow?” 

“What’s the next lesson?” Her brows peaked with excitement and curiosity. 

Just as I was about to say, her phone went off in her hands in an all too familiar tone. 

Stark was calling her for a mission. 

“Where are you headed?” I asked as she read over the message on her phone, noticing her shoulders drop. 

“Greece. For a week. There’s rumors of someone infiltrating one of the museums there and he’s sending the Avengers to play guard during the opening,” she said. 

I peered down at her phone when she showed me the plans. “Who are you going with?” 

As much as I would have loved for it to be me, my phone never went off so I knew she was going with someone else. Maybe Nat or Wanda. 

“Bill,” her honey voice broke my thoughts. 

Bill. The new recruit. The one Nat and Wanda couldn’t stop gushing about. 

“The new guy?” I questioned, trying to mask my jealousy with worry. “Has he been on any missions?” 

Y/N locked her phone. “A few but this one doesn't seem all that bad. Rain check on our next lesson?” 

With a forced smile, I nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll text you the details.” 

And with that, she slipped out of my room leaving the scent of lilies lingering in the air and I quickly strode towards my shower ready for yet another cold shower. Y/N would be gone for a week and I didn't doubt I'd be hungry for her.

Our next lesson was simple: Oral.

[andvys]

The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter ten

⭐︎ Turn me into something tragic, just for you, I let it happen

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, insecurities, jealousy, mentions of past stancy, mentions of cheating, mentions of heartbreak and unrequited feelings. post apocalypse au, grumpy x sunshine

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: The aftermath of the drinking game leaves you feeling angry and bitter, and the others confused when you greet everyone with a cold shoulder -- showing a side of you they didn't know you had.

Word count: 12.7k

Author's note: I'm back from vacation and I wrote this in like two days! This and the next chapter are ones I've been excited for the most to write! And me and @hellfire--cult can't wait for y'all to read this hehe. Roe helped a lot with this one, especially with all the dialogues! And also thank you for beta reading and fixing my dumb mistakes bby

series masterlist ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

For the first time in a while, you hate the way the sun shines into your face when you open your eyes this morning. You take deep breaths, glaring at the light. Your palm is pressed against the mattress beneath you. You know you should get up, but you don’t feel ready yet. Your head pounds a little, and your eyes feel sore. 

You barely slept last night. Too many thoughts kept you awake, along with all the revelations you got. 

For months, you had been traveling with them, and no one bothered to tell you of Steve and Nancy’s history. Of what they once were. Of how friendship wasn’t the only thing between them. And you know that maybe it shouldn’t matter, maybe it’s not that big of a deal, maybe it’s not even of importance anymore. He did say that it was only high school love, and high school was years ago. But it still rubs you the wrong way that they didn’t mention it once, especially Steve. He told you of what that girlfriend of his did to him, of how she hurt him, cheated on him, and dumped him to be with someone else. Why didn’t he tell you then that it was her? 

Now you can’t help but feel anger and a sliver of resentment towards her for what she did to him. Even if it doesn’t matter to him now, it mattered to him then. Even if he doesn’t love her now, he loved her then, puppy love or not. She broke his heart. And it pains you to know that he suffered because of her. 

Now they are friends, and he can act like nothing ever happened. How? You don’t understand. 

Nancy’s confession led you to wake up with anger in your heart this morning. 

You turn around and face the rest of the RV. It’s empty. Eddie and Nancy probably left to check out the nearby town, leaving Steve out there by himself. 

You’re not sure if you are ready to face him after your conversation with him in the RV last night. After what he said to you. 

Steve’s confession led you to wake up with sadness in your soul. 

You wish you had known sooner. 

You wish you had known sooner about them and about being a goddamn placeholder for the best friend he lost.

If you knew, maybe you could have saved yourself at least. 

With a sigh, you push yourself up. You don’t hurry out of the RV this morning like usual, desperate for a cup of coffee – even if you are, you aren’t ready to look into his stupidly gorgeous eyes. 

You take your time getting dressed and brushing your teeth in the tiny bathroom. This is a luxury you didn’t have when you traveled alone. You didn’t always have a bathroom. You sometimes traveled for days without finding a roof to sleep under. You brushed your teeth using a water bottle to rinse your mouth with. You washed your hair and your body in lakes. If you were lucky, you found houses with water tanks that allowed you to take showers… even if only cold ones, but you were just glad to be able to properly clean yourself. 

You are content here, but you also can’t wait to get home and find comfort again. After last night, you want nothing more than a warm bath, the stew and homemade bread that your dad always makes, a big hug from your mom, and your brother’s stupid attempt to make you laugh. 

You miss them. You miss them more than anything today. 

You stare at your reflection in the mirror as you braid your hair. You hate how puffy your eyes look today and how those circles under them are darker than usual. You look so different from how you used to look before the world changed. The lack of food is seen on your body nowadays. 

You reach for the hair tie around your wrist, not the lilac colored one he gave to you. Now you wonder why he gave it to you. You know it’s Robin’s. You had a hunch, and now you know. 

A huff falls from your lips, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at yourself for getting your hopes up once more, let alone in a world like this. Of course, he had a reason to give you a chance, to like you. He wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t gotten something out of it… right? Why else did he change his mind about you so quickly after getting out of Hawkins? It wasn’t only guilt, it was something else too. 

You put your jacket on and zip it up, and eye the yellow colored scarf on the couch. You want to leave it there so badly. The bitterness inside you is strong… though not strong enough for you to not put it on. 

You don’t notice the way Steve’s eyes light up when you open the door and step outside into the cold. He is standing in the snow with one hand on his hip and a mug in his other hand. The smell of coffee and snow mixes together. The pot is still steaming, your mug is waiting for you on the small table you used for cooking last night. 

“Good morning, Sunshine.” Steve smiles at you, eying the scarf around your neck. 

“Morning.” You mumble, unable to even try and sound more cheerful. 

Steve furrows his eyebrows, his smile fading a bit as he takes in the look on your face. The circles under your eyes, the sad but also… angry look on your face. It’s concerning to see you like this – the only time he saw that facial expression and heard that tone in your voice was when you all just hit the road, after he had snapped at you in front of Robin’s grave. 

“For someone who didn’t drink, you sure do look hungover.” Steve attempts to make you chuckle, though all he gets is a half hearted smile. A weird feeling settles in his chest at that. “Coffee…?” 

He searches for your eyes, for your smile. But you hide from him, looking down as you make your way down the stairs. 

“Yeah.” 

Steve nods and sets his mug down. He grabs your mug and pours the coffee in. He prepares it for you, how you like it – way too goddamn sweet. He stirs it so the sugar dissolves. 

“Here,” he says, looking back up at you, stepping towards you to hand you the coffee.

You take it from his hands, forcing a smile onto your face as you glance at him. You try to ignore the way your heart skips a beat over the way he looks down at you, over the way he put three teaspoons of sugar into your coffee… just how you like it, over the way his touch feels when his fingers brush against yours. 

“Thank you,” you whisper as you wrap both hands around the warm mug. You retreat and break eye contact, missing the way his face falls as worry takes over. 

You sit down on the way too cold camping chair. You take a look around as you take a sip. 

Steve picks up his mug again and makes his way to your side, not hesitating to pull his chair closer and sit down beside you. He turns to face you, not even hiding his stare. 

You said four words. Only four words. You start rambling the moment you smell the coffee in the air. You are never this quiet. Never. You are just looking at the field ahead of you, drinking your coffee in silence. 

“Sunshine, is everything okay?” He doesn’t hesitate to ask. “You’re not feeling sick again, are you?” 

Guilt fills your chest at the worry in his voice. But warmth spreads through you as well, knowing that he noticed. 

You shake your head and slowly turn to face him. “I’m okay, just tired… that’s all.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows. You were the first to go to sleep last night and the last to wake up this morning. After the conversation he had with you inside the RV, you got tired and went to sleep. 

“But you slept for 8 hours,” he mumbles as he reaches over to you, placing his palm against your forehead to check if the fever came back, but your temperature feels fine. 

You lean back, avoiding his touch. “I said I’m okay.” You grumble, taking him aback. 

Steve’s eyes flash with hurt. His brows sinking lower. The pang in his chest surprises him too, making his stomach dropa little. Not good. 

You make the mistake of looking at him, and you instantly tense up. Guilt settles inside of you. The hurt look in his eyes causes your tension to disappear. The urge to apologize grows inside you right away. 

His doe eyes gaze into yours, his lips curling into a frown. His shoulders slump, and he retreats a little. In this moment right here, he resembles a goddamn puppy.

Steve Harrington looks like a puppy. 

A sigh falls from your lips as you tilt your head to the side. 

“I-I’m sorry… I just… didn't sleep that well and now I have a headache.” It’s not exactly a lie. You’re just not telling him the reason for it. 

“Oh…” He frowns. “Do you need anything? Tylenol? Or do you want me to make you some breakfast? I can make oatmeal. We got cinnamon and brown sugar now.” He shrugs. 

You shake your head, smiling a little. “No, I’m fine… I promise. Maybe later.”

Steve nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. 

“The sun is up!” Eddie grins as he spots you next to Steve. 

Your head snaps towards him. You were too distracted to hear his footsteps… or hers.

“Morning, Sweets.” 

“Morning.”

Eddie notices the tone in your voice right away, the lack of a smile confusing him. He draws back in surprise, tilting his head at you.e’s about to open his mouth to ask if you’re okay, but Nancy beats him to it.

“Are you okay?” The brunette asks, concerned as she makes her way over to you. 

You can’t help but feel tense. A sour taste appears on your tongue, not even the bittersweet coffee cannot kill that taste. 

Steve notices the way you clench your jaw at the sound of her voice, the way your eyes flash with something he can’t read, something he’s never seen on you before. It surprises him. 

Your lip twitches, curling into a plastered smile. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You mumble, and before any of them can ask or say anything else, you turn on your heel and make your way back into the RV, catching them all off guard when you slam the door, leaving them all confused and stunned. 

They had never seen you in a bad mood. They had never seen you angry. You had never behaved that way before. They didn’t even know you had it in you. 

Eddie raises his eyebrows, his eyes widen. He slowly turns to face Steve after staring at the door for a while. The former jock looks just as confused but also… he looks like a kicked and tossed aside puppy. His lips are curled into a pout, his hazel eyes etched with sadness. 

Nancy turns around, nearly giving herself a whiplash by how fast she does it. 

“What happened?” She frowns. “Did you say something to her?”

Steve frowns at the accusing tone in her voice. Eddie notices it right away. 

“What? No! She just woke up, didn’t even say two sentences to me,” he mumbles as he looks down into his coffee cup. A bad feeling rises in his chest. A mixture of sadness and concern was flushing through him. 

Was it something he said…? Was it something he did? Was it about last night? It can’t be right? You were fine when he went after you to talk, when he explained that he doesn’t feel for Nancy anymore. You were okay, you even shared your KitKat with him before you went to bed. 

“Maybe she’s just… maybe she is just having a bad day,” Steve mumbles, hoping that it is that. “She’s allowed to have a bad day.” He grumbles, feeling protective. He’s had plenty of bad days, and you always gave him space, just like Nancy and Eddie had bad days, and you always respected that as well. 

“So give her the space that she needs.” He tells them, before he sits down on the camping chair behind him, glaring at the snow on the ground. 

You’re allowed to have a bad day. He repeats in his head and yet, he feels rejection coursing through him, not liking the coldness he received from you. 

Though it turns out to be more than just a bad day. 

If it were just that, you would keep to yourself, avoid everyone, and do your thing, but instead, you huff and puff at everything and everyone except for Eddie. Eddie seems to be the one spared by your cold shoulder, even when you grumble in response to his questions, you still talk to him. 

And Steve feels offended by it, when he notices how you still talk to Eddie while you avoid him and behave weirdly towards him, he can’t help but feel a weird ache in his chest. It confuses him and it makes him feel sad. 

He watches how you chat with Eddie when you wash dishes in the sink, and it leaves him with a bitter taste on his tongue because when he carried those dishes to you, you didn’t say a single word to him, not one word. 

And it’s so unlike you. You always talk to him, you talk to him more than you do with Eddie or Nancy, which makes it so obvious that you have some kind of personal issue with him, and it slowly makes him experience an ache he hasn’t felt in so long. He feels anxious, but also… he feels something he didn’t even know he was still capable of feeling. And he doesn’t know what to think of it, he doesn’t know how to let the realization sink in, he is too scared of it. 

And Eddie, despite being the one spared by your odd behaviour, notices everything. He sees the way you roll your eyes at everything that Nancy says, the way you clench your jaw and stare at her bitterly, resentment flashing in your eyes. 

And Steve… Every time you look at him, your eyes flicker with hurt but also with anger and disbelief. One moment, you look like a kicked puppy around him; the next moment, you snap at him every time he offers a hand and tries to help you with whatever task you are doing. 

In return, he always draws back in shock before his face flashes with sadness and rejection. 

If this wasn’t so serious, if he didn’t look so hurt and you so angry, Eddie would have found it amusing, but this is all so unlike you. Even he can’t believe what he is seeing. 

Nobody confronts you about it. Nancy goes out of your way after receiving one too many eyerolls from you. And Steve, he is scared to even ask, scared to touch the ticking time bomb. 

But Eddie grows a little frustrated with you when the late afternoon rolls around and you are still being a snappy brat, acting completely out of character. 

“I can do this myself. Thank you.” You snap at the brunette you are usually following around like a duckling follows its mother.

Steve huffs at you, unable to hide his frustration this time but before he can even respond to you, you grab the basket of dirty clothes that he just took from your hands and stomp away, making your way down to the lake to wash them. 

“Sunshine!” Steve calls after you as he throws his hands up, watching you walk down the hill. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling loudly before he curses under his breath. “What is her problem…” 

Eddie’s face flickers with sympathy. 

Who would have thought that your cold shoulder would be this… cold? 

He places his hand on his shoulder, giving him a tight lipped smile. 

“I don’t know what I did…” Steve murmurs, not hiding the vulnerability on his face. 

“You’re not the only one getting this treatment from her…” Eddie chuckles softly, shrugging. “I think she’s really just having a bad day.”

Steve shakes his head in return. 

“No. It’s gotta be something…” Steve mumbles as he furrows his eyebrows, trying to remember if it was something he said or did. “At first I thought it was because of Nance and I… she didn’t know that we used to be together, but we talked about it before she went to sleep and she was fine…”

Eddie winces at that, just like he did the night before when he saw how you reacted to that revelation. He knows you like Steve. He isn’t blind. It’s written all over your face every time you look at him, but Steve is clueless about it, painfully so. 

“Maybe it took some time to process that information…” Eddie shrugs.

“But why would she be mad at that…?” Steve frowns as he knits his eyebrows together strongly. 

Eddie almost wants to laugh. Yeah, that former playboy has got to be the most clueless guy in history. 

“Did you talk about something else with her…?” Eddie steers the topic away from his history with Nancy. 

Steve purses his lips as he looks down into the snow that is melting due to the warm sun. 

He shrugs as he brings his hand up to his hair again, running his fingers through it. 

“We just… I talked to her about Robin, about how lonely I felt after she died… before she came along.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah… I don’t know, maybe she’s just… missing her family.” 

Eddie nods. He slowly looks in the direction you have left. He now understands why you are acting this way. 

“Hey, listen, I’m gonna go talk to her and you get started on dinner, alright?” Eddie says, looking at his friend intently. “Bet she’s gonna be even worse if she doesn’t eat.” He chuckles, trying to make him smile. 

But Steve’s lip only twitches lightly. 

“Yeah… Okay.” Steve nods, hoping that a talk with Eddie might lift your mood – although he can’t help but feel a little hurt and sour if he does get through to you. 

Eddie pats his shoulder one more time before he walks away, following you to the lake. 

He squints his eyes as the sun shines brightly into his face. The warmth of it feels nice for a change, though. He hopes that it will get warmer from now on. The urge to throw his winter jacket off and away feels strong. 

Just like it does for you. 

You aren’t even wearing yours anymore. You ditched it next to the basket of dirty laundry. At least the pastel yellow scarf is still around your neck, along with a sweater that looks way too big on you. 

You are crouched before the lake, washing one of Steve’s t-shirts… angrily. 

Eddie clears his throat as he approaches you, making you freeze for a second before you continue. 

“Hey…” Eddie mumbles awkwardly as he stops beside you with his hands in his pockets. 

“Hey.” 

You don’t even look up at him. He can see that your jaw is clenched and that you are still huffing. 

Eddie can sense the death glare he is about to get from you, and a part of him feels nervous, even though he sees you as no threat at all. 

“Um… what’s going on?” He asks as he looks at the shirt you are washing in anger, the pink cleaning gloves shining brightly under the sun. 

“With what?” 

“You are acting angry.” Eddie retorts without missing a beat. 

“I’m not angry.” You lie. You are angry. You are hurt. And through the haze, you cannot see the impact it left on the three so far. 

"Yes, you are!” Eddie huffs as he crouches down beside you. “Did I– did we overstep with yesterday's game?” He asks, desperately wanting to know what had troubled you this much. 

“No, Eddie.” You grumble as you stop your task for a moment and turn to look at him. The concern in his eyes makes guilt rush through you. “I just woke up in a bad mood. Can’t I be in a bad mood every once in a while?” 

“I mean, yeah, you can,” he nods awkwardly. “It’s just weird to see… that’s all.” 

“Well, get the fuck used to it because that’s how human bodies work.” You roll your eyes before you look back into the cold water. 

Eddie clenches his jaw in annoyance. He feels a bit surprised by the attitude you continue to give him. 

“Okay, enough of this.” He finally grows frustrated. “What the fuck happened when you and Steve went to sleep last night? Did he do something he shouldn’t?”

You freeze. 

Growing flustered at the way he worded it, you can’t help but flush all over, which in return, leaves you feeling even angrier. 

You get up with the shirt in your hand and turn to face him, frowning. 

“No! He didn’t do anything! What does Steve have to do with anything?” You shrug at him. 

Eddie stands up as well, taking a step closer to you. 

“Because before going to bed you were completely fine, and today you are being a cunt!” 

Your jaw falls slack, your eyes flashing with disbelief as you frown angrier than you did all day. 

Eddie would have laughed at the expression on your face if this weren’t so serious. 

“A cunt!?” 

“Yeah! And I would like to know why!” He throws his hands up, growing frustrated with you. “I thought we were best friends, sweetheart! I thought we talk to each other when shit bothers you!” 

A flash of guilt rushes through you, and your angry expression fades for a second. Your shoulders slump as your cheeks heat up. 

The hurt is still there, burning stronger than before now. You look down into the grass that comes through the snow again. You take deep breaths and contemplate on how to open up, on how to say things without exposing too much, without exposing your feelings and the pain that you have felt since yesterday night. 

It all boiled up and you woke up in anger this morning. 

Steve and Nancy. Steve and Robin. 

It all reminded you of all your failed friendships and your failed relationship. It reminded you of all the moments you have spent playing the placeholder without knowing it, of all the one sided love you have had in the past, platonic and romantic. You thought it would be different this time. You felt that it would be different this time. 

But of course not, you were a fool once again. 

Even with him, Eddie. He called you a best friend when it isn’t the truth, maybe it is to you, but not to him. Nancy is his best friend, of course she is. They have known each other longer. You came along months, years after they had gotten this close. So, you can’t even be mad or hurt.

But it makes you feel bad. You know if a choice had to be made for whatever reason, it would never be you. Not to him, not to anyone. 

And it makes you feel worse to think of him. You thought that he could be the one, a best friend. You even ignored the part that wanted him as something more. You were happy to have him just like this. You were so lost in the delusion that you didn’t realize that you were nothing but a reminder of her, someone he could play pretend with. 

Why else would he have risked his life for you? 

He didn’t want to lose you because he would lose her a second time. 

Tears build up in your eyes as it all comes through you once more. You don’t want him to see, and you don’t want to cry in front of him, so you keep your eyes on the ground. 

“I just found out stuff that I think I should have known a while ago… I’ve been traveling with you for months, and I just now found out that Nancy was the girl that was with Steve…? That she was the girl who cheated on him?” You ask, swallowing the sour taste on your tongue. 

It all clicks in his head. 

“So… this is all because of jealousy?” 

You snap your head up, glaring at him. 

“Jealousy!?” You shriek, causing him to rub his ears as he winces in pain. 

“No need for that screech, that fucking hurt–”

You throw the wet t-shirt at him, not giving him the time to react before it slams wetly against his chest and his chin, making him stumble back in surprise. 

“What the–”

You turn on your heel, abandoning the laundry and him as you stomp away in anger, not giving him any time to react to your sudden outburst. 

Eddie frowns in disgust as he looks at the wet shirt. He scrunches his face up, furrowing his eyebrows as he looks up. 

“Where are you going!?” 

You only flip him off in return after throwing those pink gloves on the ground, leaving him in shock yet again. 

“Jesus Christ…” He mumbles, shaking his head. 

He wants to go after you, but he knows that he will only make it worse. So, as Steve had told him before, he gives you space. Though he can’t help but feel concerned as you walk further away from him. 

He looks up at the hill, preparing for the anger on Steve’s face when he comes back without you. 

-

You need space. You need a moment to yourself, a moment to breathe. You needed to escape. Ever since you were a kid, every time you had gotten into a conflict or felt hurt because of something, you stormed away, escaping into the sunflower field behind your house or any flower field you could find in reach. It always calmed you down, it always gave you comfort, to be surrounded by nature, to be by yourself, even if just for a moment. 

You found no flower field out here but you found a little clearing, a peaceful little place where you could find some alone time. But now that the anger you felt all day slowly began to fade, the guilt started slipping in for how you treated everyone – even if you are still hurt about absolutely everything. 

You are picking at the lilac hair tie, frowning at it. 

You will never be her. 

And you will never be as special to him as she was to him. 

You will never be anything more than a replacement. 

And you are pretty sure that even as that, you are still easily replaceable, no matter how much you remind him of her. 

Your eyes burn once again, and the feeling in your chest that had been suffocating you since last night becomes worse. 

You hate to admit that this hurts you more than any of your past friendship breakups. These people, these three random people that you would have never run into if it wasn’t for the end of the world, have stolen your heart and creeped their way into it so quickly, becoming so important to you that you would do anything for them. 

You wonder if they’d do the same… just for you and not because you remind them of anyone. 

“Sunshine.”

His soft voice doesn’t even startle you, but you still flinch. 

You can feel his eyes on you. 

“I’ve looked for you everywhere.” He states. 

You can hear the concern in his voice along with a hint of anger. 

You take a deep breath before you tilt your head up to look at him. He is standing a few feet away from you. Worry and confusion are written all over his face. He is frowning at you, holding your jacket in his hand that you abandoned when you escaped from Eddie after throwing the wet shirt at him – you will have to apologize… 

“Well, here I am.” You grumble, feeling bitter all over when you look into the hazel eyes you have come to adore so much. 

Steve clenches his jaw at the tone in your voice. He looks down at you, how you sit against the tree, snapping the hair tie against your wrist. Your face is still tense, still bothered. 

“Are you trying to get sick again?” He grumbles as he makes his way over to you, handing you the jacket. 

He halts before your feet, his boots knocking against yours. You look up at him through your lashes. You breathe in, and he expects nothing less than another huff from you. 

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, nodding his jaw at your jacket, urging you to take it. 

“I’m not cold–”

“Put the damn jacket on, Sunshine.” He demands, the frustration clear in his voice. 

You push yourself up, patting the back of your legs to remove any dirt you might have sat on. Bitterness curses through your veins to feel him so close, to feel his eyes on you, to feel his anger. 

“I think I can take care of myself, Steve.” You grumble in response as you grab the jacket from his hand and make your way past him. 

Steve feels a pang in his chest. He hoped that you had calmed down, that you would talk to him now about whatever is bothering you, but you are clearly still not in the mood. 

“Can you? Because you dropped everything and stomped away like a bratty child.” He mumbles in irritation. 

You are not telling anyone what’s your problem and instead of talking about it, you threw a wet shirt at Eddie – which honestly made Steve feel a little satisfied, knowing that you got mad at him too. 

You turn around to face him, frowning at his question. A mixture of emotions ripples through you, anger and hurt. That one word goes through your head like a broken record since last night, and it just got louder. Immature, immature, immature. That’s what he thinks of you. That’s what everyone thinks of you. And it bothers you, it hurts you but it especially hurts to know that this is how he feels about you. 

You want to laugh for letting yourself fall for him, for thinking that he could see you as something other than this. 

“Well, I don’t need anyone checking on me or looking after me,” you snap back as you point at your chest. “I wanted space, I wanted a fucking moment to myself but none of you respect me! I’m not a goddamn puppy and I’m not a child! I can handle my own – in case you don’t remember, I was on my own for a whole year!” 

Steve draws back at your outburst. He lowers his head as guilt rushes through him. Though the guilt isn’t enough to mend the frustration in him. 

He clenches his jaw, looking at you intensely as he places his hands on his hips. 

“Don’t do that, Sunshine. We respect you, you know that.” He says through gritted teeth as your anger seems to infect him as well. “But clearly you don’t respect us.” 

Your eyes widen, and your lips part. 

“Excuse me?” You tilt your head to the side, challenging him. 

He takes a step closer to you, not realizing just how much of your personal space he is invading and how his eyes flicker to your parted lips. 

“You heard me.” He mumbles as he now towers over you. “If you respected us, you would have told us– you would have told me what’s bothering you. I thought we were friends, I thought you and I… could talk about anything to each other.” 

‘You and I’. You hate the way your heart flutters at that, like it means anything to him, like it’s something. 

He takes a step closer to you, his hands itching to reach out to you, to grab your hands, to hold them like he did before. Instead, he clenches his fists to hold himself back. 

You gulp, swallowing the lump in your throat. You hesitate as you look into his eyes. The truth lies on the tip of your tongue, but you are too afraid to speak it out loud, to tell him how much it hurt you to find out about him and Nancy, about Robin. 

“Nothing is bothering me, I’m just having a bad day.” You lie through gritted teeth. 

He can see right through you. Your left eye twitches when you lie. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Steve warns you, glaring into your eyes. “We both know that’s bullshit.” 

“It’s not.” You clench your jaw, gripping your jacket tighter. 

“Tell me the truth.” Steve demands, growing restless and impatient. 

It’s not only his anger that shines through his eyes, it’s the desperation. And if you weren’t so blinded by your insecurities, you would see how much it kills him to receive this cold shoulder from you, you would see just how much he cares, that this is why he wants to know. Because he wants to fix it, because he wants to be there for you, to make it better. 

“Or what?” You glare at him, anger and sadness mixing, resulting in an explosion. “You’re gonna call me an immature little girl again? Tell me that my family is dead?” You ask as tears well up in your eyes, and you can’t help but hate yourself for that, for wanting to cry when you want to look brave. 

“Don’t do this now…” He begs as his eyes fill with guilt. 

But you are not done. 

“Tell me that I remind you of your best friend? That this was the only reason why you even gave me a chance…? Because you saw her in me? … And now I’m a placeholder to you and a joke to everyone else?” 

Steve feels like a bucket of ice cold water was dumped over his head. His eyes widen, and he draws back, staring at you, bewildered. His heart drops to his stomach, his chest aching when he takes in the tears in your eyes and the hurt written across your face now that the anger was finally put into words. 

The tension and the anger in him melting right off. His shoulders slump, and his eyes soften and fill with sadness. The guilt in him is worsening now. This is what you think? This is what you feel?

You were never that. There was not a single moment where he thought that about you, where he saw you as a replacement, where he thought of you as a placeholder to Robin. He didn’t realize how wrongly his words came across and the impact they left on you. 

He knows of your past, of the failed friendships, of the shitty first boyfriend you had. How they all made you feel. How they only needed you when no one else was around, how you were the last choice without realizing it, how you kept playing the placeholder for everyone you saw as a close friend or even a best friend. He was so angry at all of them when you opened up to him, and now he led you to believe that he felt just the same as they did about you. 

Steve watches the way a tear slips down your cheek, and he wants nothing more than to wipe it away and pull you into his arms, apologize for how much he hurt you with that wrong impression he left on you. 

“Sunshine…” Steve whispers as his hazel eyes soften at the sight of your sadness. 

Though you don’t give him the chance to explain himself. You don’t need him to lie to make you feel better, and you need no sympathy. You wipe your tears in anger and turn on your heel, walking away… again. 

You can hear the frustrated sigh that falls from his lips as he says your name softly. 

“Wait… please don’t do this,” he murmurs behind you as his footsteps echo. He follows you, contemplating reaching out to you, to grab your hand and pull you back to him, to make you listen, to put it through that thick head of yours that you are not a placeholder, that you could never be one, never. 

“It’s okay, Steve. I get it now.” You mumble, your voice still filled with bitterness. 

Frustration builds up in him again. You won’t listen, not so easily. 

Steve rushes up to you, grasping your upper arm gently, he stops you and turns you back around, forcing you to face him again. 

Your glassy eyes meet his, and you don’t hesitate to open your mouth again, but he beats you to it. 

“Listen to me, Sunshine.” 

But you don’t. You don’t listen to him. Your ears pick up a different sound, one that you can’t make out so well. You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head to the side. For a moment, all your troubled emotions flee away. 

“You were never–” Steve pauses when he takes in the change of your expression, when he notices the concentration in your eyes. 

“What is it…?” He frowns in concern as he begins to look around you both, realizing that he let his guard down, that he didn’t bother to look around and make sure that nothing was creeping up on the two of you. 

“Do you hear that?” You whisper as you take in the struggling sound of someone, something. 

Steve instantly reaches for the gun in his belt, but you stop him. You place your hand on his and shake your head at him. 

“No… just listen…” You whisper as you blink your tears away. 

He can’t look away from that, from the tears in your eyes and the pain he had caused without meaning to. 

You furrow your brows deeper as you look around. 

It sounds like a whine, a pained whimper coming from somewhere close. You turn towards it, hesitating for just a second before you move. 

Steve can’t even react as you turn around and escape his touch.  You start running, making your way towards those sounds, ready to jump straight into danger. 

“Sunshine!” He whispers, not wasting a second to follow you as you further make your way into the forest. “You don’t know what’s out there, you can’t just–”

But you don’t listen. Of course you don’t. Instead, you pick up the pace, following the sound without hesitation. Moving past the trees and the bushes, making your way down the small hill that leads you to a small waterfall and a big stream that is moving fast. 

You halt in your tracks as you look around, and when you find the source of the sound, your eyes widen. 

Right there by the shore, there is a fallen tree lying in the water, broken branches sticking into every direction. You see the tiny paws holding onto it, the fur wet from the river. The tiny wolf cub is holding on for dear life, but the water is moving fast, too fast for a pup to save itself from it. 

You don’t waste any time jumping into action, ignoring Steve’s calls as you make your way down to the river. You throw your jacket on the ground and lean down to take off your boots, undoing your laces quickly. You never take your eyes off the cub, scared that the stream will take it. 

Steve halts in his tracks behind you after he catches up. He freezes when you throw your scarf and your sweatshirt off before your hands find their way to your belt, watching how you undress yourself before the water. 

“I– what…” He mumbles in confusion, not even noticing the cub in the water. “What the hell are you doing, Sunshine!?” 

“I’m not gonna let the cub die!” You cry out as you point at it. 

“I–” Steve’s words get caught in his throat when he notices the struggling wolf pup. His heart breaks at the sight before him, and he instantly jumps forward as well, ready to get into that icy water. 

The clinking of your belt brings his attention back to you. He stares in disbelief as you take your pants off, stripping down to your underwear. 

“Whoa, wait!” He holds his hands up, ignoring the way his cheeks flush at your bare skin, at the lace covering your skin. “The water is cold! You are still coming down from your cold – sunshine!” 

You stumble away before he can grab your arm and stop you. You dip your feet into the water, and you can’t help but wince at the coldness of it. Shivers rise up on your skin instantly, and you shudder strongly. You know this will hurt after. You know this might make you sick again, but you can’t bring yourself to think and worry about it now. 

Steve’s stomach drops as he watches you get in the water. He brings his hands up to his hair, clutching it anxiously as he clenches his jaw. 

You will be the death of him. 

He makes his way down to the shore, ready to jump in after you in case something happens. 

“I can’t believe you…” He mutters under his breath as he watches you anxiously. 

“Hey,” you whisper to the cub with a shivering voice as you take another step into the water, grateful for the tree for slowing down the stream on this spot. You just hope that it won’t get too deep, not wanting to get into the coldness with your whole body. 

The cub whimpers loudly which leads you to move faster, desperately wanting to save it. 

“I’m coming,” you whisper as you take another step, now standing knee deep inside of it. Your whole body is trembling by now. 

The water, this spot would’ve been a nice little place if it wasn’t so goddamn cold. 

Steve’s concerned face winces when he sees just how much you are shivering already. He wants to scold you, to grab you and yell at you for being so stupid. 

“Be careful.” 

Your hands touch the water when the next step nearly envelopes you fully. A gasp falls from your lips when the water touches your stomach. You need to move fast, and you need to get out of here quickly. The cub is in reach now, and you don’t waste any more time, taking a tiny step closer, you reach out to it, wrapping your hands around it, you pull it towards you, cupping the tiny animal against your chest. 

Steve watches intently as he takes his jacket off. A sigh of relief leaves his lips when you save the cub and start making your way out. 

The ends of your hair are wet, water dripping down your bare back. Your skin is covered in goosebumps. You are freezing. 

“I got you,” you whisper as you look down at it. Its paws cling to your bra straps, claws digging into your skin a little as it shivers and whimpers against you. “I got you… baby.” 

Steve’s stressed figure stands by the shore, his face is etched with nothing but desperation. The second you are in reach, he grabs your waist and pulls you outside, unable to hide the angry frown on his face as he turns you around, forcing you to face him again. 

Not even a minute in the water and your lips are purple and trembling. Your skin is ice cold. 

“You are crazy, Sunshine.” He grumbles as he wraps his jacket around your shivering body. And then… he wraps his arms around your body, enveloping you with his arms completely, pulling you into his warm embrace. He places his chin on the top of your head, holding you tightly as he rubs your back, trying to warm you up. “Absolutely crazy.” He mumbles and closes his eyes. 

You bury your face in his chest, melting into his touch with ease. You welcome his warmth and press yourself against him. The cub is between yours and his chest now, enveloped by warmth. 

“Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?” He says as he holds you tighter. 

You risked your life. You risked your life for an animal, knowing what it could lead to again. You are so good, too good for this world. And it fills him with fear because you jump into danger without thinking, not caring about yourself. 

And despite the concern it leaves him with, his heart flutters and warms at your action. You are so selfless and loving. 

You nod against him as your teeth clatter. You close your eyes and fall into him, embracing the warmth of his body. 

“I got you,” Steve whispers into your hair as he tightens his hold on you. “I got you, Sunshine.”

You breathe heavily against him, taking deep breaths. You search for his warmth, pressing yourself tighter against him and in return he pulls you even closer. 

“God… you’re so cold.” He whispers in concern as he continues to rub your arms and your back. 

The pup between you is shivering just as much, but it’s whines get quieter as it curls into your chest. 

“Can’t believe you did this.” Steve mumbles as he cups the back of your head. 

“Couldn’t let this baby drown,” you whisper against him as you press your head against the spot over his heart, unknowingly making it flutter. 

You don’t know how much time passes as you stand there in his embrace, but you find yourself wishing that you could stay like this forever. It feels nice to be in his arms, it feels safe and warm. Despite what happened before, you don’t want this moment to end. 

You know that this is nothing to him, that this is just a way of warming you up just like that night you spent in the car before you got sick. But your heart ignores your mind. 

But Steve, he doesn’t want to let you go. It feels nice, it feels right to hold you. His heart feels… alive. His skin is burning from where you’re touching him. Your scent, your touch, is driving him crazy. Your cold shoulder was driving him insane all day, making him sour yet sad. And now he suddenly feels calm. With you in his arms, he feels content, like there is nothing else in this world that he needs. Absolutely nothing. 

It’s at this moment that he realizes that he is screwed. 

His heart skips a beat when you lay your hand over it. 

Yeah, totally screwed. 

Your words from before echo in his head, filling him with dread and sadness, knowing how you felt all day, knowing why you behaved so coldly. 

Steve opens his eyes and he looks down at you, bringing his hands to your face, he cups your cheeks as he whispers your name, “can you look at me for a second?”

You hesitate for a moment, standing still for a few seconds before you look up at him.

He nearly feels his knees buckle from the vulnerability in your eyes. 

He briefly looks at the pup in your arms, watching the way it buries itself against you, feeling safe in your embrace. His heart warms at the sight. 

He keeps holding your cheeks, his eyes returning to gaze into yours. He takes a deep breath as he looks at you intensely. 

“Listen to me,” he whispers, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “You were never ever a placeholder, you were never a replacement for Robin or anyone else for that matter.”

Your eyebrows furrow as your lips pucker, “but…”

Steve shakes his head at you, “I never meant it like that when I said that you remind me of her. I never saw her in you. You are not some sort of ghost of Robin, Honey.” He promises, telling you nothing but the truth. “Your rambling reminded me of hers, that’s why it was so hard for me to be around you at first. Robin would talk my ear off about the most random things, you did that too and I just thought ‘god… these two together would be the death of me’ cause I know that she would have loved you.”

“Oh…” 

Steve can still see the insecurity flashing in your eyes, the way you struggle to believe him. And he so badly wants you to believe him, to trust him. 

These days, he struggles to be vulnerable, to show feelings, to let them in… but if that’s what he’s gotta do in order for you to believe him, then he will let his guard down for a moment. 

“But in no way were you ever a placeholder. I promise that I have never thought that of you. You are not Robin, and I don’t want you to be her. I like you, I like you for who you are. I like you for how you constantly hit me with the most random facts, for how you stay so hopeful and cheerful despite everything, for how kind you are despite this world, for jumping straight into ice cold water to save this cub.” His cheeks are flushed, and his stomach is filled with nerves. “And you’re not an immature little girl, Sunshine. You are probably the smartest, the strongest of us all. I admire you and for how this world hasn’t tainted you in the slightest.” He admits, feeling his heart race in his chest, and he also fuels it when he brings his hand higher up your face to brush away the stray hair that covers your eye. 

Your breath hitches in your throat, your cheeks burn beneath his touch. You don’t even feel the cold anymore, not even the sadness nor the anger from before.

Your heart races strongly in your chest, filling with hope yet again. The rejection, the disappointment that flushed through you before, just vanishes with ease. The look in his eyes makes you feel engulfed in nothing but warmth. The tension in your whole body disappears. 

Were you wrong after all? 

Did you misunderstand everything he said? 

Did the past really leave such an impact on you? 

“Y-You… You admire me?” Out of all the questions you could ask, this is the only one you can come up with. 

Steve’s lip twitches, curling into a small smile. His eyes soften as he continues to look into your eyes. He found his favorite color. 

“Yeah, we all do.” Steve nods. “In case you haven’t noticed.” 

You furrow your eyebrows, and you shake your head slightly. His hand never leaves your face. 

“Oh…” 

Steve’s heart aches a little at your question, at the vulnerability in your eyes, at the confusion because you don’t understand what could make you so admirable. 

You want to ask why, but you don’t, not knowing if you can keep the tears away right now. 

“I’m sorry for the way I worded things last night, for making you feel that way. I never meant to hurt you, and I never wanted you to feel like you’re some kind of replacement for my best friend. You are not and you never will be. She was special to me. You are too,” he admits, biting back his embarrassment as he gives you a glimpse of how he feels about you. 

Your eyes widen at his confession, and your heart jumps in joy.

You know… You know that this could mean something else again, that it might not be what you want it to be. That he means it platonically. She was special, but she was a best friend, there was only platonic love, nothing more, it could be like that with you. 

And yet, you want it to be more, you hope it to be more. 

Your lips part as you stare at him, as you gaze into the eyes you are falling for with no way of stopping it. Your eyes flicker to his lips, making his breath hitch in his throat, making his heart flutter and his cheeks flush. 

His eyes move from your own eyes to your lips, to the scar on your shoulder, and the softness of your neck. His hands itch to touch you more. 

The air between you changes, tension building, but not like before. This is different, this makes you both feel hot but not from anger, no, from something else. 

You are so beautiful, painfully so. He could look at you forever, and he’d only want to look at you more. 

Steve leans closer without realizing. Your breath hits his lips, and suddenly he has to fight the urge to close the gap between you. 

You blink as you gaze into his eyes. You stop breathing, the beating of your heart is so strong, you fear that he can feel it against his own chest. 

The energy between you is burning, the yearning so deep, so strong. It would only take for you to close the gap between you to feel his lips on your own. 

But you are afraid to make the first move, and he doesn’t make it either. 

Steve wonders what could have been if he had met you sooner. If somehow he would have found his way to New York and run into you in one of your favorite coffee shops or bakeries. He would have noticed you right away, he would have wasted no time to make a move on you, to ask you out. 

But he is not that guy anymore. He is not who he used to be. 

“We should get back to the others.” He blurts out. “We gotta get you warmed up better.”

Disappointment floods through you, but you nod, holding back your sigh. “Yeah…” You murmur and look down at the cub who got comfortable in your embrace. “Hold it for me?” 

“Yeah… Yeah of course.” Steve mumbles, clearing his throat as he avoids your eyes. He takes the cub from your hands, holding it gently as he brings it towards his chest. “Hey buddy.” He smiles at the furry baby, cupping the small head. 

You smile as you watch him. Your heart melts at the sight of the cub curling against him. 

You force your gaze away from him and turn to your clothes. You take his jacket off as you lean down to pick up your pants off the ground. You start to get dressed, unaware of the way his eyes find their way back to you. 

Steve can’t look away from the lace covering your skin or the way your hair falls down your back. it's gotten so much longer in the past few months. Your skin looks so soft, his hands itching to touch it so badly. He knows it would feel so good, so right to hold you, to feel you against him, to feel your bare skin against his. 

The whine coming from the cub in his arms pulls him out of his thoughts. He looks down, finding its dark eyes looking up at him. His cheeks flushed red when it dawns on him what he had just daydreamed about. 

He clears his throat, cursing at himself inwardly. 

“Okay…” You mumble as you turn back around, unfolding your scarf, you hold it against your chest. “Come here, I’ll wrap him… or her up.” 

Steve hums, still looking down, not wanting to expose his blushing cheeks. He steps towards you and hands you the cub, helping you wrap the scarf around it. 

“Hey, you’re fine, baby.” You giggle when it wiggles in your hands. 

Steve’s heart flutters at that sound. He looks at you, his lips curling as he watches the way you pull the cub against your chest, cradling it the way you would a baby. Oh boy. Something else inside of him stirs. 

“Come on…” You whisper to him. “Grab the jackets, please?” 

“Why didn’t you put on your jacket?” He frowns, only now realizing that you’re only in your sweater. He huffs as he picks up both jackets, he puts yours under his left arm and throws his own around you. 

“What—“

“I’m not cold right now.” And he likes the way it looks on you. He likes that your scent will stay on his jacket. 

“Now let’s go,” he mumbles as he places his hand on your back. “We need to get you both to the fire.”

“Yeah…” You nod as you start walking. “Do you think the mother is around?” 

Steve shrugs, looking around the forest surrounding the river. 

“If she was, she would have been here by now… maybe something happened, maybe she’s dead.” 

You frown at that, looking down sadly, “I hope not.”

“Yeah… c’mon.” He whispers, wrapping his arm around your shoulder — to give you warmth of course, for no other reason. His stomach flutters when you lean into him, no longer tense with anger or bitterness. 

You walk in silence. The tension between you is gone and your anger has faded away, but you feel guilty for how you treated him.

“Steve?” 

“Yeah?” He looks down at you, noticing the troubled expression. 

“I’m sorry for how I treated you…” You apologize without hesitating. 

His heart warms at your apology, at the soft look in your eyes. 

“It’s okay, Honey.”

The pet name makes you blush strongly. You like that he calls you that.  

“I was mean…”

“I didn’t even know you had it in you,” Steve chuckles, patting your shoulder. “I can’t believe you threw a wet shirt at Eddie.” 

You wince at that, but Steve’s eyes glint with amusement, and he seems to be satisfied with your action. 

“You like that I did that, don’t you?” 

He nods, smirking, “yeah, actually.” 

You huff, but you can’t hold back your chuckle. 

The rest of the way back to the RV is spent in comfortable silence. You pass by the lake to find the basket of clothes gone. Nancy must have finished your task. 

The thought of her leaves you feeling guilty too. You’ve been horrible to her as well. And yet… a part of you still feels bitter to think of her, to know now that it was she who hurt Steve so much. 

You avert your eyes from her when you make it back. Her concerned expression is directed at you. 

“You’ve been away for so long!” Nancy says as she gets up from her camping chair. “Is everything okay?” 

Eddie turns around to face you, looking away from the pot he is stirring soup in. 

Steve nods at her, “yeah, we’re okay.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows when he notices the fur sticking out from behind the scarf you’re holding. 

“What… What do you have there!?” He asks, rushing towards you. His eyes widen when he sees the cub. “Holy shit! Is that a… a wolf!?” 

“What!?” Nancy gasps behind him. 

“A wolf pup, yeah.” You nod as you caress its little head. 

Steve’s eyes flicker back and forth between your face and the animal. 

“She jumped into the water to save it…” Steve explains. 

Eddie’s jaw drops, and he looks between you and the pup, impressed. 

Nancy’s eyes widen, and she makes his way over to you, concern is written all over her face. 

“Oh my god, are you crazy?” She exclaims, eying your body. She only now notices Steve’s jacket wrapped around your shoulders. “You just got better!” 

“I’m fine, Nancy…” You murmur softly. “Steve… gave me his jacket.” 

“But the water is freezing! You must still be cold!” 

The worry in her voice makes you feel even worse, making the guilt much more intense. 

“Come on, let’s sit by the fire!” She says as she wraps her arm around you, glancing at the pup who is looking around curiously. “Eddie cooked soup, I’ll get you a bowl in a sec.”

Eddie and Steve watch as Nancy takes care of you, wrapping a blanket around you before she fetches you a bowl of soup. You don’t look up at her once, keeping your head low and your eyes trained on the ground or at the pup in your arms. 

“So… is she still throwing shirts around or…?” Eddie mutters, narrowing his eyes at Steve. 

“No, we talked it out…”

“Oh?” Eddie raises his eyebrow, turning to face him, noticing the sadness in his eyes. 

“Yeah…” Steve whispers, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll tell you more later but… she misunderstood some things I said. She was hurt.” 

“Oh…” Eddie whispers, looking back at you. You certainly look more relaxed than you did before; your expression is soft, and there is a soft smile on your face as you pet the pup. “Shit…”

“Yeah…” Steve whispers, looking back at you as well. “I think she’s okay now…”

You cradle the pup against your chest and lean back, wrapping the blanket tighter around you both. 

Both men watch you, smiles appearing on their faces. Eddie cannot help but blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Cute.”

Steve turns back to Eddie, his smile fading a bit. A weird pang spreading across his chest. 

Eddie smirks, chuckling at the expression on his friend’s face.

“Don’t worry, she’s all yours.” Eddie grins, bumping his shoulder with his own. “Look at the way she is holding that pup. Bet you’re thinking about putting some babies into her—“

“Dude!” Steve frowns, slapping his shoulder.

The metalhead winces in pain, holding his shoulder, “What’s it with you lovebirds and hitting me today!?” He yells in a whisper, frowning. 

“You deserved that!” Steve rolls his eyes as he makes his way to the RV. 

Though Steve didn’t question before why you hit Eddie in the first place, what he said to you for you to even do that. 

Did he tease you too? 

Did he make some sexual comments? 

Did he comment on your lack of experience?

Or did he tease you about him the way Eddie always teases him about you? 

“Are we keeping the pup?” Eddie calls out before Steve makes his way inside. “Guys?” 

-

Nancy feels your cold shoulder the most. While you talk to Steve and Eddie again, you still don’t even talk to her, only when you have to. 

It’s making the pit grow in her stomach. She wonders what she said or did wrong for you to feel such sudden resentment towards her. 

It’s been killing her all day, but even worse now that she witnessed you acting normal with the guys again. 

You have become a close friend in these past few months, if not her best friend. She never had someone like that again, not after Barb.

She felt hope when she met Robin, hoping to find a best friend in her, but it turned into something more. It was so very different with her. She fell in love with her, slowly but very deeply. The love suffocated her because, for the longest time, she believed it was one-sided, that the other girl could never feel that way about her. 

It turned out that she was wrong about it and that she had wasted too much time worrying. 

She wishes she had talked to her sooner, wishing she could have had more time with her. 

She won’t make these mistakes again, she won’t wait for the last moments. 

So when dinner is over and the night rolls around, she asks Steve to give her a moment with you, so she can talk to you. She didn’t even question him, knowing that you’ve talked to him about whatever troubled you all day. 

He agrees, not even hesitating to. He grabs all the dishes and forces Eddie to clean up with him in the RV, leaving her alone with you. 

It’s quiet between you, only the crackle of the fire surrounds you both. The pup is sleeping in your lap, engulfed by your warmth and your scarf, along with the blanket she wrapped around you before. 

Nancy takes a seat beside you, breathing in nervously. 

“Hey…” 

You stop caressing the pup, turning to face her slowly, you give her a tight lipped smile, “hey…” 

“Why are you so mad at me…?” Nancy asks, throwing it out. 

You tense at her question, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by her. 

“I’m not.”

The frustration that’s been building up all day boils over, and she huffs at you. 

“Bullshit!” 

A frown appears on your face. You tense up further. You know all about how that ex-girlfriend of his called him that, hurt him with that. You could have never guessed it was her. 

“Is that the only word you know?” You snap, unable to hide your anger. 

Nancy looks taken aback, and it’s more than evident. Her lips part, and her eyes flash with confusion.

“I— what…? I-I use it a lot but… what’s your problem?” 

“My problem, Nancy? I’ve been traveling with you guys for months, months! And none of you bothered to tell me that you and Steve used to date. That you were the girl who cheated on him and dumped him!” 

The shock is written all over her face, along with the shame. She knits her eyebrows together, slowly shaking her head.

“I-I… that was so long ago, and it was meaningless—“

“How can you say that about him?” You ask in disbelief, feeling the anger burning hotly once again. 

The realization sinks in quickly. It never took her long to put two and two together. 

“I… Am I getting the signals wrong, or does it sound like you like Steve…?” She asks, careful to be quiet so Steve doesn’t hear in case he is listening. 

Your cheeks heat up, and you instantly avoid her eyes, giving yourself away. 

“I don’t… I respect him, but it sounds like you don’t! I bet… I bet he didn’t deserve what you did to him and yet…”

She cuts you off, shaking her head at you. 

“What happened between Steve and me in the past does not resemble who we are now. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you of our history, but we both moved on from it a long time ago. It doesn’t matter in this present time anymore. I… We both didn’t think of telling you because it truly doesn’t matter anymore.” She says, looking at you intensely.

Her words fill you with relief. He already told you that he felt nothing for her anymore, but you didn’t know where her feelings stood, even with her confession about Robin. 

“But why did you cheat on him…?” You ask, disappointed. “Why did you do that to him?”

She sighs, and her shoulders slump. She knows how awful it was, how wrong it was to do what she did. 

“I… there is no excuse for what I did. We were on a rough patch together, and I… I found comfort in someone else. I fell for someone else…” 

Jonathan. She told you about him before, you just never knew the start of their history. 

“That’s so wrong Nancy!” You frown. 

You know exactly what Steve felt like when she did that to him. 

“I know it was!” Nancy throws her hands up. The sudden tears in her eyes take you aback. 

“I know it fucking is! That’s why I was so afraid of telling Robin how I felt! Breaking up with Jonathan to immediately jump to someone else after I did the exact thing with Steve? I know about my reputation! And look at me now…” She whispers painfully as tears cascade down her cheeks. “I never told Robin that I loved her because I wanted to be sure, because I wanted to take time, because I didn’t want to move too fast the way I did with them… only for them both to be the wrong ones for me… I wanted to do right by her, and now it’s too late. And that is my biggest regret… more than anything else.” 

All your anger gets replaced by sadness, by guilt, and pity. You can’t and you don’t want to imagine what she must feel like after losing someone like her. 

Your own eyes well up with tears, and the urge to hug her, to hold her, and tell her that you’re sorry grows strong. 

With the cub on your lap, you move closer to her, careful not to drop it. You pull her into your arms, pulling her into your embrace. Nancy reciprocates the hug right away, wrapping her arms around you tightly as she continues to cry. 

You are a little surprised that she accepted the hug so quickly. She always came across as a little cold, someone who doesn’t seem fond of affection. But now you can’t help but wonder if you got her all wrong. And you also can’t help but wonder if this is the first time someone held her after Robin. 

You stay like this for a while, giving her the chance to say more but even after that confession, you know she isn’t quite ready yet, to talk more about her. 

“I’m so sorry, Nancy… I’m sorry about everything. I wish you could have told her, I wish you still had her.” You whisper, feeling the guilt consume you now. You close your eyes, holding her tighter as she melts against you. “I-I should have talked to you… I shouldn’t have just–”

“It’s fine,” she whispers, cutting you off. “You’re protective of Steve, so I get why you were so mad at me.” 

“I shouldn’t have been… I just… I wish I had known about you and Steve before I got those stupid feelings for him.” You blurt out without meaning to. 

Nancy draws back instantly, her blue eyes widen, and her jaw drops at your accidental confession. 

“Wait…” She whispers, glancing over at the RV to make sure that it’s still just you and her. “Feelings…? Oh… Oh my god! You like Steve–”

You jump forward and cup your hand over her mouth, shushing her as you grow flustered. 

You feel a sliver of regret for letting your mouth run, but another part of you feels relief, for letting them out, for having someone to talk about them now. 

Your cheeks are burning, and your ears are too. Your heart starts pounding against your ribcage. 

“Yes, I do…” You admit, blushing. “But… He doesn’t like girls like me…” Immature girls. He likes women. That’s what Nancy is. And even if he doesn’t feel anything for her anymore, he once did. 

The moment that happened between you two earlier. The hope that lives inside of you doesn’t matter here. You are always hopeful about everything. It doesn’t mean that you will get what you want. You rarely do. You just can’t bring yourself to stop hoping, no matter how many times you fall face first. 

“He likes girls like you…”

Nancy’s eyes soften at the vulnerability flashing across your features, at the way your shoulders slump in sadness, fearing that you have no chance with him. 

But now she gets it even more, why you behaved the way you did. You were jealous and insecure, comparing yourself with her, leading you to let that monster out. 

She can’t help but chuckle as she shakes her head at you. “No, he doesn’t.”

You roll your eyes at her. 

She says your name softly as she reaches for your hands in your lap. 

“He liked me in high school–”

“And after–”

“No, he didn’t.” Nancy shakes her head. “Trust me, he didn’t. We talked about it years ago, and we moved on from that as soon as we did. Now I can’t even imagine that we used to be together. It feels wrong to even think of that, and he feels the same. He truly feels the same.” She tries to put it through that thick head of yours. She takes a deep breath and opens her mouth again. “And that is gonna sound gross considering we used to date, but… You know what Steve feels like to me?” 

You raise your eyebrows at her, tilting your head to the side. 

She scrunches up her nose and her lips curl downwards in disgust, “he feels like a brother to me now, like an annoying older brother.”

“Oh…” You murmur, your facial expression matching her own. Pure Disgust. And though you can’t help but giggle. 

“I know it’s disgusting,” Nancy chuckles as her eyes light up at the crinkle in your eyes. “But that’s how I feel. It’s how he feels too.” She shrugs, holding your hands tighter. 

And it does calm you a little, but only a little. 

“That… doesn’t mean that he likes me back, though. In fact… I don’t think that I stand a chance.”

“What makes you say that?” She frowns, watching how you look down again. “What if you do have a chance…?”

You roll your eyes again, keeping your eyes trained on the pup. “He once called me insufferable… and I’m also inexperienced. There is nothing that someone like him could want in me.” 

“You think your inexperience makes you less attractive, less interesting or something?” Nancy mumbles in confusion, knitting her eyebrows at you. 

You shrug. 

“That’s… No.” She shakes her head, scoffing. “You are worrying too much about it… Besides, you should have seen the look on his face when you told us that you’re a virgin.”

Her words pique your interest. You haven’t really paid attention to him when you admitted that, you were too flustered to catch his reaction. 

You slowly look up at her, your eyes meeting hers again. 

“What look…?”

Nancy’s lip curls into a smirk, her eyes flashing with something you can’t read. 

“Well… first it was disbelief, like he couldn’t understand how someone like you hasn’t fucked ever before.”

You blush deeply.

“Someone like me?” You ask with a small voice. 

Nancy huffs at you, “In case nobody told you, you are hot – like super hot and you are gorgeous too. If you weren’t my best friend, I’d be all up on you.”

“Nancy!” You gasp, blushing even deeper at her words. 

She laughs loudly at the flustered look on your face. 

“It’s nothing but the truth!” 

You are giggling now, looking down with your burning cheeks. You pull the cub closer to you again, snuggling it against your chest. 

Nancy gives you a moment, though her eyes never leave your face and the smug smile doesn’t either. 

“Second, he looked like he was ready to change that for you… You know, that inexperienced part.” 

Nancy laughs loudly when your eyes widen and you try to hide behind your face, growing flustered more than you ever did before. 

“N-No he didn’t!” You squeal. Though you can’t deny the fact that her words stir something inside of you, that they don’t fill you with excitement and hope. 

Because even if you wouldn’t admit it out loud, you would love it if Steve was the one to be your first… and perhaps your last. 

“Oh but he did, sweetie,” Nancy giggles, unable to hide her grin, unable to stop teasing you after this. 

You stay outside, sitting beneath the stars and next to the fire with the wolf pup in your lap, unable to stop blushing but also giggling at Nancy’s teasing. For a moment, everything feels so normal, like you are hanging out with your best friend, talking and gushing over your crush. 

For a moment, you forget everything that happened today. 

For a moment, you let go again. 

For a moment everything feels… okay. 

Not knowing that tomorrow would change everything. 

If only you knew that your hands would be dripping with blood. 

☀︎

taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @pretentious-blonde @thecreelhouse @tvserie-s-world @thesickestqrmydcll @crispystarfishhottub @sophal22 @definitionwanderlust @talkativecarnation @mysticalwoolenfroglegs @ariesandwolves @mortqlprojections @sattlersquarry @sherrylyn0628 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @micheledawn1975 @keepingitlokiii @littleromanoff2005 @sunshine-mrk @xxladymjxx

[taeyongdoyoung]

hide and seek

summary: your best friend chan finds you've been fantasizing about him and decides to turn those ideas into reality... pairing: chan x reader genre: smut, best friends to ??? warnings: *cracks knuckles* cnc/primal play, wolf/bunny roleplay, mention of safewords, traffic lights system (yellow used), hide and seek, mentions of pee, chasing scenario, blowjob mouthfucking, hair-grabbing, degradation, leg cramping, knees hurting, kinda realistic, unprotected sex, missionary but he holds reader down, pet names, daddy kink (like once), breeding kink, creampie, aftercare, discussion of future scenario 👀 author's note: this will be the first part in a series, i haven't decided yet how many parts, maybe three? stay tuned if you're interested 🤍 part two & part three word count: 2.5k

Chan simply asks you if he can use your laptop while you’re having a shower since his battery died and he really needs to check something work-related real quick. After doing so, he can’t help but notice the recently opened pages. He doesn’t mean to pry, really. But it’s right there. And a quick look into his best friend’s mind couldn’t hurt…could it?

He is immediately captivated by this story you’ve apparently written and keep hidden in the drafts of your blog. It’s so…sexy and unlike anything you’ve ever talked to him about.

“Dumb little bunny, thinking you can get away from me,” the big bad wolf growls in the bunny’s ear.

The bunny whimpers helplessly, trying to escape the wolf’s strong grasp but to no avail.

The wolf takes the bunny from behind mercilessly, biting her neck and using her to please his needs...

What comes at the end of the story is what shocks him the most.

“Chris, please…”

Huh? Which Chris? Chris Evans? Or maybe Hemsworth? As far as he remembers, you have always been more of a Sebastian Stan and Tom Hiddleston kinda girl but…people change, he supposes.

Until it hit him. His name is also Chris! And people do compare him to a wolf…But no, it couldn’t be…There is no way his best friend is writing stories fantasizing about him.

Unless…

He can’t imagine going on with his life without knowing the answer. So, Chan waits impatiently until you are done with your shower.

“Everything good with your work thing?” you ask him calmly once you return to your room.

“Yeah, all is good. But I found something way more interesting on your laptop,” Chan blurts out meaningfully.

The expression on your face is enough of an answer. You look completely mortified, like a true bunny that is waiting to be devoured.

“I forgot to clear my history, didn’t I?” you murmur even though you already know what Chan has seen.

“That story wasn’t about Chris Evans, was it?” Chan wants to know though he suspects what the truth is.

You immediately drop to your knees in front of him, which takes him by surprise. Gripping his hand tightly, you look so cute and pitiful. He wants to ruin you. Wait, when did those feelings show up?

“I know it was wrong, Channie, believe me. But I just couldn’t help myself, okay? Nothing else helps me get off but this fantasy. I promise I won’t do it again, please don’t end our friendship! You mean the world to me, I’m so so sorry!”

“End our friendship?” he is completely stunned by your train of thought. “Why would I? I mean, you never meant for me to see it, so I think it’s okay to have certain…fantasies. But now that I did see it, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“We don’t have to talk about it, if it makes you uncomfortable,” you suggest.

“You’re right, we don’t have to talk about it. But how about I make those scenarios come to life?”

“Huh? You want to what now?” you can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“It can’t be satisfying, dealing with all these frustrations by yourself.”

“It really isn’t…” you confess.

“Then, let me take care of you. That’s what friends are for, right?” Chan chuckles.

“Let me get this straight, you wanna re-enact my freaky fantasies while still staying friends?”

“Um, sure, why not?”

You would be a fool to agree. This could mess up everything. But you would be an even bigger fool to reject his tempting offer.

“I’m in.”

“Great! Then, should we discuss boundaries and safewords and stuff?”

“No boundaries, no safewords, you can do whatever you like to me, I don’t care.”

“This isn’t right. What if I want to use a safeword?”

Oh. That thought never crossed your mind but perhaps it should have.

“How about this…if I want a scene to end, I’ll say red. I know you said you don’t need one, but just in case, feel free to use it. If we want to just pause for a bit, then yellow. Green is good to go. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir. I mean, Chan. I mean, uhhh…do you want me call you something specific?”

“Whatever you like, babygirl,” he reassures you and pats your cheek. “Do you want to give this a try rightaway? Unless you’ve got other plans…”

“No way, let’s do this!” you practically jump at the opportunity.

“Alright. I’ll give you one minute to hide anywhere in this house. After that, I can do whatever I like to you.”

His words make you so thrilled that your heart threatens to escape from your chest because it’s beating louder than ever.

“If you find me,” you tease.

“Oh, I will,” Chan swears. “Now, run.”

You sprint out of your room and down the stairs, as he starts the countdown.

“Sixty…fifty-nine…”

Where should you hide? The living room doesn’t have any good hiding spots and neither does the kitchen. Under the table is too obvious. Your room would have been a good option but Chan is currently there, so it’s out of the question. The bathroom is right next to it, so once again, not a great idea. Then, it hits you. The basement! You don’t remember ever showing it to Chan so it will take him more time to think of it. You go through the door and run down another set of stairs leading to the basement. You see the perfect spot. A vintage wooden chest that just happens to be empty and is big enough to fit you if you squeeze in.

Okay, maybe not comfortable but you can survive in there for a couple of minutes. Once you’ve tucked yourself inside and closed the lid, you are suddenly hoping that Chan finds you quickly. Whatever he does to you can’t be worse than this tiny space. You didn’t know you had claustrophobia but in this very moment, you do. You can’t hear him from down here so you imagine he is looking through the other rooms first. After what feels like eternity, you finally hear steps. You are grateful that you recently peed before getting in the shower because the current situation would have undoubtedly made you wet your pants. As the steps approach, you begin to worry. What if it isn’t Chan? What if you’d forgotten to lock the door and now a complete stranger comes in to take advantage of you? No, these thoughts are irrational and make you want to use the bathroom. Ugh.

“I’ll give you ten seconds to come out and I’ll go easy on you.”

Chan’s voice both comforts you and freaks you out even more. You’re not coming out, alright. This spot was great! He can do whatever he wants to you.

“Three…two…one,” Chan finishes counting and opens the chest’s lid.

You look up at him, eyes blinking to adjust to the light. He pulls you out of it roughly.

“Last chance. Run.”

But then, you realize you were squeezed into that tiny space for so long that your leg had cramped up. You can’t possibly run right now.

“Um, sorry but yellow,” you feel like an idiot. You had said you don’t need a safeword and yet…

“What’s wrong?” Chan’s threatening gaze immediately softens and he rubs your elbow gently.

“I didn’t think I’d get a leg cramp in this freaking box,” you admit, ashamed of yourself as you shake your legs in an attempt to relax muscles.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Chan coos at you and helps you massage your leg. “Wanna call it a day?”

“Hell nah. Just, no more running, please.”

“Sure, that’s fine by me.”

“Sorry for ruining the mood.”

Chan shakes his head.

“You could never.”

“Okay, I think I’m good now,” you assure him.

“Scene?”

“Scene.”

“Did you really think you can escape me? Dumb little bunny…” Chan tsks at you and you feel your knees giving out. You need him so bad it’s not even funny anymore.

“Please, don’t hurt me, Mr. Wolf,” you plead with him even though every cell in your being would be glad to be on the receiving end of his anger.

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that? You should’ve locked your door to keep me out.”

If you tell him that you want him inside would it be too out of character for a scared bunny?

“I’ll do anything,” you promise crying. “I won’t tell a soul.”

“You’ll do anything regardless,” Chan smirks devilishly and grabs your hair harshly, pushing you to your knees. With his free hand, he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, wasting no time in pulling his cock out of his confines and stuffing your mouth full.

Fuck, your knees already hurt, probably because of that stupid chest but you choose to ignore the discomfort for now because this feeling of being dominated like that is too good to let go of.

“That’s it, take it like the useless cumslut you are,” Chan speaks degradingly but you’ve never been wetter before.

You wish you could say you are doing your best to give him a blowjob but the truth is you are not doing much, his hips thrusting forward aggressively, his hands gripping your hair. Your mouth is nothing but a cumdump for him. Your eyes are watering, vision is blurred. Your throat hurts too but it is nothing compared to the burning feeling in your knee. It is in that moment you realize that you didn’t discuss a signal for a situation where you can’t speak. You rack your brain for an alternative and remember that some subs opt for pinching their dom’s skin in an attempt to communicate discomfort. You really don’t want this to end but…

As you are overthinking this, you realize Chan’s already released his seed inside of your mouth and you are left with no choice but to swallow it up like the greedy cumwhore you are. Only for him, though.

His cock softens in your mouth but he doesn’t immediately pull out and only then, do you remember what you’ve been about to do.

You pinch his thigh lightly, looking up with moist, pleading eyes.

“What is it, darling?” Chan needs to know, taking a step back.

“Help me stand, please,” your voice is hoarse.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks as he grips your hands and leads you to sit for a while on the stupid chest responsible for your current pain. Okay, maybe, you brought this upon yourself but whatever.

“No, you were perfect, it’s just that my knees hurt. Fucking dumb wooden thing,” you grunt in frustration, punching it with your tiny fist.

Chan chuckles and strokes your hair comfortingly in complete contrast to how he was pulling it mere seconds ago. Then, he pulls you into his arms for a sweet hug.

“Sorry…I’m killing the mood again, aren’t I?” you pout.

“Not at all. Remember you’re in charge of whatever happens between us. You wanna pause, we pause. You wanna stop, we stop. I would hate myself if this doesn’t feel as good for you as it does for me.”

“You feel good?”

“Are you kidding? Do you think I’d offer just anyone to fulfil their fantasies hidden in their drafts?” Chan laughs fondly.

“I’m glad you think so,” you smile at him gratefully. “I’m better now so if you’re still on board, we can continue.”

“I’m on board but let me come up with a new plan. I was thinking of fucking you doggy style but now that’s out of the question with your knee situation.”

Hearing him speak out loud what he was planning to do to you sends shivers down your spine. Damn it, maybe you should have just hidden under the table.

“How do you feel about missionary?” Chan inquires.

“Wouldn’t it be too intimate for the kind of scenario we’re doing?” you are doubtful.

“Not if I hold you down,” Chan murmurs smugly.

“Oh. Well, then…like I said, you can do whatever you like.”

“Action?”

“Action,” you confirm.

Chan wastes no time in pulling you up from your sitting position and pushing you down on the cold floor. He’s holding your wrists with one hand and undressing you with the other. Scratch that. He’s tearing your dress apart. It was never one of your faves.

“W-what are you d-doing?” you mewl at him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Chan commands.

He doesn’t bother with stretching you out because he sees you’re already soaking wet for him. Instead, he forces his thick cock inside of your tiny pussy.

Only this time, your screams are real and you’re not at all pretending.

“T-too b-big, it h-hurts,” you cry out.

“You can take it, bunny,” Chan says confidently.

You know that you can put an end to this with one simple word but damn, does it feel incredible to be stuffed full by your best friend’s large manhood.

“Shh,” he whispers in your ear. “This’ll feel so much better if you relax f’me.”

You’re trying, really. But it’s too much you feel like he’ll split you in half. Okay, maybe not a bad way to go but still.

“D-daddy, it h-hurts so m-much,” you slur mindlessly.

Wait, what did you just say?

“Daddy, huh? Easy, babybun, your wolf dad’s gonna take good care of you, I promise,” Chan’s words send you into overdrive and you come around his cock, your thighs are shaking and you’re arching your back. You can’t think anymore, you just need to be with him stuck in this moment forever. Soon enough, he releases his cum inside of your pussy.

You want to beg him to stay there for a while but you are too weak to speak.

Instead, Chan uses his fingers to push back the cum inside of your tiny pussy.

“Gotta make it stick. Will my bunny have my wolf puppies, huh?”

Oh? So, he’s that kind of guy. Well, you can’t say you mind...Besides, you’ve talked about this before and you’re on the pill so whatever he says is just for the sake of the scenario. Right?

“Was this okay?” Chan intends to find out and judging by his soft tone that is just begging to be praised you can tell that the scene is over.

“You did amazing, Chris,” you sigh wistfully and kiss his cheek.

“Better than your fantasies?”

“You have no idea.”

“So…when can we do something like this again?”

“Gee, let me have some water, at least,” you joke but your best friend (?) takes it literally and scoops you up in his arms, heading towards the stairs.

“Wait, where are we going?”

“To get you water, of course. And have a bath. And then to bed.”

Fuck. Maybe staying friends will be more complicated than you initially thought.

Once you’ve both been hydrated, washed up and dried out, you are cuddled in your bed, sharing snacks.

“Do you want to try something more extreme next week?” Chan asks casually. As if what you just did wasn’t already pretty intense.

“Um, sure? What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Kind of an outside setting. It will take some planning to make sure there aren’t other people but…it just came to mind while we were in the basement.”

“Tell me more about it,” you blink curioisly and put your hand on top of his.”

“So…how do you feel about being chased in a forest?”

To be continued…

[carpenterswife]

HALF OF ME (iv)

SUMMARY: With Soldier Boy alive in the 2020’s, back in America, he starts his mission of vengeance. Of course, his first stop is to you; the only woman he’d truly wanted to start a relationship with, who’d taken his spot only months after his supposed death. And you don’t exactly expect your old lover to appear in your home, with the intent to kill.

WORD COUNT: 2238

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Typical Soldier Boy behaviour, gore, heavy violence, canon divergence.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Finding you was difficult. They were beginning to think Ben had been wrong, that you were six foot under in some unlabelled grave, rotting away. But, Ben was sure. And arguing with him seemed like signing their death warrant.

So, they kept searching. Despite the fact they could have located at least two other Payback members, and had them dead, by now, Ben was insistent on killing you first.

So, they kept fucking searching.

And then they found it.

It was a tiny discrepancy. Something most people would simply brush past. But, Hughie found it, and it was all they needed. They followed the rabbit hole, down and down, finding hidden documents and details not even Ben knew about.

It only took two days to pinpoint your location.

The Appalachian Mountains. In the middle of fucking nowhere. Smack-bang in the middle of one of the largest forests in the entire USA. But, to Ben, that fact was whatever. He had your location. And he was going to find you, even if it meant spending weeks searching every inch of that forest.

Butcher and Hughie knew it was a dumb idea.

But, they got Ben in a car, and started their roadtrip.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

The quiet life was nice, you’d decided. You’d forgotten about Queen Maeve’s uninvited visit, going back to your routine of feeding the animals and drinking coffee on the balcony every morning.

It was weird. You used to be one of the most famous people on the planet. There was blood staining every inch of your hands, and families who were likely still trying to gain justice for the people you killed. You had decades of history. And, yet, you now lived out your days as some sort of Disney princess.

You couldn’t complain. It was better than willingly running into gunfire every week.

Padding through your dark home, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the floors, you headed for the kitchen. You were never too old for a midnight snack. Especially in the comfort of your own home. You turned into the kitchen.

And you saw it. A dark figure, shadowed in the corner.

But, you kept moving, playing oblivious. In your mind, your old training make itself own. Ben’s critiques and advice played like a movie, as you pulled the cabinet open, standing high on your toes to reach for packet of chips. Your senses were on fire, focused in on the quiet breaths, the soft squeaking of boots on the tile.

They moved, and so did you.

You ducked under the fist swinging towards your face, snatching a knife from the block beside the fridge. Holding it tightly in your fist, your stance ready to attack, you looked at the intruder. Every muscle in your body froze.

“Ben?”

He didn’t pull his punches. Ben grabbed you by the throat, using your momentary distraction to his advantage, shoving your back against the sharp edge of the counter. Instinctively, you swiped the knife towards him, but a rough hand caught your wrist, slamming it down onto the counter.

A cry of pain slipped past your lips, fingers releasing the knife. It was his turn to grab it, tossing it from your reach.

No words were spoken, just heavy breathing.

You’d never seen Ben look at you like this before. This look was reserved for those who got on the wrong side of him. Those who disappeared mysteriously overnight and were never found again — but you knew what happened. And so did he.

He was here to kill you.

“Ben—“ You choked out, through the tightening grip his hand had around your throat. The grip tightened, and your breath caught with a squeak, broken gasps for air trying desperately to pull in oxygen.

“How much did they pay you?” He demanded, his voice low and gravelly. “Huh? How much, did they fucking pay you?” There was something about him that was so different. A new edge to him, maybe. But, what caught your attention, was the look in his eyes.

Hurt. He was staring at you like you’d ripped his heart from his chest and stomped on it.

You clawed at his wrist, unable to bring any air into your lungs. Your nails bit into his skin, the scratches down his wrist quickly repairing themselves. He let you go. Not out of mercy. No. He grabbed your collar, lifting your head up, and then slamming it down onto the counter.

Your vision went completely white, all remaining breath knocked from your lungs with a gasp. Blinking desperately to clear the stars, you tried to struggle. But, he slammed you down again. And again. And again. Until he tossed you to the floor like nothing more than a rag doll.

The counter was cracked from the force of it, blood staining the white marble, and splattered across the counter. Your own kitchen. Stained with your blood. You could feel the warm liquid dripping down the back of your head, matting in your hair.

If you weren’t a supe, you’d be dead.

He didn’t let you get a word in, brutal with each of his attacks. As you desperately tried to scramble away, body on fire, he put his foot down on your ankle. Leaning down, staring intently at you, with dark eyes, Ben snarled. “How much?”

“Ben—“ Finally, words escaped. In a pathetic whimper that made his lips twitch in disgust. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your breath hitched with pain.

That answer wasn’t good enough for him. You swore you could feel the bones in your jaw crack, as his fist met your cheek. You cried out in pain, the force of the impact whipping you around, hitting your head against the ground.

His hand curled into your hair, forcing your eyes on him. “Don’t fucking lie to me, you bitch.” Your breaths were ragged, with pain and terror, staring up at the man you thought was dead. He seethed, nothing but anger and disgust (and hurt?) in his green eyes. “You whored yourself out to me, huh? Put my dick in your mouth? For what? Fuckin’ soften me up like a weak pussy?”

“Ben—“

“Don’t.” He tugged your hair, hard. “I loved you.” His teeth grit together.

Your heart broke, tears in your eyes as you stared up at him. He loved you. And he thought you’d hurt him? He was dead. He was dead. That’s what they said. They said he was dead. Your mind worked at 100 miles an hour, heart constricting.

He loved you.

Soldier Boy loved you.

You didn’t even think he was capable of that. Sure, you knew you had something special with him, something unique. But love? It’d never crossed your mind. You’d always loved him somewhat, always throwing yourself in front of bullets and danger to protect him. Always following his lead and teasing him.

Always pushing your luck with his temper. Because he never snapped. He never hurt you. He never hit you. You knew you’d loved him, when your heart would dance when he chuckled at your jokes. The way your body reacted to his hands on your hips during your first training session. You knew there was something. But, for sure, you thought it was one-sided.

That, to him, you were a good fuck. Just a hole, as he liked to say about some women.

But, you’d been so wrong. And, all this time, 37 years, he’d been alive. And you’d done nothing.

“I loved you.” He repeated, in a broken seethe. His eyes were less angry now, but still held that hint of vengeance. “I would’ve died for you.” You could’ve sobbed, right there. “We were gonna start a family.”

Your voice was shaky. “Ben. Please. I don’t know what’s going on.” You begged, pathetic and weak. Ben scoffed, emotional. “I thought you were dead. I swear it, Ben!” It was practically a plea; a desperate cry for him to believe you.

He was too blinded by his rage. “I waited every day for you.” He hissed, reaching over and grabbing his discarded shield. “For you to come and get me. To save me. You never came.”

“Ben—“

He shoved you down, head slamming against tile once more. Knees on other side of your hips, Ben gripped the edge of his shield, raising it high.

He was going to kill you. You couldn’t stop him. Couldn’t fight it. All you could do was look at him, tears running tracks through the blood on your face. A silent plea, begging him to not do this.

He rose the shield higher, lined up with the juncture of your throat.

And then he saw it. A glint of metal peeking out from under your shirt. He could recognise them from a mile away. They were his, after all. His dog tags, sat delicately just above your chest, resting on the skin like they were made to be there. His brows furrowed, movements faltering.

His dog tags. You were wearing his dog tags.

Ben hesitated, unsure.

He looked down at you, meeting your teary eyes, and his brain ran wild. Of memories of being a couple. Of the memories of when a big question mark had hung above your relationship, neither of you sure of what was going on, but treating each other like lovers anyway.

Your soft touches; the way your fingers would trace the contours of his muscles in the morning. The way you’d kiss each of his scars, muttering against his skin how perfect he was, despite the flaws and the imperfections littering his body. How gentle you were. He’d never felt a gentle touch before you.

How you’d giggle at his jokes, smile blinding, pretty dimples, cheeks flushed.

God, and those eyes. How they’d shine and shimmer when you looked up at him, like he was made of the stars themselves. He always used to melt when you propped your chin on his chest in bed, looking at him with that cute smile, and he’d trace your face with his thumb, cradling your cheeks like delicate glass.

Those few nights spent together, in the limited time you’d had together as an actual couple. The way you’d move together; perfectly in sync, like you were made for each other.

The way you’d hold him. Laugh with him. Smile at him. The passing touches. The lingering stares across red carpets and events, subtly checking each other out, and then meeting up in the supply closet. The quiet moments together, cooking dinner or merely holding each other. All those times you forced him to dance, and he’d begrudgingly spin you in the kitchen. The dates, and the movie nights, and the silly fights, and how warm his cold penthouse felt when you were with him.

Every memory, every moment, replayed in front of his eyes, as he stared at you. He lost his breath, muscles stiff. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring this shield down and kill you. His chest ached and burnt.

He couldn’t kill you.

So, instead, he hit the blunt edge of shield against your head, and watched your eyes roll back.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

Coming to was disorientating and painful.

Every inch of your body ached, from the beating you’d received from Ben. You cringed as the light made the throbbing in your head intensify. Through squinted eyes, you made out the sight in front of you.

You were in your dining room. And there were two… unfamiliar men stood by your table, leaning over files and papers. Movement caught your attention.

Ben. Setting his shield down by the table.

“Ben.” You choked out, instinctively trying to reach out and grab him. To check if he was real. If he was actually stood in front you. Living, breathing. Your hands didn’t move. You looked down, frowning at the sight of tattered rope tying your wrists of the arms of your chair.

The noise drew over the attention of the three men. They exchanged a silent look, and slowly, and rather intimidatingly, approached. You whined a little, at the throbbing pain that made a tremble run it’s course through your body.

One of the unfamiliar men pulled up a chair. “What d’ya know abou’ BCL-RED?” Was that an English or Australian accent? You couldn’t tell through the buzzing in your ears.

“Wha’?” You slurred, blinking rapidly, trying to orientate yourself. “BCL-what-now?” A grunt slipped past your lips. They didn’t look impressed by that answer. “I— I saw it on a file. Back in ‘84. Never figured out what it meant.”

The man learnt forwards. “Neva’ found out?”

Your head shook, and it made the pain increase. Your face scrunched up in agony. “Mm, no.” You groaned, breaths hitched. “It was all classified. Edgar never told me. Mallory and I— we tried to figure it out.”

“Grace Mallory?”

“What? Yes. Grace.” You groaned again. “Jesus. Can you turn off the fucking lights? It feels like there’s a drill in my head.” You tried to push your face into your shoulder, hiding from the light that made your eyes burn and your head feel like Ben was slamming it against the ground again.

There was a beat of silence. “Did you know?” That was Ben. He sounded hesitant.

“Know what?” You peeked up at Ben, eyes squinted to be able to look at him. He looked tense, face expressionless. “I thought you were dead. I don’t know what else to say to convince you. I thought you were dead.”

“How did you not know?” He demanded, his short fuse lit. Ben and his fucking temper.

“I don’t know, Ben!” Your own yell made you wince in pain. “They never told me shit! I tried for 15 years to get answers!”Ben didn’t look convinced. Of course he didn’t. He was so set in his heartbreak and rage, by your supposed betrayal, that he’d utterly convinced himself. “I didn’t know.” You echoed in a broken whisper.

“How’s ‘bout this?” You blinked rapidly, trying to focus in on the accented voice. “We track down the otha’ girl. See what she ‘as to say.” There seemed to be a group-wide agreement.

“Countess?” You grunted, confused. Your gaze flicked between the three men. “I know where she is.”

And that got their attention.

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[pagesfromthevoid]

Ya'aburnee | r. r.

Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Avenger!witch!reader

And I never got to tell you how I love the way my eyes make yours look green too

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Witchcraft

Author's Note: I combined @domoron's request with an idea I had so I hope you don't mind my dude. Also, there will probably be a part two (but this is NOT a series lol)

Talk to Me! | AO3

“This place has really gone to shit, huh?”

Bucky just sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, as she stands in the foyer of the common space. Yelena has her feet kicked up on the table, eyes drifting up from her tablet. Walker was passing through, but has stopped mid-step as Ava cocks her head to the side like she’s trying to understand. The only people who don’t seem to be mildly annoyed by her presence are Alexei, who is just barely containing his excitement, and Bob, who is looking between her and Bucky like he’s seeing two celebrities at once.

She shifts her weight onto one leg, crossing her arms over her chest as she takes in the motley crew before her. The New Avengers. The group that’s supposed to replace her and her friends and defend earth from whatever is thrown at them –and they all look like they haven’t slept properly in their entire life. 

There’s a file on every single one of them –and she’s read each one several times over. She’s known Bucky for several years now –went to war for him, even. The others she’s heard of in passing –Yelena and Alexei from Natasha; Walker from Sam. The other two –Ava, Bob –she doesn’t know outside of news reports and files. And even then, Bob’s file is the newest.

Hard to believe the guy sitting in the corner is some all powerful being who put New York into a blackout. But who is she to judge?

“Are you here to be helpful, or are you here to be an asshole?” Bucky asks, standing up finally. Four strides and he’s standing in front of her.

“I can do both,” she points out, uncrossing her arms and putting her hands on her hips. “But I’m sure that’s not what you want, is it?”

“I called you for a reason, Hex,” he reminds her, shaking his head. His voice is lower now, like he’s trying to keep the rest of his team from hearing. “You…you know what a team is able to do. We are not the Avengers. We’re not a team; we’re a time bomb.”

“You know,” she interrupts, but she’s softened some around the edges. “Dr. Banner said the exact same thing.”

*****

It’s hard to admit, but the New Avengers —this ragtag team of assholes —are a better team than the Avengers ever were. Not in the sense of power —no, but in the sense of camaraderie. They actually seem to care about one another; not just passing friends or colleagues. 

Yeah, the Avengers cared about each other. But not like this. Not like an actual family. 

It is a hard thing to realize; to accept that, while maybe her team was efficient and good at their jobs, they were only friends because they had to be. Sure, there were closer friendships separately —Nat and Clint, who had history already. She and Steve became close after Bucky almost killed them both years ago. But the Avengers were surface level friends.

Which is totally okay, at the end of the day. 

They did their jobs. They saved the universe. Then…they moved on. 

But the New Avengers…they care about each other. In a weird, almost sibling-like way. There’s a lot of arguing; a lot of yelling. But they frequently eat dinner together, at a table. Even when they're battered and bloody, they will sit down and eat whatever they manage to find. But together. 

The first time she’s invited to join “family time,” as Alexei calls it, she’s confused. He ushers her to the table and sits her down beside Bob, insisting that she has to join. No one else has joined yet, and Bob says they’re all usually late. 

“What’s going on? Mission briefing?” She asks, leaning over closer to Bob to whisper. 

He looks down at her, confused himself. “Oh, uh —we’re having dinner. It’s Walker’s turn to cook this week.”

“You…eat dinner together?” She pushes, and Bob seems like he’s enjoying that she’s confused. Maybe because he finally has something he can explain to her instead of the other way around. 

“Alexei makes us all eat together,” he explains, biting at his nails. “I…I like it. It feels nice, like for an hour we get to pretend we’re normal.”

“You do this every night?” 

He nods some, though he looks like he’s considering the answer. “Most nights, at least. Depends on what they’re doing, or if they’re here. Sometimes I don’t join, for uh…you know, reasons.”

She knows what he means. Even if she hadn’t read his file, she would be able to tell that Bob struggles with a lot. 

“I understand,” she offers, putting a hand on his arm. He flinches, and she pulls back almost immediately. But when he opens his eyes, he seems confused. “Are you okay?”

“Are…are you? You didn’t —did you see anything?”

“I saw you flinch, Bob —that’s all I saw.”

There’s almost immediate relief in his eyes, and the tension in his shoulders drops as he leans back in his chair. She’s about to ask him another question when the rest of the team find their way to the table and sit. 

Then it’s like she’s always been a part of the team. 

Maybe that’s the day they all just decided that she’s a New Avenger and an Avenger. Because after that dinner, she doesn’t leave. Her things have found their way to a room across from Bob’s and next to Yelena. She trains and spars and argues with everyone. 

The only thing she doesn’t do is go on missions. Mostly because Valentina insists she is not part of the team —but she’s also pretty sure Valentina thinks it’s bad for optics somehow. Of course, she doesn’t mind not going on missions. She stays back in the command center, manning the comms and computers. Bob often joins her, and she helps him learn how to operate the tools here. 

“This is…good. I get this,” he says one day, looking over a map with moving dots —the team —on it. “I’m able to help finally without…you know, getting in the way.”

“I doubt you’re in the way,” she reassures, sliding her chair over towards him, reaching across him to hit a button on the screen to send coordinates. “But I’m glad you enjoy learning.”

He hums a bit as she reaches across him. She notes how warm he is, even at a distance. 

“The target is about five miles ahead,” she reminds the team, pulling back but still next to him. Her eyes are on his screen. “There’s eight armored vehicles but there’s no one manning them.”

Bob is biting at his nails again, something she’s noticed he does a lot when he’s restless, and she instinctively reaches over to stop him. Gently, without even thinking about what she’s doing, she pulls his hand away and just holds it while she punches in the next set of coordinates. The only reason she realizes what she’s done is because Bob, instead of pulling away, squeezes her hand. That’s when she looks between their hands and him, and he gives her a timid smile. She returns the smile and the gesture, squeezing his hand back before Bucky is asking for her to map out an exit route. 

There’s a sigh of relief when they get out –back on the jet, back in the air. She shuts the comms off and leans back, staring at the screen for a moment. Then she turns to Bob.

“Wanna grab something to eat?”

He hesitates, like he thinks she’s talking to someone else, but then he nods. “Uh yeah –we can make something –,”

“I meant, like –do you want to go out and get something,” she corrects, standing up and stretching. “They won’t be back until close to two in the morning so we have some time to kill.”

Bob visibly blanches and she frowns some as he slowly stands. “I don’t…I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I haven’t really, you know, left the Tower since everything happened with…with him.”

“I trust you,” she promises, holding her hand out to him.

“I don’t,” he admits, but he takes her hand cautiously. “Can we…can we just pick up something and bring it back?”

It’s a step, she thinks. 

When they return to the Tower with two bags of Thai food (Bob insisted on getting everyone something, even if they had to reheat it), they sit on the floor in front of the window and eat in comfortable silence. She tries to think about the last time she’s just sat with someone like this, and it hurts to realize it’s been too long. Before the Avengers destroyed Sokkovia –god, more than ten years. When her grandmother was still alive and blessing the apartment with incense and cinnamon. Then she thinks about the last time she practiced properly, and that hurts just as much.

“I uh,” Bob suddenly says, looking out the window. Avoiding her gaze, like he might be in trouble when he finishes his sentence. “I read your file the other day.”

“I’ve read yours too,” she offers, like it’s a right of passage to read about your friends to get to know them better. “I didn’t know Valentina had my file.”

“She doesn’t,” he reassures, mixing his rice up carefully. “Bucky uh, gave it to me.”

“And what did you learn about me, Bob?”

“Are you…,” he hesitates, trying to figure out how to phrase it. It’s always a little funny, watching as people try to come to terms with what she is. Especially relatively normal people. “Are you really…like, a witch?”

“Does that scare you?” She asks, setting her food down. 

“I…I don’t know,” he admits, looking down at his hands for a moment. “I guess not? Should I be?”

Shaking her head, she lifts her hand and with a careful swish of her wrist, tendrils of light wrap around her hand. It’s a soft green, slithering over her fingers and up her arm. The Tower is dark enough that the magic illuminates their small space, and Bob’s eyes are wide as he follows each branch of the magic forms into another.

“Is this…do you do like –I don’t know, crystals and all that stuff?” He asks, though he’s reaching up like he’s going to touch the tendrils. 

She doesn’t stop him, tilting her head to the side as his fingers graze them. They wrap around him briefly –warm, soft, like a whisper against his skin –before retreating back to her. 

“I do,” she offers as the magic drifts away into the air, mist surrounding them before evaporating into the empty space. “I even have a broom.”

“Really?” He asks, eyes wide as he looks at her, back straight. 

“Not the way you think, but yes,” she laughs, leaning back. “Practicing witches use brooms for purification purposes –sweep away the negative energies. I’m sure I could fly on it, but that’s more because of me enchanting it and not the broom itself.”

“So you’re…you’re like actually a witch –not just, magic powers but like…the crystal stores and the candles and all that?”

“All the women in my family are witches,” she explains, holding out her hand again. The tendrils return, but this time they wrap around his hand and pull him gently towards her. “My grandmother raised me, and taught me. My mom passed before she could teach me anything. But yes, I practice the actual act of witchcraft while also actually having magic. No experiments or needles needed.”

His eyes light up with the emerald magic, watching as it tugs him into her orbit. Bob doesn’t fight it, too mesmerized by the feel of it against his skin. 

“That’s why I didn’t see anything when I touched you,” she explains, taking his hand in hers. The tendrils swirl around their hands, slinking up his sleeve and over his shoulders. He follows it carefully, like it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen. Maybe it is. “I shield myself from the shadows –and that’s all your powers are. That’s all…he is. A shadow, trying to pry and consume.”

There’s a pause in the conversation as the tendrils slowly wrap around them entirely. Holding them together, like the magic itself is trying to bring them closer together. She’s got a good control over it, she always has, but sometimes it’s got a mind of its own. It’s hard to explain to people that her magic is a living thing, that it’s not just a part of her but it’s own entity. She just hosts it, and thanks it. But she thinks Bob would understand this better than anyone else, because he…he has his own entities. Perhaps he doesn’t like them, but he has them.

“Is…the shielding. Can you…can you teach someone that?” His voice is soft, a little shaky suddenly. But there’s a hopeful undertone as he meets her eyes. 

“I can,” she promises. And it is a promise. “Shielding is less magic and more intentions –and I can absolutely teach you if that’s what you want.”

“I…I would really like that.”

_______

Part two

_______

Bob Taglist: @ilovemarvel12 @k1ttyjuice @magikdarkholme @yesshewrites1 @evanbabybear @jaes-last-words @keira-kaz2y5

[vettelsvee]

I ALREADY HAVE A WIFE | Sebastian Vettel

history series main masterlist | requests here!

ferrari sebastian vettel x race engineer wife!reader

word count: 3450

summary: seb messes up on a press conference while his pregnant wife is there, and he also has to face a journalist that wants to try have a chance with him

warnings: this is based on THAT interview you know all too well (what are YOUR plans?). curse words, pregnancy and everything involved in it, talks of abortion, mental health issues (fluff fluff fluff)

a/n: this is part of history series (coming soon as is being heavily edited). it was my maiden series so... look carefully between lines because there might be some details you don't want to miss out. let me know what do you think of this pleaseeeeee you know i'm always waiting for your feedback, as well as comments and chats on that anon button please! and also, don't forget reblogs are truly appreciated

© VETTELSVEE (2024). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

“Rose Benson, for The Times. A question for all three drivers: it’s just 102 days until we’re in Australia. What are your plans now between… What are you gonna be doing over the winter break? 

“What are your plans?”

Everyone in the room was no surprised by Seb’s answer. Laughter started to fill the room, spreading quickly except for two people: Britta and you. You noticed her gaze piercing your husband, as if she were mentally scolding him, like every time she did when he messed up. You, however, just looked at him with a look of disappointment.

She was unsure about what she had just heard, you knew it perfectly.

Seb face immediately turned pale, as if he knew he shouldn’t have said that. As Seb’s not also wife, but also race engineer, you were used to this kind of behaviour and jokes, but today… it just hit different. 

“Seemed to be counting the days,” he continued while starting to laugh a bit nervous. “Can’t wait.”

Max and Lewis, sitting next to him, joined in the laughter, making him laugh even more as the situation seemed to begin to slip out of his control. You were sure that he knew that having you just a few meters away, shaking your head constantly at the same time you whispered something to his PR didn’t bode well. 

“Seb, you go first,” a journalist said. “What are your plans?”

“Uh…”

“Another baby?” Lewis interrupted.

You knew all to well that he tried his best to not tell anything. Apart from your four years old little girl, both of your families, and Britta and Antti, no one knew yet that you couldn’t try for another baby because the baby was already on the way. 

You couldn’t take the risk of sharing the news and then telling people all over the world that you had an abortion, just as happened to you in 2016.

“Uh... well…” Seb stammered, not knowing what else to say. “Quickly done.”

Even though you were caught up in the laughter around you, you couldn’t control your growing nervousness, as well as your husband, and it kept getting worse every time you glanced at him. You crossed your arms, almost falling off your chair, and decided to rest your head on Britta's shoulder. You tried your best not to fall asleep, but the yawns continued leaving your mouth with no shame at all.

“If you need advice I know how to do it.”

Another mess-up.

Britta was already signaling with her hands to him so he stopped saying nonsense, totally overwhelmed not because she wasn’t used to it, but because she was maybe too worried about you. You straightened up as soon as you heard that, and instinctively placed your hands on your barely noticeable belly, thanking yourself for having decided to start wearing clothes a couple of sizes larger than usual.

“Keep pushing,” Max blurted out, immediately drinking from his bottle.

“Well... I don't know how long you two want to stay on free practice sessions, but... if you want…”

“I like free practice,” the Dutchman commented. “I'd rather stay there for now.”

Lewis and Max kept talking to him, but you knew he was trying his best to go along with the conversation.

After what felt like an eternity, the press conference ended. Everyone started to get up and scatter around the room, probably to chat with each other. The season was over, and they wanted to do the usual: say goodbye and wish each other a good winter break. Seb  did the same, with the difference that he headed straight towards you.

You were still sat, eyes fixed on the floor while you fidgeted with your fingers nervously, tears streaming down your cheeks.

You felt like a complete idiot because, even though he hadn't meant any harm and your really knew that, he should have thought before speaking because he knew all too well that you usually got overly sensitive. You had been through a pregnancy together before, and although it was a vast world full of unknowns, certain patterns did repeat.

The constant desire for sex and the hormonal ups and downs you suffered were the most obvious.

Slowly, he approached you and, with utmost care, knelt beside you, placing a hand on your thigh. You didn't pull away as you usually did when she was mad at him, and you saw in his eyes that he wasn’t expecting you to react that way.

“I'm sorry if what I said made you uncomfortable, especially that baby talk. The last thing I wanted to do was to upset you but I ended up messing up, like always.”

You lifted her gaze, meeting his. He knew you were not exactly sad, but a bit disappointed at the thought that someone might have discovered the pregnancy you were trying so hard to keep secret.

“I swear I hate you right now, Sebastian Vettel,” you said, being completely honest and letting the hormones act for you. “You made me feel so bad, I swear, but…”

Your words came out broken, and tried your best to keep your cool.

He knew you stopped talking because your eyes welled up more than usual: you were on the verge of breaking down but didn't want to do it in public. He leaned his forehead against yours, your faces almost touching.

“I never wanted to make you feel this way, my love,” he whispered. “You, alongside our girl, are the most important people to me, and you know that perfectly well,” you nodded, though he knew you doubted it. “You don't know how much I regret not taking care of my words…”

You looked at him, perhaps trying to find the obvious honesty behind his words. You knew he was being completely honest, but once again, your insecurity was consuming you and acting on your behalf.

“Seb, I hate myself right now. Quite a lot, actually,” you revealed in a nearly inaudible whisper. “I hate being pregnant because I feel useless! I'm so bipolar…” you tensed up, though standing and positioning yourself next to him to keep talking without anyone overhearing. “I want to hit you, I want to cry, and at the same time, I want you to take me to the bathrooms and have casual sex like we were teenagers. Do you understand me, sunshine?”

You said that but actually no, he couldn't understand you because he didn't know what it was like to be roughly eight weeks pregnant.

“Y/N, hey, listen to me love,” he said, holding your face in his hands and wiping away your tears. “You don’t have to hate yourself for feeling this way, alright? We’re in this together, and you’re going through a lot of changes. It’s completely normal to feel this way,” he repeated.

You nodded, and even curled your lips into a small smile. You didn’t waste any time and quickly started hugging him and leaving kisses on his right cheek.

But that ended abruptly when you both heard a throat clear behind you.

Britta was standing next to none other than the pink-haired girl who had asked your husband about his winter break plans earlier.

Rose Benson, that Italian journalist who had become one of the best, if not the most prominent, additions to Formula 1 journalism.

“Sebastian, as charming as ever I see…” her words made you cling tightly to Seb’s arm, a bit afraid. Again, your insecurity appeared. “Can I steal you for a few minutes for an exclusive interview?”

Her gaze fell with a hint of disdain on your, as if your were an unnecessary part of the conversation she was trying to have with your husband. Immediately, he wrapped his arm around your waist and started making faces at Britta so she could help him to get rid of that reporter.

As expected, she refused, letting him know he would have to face an interview he didn’t want to do but that it was up to him whether or not he did it. She knew better than anyone what it was like to deal with the media and, especially, with professionals like the one in front of you.

“I’m sorry, Rose. I’m busy.”

“Come on, Sebastian... we’ve known each other for years,” she persisted, getting a bit closer to Seb. “You know it would be an amazing interview... like so many we’ve had.”

You were starting to get upset again. The only thing he did was placing a hand on your belly, and it somehow calmed you, but not for long. 

“Benson, I’m serious. The only conversation I want to have right now is the one I was having with my wife,” he said, calmly rubbing your back.

“You’re disappointing me, Vettel,” she snapped, leaving you both in shock. WYou’re missing out a wonderful opportunity to be interviewed, in private, with someone like me.”

After hearing that, tears once again covered your face. You took a few steps back, slight pushing him and positioned yourself next to Britta, who didn’t know what to do other than wrap her arms around you while Seb was still watching the reporter start scribbling something on a piece of paper.

“Here’s my phone number, Seb,” she said in an overly suggestive tone as she handed him the piece of paper, which he took. “Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider? We could find a more private place, and…”

As she got dangerously closer to him, Seb kept your eyes on you.

You hated how polite he was even though people acted in such a stupid way. 

“Rose, I’m sorry, but that’s not going to happen,” you said again. “My answer, once again, is no.”

“Have you never wanted to explore curves other than those on the circuit?”

“Why are you such a fucking bitch?! The only curves he explores off the circuit are mine!”

The woman’s insinuations had pushed you over the edge. Several people were already looking at you, and you’d swear some were even taking pictures or videos, so it wouldn’t surprise you if you went viral on Twitter that night.

Benson didn’t know what to say or do after your insult, except to end the closeness she had created by moving away from your husband as much as possible, trying not to arouse suspicion from the onlookers.

“Y/N, I think it’s best if we go get some air, what do you think?” Britta suggested you.

“No, I don’t want to go get some air, Britta!” you shouted again, breaking free from Roeske’s careful grasp. You were worried about you getting this upset, but you didn’t care at all. This wasn’t good for the pregnancy. “I want to tell this stupid journalist to learn to do her damn job properly and stop meddling in marriages!”

“Excuse me? Are you calling me a cheater?” she retorted, clearly offended. “You need to learn to control what you say, dear. You’re going to get yourself into more trouble if you keep this up.”

You were getting more nervous than hearing Seb during the press conference, you’d swear.

“Yes, you!” you snapped, moving further away as Britta tried to take you out. She must have noticed how pale you had gone. “Do you think Seb doesn’t have a girlfriend? Well, surprise! He married me last June and we’ve been together for nearly seven years, and we have a daughter, and...!”

The index finger on Seb’s lips was what made you stop from revealing your third pregnancy or who knows what else. Your expression revealed him that, although he had done the best to make you shout, at that moment you only wanted to kill him.

Britta began to guide you more quickly towards the door to get out of there, but your words still could be heard despite the distance with a frustration that was more than obvious. There was a point in your life when you started saying what you wanted, fought for what you believed was not fair, and you stopped being intimidated or afraid of anything or anyone.

That’s what probably made Seb fall in love with you more and more every day, even he actually thought it would be impossible.

When you finally left, Britta handed you a bottle of water and started to calm you down, but you just couldn’t relax. Now, you were still nervous and actually worried about what Seb could be saying to that woman. His body expressions, the ones you were seeing from distance, didn’t calm you as much as you thought, and when she handed him a piece of paper you completely lost it and, once again, started crying, leaning on a wall.

A few minutes, later, Seb approached you while you saw Britta leaving you two some space.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m so sorry about what happened there. I should’ve handled it better,” he started, his voice full of concern.

“Seb, it’s not your fault. She was way out of line,” you said, your voice trembling while trying to calm yourself down. 

He pulled you into a tight hug, your body relaxing slightly against his.

“We’ll get through this, together, like we always do,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head, hoping to soothe your nerves.

His gaze meets your tear-filled eyes. Gently, he took your hands and started caressing them with his thumbs, knowing how much it relaxed you in moments of distress like this.

"Thanks for taking care of her for me, Britta," Seb said, turning around to thank your second mother once more for looking after you and sparing you any trouble.

You wanted to say something to him, but as soon as Seb turned his back again you, he got closer and closed the distance between you two, pressing his lips to yours. 

You ended up forcing yourself to pull away not because you might get horny,because you're not used to showing affection in public unless it's a completely special occasion. The world knows you only hold hands lightly or maybe kiss on the cheek, out of respect for your profession and, above all, so that people see you as an engineer and not just a WAG.

Private moments were exclusively yours, and no one beyond your loved ones and yourselves needed to know about them.

"What's that about, Seb?"

You were too surprised, feeling a wave of emotions invading you. 

"The thing with Rose, or the kiss?" he asked innocently.

"Both," you replied shortly, then corrected yourself. "Sorry, it's just that girl made me feel like..."

You couldn’t continue. You put your hands over your face, but Seb pulled them away. There was no need for you to hide from him: he knew how you felt, and all he wanted in those moments was calming you and making you aware that there was no need for you to feel ashamed about anything.

"I only want you, Y/N," he brought you even closer and started touching your belly again, but now with more discretion. "In this, and a thousand more universes, and beyond life, whatever it is, and no matter what happens, I will always love only you. Just you, Y/N."

"Do you really love me? Even though I'm fat and ugly like I am now?" you wanted to know, doubting yourself as you focused on looking at your body up and down.

He chuckled softly at your comment. You weren’t not fat: your belly was just a slightly bigger than usual despite being in the first trimester because of your natural anatomy. 

"You're neither fat nor ugly, darling, but it's normal to feel that way," he comforted you. "You're experiencing changes, so don't overthink, Y/N. You’re a superhero: you’re creating a whole baby in there"

"But I just... I feel like a bomb of emotions. I feel so... so stupid and contradicting myself all the time..."

"It's the hormones," he interrupted you. "Don't press yourself for feeling that way. Do you remember when you were pregnant with Emily?"

Before he could say anything else, he made sure that, aside from Britta, you were alone in the hallway. Seeing that no one else was around, he kneeled down and brought his face to your belly. He placed both hands on either side and started kissing it, causing you laugh.

"Hello, my little girl. How are you doing? There's a long way to go, but mom and I are so excited to meet you, as well as your big sister, who really wants you to be born just to play with you."

You know the baby couldn’t hear you, but you felt so happy Seb was trying his best to make you a little happier.

"Stop, sunshine," you started saying, taking his arms to make him stand up. "Seb, seriously, get up. They're going to catch us!"

There was no one around, and he even double-checked to make sure. However, he decided to listen to you to avoid making you more nervous. At the same time, Britta nodded for you both to follow her. Seb took your hand and followed her steps.

"Seb..." you started speaking with some doubt.

"What is it, love?"

"Why did you say my little girl before?”

He turned hid head towards you. He saw you blushing and looking a little lost.

"Because I know it's going to be another girl," he confessed to you, leaving you a bit puzzled. "I don't know why, but it seems, and I truly believe, that making girls is our specialty."

"I think it's going to be a boy, but it makes sense: the other baby was also a girl..."

You forced yourself to stop talking. You didn’t usually talk about the miscarriage you had about two years ago, at sixteen weeks pregnant, and although you had made great progress after nearly making an irreversible mistake, it still hurted.

They say you learn from mistakes, but if you had seen the clear signs of the person who ruined your lives and had taken measures much earlier, things would have been very different.

"How about we make a bet?" he commented, trying to change the subject while now wrapping his arm around your waist. "If it's a boy, I'll take you on vacation wherever you want."

"And if it's a girl, like you say?" you wanted to know.

"Then I'll take you to dinner at your favourite restaurant. The one you always want me to take you whenever we go visit your family."

You looked at him strangely, knowing perfectly well that what he said wasn’t really a bet; in fact, it's anything but a bet. Adding to that, his voice sounded so calm that it might have surprised you with his passivity.

Britta and Antti look at you both as Seb helped you to enter the car, as if they wanted to know what you were talking about. You look that he shook his head at them and immediately started laughing.

"And what are you laughing at now, Sebastian?" you snapped at him again as he sat next to Britta. "Are you trying to mess with me, or what?"

"What's wrong with her? Is she okay?"

The whispers from his training coach, who clearly wanted toknow what was going on without appearing nosy, made him laugh even more. He didn’t even answer him and directly looked at you:

"Start thinking if you want to go to Cadiz or Mallorca, and if you prefer a McDonald's burger with pickles and ice cream with ketchup and fries or your aunt's wiener schnitzel."

Your eyes lighted up with excitement. You knew that he was making you decide, but in the end he’ll do all of that, and more, for you. Seb was the best partner ever and took care of you amazingly, especially when you were pregnant or struggling with your mental health. 

"I hate that you know me so well, Seb," you ended up saying, taking some candies from Britta's hand. "But I'm sure you don't know what's on my mind right now."

Of course he did, he knew you too well. You were just being horny, and your face showed.

"Y/N, I really appreciate you all," Roeske began to say as she looked at both of you, "but please: stop acting like you know what in front of us. Can’t you contain yourselves for ten minutes and then do whatever you want when you’re alone in your hotel room? Really, I’ll take care of Emily and I'll even stay all night listening to loud music on my headphones so I don't have to hear you moan all the time. Agree? But please: behave, kids."

[esote-rika]

derision as prelude to desire | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Waldorf!Reader

Category: smut 18+ MDNI, fluff if you squint

Summary: Spencer Reid’s new coworker is mean but one night doing overtime together leads to the two of them bonding.

Content: glasses!Spencer, workplace rivals if you squint, Spencer Reid vs technology, reader is kind of mean and based on Blair Waldorf (in background, looks, and personality), Spencer is petty, his mind is in the GUTTER, use of eye drops, making out, sub!Spencer, fingering, oral (male receiving), whining and begging glasses!Spencer. Let’s pretend the BAU doesn’t have any CCTV cameras for this one m’kay thanks

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: This is an ITCH in my brain, like I’ve been thinking about a Spencer Reid x Blair Waldorf crackship since August last year it’s actually concerning. One of my favorite ship dynamics is loser boy x popular girl, so it makes sense. Still in second person to make it immersive. This isn’t a crossover, so there will be no spoilers for Gossip Girl. The reader's personality, looks and background are just based on Blair. Let me know if you want to read more of this dynamic because I have so many ideas for it oh my god. I hope you enjoy it!

Spencer Reid often muses on the series of events that had brought you from the streets of the Upper East Side to work in Quantico, Virginia. It would be easy to ask, of course, or even have Penelope do a quick background check on you, but he’s made a game of it instead, piecing together what he knows of your history, filling in the blanks of what would have gone wrong, what decisions you would have taken, in order to leave the privileged life you led and enter public service.

As far as he had been concerned, you don’t belong anywhere near the FBI, let alone the BAU. Spoiled, rich, with a mean streak he is all too familiar with from his time in school.  

He had been so sure you wouldn’t fit in when you first joined the team. You had been, and continue to be, perfectly made, every single hair shiny and curled just so, heels always so shiny and matching whatever designer bag you have slung over your shoulder. Everything about you screams high maintenance, and his profiler instincts point to several things: uncooperative, wants everything handed to you, ditzy.

But then you had shown your cards, had proved his assessment so wrong and he could never forgive you for the sting of that defeat.

It doesn’t help that you seem to enjoy riling him up as well. Every case is an opportunity to one up him, an attempt to claim his spot and it’s unfair. You already have everything, yet you still refuse to yield the title of team genius to him, the one thing he can cling to, the thing he knows is his. 

He is still glowering today, four months into your employment, passive aggressively hitting the keys on his keyboard. He’s a slow typist, and he’d agreed to write Morgan’s reports for him this week, a favor between friends he’s now beginning to regret. You are the only one keeping him company. The rest of the team has already left hours ago, but you’re typing away at your desk, fingers flying through the keyboard without even a glance. His own skills seem laughable in comparison, going at the keys one by one, with the speed of an old grandparent squinting over a typewriter instead of a man in his twenties. 

“Take a picture, Reid, it’ll last longer.”

He blinks, forcing his eyes back to the monitor. “You’re so original.” he mutters, pushing his glasses up to nestle on top of his head. He rubs his eyes, already despising the glare of the screen.

“Aw, what, the genius can’t handle a little blue light?”

He doesn’t bother with a response, blinking at the screen instead. The sooner he can get this done, the sooner he can leave. Sounds of tapping keys fill the air again, but he stops after a few moments again, rubbing at his eyes. He hears a sigh, and then your voice again, haughty but somehow concerned.

“You’re not supposed to rub your eyes, it makes it worse.” 

“I know,” he grumbles, “I don’t need you lecturing me about the importance of eye health.”

“It seems like you do, since you’re still doing it.” you reply derisively. He’d be rolling his eyes if he isn’t too busy rubbing them.

“Here,” you say, “Catch.”

Confused, he lifts his head, only to flinch as something hurls right at him. “What-” it hits his desk, then bounces off.

“Oh, look what you’ve done, genius.”

“You threw it at me.” his lips are pulled into a tight line of disapproval, “A head’s up would have been nice.”

“I did, genius, I said catch. You just have the reflexes of an eighty year old.” your voice is tinged with annoyance.

To his surprise, you’re up and walking to his desk, heels echoing in the empty bullpen. He watches as you gingerly kneel on the ground, bending down, and his eyes grow wide. The image of you bent down like this is surprisingly enticing, your skirt straining against the soft curve of your hips, hair falling down your shoulders like a curtain of the night sky. You’ve gotten close enough that he can smell your perfume, something citrusy and clean, and he subconsciously leans closer.

Mouth dry, he manages to croak out, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find the damn eye drops.” you snap, an arm extending towards him and for a moment he holds his breath, waiting for contact. Instead, you grab something from the ground, “There it is.” 

He watches as you straighten, lifting your torso upright, but still kneeling in front of him. An image flashes through his mind, your face between his thighs, those large eyes staring up at him, but he banishes it quickly lest his thoughts begin to stir his body. 

“Here, these should help.” You say, finally standing back up and placing the tiny bottle on his desk. A filthy part of him wishes you’d get back on your knees. He catches the tilt of your head, the confusion in your eyes, “Reid. Are you still with me? Has your brain finally short circuited from all those statistics?”

Oh his brain is short circuiting, all right, just from a different cause.

“I’m - yeah.” he replies, and then he rattles off the first thought his frazzled mind could come up with, “Did you know some people have used eye drops as a method for murder? Not these ones, but there are specific brands that contain—”

“Tetrahydrozoline,” you finish for him, “Yeah, I know.”

He blinks. There you go again, proving your intellect, your value, somehow matching his even though he’s pretty sure you are no genius, not in the same way he is. Still, perhaps it’s the late night, or your offer of relief, but the sting of being bested doesn’t resonate tonight. A softer feeling unfurls in his chest, something warm and addictive, something like understanding. He smiles, “That’s right.”

You nod, curls spilling over your shoulders again, “Mhm. Well… These are for your eyes, I’m not trying to poison you.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you.”

A scoff, “Please, I’m not dumb enough to attempt murder in the office.”

His brows lift and he finds himself grinning, “So you’ve thought about it?”

“I will neither deny nor confirm.” you’re smiling now too, and he lets his eyes roam over the pretty lines of your face, memorizing how lovely you look in this moment, guards lowered and smiling at him with ease. He thinks he sees something flash in those pretty eyes of yours but he’s not sure. Reading people has never been his strong suit, regardless of his profession.

“Come on, I’ll help you.” you gesture at his glasses, and he immediately obeys, pushing it back up to nestle on his hair. He holds his breath as you come closer, bites his lips when your hand comes to his chin. It’s soft, unbelievably gentle, and you tilt his head back. From this angle, he can see the way your lashes curl, the soft hint of shimmer swept across your lids. Eyeshadow, he remembers from what Penelope and JJ have told him, and it highlights the shape of your eyes, making them appear brighter.  

He blinks as coolness hits his eye, and then you’re tilting his head to the other side, and he’s trying not to panic, trying not to be a creep, but in reality, he hasn’t been this close, this intimate to a woman in so long that it’s messing up his ability to inhale, to think, to function. Your hair flutters gently around his face, and the scent of citrus is stronger now, heady, and he feels so light headed he’s afraid he’ll faint.

The same coolness hits the other eye, and before you can pull away, before he can think it through, he’s curling his own hand over your wrist. He lifts it up, pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm, admonishing any thoughts of germs and bacteria, and instead relishing at the tender flesh beneath his lips. He kisses your palm again, lips gently tracing the lines, before moving down to the inside of your wrist, before pausing.

He dares to peer up, waiting for a reprimand, a cutting sentence that would have him lashing back at you, but there’s none. There it is again, the flicker in your eyes, and now he finally knows the word to attach to it: desire.

He kisses the inside of your wrist again, and feels you pulse fluttering beneath his lips. Fast, to his surprise, almost matching the quick succession of thudding in his chest. 

“Reid,” you whisper, and he waits again, allows you time to pull away. You don’t, but he’s apprehensive now, afraid he’s crossed a boundary. He definitely has, but he would do it again if you express the desire to do so, to tumble into whatever this is with him. He just needs confirmation, one verbal acknowledgement that you want this too, because he doesn’t trust his ability to read you yet, not when he’s spent so much time despising you.

But you’re just looking at him, and the embarrassment is almost painful. His cheeks heat up, and he drops your hand.

“I’m sorry.” he murmurs, sinking back on his seat. He’s about to turn to his monitor, intent to forget about this, forget everything even though his memory would make that impossible, but he finds his face being tilted up again, cradled between impossibly soft hands, and then there’s lips against his own, your lips, oh god you are kissing him.

He wraps his arms around your waist, following the movement of your mouth to the best of his limited ability. Your teeth dig into his bottom lip and he lets out an involuntary whimper, his body jerking at the sting. He feels you smiling against his mouth, cocky even in the midst of a kiss, in the midst of the most heated kiss he’s had since - since - he can’t even remember her, the brief dalliance he had with an actress once upon a time, because all he can think of is your mouth, and your hands, nails scratching at his scalp, and every single thought is expelled from his mind when you climb on his lap.

“God,” he moans in between kisses, his breaths ragged, but he would gladly drown in you before stopping.

“Not god,” you correct him and nip at his lower lip with more force this time.

“Mhm.” he whines, and kisses you again, shifting so you’re more comfortable on his lap. He wonders if the chair is creaking from your combined weight, but then you’re grinding directly on his cock and he’s lost in a haze of white hot pleasure. 

Apparently, Spencer Reid cannot multitask, because his lips fall slack as you grind against his hardening cock. Your laughter tinkles in his ear, before your mouth latches on his jaw, down his neck, open and wet and sticky. He knows you said you aren’t god, and he’s never been religious, but he swears this must be heaven. Fitting too, in the same way he’s never thought he’d reach some place he doesn’t even believe in, he’s also never thought he would have you—beautiful, infuriating, untouchable you—grinding on his lap with a desperation that borders frenzy.

Recognizing that your need burns you just as his is making him reckless, he manages to whisper, “Tell me— tell me what to do. How do I make you feel good?”

You giggle, taking one of his hands away from your waist and leading it under your skirt. The fabric has bunched up over your thighs, and he grips the smooth flesh greedily. But you have other ideas, and he’s eager to learn, so he lets you move his hand higher, until the tips of his fingers brush against moist fabric.

His mouth goes dry. You’ve soaked through your panties. 

“Like this?” he dips his fingers past the lace, his mouth falling open at the slick that’s gathered at your core. You have your face buried at his neck, lips and tongue still assaulting the tender skin there, but he feels you nod, feels the shudder that runs through you, and he takes those as a good sign. His touch is exploratory, gentle, fueled by an intoxication over the fact that you’re here and you’re enjoying it, you’re making those sounds for him. 

He’s awestruck rather than cocky, and when he slides his fingers into your pussy, he’s immediately trying to figure out a rhythm that would draw out those pretty noises from your lips. When he finds it, he sticks to it, greedily drinking in your moans, no matter how muffled they are against his neck.

There’s a sense of degeneracy to this whole thing. Fingering his coworker in the office, right there on his desk, he could get fired should this get out, they both could. Still, he’s never truly had anyone want him so unabashedly and he simply cannot stop. You had been the one to kiss him, after all, the lines in the sand had been completely trampled by the time you had climbed on his lap. 

“You feel so good,” you whisper, and he feels you move, riding his hand shamelessly, and he has to bite your shoulder to keep himself from whining again. The sight alone nearly undoes him, and you’ve barely done anything. He’s been actively providing you with stimulation this whole time, fucking you with his fingers relentlessly, and somehow, he wouldn’t change a single thing. 

“Yeah?” he asks, pupils blown wide, wanting, needing the assurance that he’s doing good, he’s making you feel good.

“Yes, oh fuck, yes!” your voice grows sharper as he curls his fingers with every thrust. After a few moments of fumbling with your panties, his thumb presses against your clit and he’s rewarded by another groan from you. 

He draws figure eights against your slick core, finding a rhythm that has you tugging at his hair wildly, and he’s whispering into your ear, pleading, “That’s it, please come for me, please, let me see how good you feel, please, please—”

“Spencer!” you groan, and then you’re shuddering in his lap, and his fingers down to his knuckles are wet with your slick. 

He grins, helping you through your orgasm, pressing kisses to your hair, the FBI issued office chair creaking so much he’s afraid the two of you would break it if you don’t stop. The image is hilarious in its absurdity, making his grin widen, and you must have taken it for arrogance because he feels a slight smack on his shoulder.

“Don’t get cocky.” you mutter.

He takes you in, the flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, mascara now smudged along your lash lines, and he’s reverential instead of arrogant, grateful that he has brought someone so stunning and capable to the throes of pleasure, has taken you apart so much you’ve ruined your normally perfect facade. 

“You’re beautiful.” he tells you, his own eyes glistening with an unfocused daze. You roll your eyes and shake your head, and he’s seized with a desire to keep you hear and bury his fingers inside you over and over again until you believe him.

“Your turn.” You chuckle, hands unwinding from his neck and travelling down the length of his abdomen, coming to the buckle on his belt.

“Wait, I—uh,” he turns beet red once again, clearing his throat, “Are you on the pill? I don’t have—”

You tilt your head, as if the idea of a man walking around without a condom is foreign. Perhaps it is, but Spencer simply never assumed he would have any use for it. He turns away, teeth worrying his lower lip, but you pull his face to you again.

“I have hands.” you say as you resume undoing his pants. You shift, then slink away from him, and he whines at the loss of your warmth, but he sees you on your knees once again, and this time it’s not just his brain making up lewd, inappropriate thoughts, “And a mouth.”

“Y-you really don’t have to.”

“I know,” you grin, pretty as the devil and twice as tempting, and as your hands wrap around his engorged length, thumb circling at the tip, “But how can I not, when you’re this pretty?”

He blacks out, he swears he does, there’s no way this isn’t a perverted dream, no way that you’re actually stroking up and down his throbbing cock. Somehow he comes to, only to feel a warmth, a wetness, enveloping the swollen tip, and his hips buck up instinctively. He whines when your hands push at his thighs, holding him in place. 

“Please,” he gasps, babbles, really, “Please, oh god, that feels so good.” 

You take him further down and he throws his head back so violently the glasses slip past his ears and clatter onto the floor. He feels your laughter vibrating against his cock and it almost has him keening. He whines, wriggles against your hold with no real desire to break free. He finds that likes the force of your hands on him, nails leaving harsh indents on his flesh as he struggles. The pain is delicious, heightening his already frazzled senses.

You bob your head up and down, your hair swaying gently, and he manages to will his hands to move, gathering the soft tresses in his hand so they won’t impede your movement. Your eyes flicker up, meet his own, and he swears there’s a thank you in the glint of them. He cannot do anything else. 

Slack jawed, he watches you hollow your cheeks, saliva dripping down the sides of your mouth as you give him the best head he’s ever experienced. Never mind that it’s his first one, and that he doesn’t have a point of comparison. He’s convinced this is the best, you are the best, and he’s never been more thankful for his eidetic memory until this night, knowing that he cannot, will never, ever forget the way you look as you knelt down and sucked his cock like you were being paid to do it. 

“God, you’re so pretty, oh my god, yes, just like that, please, please, yes.” he’s aware that he’s whining, and there’s an amused twinkle in your eye that tells him he would never hear the end of this after. 

He knows you well enough to know that you would dangle this over his head any chance you get, that you aren’t above playing dirty. Instead of dread, it makes his stomach roil with another gush of desire, and he knows that that is even more concerning than whatever you were going to do.

(It never occurs to him to do the same, that he could tease you back and point out that he has had you on your knees and sucking on his cock like you were made for it simply because his brain cannot fathom ever associating the sight of you kneeling before him as something to be ashamed of.)

He’s drawn from his thoughts as he feels your hands cupping his balls, stimulating an entirely new area that has him thrusting up. He feels his cock brush against the back of your throat, and he pulls back immediately, eyes wide with worry as you gag around his length.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, baby you can stop if—”

But you do it again, soldiering past your gag reflex and taking him all the way, and he can hear someone saying oh fuck oh fuck I’m cumming agh, please, I’m cumming, and he thinks its his own voice but he’s unsure. His eyes are squeezed shut, colors exploding behind his lids as he feels your tongue swirling over and over his sensitive cock, before the cool air surrounds it, telling him you’ve stopped completely.

When he opens his eyes, you have your head on his thigh, cheek pressed against the fabric, a lazy smile on your ruined lips.

“God,” he whispers, reaching for you, wanting you close, “That was—wow, you—come here, please.”

He watches as a flicker of surprise flits over your face, before you mask it with a giggle, “Good?” you murmur, tucking his soft cock into his pants before climbing on his lap again.

“Incredible.” He holds you tight, your slick only half dry on his fingers, the taste of him still on your tongue, “You’re incredible.”

You’re quiet, contemplative, and he presses a kiss to your neck, wanting to bring you out of whatever funk you’ve gone into, “Hey, what is it?” He’s almost terrified of the answer, worried you would pull away and leave him cold.

“I just didn’t think you’d be a cuddler.” you reply, eventually sinking into his arms. Your voice is soft when you say, “Most men aren’t.”

The thought of her having experiences doesn’t bother him; it’s the fact that they callously left her after that makes him tighten his hold on her. “I’m sorry.”

“For the entirety of shitty men? You’d need more apologies than that,” you chuckle, fingers absently curling into his hair, “But thank you. This is— this is nice.”

“It is,” Spencer nods, leaning into your touch, eyes shut.

“You lost your glasses.”

“I did.”

Your laughter fills the air, “Hey, are you sleepy? You still have Morgan’s reports to finish.”

His eyes flutter open, a sheepish smile on his lips, “Why’d you have to remind me?”

“Because the sooner you finish it, the sooner we can do this again.”

Spencer laughs, kissing your shoulder as he relents, “All right, all right.” That’s more than enough incentive to brave staring at the monitor again.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Summer (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

A/N: I can finally wrap up my romcom! Big romantic gesture ahead. Check the masterlist of this series here, if you are new. And to my lovely, lovely readers, thank you for staying wityh me during this madness.

Warnings: My anxious introverted reader being anxious (Shocker) Cregan has self-doubts. Mature language.

YOU ARE HAVING a terrible day. It surprises you because that doesn’t happen as often any longer. Today, you would rather not talk to anyone, much less Cregan, whose hovering would only serve to make you more anxious. Today, you want to crawl under the covers with your comfort book and pretend to be dead. 

Yet, you cannot. Because you can’t find the damn book anywhere. You are sure the compilation of histories of Old Valyria Daemon had given you has to be in your rooms.

You have pulled open all your desk’s drawers, checked the bedside table twice, checked the bed, even beneath it. Not even your chest with linens was spared. It’s nowhere. 

With little choices left, you have begun searching the nursery too, but haven’t quite mastered the courage to search Cregan’s solar. You remember taking the book alongside you to read as you kept him company sometimes, but do not recall leaving it there. 

You feel torn. Cregan and you are getting along now, but you still hesitate going to him with your troubles. Not only you had leftover guilt even though you have both chosen to move on from your rivalry, you also prided yourself on being independent. 

Asking him or anyone for help always makes you feel uncomfortable. You didn’t want others to perceive you as weak. 

Stop. You are being silly, you tell yourself. It’s not like you are about to ask him to solve your life, you only will inquire if he has seen your book. 

Still. What if he thinks less of you for being careless with your things? Or if he thinks you are being overly sentimental to get this worked up over a book? 

Worse, what if he thinks you are accusing him of stealing? 

You let out a groan. You are overthinking. Your bad days often include a lot of anxiety, and today it is a bad day. A terrible one, that will be worse if you don’t find your beloved book. Determined, you march to Cregan’s solar and knock on his door. 

“Aye?” He calls out, northern accent on full display, and you can’t help that your knees get a little weak.

“Cregan? May I come in?” Suddenly, your bravery and determination have deserted you. Your voice comes out squeaky as a mouse. By the Fourteen Flames, to love is to be humbled, it seems. 

“You always may, wife.” You wince at being addressed as such. You suppose it’s a good thing he isn’t calling you by your full title any longer. 

Pushing open the door, you step inside. Cregan is seated on his desk, a frown on his face. He is squinting at some maps, in the way he sometimes does. His frown softens when he sees you, standing on the door. 

“I enjoy how my colors look on you.” Cregan rumbles, a pleased smile forming on his face. Today, you are wearing one of the warmest dresses you own, in a pale gray. It’s made of velvet, and you enjoy how it feels over your skin. You had commissioned it after you arrived at Winterfell, using the generous pocket money that Cregan allowed you. 

You had to give it to the man. No matter how annoying you had been at first, he had never been tight-fisted with your allowance. 

“Thank you.” You feel your cheeks heating up, and fight the urge to fan your face. What you don’t manage to fight is the urge to preen under his gaze. 

Cregan chuckles. You narrow your eyes at him. Is he mocking you? He lifts his hands in surrender, attuned as he is to your moods. 

“Apologies. It’s cute, that’s all.” 

“The dress?” 

“You.” And it’s said with such disarming honesty, you do not know what to say. You search his face, yet his expression is so open, so fond, no hint of mockery can be found. It’s…  Cregan must be thinking of her, for sure. That expression doesn’t mean anything. “What were you here for?”

You clear your throat. 

“Um. I was… I lost my book.” 

“What book?” Cregan asks, shifting his maps aside. He is clearing his desk, you realize. “The one about the conquest?” 

“No, not that one.” Your voice turns shyer still. Secretly, it pleases you that he remembers what you had been reading last week. “It has a brown leather cover and the title is in gold.” 

“The one in High Valyrian?” And his tone is casual. Far too casual. You begin to worry that your book might have met its end. You look him in the eyes, but find little there. Cregan has an impeccable blank face. He gives nothing away. “Check the selves. Maybe it is there.” 

You turn around and begin doing so. But the more titles you check, the more nervous you become. Cregan is an organized man, his books are carefully separated by subject. The servants know to keep to his order, when he rarely leaves them lying around. 

Your book would stand out. You know it. A tight knot of anxiety begins to settle on your stomach. As you reach the lower shelves, you feel tears gathering in your lash line. You cannot believe you are about to cry over a book. 

Cregan will never love you. He will go right back into thinking you are some soft southron, with no spine. No one cries over books. He will think you are ridiculous. 

Despite your back being to him, he seems to sense something is wrong.

“Love? Is everything alright?” 

“I cannot find it.” You whine, losing your battle with the tears. “My book. It’s really important that I find it.” 

You hear him get up, and walk closer to you. He hugs you from behind, holding you to him. 

“Shh… I know. I have been unkind to you.” You are confused about his words, but not enough that you reject the comfort of his embrace. Cregan is warm against your back, and smells faintly of parchment and leather. There is something herbal clinging to his skin, too. His smell and his size make you feel safe. He is tall enough that his form covers yours completely.“I took your book.” 

You flinch. Your hackles begin to rise. Your sadness leaves, clouded by absolute wrath.  

“What?” 

“I wanted to gift you something. It’s being copied by the Maester as we speak. I wanted it to be a surprise, I know how much you love it.” He nuzzles your neck, and it pacifies you slightly. The prospect of a gift entices you, especially if it is a copy of your favorite book. Perhaps Cregan will have it nicely bound.  “I regret it now. Knowing how much you love it, I should have known it would upset you.”

“I wanted to read it today.” You complain, still sad. It has been an awful day for you. “I do not feel so well.” 

“Of course, sweetling.” Cregan drops a kiss to your crown. “I’ll have it delivered to you. Would you mind lending it to me tomorrow? You can recall it anytime during the day if you need it, like now.” 

“Alright.” You whisper, softly. Cregan gathers you in his arms again, and moves the two of you to the loveseat. There, he settles you in his lap. He takes of his cloak and drapes it over you. This way, you are fully surrounded by his warmth and smell.

He calls a servant. True to his word, the book is back in your hands in less than half an hour. You spend the rest of the afternoon reading in his lap. 

Suddenly, your bad day doesn’t seem so bad. 

WHEN HE FEELS like an inconsiderate brute, Cregan tries to think happier thoughts. While grief and self-doubt do not chase him as much as they chase you, he is still a widower with a wife who despised him at first. 

Often, gazing upon Rickon or you is enough to help him feel more settled. More at peace with himself. His son is well adapted enough, he reasons, as he sees him run around the courtyard. You do not despise him, he thinks, as you curl by his side. 

Today, neither is working. Rickon and you are together, a picture that normally would serve to pull him out from his brooding. Of course, since Rickon is on the floor wailing, it isn’t quite working. 

Cregan has a headache. The pain is spreading from his jaw, towards his cheekbones, and from there turning into sharp icicles that feel like they are being stabbed in his skull. 

The day has been long. He had ridden out at dawn to deal with some wildings near Wintertown, and then had to answer his correspondence. The dammed Greens would not stop pestering him to switch sides and hand you over, alternating between threats and flattery. 

As if the Starks were some miserable turncloaks who betrayed their oaths. As if Cregan would just hand over his wife to some usurping cunts. 

The nerve of those Hightowers knew no bounds. What was next? Demanding a Sept be built in Wintertown for those false gods of theirs? 

And if that wasn’t enough to make his day terrible, during the afternoon Cregan had received an outraged Sara. Apparently, for some unknown reason, she had received an offer to become Lady Cerwin And for another unknown reason, it was the most terrible fate. Ever. 

Rickon keeps screaming. He has been that way for a while. Cregan had been alone with him, watching him play on the rug with his blocks, when he had started crying and wouldn’t stop. 

Cregan had tried picking him up, rocking him, walking him back and forth, but nothing helped. One of the servants must have heard and alerted you because you had appeared looking disgruntled.

You had been in the middle of your quiet time, as Cregan enjoyed calling it. Awkward Princesses who hated socializing needed time to recover from hearing petitions during the day. He had realized so when he started teaching you to pass judgement. 

As the time for Cregan to march south to defend your mother’s claim became more imminent, he was giving you more and more responsibilities in Winterfell. That way, you would be prepared to hold the North when he left. Prepared to protect his Kingdom and his son. 

“Tower! Tower!” Rickon wails, as you pick him. Your face is as tired a Cregan feels. His head is heavy. He cannot stand Rickon screaming any longer. By the gods, Cregan is a terrible father. He cannot even calm his son when he needs him. After his many attempts to calm him down were unsuccessful, he had just set him down. 

“What’s the matter, sweet boy?” You ask, holding Rickon close to your heart. Rickon continues to cry. You meet Cregan’s eyes over his son’s head. 

Cregan shrugs. He is unsure of what triggered the tantrum. 

“Shh, all is well. I get overwhelmed too, sometimes.” You say, and Cregan gets the feeling you are talking to him and not to Rickon. “But we can’t rebuild your tower if you are getting all wiggly.”  

This is about the building blocks, Cregan realizes. He feels like a terrible father. A failure. 

Bennard’s words come to mind once more. How can you govern the North if you can’t govern yourself? You failed.

Your swordsmanship is poor, and you still are a pup crying for your parents. You cannot rule. 

He had heard a variation of those words for years, every time he had tried to push his claim. And look, Cregan knows he is not a poor swordsman, and he has tried his best to rule. Men don’t cry, but he does it occasionally. Rarely. His tears never dry out, no matter how old he grows, but it is the only thing of Bennard’s words that came true. That isn’t so bad, is it? 

You have settled on the floor, Rickon on your lap. He still cries, but he has stopped shrieking. You have started building a tower on your own. 

“I think I will place my princess here. And a dragon here.” You explain, as if you are building some great castle. Rickon stares, transfixed by you. Cregan understands the feeling all too well. He remembers the weight of you in his lap, the warmth of your skin against him, your smell. He has been unable to get the memory out of his mind in days. 

It would be pleasant, a session of cuddling with his wife, were it not for the circumstances that lead up to it. All Cregan’s fault. 

“A shame you want to keep crying and won’t help. I suppose I shall have to ask your father to play with me.” Your eyes are coy. You give Cregan a glance, and his lips form a smile despite himself. Of course you would try bribery. 

Of course, it works. Rickon picks up the first block, still sniffling. 

“No! Father isn't a Princess. You are!” 

“You are right, Rickon.” You agree, as if it were the most natural thing. “Silly me. He is a wolf. We should build him a Wolfswood.” 

And so, Rickon forgets his tantrum, settled by your gentle touch and encouraging words. And Cregan’s heart soars. 

“MILADY, LORD STARK wishes for your company.” One of the serving girls says, eyes downcasted. You pause in your perusal of the granary, making a quick note on your ledger. As the Lady of Winterfell, it falls to you to ensure the castle has supplies enough for winter, or so Cregan says. You find the Northern’s obsession with the season a bit much, but considering little grows here, you too would feel better knowing you have enough grain if something happens. 

“Right now?” Considering he had been the one to send you on this errand, it confuses you a little. He must have known taking stock of the granary would take you all day. 

“As soon as you can come. It’s not urgent, but he wishes to see you soon.” 

You feel nerves creep up on you. Cregan never summons you. When he wants your company, he simply appears near you or waits for a meal to invite you to spend time with him. 

You can’t help it. War and grief had frayed your nerves. These days, you feel like everything could be a sign of bad news. 

It’s not urgent, you repeat to yourself. It’s not urgent, it’s not urgent, you chant in your head, but your steps towards the inside of Winterfell are hurried. 

The castle is unusually quiet. The maid guides you to one of the unused wings of the castle, one near Cregan’s rooms. You have never asked, but you know these were the rooms his uncle used to inhabit when trying to usurp him. The man had never dared taking the lord’s rooms from Cregan, lingering near instead, a feeling you understand too well. 

Your husband is a formidable man. You wouldn’t want to cross him, either. 

The serving girl hesitates when the two of you reach a big oaken door. 

“What is it?” You ask her, with a frown. “Why do you linger?”

She doesn’t answer. She simply shoots you a shy smile. Annoyed at her shyness, you push the door open yourself. Your breath catches. 

When you step inside, it is as if you are stepping inside your storybook. The walls are covered with tapestries depicting some of the prettier illustrations, priestesses wearing amethysts, dragons of shining ivory, lovers holding hands. 

The room is decorated in understated creams and golds, the furniture made of the finest woods. Despite the themes of the decoration, it is clearly meant to be a Lady’s solar, even if not attached to your rooms. 

There is a soft, woven carpet that cushions your every step. It is made of pure white fur, to combine tastefully with the rest of the decoration. You can already tell it will feel like heaven on your bare feet, even through your boots. It must have cost a fortune. 

Near two, giant windows, a low table sits. It holds a vase very familiar to you, shaped in the form of a dragon. It is filled with winter roses, though you had seen it before in Dragonstone, full of your mother’s favorite flowers. 

There is a fireplace, as it is customary in almost all the rooms in Winterfell. On its mantle, small toys and mementos from your childhood sit. Near the fireplace, a small sitting area awaits, with comfortable looking armchairs and loveseats, and a low table in which a tea set, painted with Valyrian motives, rests. 

There is a desk in a corner, much bigger than yours, and a small bookshelf, that resembles the layout Cregan has in his own solar. It has sparse books, but all of them are in High Valyrian. Your favorite book has a place of honor, right in the middle of the highest shelf. 

Yet, the true star of the room lies on the back of it. There is a huge round table, like the one from your stories, made of sturdy wood, that resembles the one from the war room from Dragonstone. Not only are the Seven Kingdoms featured, but also Essos, Sothoryos, the Summer Islands and even Great Moraq. Cregan is in the middle of lighting the table, struggling with how one is supposed to do it. 

“How..?” You babble, astonished. To assemble this… You understand now why he had needed your book so many times. The time and care put into building this room, so delightfully whimsical yet honoring your culture at the same time… Your eyes prickle with tears. 

“We can send it back.” Cregan says, alarmed by your tears. “If you…” 

“No!” You say, with an energy that surprises you. You take the candles from his hands and begin lighting the table the proper way. “This is… My home. And my book.”

Cregan’s face is uncharacteristically unsure.

"I hoped it would remind you of where you came from. Of whom you are. A Princess of Dragonstone. My Princess.” 

“You did this… for me?” Your hands tremble as you set the table alight. All the known world, on display for you. In a war table. It is only then that it registers.  

Cregan is willing to go to war for you. Kill in your name. Lay the whole world at your feet.  You have to grip the back of one of the chairs as to not fall down, knees weak. 

“I know you are far from home. And I haven’t… We haven’t always been on the best terms, but you never shied away from your duties. I wanted to give you something that was about you.” 

“I never thought you saw me.” You whisper. “I… I owe you an apology. For everything. For insulting you, when I arrived, for speaking of Lady Arra, for… For not seeing you either, at first.” 

You have been blind, you realize, as you look at your book come to life in this room. The man who had given it to you had shown you that one could form a family with a widow and cherish their sons as if they were your own.

Daemon wasn't a kind man, but he was loyal to family. You were far kinder. If he could do it, and be happy, so could you.

“There is no need to apologize to me.” Cregan gathers you in his arms, and presses a kiss to your lips. His own are chapped from the cold, yet the only thing you feel is his warmth. And for two people as different as winter and summer, you find that your bodies do understand each other. 

It takes Cregan but a week to convince you after that. The first letter you write in your new desk begins as it follows: 

“Dear Jacaerys, I want you to know that I am completely, perfectly, incandescently happy…”