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readwritealldayallnight · 3 days ago

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Part 4 of Bird Watching aka hot construction worker Simon Riley x single mom reader

It’s almost comical, when you allow yourself the rare moment of quiet to sit and reflect, just how different life is now compared to less than a year ago

Last year, the mental check list you went through every time you ventured out of your flat was much shorter, simpler, the bare essentials one might say

Wallet? Check

Phone? Check

Keys? Check

Out the door you went

Nowadays, the check list was only the teensiest bit longer, thanks to the teensiest addition to your flat

Wallet? Check

Phone? Check

Keys? Check

Diaper bag? Check

Enough diapers and wipes? Got it

Extra sets of clothes in case she has a blow out? Already packed in the bag

Her little beanie in case it gets chilly? You swore you had shoved it to the bottom of the diaper bag last time you took a walk…

Enough blankies for her to be comfortable in the pram? Most are in the hamper where you left them…

Her pacifier if she gets fussy? Can’t find a single one, though you swore you owned a dozen…

The baby sling if she becomes tired of the pram and wants to be held? Has to be somewhere around here…

Getting out the door recently proved to be a more complicated affair than you were used to, as did every other aspect of new motherhood that no one could suitably prepare you for, though as the weeks went on, you were slowly but surely getting the hang of things

Not that you had much of a choice in the matter, did you?

Your family and friends overseas were supportive, they checked in with you regularly, always gushed over each and every baby photo you sent their way, had even gone and sent you care packages not long after your delivery, helping to contribute to all the baby gear and supplies you would need to embark on this new chapter of your life… but at the end of the day, you were still going through all this by yourself

It was you who was navigating the late night cluster feedings, it was you who had to learn how to soothe a colicky infant who never wanted to be put down, you who still had to cook the meals you needed to eat, you who still washed the dishes that piled up, you who still had to do the laundry that needed washing, you who had to pay the bills which weighed heavy on your mind each time you watched your bank account diminish, all of this while running on such little sleep you oftentimes felt more like the undead than someone who’d just created new life

And yet… you managed

This hadn’t been how you’d originally envisioned your life going, but now that she was here, now that the tiny speck of life you’d spent months growing inside you was more than just a blurry mass on an ultrasound screen, now that she was a real tangible person whose birth certificate bore your name and yours alone, you couldn’t picture a world without her

The only issue was, you couldn’t picture how much longer you’d be able to keep this up - money was the one thing you couldn’t offer her in abundance

You were a smart girl, you’d been saving up ever since you started working as a teenager, you rented a flat that wasn’t out of your budget, you sold the car when it became evident that it was a luxury you couldn’t afford to keep any longer - but no one could have prepared you for how utterly and devastatingly expensive babies were

Your only choice was to go back to work, as heartbreaking as the thought of leaving your new baby in the care of strangers was, and as much as your body protested the idea, you really were running out of options unfortunately

The stark lack of childcare available was only just the cherry on top of it all, wasn’t it?

You’d reached out to in-home nurseries, local daycares, nanny agencies, larger company centres, and every time the answer was the same: there’s a wait list

As much as you valued your independence, your ability to stay positive in the face of problems no matter how big or small, and as much as you despised asking for help, you had been inching closer to a breaking point when you overheard a conversation between two mums in the paediatricians waiting room, something about the bothersome construction site around the corner being worth it in the end if it turned out to be a new nursery after all

Swallowing down your pride and putting on what you hoped came across as a brave face, you’d ventured over to that very construction site, determined to find out if this might be your needle in the haystack, if this truly could be somewhere you had a fighting chance of enrolling Rosie before the money ran out, even if that meant asking for help for once

What you hadn’t realized at the time, was just how much help you’d end up getting

Part of you still wakes up some mornings, wondering if Simon was a perfect dream you had, the answer to your prayers you’d never spoken aloud, the solution to your problems handed to you on a silver platter

Because what kind of man does all of this for a stranger? Who goes through all this trouble just to be kind? Did he feel bad for you? Did he pity you? There had to be some sort of ulterior motive to this, right?

“Or, I don’t know? Did it ever occur to you that maybe he likes you?” You roll your eyes as you picture the exact expression on your best friend’s face as she tells you this over the phone. You’d told her everything, keen on getting someone else’s opinion on the situation

“He doesn’t even know me yet.” You reply, phone cradled against your ear and shoulder as you double check you’ve packed everything in Rosie’s diaper bag

“Exactly, not yet. He obviously wants to.” She answers easily, never one to be phased by your talent to shut things down prematurely. “Don’t go ruining a good thing before it even happens.”

“I don’t know. It’s not just me I have to make these decisions for anymore, you know? I’ve got Rosie to think about too.” You say, glancing over at her in her crib, entirely entranced by the mobile spinning above her

“Yeah, and look at how he’s already trying to provide for the two of you! The guy literally found you a nursery spot within days! You’ve been telling me it’s impossible for weeks and dude did it in the blink of an eye. For you.” She tries to rationalize to you. “I know it was different while you were pregnant, you didn’t want to date, and I get that. But she’s here now, and you can’t keep yourself closed off ‘til she’s eighteen.”

“When did I say I was keeping myself closed off?”

“Sweetie, I know you, okay? You tried finding him, we all did. But he’s not just going to appear.” You can’t help but cringe slightly as her words, knowing exactly who she’s referring to. “You are not the first woman in the world to get pregnant from a one night stand, and you won’t be the last.”

“I don’t-”

“No I’m serious, listen to me.” She interrupts you before you can protest properly. “You never even got his name, babe. I love you, and I know you always want to do the right thing, but you can’t keep holding out hope you’ll find him again. If this Simon guy wants to step up and take you out for a date, then let him. Who knows, you might even have fun. You remember that word right? Fun? Something people are supposed to try and do.”

“Maybe I should take back the godmother idea, after all.” You joke, knowing deep down that your friend is right

“Too late. I’ve already got it embroidered on my jacket. I’m gonna get her a matching one when she’s bigger.”

You go to tease her instantly, knowing that her embroidery skills will have the jacket looking like Rosie decorated it herself, when a knock at the door interrupts your thoughts

“I’ve got to go, I think he’s here already.”

“Just try to give this a chance, will you? Please?” Your friend asks, the sincerity in her tone giving you pause as you refrain from automatically rolling your eyes again

“I’ll keep you posted.”

“You better.”

Hanging up the phone, you scoop Rosie up to cradle her against your chest as you make your way towards the door, steadying yourself with a deep breath, a quick glance in the hallway mirror letting you know you don’t look half as bad as you could, before you’re opening the door for Simon

The first thing you’re caught off guard by is the same as every other time your eyes have landed on him, which is just how ruggedly handsome he is, his impressive stature and evident muscle tone aside, the thin scars and pock marks littered across his pale skin cannot hide the strong face beneath, dirty blonde hair with a days worth of stubble to match, a nose that looks as though it’s been broken and reset one too many times, it’s his eyes that really captivate you, his eyes that tell you there’s a story to be uncovered here

Your gaze doesn’t linger long however, when you spot the bright yellow bouquet clutched in his hands

He wonders if it really is this easy, to keep a pretty bird happy

If he knew how elated you’d be at the sight of some bright flowers from the shop nearby, then he should have figured the new infant car seat securely installed in his truck would have you practically bursting as the seams

You tried insisting to him that you’d pay him back for the car seat, that he really hadn’t needed to make such a purchase for you, but he wasn’t having any of that

In truth, Simon never even bothered to look at the price tag or the receipt at any point, the cost was the furthest thing from his mind, not when he considered your happiness to be pricelesss

And while he could readily admit to himself that he didn’t know how to do this, didn’t quite understand how to go about this ‘the right way’, didn’t know how to come off as anything other than intense and insistent, he could equally confess that he was just following what felt right

He figured that pretty birds liked it when men bought them things, showered them in grand gestures, but they probably liked it even more when it was things they paid attention to, things that made them feel seen, like flowers in your favourite colour, or a car seat to keep your baby bird safe, or opening the door for you when your hands were full, or offering to carry the absurdly large diaper bag while you juggled the baby

Of course, it wasn’t like he’d had much of an example growing up to follow off of, someone’s footsteps to trace and replicate. Simon can’t help but to think for a fleeting moment as he watches you buckle Rosie in, ‘would it have been that hard?’ for his own father to have paid attention? To have made his mum feel seen? To have tried? Was it really so difficult to be a good man?

He can recall a time when his old man was far too pissed on the drink to notice that Simon had been skipping school, sat in front of the telly and yelling about how the news stories that day were rubbish, his speech too slurred to be fully comprehensible, but he’ll never forget when the old man turned to him, looked at him for the first time in a long time and saw him rather than saw through him, empty beer bottle pointed in his direction and eyes glazed over, telling him ‘When I see wha’ I wan’- no- when I see wha’s mine, I take it! Y’hear me boy? You see wha’s yours, an’ you take it.’

Never in his life had Simon ever wanted to take the man’s advice, determined to never turn out as he had, but this was one such occasion where he could agree with the low life’s sentiment

Because when he looks at you, sat contently next to him in his passenger seat with a smile on your face, a glance in the rear view mirror showing a strapped in baby lulled to sleep on the drive, he knows he can’t let this slip through his fingers, not when his heart kept repeating one thing to him

Mine mine mine mine mine

What was one more lie to make sure this was his? He’d never claimed to be a perfect man, not even a good a man, but if one more innocent fib helped him get one step closer to calling something his own for the first time in a very long time, helped him prove he could be the right man for you, then where was the harm in that?

“You might-” he clears his throat awkwardly when you glance over at him, averting his gaze quickly and readjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “You might hear ‘em call me a weird nickname, dependin’ who’s workin’, by the way.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” You ask him with immediate curiosity, angling yourself more towards him now, with an elbow against the centre console while you balance your chin on your fist, attention solely on his words

The two of you had been making idle chit chat throughout the drive, mostly your endless thanks and his insistence that you were no bother, but this is the first thing he’s mentioned that’s really caught your attention

“We’ve been workin’ on this site for a while, the nursery. I’ve put in quite a few hours on it myself. I like to see things through properly, end up workin’ later than some o’ the other blokes most days.” He starts off, peeking at you quickly as he weaves through traffic, seeing that you’re still listening intently. “Anyway, someone made the joke one day tha’ I treat the job almost like it’s my kid or somethin’, that I’m sort of the ‘dad’ on site.”

“Really?” You scoff, not in an unkind way, but more like you believe what he’s saying, believe that some younger lads on the crew would totally take a jab at him and start referring to him as the dad

“Really. After that, the name just sort o’ stuck. So if you hear anyone call me dad, tha’s all they’re talkin’ ‘bout.” He shrugs, trying to come across as casual as he can, nonchalant in the way someone telling a real anecdote would be

“Even folk outside your work crew call you that?”

“Done enough jobs for this company that somehow they got wind o’ the name. Haven’t been able to shake it yet.” He playfully rolls his eyes and looks at you in a ‘what can you do about it’ kind of way, hoping that this is one of the last tales he has to weave into the web of lies he’s unintentionally begun to spin around you

He knew it was a bit of a stretch, that the odds of avoiding the truth and pretending to be your husband, to be Rosie’s father, were stacked against him, and piling higher and higher the more he opened his mouth, but Simon knows that this isn’t a sprint to the finish line, this is more akin to a marathon, and while he’s stretched and rearing to go, if he can play his cards right, you’ll be waiting for him with open arms on the other end of the ribbon, ready to crown him with those same titles he’s pretending are already his to claim

He wasn’t sure if the ‘dad’ lie was going to be entirely necessary today, though he’d wanted to cover his bases as much as possible before the meeting, hoping to avoid interfering too much and raising suspicions

He’s ultimately glad for the fib however, when he holds the door open for you and Rosie, and the three of you are greeted with the sight of a flustered assistant director sat behind the desk

“Oh, hi! Apologies if I seem rushed, our director had something come up last minute, and she won’t be able to make it in time. Flat tire, it seems.” The young woman explains as she attempts to straighten some scattered documents, Simon nodding along in understanding when you voice your own sympathy at the situation, feigning ignorance as though he hadn’t been the one to prick the woman’s wheel earlier that morning

“She’s asked me to speak with you in the meantime.” She goes on to say, coming around to desk and approaching Simon first with an extended hand. “You must be the dad she was mentioning to me then.”

“Aye, nice to meet you.” He agrees politely, offering the woman a quick shake of the hand before dropping his gaze over to you, the two of you sharing a look that says ‘wow, they really do call you that, huh?’

“And then you must be Mom, of course.” She turns towards you, offering you the same professional handshake and smile she likely gives everyone who walks through these doors

“That’d be me. Though, just Rosie’s mom. I could never handle all those sites and jobs like he does, the baby’s enough for me.” You joke, believing that you’re all referencing how Simon is ‘dad’ to his construction jobs, while you’re mom to the little girl that’s brought you all here today

Lucky for Simon, this woman apparently doesn’t get paid enough to dissect people’s statements

“Agreed, we’ll leave that to him.” She laughs along with you before turning her attention towards the squirming bundle in the pram. “And who have we here then?”

Just like that, the attention’s off of him, off of your relationship to one another, diverted instead towards enrolment details, paperwork that needs to be filled out, information you need to know as a parent and information they need as a childcare provider

Before he knows it, more than an hour’s gone by, the t’s have been crossed and the i’s have been dotted, and you’re told that as soon as the open sign switches on at the new location, Rosie’s got a spot in their infant program

“I should probably feed her quickly, just before we get going again.” You tell Simon, bouncing an increasingly upset Rosie against your shoulder as you stand up from your chair

“Oh. Yeah, ‘course. You have a, uh, a bottle for ‘er, or-” he trails off, not yet prepared to name the alternative

“I wish. No, she hasn’t taken to a bottle quite yet. Still prefers it straight from the tap.” You explain easily, not catching the way the mental image you’ve just painted for him has his heart jump starting in his chest, breath catching in his throat, and heat rushing up his neck

“We do have a breastfeeding space, just past our staff room around the corner here. You’re welcome to use it.” The assistant director informs you, pointing you in the right direction as she opens her office door back up

“Perfect. And thank you again so much. I can’t even begin to tell you how much this means to us.” You tell her, sincere gratitude painted across your features

“You go on ‘head, love. I’ll wait out ‘ere for ya.” Simon says, watching you turn around the corner out of earshot

“You’ve got a lovely family, Mr. Riley.” The woman tells him offhandedly, beginning to gather all the paperwork you’ve just filled out by hand for them

“I do. I’m very lucky.” He agrees easily, taking a step closer to her desk. “Though the poor missus has been exhausted lately, late nights with the baby an’ all tha’. Hope everything was filled out alrigh’.” He adds, throwing a baited line out into the water, waiting to see if he’ll get a bite

“Ugh, don’t we know it. She looks like she’s handling things well though, and everything here looks to be in order as far as I can- oh. Actually,” the woman says, fingers stopping halfway through the sheet she was quickly glancing over, making sure no spots were left empty now that Simon had mentioned it. “It looks like she only filled out the emergency contacts halfway. She’s only put herself.”

“S’alrigh’, I can add my information quickly. I know she’s real tired, poor girl.” Simon doesn’t give the woman the chance to blink before he’s snatched a loose pen up and is scribbling his name and phone number under the second emergency contact, marking himself under as ‘dad’

After all, it’s only a matter of time until the words he’s put on paper are as real as the ink drying on paper declare them to be

It’s midafternoon by the time he’s driven you and Rosie back to your flat, insisting that he help you carry the diaper bag and pram back inside as you cradled a sleeping babe against chest, hopeful that you could lay her back down in her crib without waking her

“You can make yourself a cup of tea if you’d like, while you wait. I’ll hopefully just be a minute or two. Mugs are in the cabinet by the sink, tea bags by the kettle.” You tell him before slipping down the hall towards her room

Simon takes his time glancing around your space this time, now that his attention isn’t solely enraptured by your presence, and thinks he can hear his heart beating through his ears, when he catches sight of his own chicken scratch penmanship in your kitchen, on the fridge amongst the postcards and takeaway menus and old seasons greetings cards, is the phone number he’d written for you when you first met, a mirrored version of his own fridge at home bearing only your writing

He takes your advice and prepares not just one but two cups of tea, puts your new flowers into a vase and fills it with water before setting it on your table, the sound of your approaching footsteps masked by the hissing of the kettle, though when he turns and makes eye contact with you, the energy in the room is different from before, a tension that wasn’t present the last time you both stood here

“How’d you take your tea?” He asks, jutting his chin towards the chairs at the table, his way of telling you to sit and let him take care of you, his own way of unofficially saying his job isn’t over yet, he’s not done here yet. Rosie’s daycare spot might be filled, he might have driven you home, helped you inside, but won’t you let him prepare your tea? Won’t you indulge him just a little longer?

To his elation, you do. You tell him how you like your tea, you watch him gather his ingredients and prepare both your drinks, watch him as he slides your cup across the table and lowers himself into the seat next to you, rather than across from you like last time, feeling more daring than before

“Simon, I know you keep telling me this is all okay, that it’s no big deal, not a problem,” you start, fingers fidgeting with the handle of your mug as he takes his own sip, pretending as though he isn’t desperately hanging onto your every word, hoping that the gears turning in your head have landed on a conclusion in his favour. “But I just- I don’t know how to thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me. Truly.” His reply is instantaneous, honest, one he’s given you each time you try to act as though you owe him anything for his kindness, as though he isn’t the one getting more out of this than you are

“How’s this possible?” You ask with a flustered laugh, the smallest crack in your usually cool and collected facade beginning to show, a glimmer of a flummoxed, confused, disbelieving girl peaking through for a split second

“What’d you mean, love?” Simon inquires, pushing his mug to the side and offering you his undivided attention now

“I just- you’ve been nothing but kind, and helpful, and outrageously generous since the literal minute I’ve met you Simon. And I’m so beyond appreciative and thankful- but I- I mean- how- what are you getting out of this?” You finally ask, a visible weight being lifted off your shoulders as you ask the question that’s clearly been plaguing you

Part of him aches as you essentially admit to him that you have a hard time believing someone could be so kind without expecting anything in return, that you feel you owe him anything because of his help, but he also lives in this same world as you, has seen just how dark and cruel and greedy people can be, agrees with the sentiment that you can’t willingly trust just anyone

But he doesn’t want to be just anyone to you, and so he decides to try some honesty for a change

“I like you.”

“You think you like me. You hardly know me.” You reply, as though his answer was one you were expecting, though the determination on your face cannot hide the faint blush that appeared on the apples of your cheeks soon as his words were in the open

“I’d like to get to know you. Feel a bit like I already do.” At this, Simon eases your mug out of your grasp, slipping his own calloused palms into your much softer, smaller hands, knowing already that he’ll be feigning for your next touch before he’s even let go of you yet. “I look at you, love, you and Rosie, the two o’ you, and I see…”

What he doesn’t dare say aloud is that you remind him of something achingly familiar, that he looks at you and sees someone alone, someone in need of help, too fiercely proud to admit so, you remind him of him, you remind him of home, in the most fucked up yet equally incredible way

But for now, he settles instead on telling you a little less

“Hope.” Your eyes widen at his words, mouth falling open in the slightest ‘o’ as you take in his words. “You- y’give me hope.”

Something about that seems to resonate within you, has you blinking at him as though you’ve been only seeing a silhouette through thick fog thus far, able to make out the silhouette of a man but unable to define his edges, unsure whether you’re seeing a friend or foe, but now, it’s as though the high beams have finally turned on, as though you’re seeing him in perfect, unfiltered light

Simon can only hope you don’t hate what you see

He thinks it’s safe to presume not, when your hand lets go of his, reaching up instead to pull him in by his shirt collar until your lips meet, eyelids closing with visions of yellows flowers in the corner of your eyes

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lovebugism · 22 hours ago

Note

Thunderbolts prompt: fake dating with them oh my lordy

ty for requesting :D below you will find four separate blurbs for the thunderbolts (bucky, yelena, john, and bob), each with their own separate summary and warnings! enjoy!!

BUCKY BARNES X READER — you pretend to be bucky's wife to help his image during the election (friends to lovers, pre-thunderbolts but also kinda canon divergent | 0.8k words)

Bucky Barnes never lets go of your hand. He never stops smiling either, at the sporadic camera flashes that threaten to blind him while the elevator doors squeak to a close. Only when the two of you are finally alone, away from the leering eyes of the press, can Bucky take his first good breath of the evening. Only then does he let go of your hand.

You migrate to opposite sides of the small lift and bathe in the welcome silence after a too-long night of shaking hands and people pleasing. Bucky sighs and tips his head back against the wall. “I’m sorry about this,” he mumbles beneath the ding-ing elevator. “Again.”

Despite the ache in your feet from a long night in heels, you manage a small, tired laugh. “You don’t have to keep apologizing, Bucky— Valentina put me up to his, alright? Not you.”

“No, I know, I just…” he trails off with an awkward chuckle, loosening the knot in his tie with two fingers. “I just know you’d rather be anywhere else in the world than here, you know, with me. I know how boring these things are, trust me.”

He tilts his head to flash you a tight-lipped grin, ocean eyes dark and weighed down with a visible fatigue. You give him a much more apologetic look in return.

“Actually, I’m kinda happy I’m here,” you correct and avert your gaze. “I know Valentina did all… this,” you wave your hand vaguely between the two of you. “But if pretending to be married helps you get elected, then I’m happy to do it. I seriously think you could do some good— like, world-changing good, so… I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.”

Bucky’s chest warms with an unfamiliar feeling. Something fuzzy, like television static or crackling embers — the kind of feeling he only gets whenever he’s holding your hand. It feels strange now, not to be touching you after spending a whole evening at your side.

He flexes his flesh hand and tries to ignore the ache while the numbers on the elevator continue to rise — 27th, 28th, 29th…

“I know neither of us wanted to be here, but… Out of everyone Valentina could’ve picked, I’m glad it was you.”

“I’m sure you are,” you quip, trying not to be as vulnerable as you feel. “Considering her first idea was pairing you and Walker to go on, like, pretty public missions together.”

Bucky’s face screws. “No, it wasn’t...” he groans.

“Yeah. Like, saving kittens out of trees— Real serious stuff.”

He makes a pained, grumbly noise in his throat. “Well, now I’m extra glad it’s you.”

The two of you exhale soft laughs and stare ahead at the closed doors before you; more specifically, at the bright red numbers above them — 41st, 42nd, 43rd — praying silently that they’ll slow down.

“And even though Valentina did all those for show… You know, the whole married Avengers thing…” Bucky trails off and clears his throat, trying to find the words to say. “Every time we kissed, every time we pretended to be in love… It was real to me. It was always real to me.”

You exhale a heavy breath. Like his words have physically punched you in the stomach.

“And if you don’t feel the same way, I get it. Okay? I do,” Bucky rambles, preparing himself for an inevitable rejection. “But when all this dies down, whether it gets me elected or not, I’d like to take you out on a real date.”

“No press?” you ask, peering at him from beneath your lashes.

Bucky shakes his head in agreement. “No press.”

“Even if you don’t get elected, and all of this ends up being for nothing?”

“Well, it… wouldn’t have been for nothing.”

You exhale a breathy laugh. “You know, despite what Walker says about you, you still know your way around women, Sergeant Barnes,” you quip beneath the ding of the elevator.

Bucky’s brows furrow in confusion as the elevator doors whir open. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he calls to the back of you as you step out onto the fifty-third floor.

He doesn’t follow you — equal parts because he feels like his feet are glued to the floor and because his real room is a floor above the one Valentina booked for Mr. and Mrs. Barnes.

You flash him a look over your shoulder, eyes dolled up and magnetic like a siren’s gaze would be. “It was real to me, too, Bucky,” you murmur, so quietly he barely hears it, then remove every ounce of vulnerability from your being. “Now, do you wanna come in for a night cap or what?”

You walk off before he can answer. Bucky catches the closing door with his vibranium hand and rushes to follow behind you.

You share a bed that night, like many nights before, but this time with the knowledge that everything will be different when you wake up the next morning.

YELENA BELOVA X READER — yelena wants to show her parents that she's doing okay after the death of her sister, and recruits your help to do so (friends to lovers, post-thunderbolts | 1k words)

Yelena Belova’s trying to prove that she’s okay. Alexei and Melina were worried that Natasha’s passing had ruined her, which it had — and that a life without her sister had left her all alone, which it did. But, in an attempt to stave off the weepy conversations and squishy-eyed gazes, Yelena decided to bring a companion to the family dinner.

You were her teammate, first and foremost, and the only one she could tolerate long enough to pretend to date for a night. And, besides, you were too soft for your own good to deny her of anything.

You were too perfect a choice, turns out, ‘cause her parents end up taking to you like a third daughter.

Yelena groans with her head in her palms when Alexei returns from the bathroom, modeling his original Red Guardian supersuit like he does every time they visit Melina’s country house. The spandex gear was created in the early eighties and smells like it, too. The thing gets tighter every time Alexei shoves on it, but he wears it with a bright smile on his bearded face anyway.

“Still fits!” you exclaim kindly from the kitchen table as the older man poses in the doorway.

“I told you it would!” Alexei slurs in his deep Russian accent. “Forty-one years old, this is! Can you believe it?!”

“Yes, I can,” Yelena mumbles into her shot glass before swallowing its golden brown contents in one go.

You shake your head with a polite smile. “You don’t look a day over thirty, Alexei.”

“Oh, you flatter me,” the man chuckles from the depths of his round stomach, then deflates with a realization. “Ah, drisnya— I forgot the, uh… the…” He trails off, motioning vaguely around his head as he searches for the English word. “The helmet. I just— I ruined this whole thing…”

Melina smiles at the pouting man she used to call her husband (and still does, on occasion). “No, you didn’t, my love,” she coos, voice low as honey. “You look great.”

Alexei shakes his stubborn head, swiping a calloused hand through his long, greying locks. “No, I have— I have to do it all over again. Just… wait. Wait here, da?” he scurries back down the hall, searching for the helmet he’d left behind.

Melina deflates with a sigh. “We’re going to need a lot more alcohol than this,” she mumbles, rising from the table and taking the half-gone bottle of whiskey with her.

“Maybe something a little stronger?” you quip.

The older woman smiles down at you. “Now, you’re speaking my language, solnyshko.”

You wait until she’s left the room to lean over to Yelena, “What’s sul-nish-co?” you whisper.

“It’s solnyshko—” she corrects in perfect Russian. “—And it means sunshine.”

You smile, warmed by the term of endearment. “That’s nice…”

“Don’t get used to it,” Yelena scoffs and takes another shot. (Her tenth, or maybe hundredth of the evening).

Your brows furrow at her words. You flinch slightly, like they’ve physically pained you in some way. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means this isn’t real,” she says, motioning wildly between your bodies. “But those idiots think it is, and they’re getting attached— which means they’re going to wonder why I don’t keep bringing you around— which means I didn’t solve any problems, I just made a new one.”

She points an accusatory finger at you. You blink back burning tears.

“You invited me here, Yelena… I don’t deserve the blame for this…” You turn to your own shot glass, which has been sitting on the table ahead of you for some time now, and finally find the courage to take it. “…Whatever this is.”

Yelena watches with an apologetic look in her eyes as you down the whiskey in one swallow. She can’t help but smile softly to herself when you grimace at the bitter taste.

“You’re right. It’s not your fault. I’m sorry,” she mumbles, so quiet you barely hear it, as she rakes her fingers through her chopped, box-dyed locks. “They’ve just been so worried about me since ‘Tasha died… I wanted to prove to them that I still had someone who cared about me. Even if it was just pretend.”

You smile at the sullen Russian girl. “It’s not pretend, Yelena. You have people who care about you— The entire team would’ve shown up if you asked them.”

Yelena gives you a knowing look in return, doe eyes shadowed with smoky liner.

“Well… Maybe not Walker,” you correct yourself, gaze flitted to the ceiling. “Or Ava… Or Bucky— But Bob definitely would’ve been here, and you know it!”

“Exactly,” the blonde girl says with a soft, gravelly laugh. She fails to meet your piercing gaze and fidgets nervously with her empty shot glass instead. “You’re the only one who cares enough to pretend to like me.”

You feel her tense when you put a soothing hand on her denim-clad thigh. She peers at you beneath her lashes with a shy ocean gaze, chest warming something fierce when you smile. “It’s not pretend, Yelena…”

She falters, unable to tell if your words are some kinda confession or if you’re still just being nice. Her eyes dart across your features, like she’s looking for an answer inside them. Before she can find one, Alexei stumbles in from the bedroom.

“I thought we agreed, no PDA,” the grown man whines, still in his too-tight suit but now sporting the matching helmet. “It’s nasty, ‘Lena, I can’t stomach it.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t stomach you,” the girl retorts instinctively.

You smile in the face of their banter. “You were right, Alexei— It definitely needed the helmet.”

“I told you!” the man exclaims, voice booming as loud as his wide smile. “I told you it made the outfit better— In your face, ‘Lena!”

Yelena shakes her head, but can’t help but smile to herself.

She figures she could get used to this.

JOHN WALKER X READER — john takes care of you after a mission gone wrong, like the doting husband he's pretending to be (enemies to lovers, pre-thunderbolts, cw for mentions of injuries | 0.8k words)

John Walker is just trying to survive — or, at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself. Valentina pairs the two of you on a mission nothing short of life and death. “You’ll draw less attention as a couple,” the woman smiled, passing you an envelope with a forged marriage license and two golden wedding bands inside. “Trust me. You guys are pros at this— What could go wrong?”

The answer to that question was easy: everything.

It was good until it wasn’t. John posed as a business exec Monday through Friday, nine to five, where he would then return to his ‘house’ in the suburbs with a cold beer and a home-cooked meal waiting for him. White picket fence, rose garden, backyard with a pool — the whole nine yards. As far as he was concerned, the only problem was having to share it with you.

You pretended to be his housewife. You went to book clubs, pilates, and over-priced grocery stores, all in the name of fitting in with the rest of the Stepford wives around you. While John got close to the bigshot CEO that Valentina wanted dead, you played nice with his wife — pretty, a little stupid, and satan reincarnate.

It went on like that in an unforgiving cycle. You received intel in the name of petty gossip and found ways to busy yourself until Walker got home; you had parties, get-togethers, and barbecues to blend in with the community, pretending to love each other all the while.

It was nothing short of your own personal hell.

The mission was inevitably a success, though not without a couple casualties. You and Walker managed to make it out with a couple scrapes, a few bruises, and only a single gunshot wound — which isn’t so bad, all things considered.

You think you’re taking a bullet to the stomach much better than your faux-husband is.

“Jesus Christ, you’re a fucking idiot,” John mumbles under his breath as he stitches your weeping wound with careful hands.

He only managed to stop panicking when he got you to the safe house. Before then, you thought he might cry. You would’ve made fun of him for it if you'd stayed conscious long enough on the ride here.

“Wow,” you scoff, tilting your heavy head against the pillow to glare at him. “Your bedside manner is impressive, Walker. Truly.”

John’s face twists with a palpable irritation. “You don’t get to make jokes right now, alright?” he grouses, snipping the remaining thread from your sutures.

You laugh despite the stinging in your side. “Why not? I think now’s a perfect time, honestly—”

“Because you almost died!” John shouts over you.

“What the fuck do you care?”

“Uh, because we’re married,” he monotones like it’s obvious, flashing the wedding ring on his left hand, now stained with your blood.

“No, actually, we’re not—” You wince when you try to sit up. John reaches for you on instinct, helping you prop yourself on the pillows he’s piled beneath you. “—And I’m totally divorcing you when we get home. Just, by the way.”

“Trust me. The feeling’s mutual,” he deadpans, towering over you as he wipes the blood from his hands on a towel. “But we’re probably gonna be stuck here awhile. Valentina’s not getting in a hurry to send any backup, so…”

“What a fucking bitch…” you sigh and tip your head against the bedframe.

“We only have to play husband and wife for a few more days. Think you can handle that?”

“It wasn’t so bad…” you shrug, eyeing John with lidded eyes as he rounds the mattress to the right side — which had, over the course of eight months, become his side. He sits down gingerly, careful not to make any sudden movements that might hurt you. You melt into his warmth on instinct, leaning your shoulder against his broader one. “…Until you got me shot, anyway.”

“Hey, you did that yourself— No one asked you to protect me.”

“Sorry for saving your life, you idiot.”

“I’m a super soldier!” he laughs. “I can take a hit! You can’t!”

“I think I took it pretty well, actually,” you scoff, face screwed in offense.

“Yeah…” John sighs despite himself. “You kinda did.... Just don’t let it happen again.”

“But I like watching you dote on me,” you joke, tilting your head on his shoulder to see him better.

Your noses nearly brush at the proximity between you, which would border on romantic to virtually anyone else. But, for the two of you, it’s your job — and you’ve gotten used to playing your role to perfection. Being close to him now is like muscle memory.

“You don’t have to almost die for me to take care of you,” John chuckles. “You know that, right?”

You shake your head. “No, actually. I didn’t.”

“Well…” John shrugs. “Now you do.”

It’s just as much of an admission of love as the blood on his hands from patching you up, or the bullet fragments in your side from shielding him from gunfire. All the rest of it goes unsaid.

ROBERT REYNOLDS X READER — you and bob pretend to date because it's easier than trying to convince everyone you're just friends (friends to lovers, post-thunderbolts | 1.2k words)

Robert Reynolds didn’t want to be alone, and neither did you. The decision to attend Valentina’s wedding together was as mutual as it was unsaid, just like most of the time you spent together.

You haven’t been apart since the day you found him in New York. At first, it was just babysitting — making sure he didn’t turn half the city into a shadow again — but then you grew rather fond of his company. And eventually, neither of you could stomach being without the other. So you never were. Ever.

It was all completely, utterly, and unequivocally platonic, but the rest of the team convinced themselves otherwise. After a year or more of constant prying, it just got easier to let everyone else believe what they wanted. And, besides, pretending to have a boyfriend got you out of a ton of unwelcome social interactions.

The team wants to get a beer after a mission that totally drained your social battery? Oops, sorry, I have to get home to Bob before he thinks I’m dead.

Old acquaintances from high school want to hang out with Bob now that he’s quote-unquote famous? I wish I could, but my girlfriend’s super sick. Maybe another time?

You and Bob were best friends and nothing more. But sometimes pretending otherwise had its benefits.

“Isn’t wearing black to a wedding bad luck?” Bob mumbles as you enter the elaborate dining hall side-by-side. (Valentina’s wedding had only two rules: all guests must wear black, and absolutely no kids.) It made Bob nervous, as most things tended to.

“It’s her fourth marriage,” you shrug. “It’s basically a funeral, anyway.”

You’re bombarded on entry by Alexei, who by the looks of it, had already pre-gamed in the Avengers Tower before coming.

“Ah! It’s the lovebirds!” he shouts, voice booming over everyone else’s. He turns to a total stranger passing by and motions to the two of you. “Aren’t they cute?” he asks the strange man, who just gives him a weird look in response. Alexei smiles anyway. “See? He agrees with me.”

“I don’t think he does…” Bob murmurs sincerely.

“It’ll be your turn next, eh?” Alexei chuckles, hitting the boy hard on the shoulder. Bob flinches under his tattooed hand despite being the most powerful Avenger the world’s ever seen. “Getting married. Being all… married.”

Bob hesitates, looking to you for an answer ‘cause he’s never been the best liar. You just smile, like it all comes too naturally to you. “Only if you promise to officiate the wedding,” you croon and wrap your left arm around Bob’s right one.

Alexei’s smile ebbs into a look of shock. His eyes go soft around the edges, filling with tears at the kind gesture.

“There would be no greater honor—” he tells you, Russian accent deep in his throat as he takes a step closer. He holds Bob’s wrist in one hand and yours in the other, shaking them for emphasis. “—Than uniting the two of you in marriage.”

You realize how seriously he’s taking it and start to flounder. “Well, you’ll be the first one we tell, Alexei,” you mumble awkwardly and slide your hand from his grip. “I promise.”

You’re dragging Bob away before the man can go on another half-drunken rant about a faux relationship and a wedding that will never happen.

You weave through the bustling crowd, hands instinctively entwining to stay together.

“Do you think anyone would notice if we left?” Bob mumbles, nervously adjusting his tie with the hand not holding yours.

You look around, then shrug. “I don’t think I care.”

You end up sneaking into the kitchen before cocktail hour even starts, stealing a tray of sweets on your way to the wine cellar. Bob trails behind you like a lost puppy, distantly fearful of getting caught (because his omnipotence has yet to cancel out his perpetual anxiety.)

He paces back and forth while you try to pry the cork out of a vintage Merlot.

“I’m starting to feel bad,” Bob blurts suddenly, sweaty hands wringing into knots.

“Why?” you scoff with your mouthful, chewing through a tart chocolate-covered strawberry. “It’s just wine. No one will even know it’s missing—”

“No. About… lying to everyone.”

You freeze with half a strawberry still wadded in your cheek. “Oh…” you mumble, then swallow the rest of it down. You adjust the wine bottle between your anxious hands and stammer for a response. “Do you wanna… Do you wanna stop?”

The concept of stopping is slightly foreign to you. You've gotten so used to pretending to date him that sometimes you forget you're not actually dating.

Bob pauses his pacing to shift his weight on his feet. He shakes his head and answers honestly, “No. I don’t wanna stop, I just… don’t wanna lie.”

It’s a confession, albeit a vague one. He eyes you with a wide, attentive gaze and prays you get the hint. He can tell, by the sudden fearful look on your face, that you do.

Your eyes flit to the ceiling as you smack your lips against your teeth, as though deep in thought. After a moment or more of silence, filled only by the distant swelling of violins, you nod.

“Okay,” is all you say as you spin on your heel and turn away. You can’t face the vulnerability, so you choose to pick your battles and search for a cork screw for the impossible-to-open wine.

“O-Okay?” Bob stammers, nearly stumbling over himself to follow behind you.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I mean, we were already kind of doing it, so… We’re basically halfway there anyway, right?”

Bob’s sigh of relief comes out like a laugh as he leans against the counter beside you. “I just… I didn’t think it’d be that easy,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest in a feeble attempt to still his racing heart. “I would’ve asked you out forever ago if I did.”

The cork exits with a low, smoking pop. You inhale the scent of bitter grape as you bring the heavy bottle to your mouth. “How long have you been planning this?” you wonder with a laugh before taking a lengthy sip.

“Not long,” Bob insists with a shy shrug. “Maybe about… a year?”

You nearly choke on the dry wine. “So… Since we met?” you press, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Uh—” Bob trails off, voice an octave higher than usual, as his eyes dart to the ceiling. He tries to do the calculations in his head, but the days have all blurred together since the Sentry Project. All he knows is, at the very least, that he’s been in love with you since the day he met you. “—Yeah. That sounds about right.”

“Here,” you blurt, offering him the too-expensive bottle of wine in your hand. “I think you need this more than I do.”

You can’t help but falter at his admission — that all the time you spent together wasn’t just pretend. Not entirely.

Every time you held hands in front of the team, cuddled on couches during movie nights, pretended to make out beneath the blankets so that whatever unfortunate team member was sent to recruit you for an early morning mission would leave the two of you out of it — some of it was actually real.

You can rest easy now knowing that you weren’t the only one who’d somehow fallen in love along the way.

It was all Bob’s fault, really.

But he’s more than happy to take the blame.

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faiszt · 3 days ago

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Hi I was wondering if we could get another Bob Reynolds headcanon x reader thing maybe like a size kink cuz the actor is 6'0 and muscular. Please and thank you 🙏🏼

SIZE KINK ╱ with BOB ⠀◟ ୨ minors do not interact !♥︎ blurb & smut content⠀⠀⠀⠀────⠀⠀⠀⠀headcanon based

꒰ tw:⠀contains some characteristics of bodies that may be specific, which may not fit the description of all body types. if you’re sensitive to this, please, do not read! thank u. !♡ ꒱

he licked his lips silently as you compared your hand to his, laughing and chattering about how big his hand was compared to yours—which, honestly, was quite little—and how cute it looked when bob was such a big man. “your hand must be the size of my head!” you said, still laughing as you held his hand between your two smaller ones.

some time ago, this wouldn’t have affected him, but now, at this moment, it was completely different. bob had been paying a certain amount of attention to your size, to how small you were compared to him, not just your hands, but your whole self. especially when he cuddled with you and you almost disappeared in his arms, that was... something he had never paid attention to, but it was getting to him.

“i’m way too big for you, aren’t i, little thing?” he grumbled hoarsely, his eyes darting from the way your hands played with his to your face lying on his chest. lying on top of him, you still looked smaller and by god’s sake, it wasn’t healthy what this was doing to his mind.

little thing. he gave you that nickname and used it constantly, even around the others, which always got a few laughs and made him tease you a little more. “i should start calling you big boy.” the new nickname made him let out a low groan, making you laugh when you realized that you had found a way to tease him the same way he did to you.

“don’t give me that big boy thing...” he almost pouted for a moment before tossing you a little to the side and making you lie on your back on the mattress, climbing over you. “you’re the little thing here and only you.” bob couldn’t help but notice the way he could keep you immobile beneath him so easily, just one hand of his would be enough to hold both your wrists and you wouldn’t even complain about it.

“well, do you intend to do anything about it or...?”

damn teasing. you should’ve known better than to say that to him—not when he hadn’t touched anyone like he really wanted to in so long. touch-starved, you could tell by the way he was forcing himself inside you. there you are, legs wrapped around his hips and nails scratching the skin in his back beneath the hoodie, the worst part was that you were enjoying this more than you thought you really would.

bob couldn’t control himself, he needed this. the way you said he wouldn’t fit and he still forced himself inside your sweet pussy, so tight around his cock to the point where he was whimpering as much as you were. “qui-quiet...” he nibbled on your shoulder between thrusts, one hand snaking over your mouth just to make sure you wouldn’t moan too loudly at any moment.

but, he could still hear your mumbling against his palm and it only caused to make him harder, burying his face in the crook of your neck, sucking on your skin as he tried to keep himself quiet. the marks you would have in your neck tomorrow weren’t a concern now, but rather getting every inch of him inside you.

maybe, you were right in calling him a big boy. he might be big, but he was still a boy, acting all dominant, but losing it the second his cock felt too big for your little pussy. you were squeezing him so tightly that he could barely form a coherent sentence, just moaning and panting against your skin, licking and sucking it in his failed attempts to not be loud.

“f-fuck, you feel so... so... good,” he whispered, drawn out and muffled, against your ear, taking his hand away from your mouth, still thrusting into you hard. “i wanna come for you... inside you... please...” bob was just a completely mess, like you. the hand that was previously on your mouth moving down to find the hem of his hoodie, which he held up a little higher.

his intention was to feel you and also make you feel every single inch of him in those last moments, he wanted to sink into you every day, every hour, but he could settle for just a few days a week. he was making it worth it, stretching you open around his huge cock, making you delirious with it and making himself delirious with the sensation.

your orgasm came seconds before his and he caught a glimpse of the satisfaction on your face, it was enough to intensify his pleasure, leaving him limp above you as his thick jets filled you and left him in a limbo of momentary drowsiness. he knew he shouldn’t have gone so deep with it and he felt a little bad, he was afraid of hurting you.

“i’m sorry, little thing, did i hurt you?” he whispered softly like a lullaby, looking a little worried that he had done more than he should’ve. bob pulled out of you slowly, stroking your thigh, his eyes fixed on yours for any signs. “are you okay? did i do too much?”

you were a little tired and out of breath, still dealing with the aftermath of what had just happened, but you noticed the clear concern on his face and the gentle touch on your thigh, as if he was still trying to apologize for something he didn’t even need to. “it’s okay... i liked it, no need to apologize,” your words made him let out a relieved sigh before pressing a peck against your lips, keeping his face close to yours. “did you like it?”

“yeah.” he didn’t even think before answering, he just smirked silly, his hand on your thigh squeezing some of the skin. “i wanna do it again... and again...” then, he pressed another peck against your lips. “actually, can we do it again? like... now.”

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox, you’ll be welcome. ꒰ ˶> ˕ <˶ ꒱ ♡

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don’t use my work without my consent.

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luna-azzurra · 20 hours ago

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Story Starters #3

Found Family Starters (for the ones who thought they’d always be alone—until someone stayed)

✧ They said "I got you" like it was no big deal. But no one’s ever said that to me and meant it. ✧ I didn’t know I could belong somewhere until I walked into that kitchen and someone had already set a plate for me. ✧ We fight. We yell. We steal each other’s snacks. And still, they show up every time I need them. That’s love, I think. ✧ I used to flinch when someone raised their voice. Now I roll my eyes and throw a pillow at them. That’s growth. That’s home. ✧ They know what my silence means. They don’t push. They just sit beside me until I’m ready. ✧ I told them the worst parts of me. They stayed. That’s when I knew. ✧ We don’t say “I love you” out loud. We say “text me when you get home.” “Eat something.” “You can crash here.” ✧ I’m still learning how to trust it. How to not brace for abandonment. But they haven’t left. Not once. ✧ I never believed in unconditional love. But now there’s this couch, and this blanket, and this messy group of weirdos who make space for me. ✧ They’re not blood. But they’re mine.

Cold Girls, Soft Hearts Starters (for the sharp-edged girls who love quietly, fiercely, and would rather die than admit it)

✧ I don’t do soft. But they smiled at me like I was worth something, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it. ✧ I pretend I don’t care. But I remember their coffee order, their favorite color, the way they hate pickles. ✧ I rolled my eyes at their dumb joke. Then laughed. Then hated how much I meant it. ✧ I pushed them away and they still came back. I hate that. I love that. I don’t know. ✧ I said “I don’t need anyone.” But my voice cracked on the last word and I know they heard it. ✧ I tell them to shut up. I mean “don’t go.” ✧ I’m the tough one. The reliable one. The emotionally constipated one. And I’m so, so tired. ✧ They hugged me and I stood there like a statue. But inside, something broke open. ✧ I made fun of them for being sappy. Then went home and replayed everything they said. Twice. ✧ I’m not scared of being hurt. I’m scared of wanting something I can’t protect myself from.

End-of-the-World Vibes (for stories where something big is ending, and something small, and tender, is beginning)

✧ The world is ending and all I want is to feel their hand in mine one more time. ✧ Everything’s falling apart and they’re still making me laugh. How dare they. How beautiful. ✧ If this is the last sunrise, I want to spend it with them. Quiet. Close. Real. ✧ I thought I’d be afraid. But with them here, I’m just… present. And maybe that’s enough. ✧ They looked at me like I was still worth saving. Even now. Especially now. ✧ We kissed like we were running out of time. Because we were. ✧ I wanted a big moment, but instead it was this—my head on their shoulder, the silence stretching soft around us. ✧ We said goodbye like we’d see each other tomorrow. We both knew that wasn’t true. ✧ Maybe the world doesn’t need a hero. Maybe it just needs someone who won’t leave when things get ugly. ✧ I don’t know what comes after this. But if they’re next to me when the lights go out, I think I’ll be okay.

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cressidagrey · 19 hours ago

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Her Papa's Daughter

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Oscar never sees how similar his daughter is to him. But Felicity does.

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

There were moments—small, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments—when Felicity would pause, tilt her head, and think: There he is. Right there, in her.

Oscar never saw it.

He adored Bee. Worshipped her, really.

In that soft, steady, unobtrusive way of his. He looked at their daughter like she was something he’d never stop marveling at—like her brilliance was something that had skipped him entirely, a beautiful mystery he was lucky enough to witness up close.

But what he didn’t realize—what Felicity did—was that Bee hadn’t come out of nowhere.

She was Oscar.

In so many little ways.

Most people only saw the surface. They saw the same jet black hair that she had inherited from Felicity. They didn’t see that it had a wave to it, something that came from Oscar.

They didn’t see that yes, Bee’s eyes were brown. But they weren’t Felicity’s eyes. Weren’t that near black, ebony colour. They were Oscar’s. Brown but lighter, honeyed around the edges.

They saw Bee’s intelligence: bright, sparkling. A mind that was as quick as Felicity’s. But they didn’t dig deeper.

They didn’t see all the ways Bee was just like her father.

Bee was more Piastri than Leong.

Felicity thanked the universe for that every single day.

Because the Leong side—her side—came with expectations. With pressure. With rigid ambition and cold detachment masked as achievement. The Leongs were achievement-obsessed. Hypercritical. Polished to the point of sterility.

The Leongs taught efficiency. Precision. Perfection.

Bee had that in her too. She did.

But the goodness, the calm, the innate kindness that ran deep in the Piastri blood was stronger.

Felicity had always worried—before Bee was born—what pieces of herself she’d pass on.

What her daughter might inherit from the Leong side that had tried to sculpt Felicity into a perfect silhouette of someone she never wanted to be.

But then Bee arrived.

Tiny and fierce. All wide eyes and sharp observation. Born curious. Born soft in a way that felt like rebellion.

Bee was a Piastri. And Felicity loved that.

Because it meant the best parts of Oscar—his calm, his heart, his quiet goodness—would live on in a little girl who walked through the world with grease on her cheeks and stars in her eyes.

Bee was just like her father. And Felicity saw it, even when nobody else did.

Bee was Oscar’s in all the ways Felicity loved most.

Not his fame.

Not his skill behind the wheel.

But his gentleness.

His capacity to feel deeply, and quietly.

Felicity saw it when Bee got quiet when she was upset—not loud, not tantrum-prone like other kids her age. No, she folded in, went silent. Let the weight of the world settle on her tiny shoulders without protest. Just like Oscar did when something hurt. When he’d had a bad race. When the pressure clawed too close to his ribs.

Bee would sit at the kitchen table with her arms folded and her jaw clenched, and Felicity would see Oscar at seventeen, post-race, staring down telemetry with his whole chest aching and no words to explain it.

It was in the way Bee needed time before she spoke.

How she'd pause when someone asked her a question, like she needed to sort through a hundred tabs open in her mind before landing on the right answer. Just like Oscar, who often went quiet in meetings, brows furrowed—not confused, just calculating. When Bee blinked a little too fast, the way Oscar did when he didn’t know how to say what he was feeling.

People mistook them both for passive.

They were anything but.

Oscar observed. He waited. Let others speak. Let the noise swirl around him until he could cut through it cleanly. Bee did the same thing on playgrounds, watching from the edge, fingers twitching, eyes sharp. Quiet didn’t mean confused. Quiet meant processing.

Then there was the focus.

Bee could spend hours rebuilding the same gear assembly in her toy kart, screwing and unscrewing bolts with total precision, refusing to be interrupted even for snacks. Felicity had once watched her spend 45 minutes trying to fix a hinge on the chicken coop door. She was two.

Oscar did the exact same thing with sim data.

He didn’t like being pulled out of his zone once he was in it. He got snappy—not mean, just tense, clipped, unmoored. Felicity knew the signs: the twitch in his jaw, the soft tap of his fingers on the edge of his laptop. Bee had the same twitch, the same tapping rhythm.

And of course, the perfectionism.

Oscar never called it that. He called it “standards.” “Attention to detail.” “Preparation.”

But Felicity had seen it for what it was. The way he double-checked tyre pressure notes, the way he rehearsed press answers under his breath, the way he panicked—silently—when he made a mistake, even one no one else noticed.

Bee was the same.

If a drawing didn’t go right, if the colors didn’t match what she imagined, she would stare at the page for hours. Sometimes she’d rip it in half without saying a word. Sometimes she’d just press her little lips together and walk away, quietly devastated.

Oscar would kneel beside her, rub her back, say, “It’s okay, Bumblebee. You can start again.”

Felicity never said it, but every time he did, she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

Because Bee got that from him.

So many things Bee loved—systems, precision, solitude—came from Felicity. But the rhythm of her quiet, the soft sadness she carried when people didn’t understand her, the way she tried so hard to do everything right? That was pure Oscar.

And he never saw it.

He thought he was just the snack-deliverer. The designated cheerleader. The safe arms she ran into when things were too loud.

He didn’t realize that Bee was him.

In the way she got quiet when something really mattered.

How the more she cared, the less she said.

Not because she didn’t feel it — but because she felt it too much.

Just like Oscar after a bad session. Silent. Shoulders tight. Needing a minute to fold the feeling small before he could put it down.

Felicity saw it in the way they both loved things quietly—with reverence, with care, with a steady kind of devotion that never demanded attention.

They were both meticulous.

Both patient in their own strange ways.

They made the same face when concentrating.

They both talked more when they were comfortable, when they felt safe.

And when they trusted someone—truly trusted them—they gave everything, all at once, like a flood.

Bee stayed up too late sometimes, not because she was avoiding sleep, but because her brain just wouldn’t let go. She’d be lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, listing gear ratios or trying to solve the mystery of gravitational drag in her head.

Just like Oscar the night before a race, flat on his back in hotel beds, blinking at the ceiling while he rehearsed every apex in his mind.

His quiet heart. His careful mind. His silent, stubborn resilience.

Bee had inherited Oscar’s softness. His sensitivity. That quiet brilliance that didn’t need to be loud to be undeniable.

Felicity watched the two of them curled on the couch now, Bee half-asleep on his chest, Oscar absentmindedly playing with a piece of her hair while watching race replays with the volume low. His hand rested protectively against her back, and Bee’s tiny fingers were curled in his hoodie drawstring like it anchored her.

They were so alike it hurt.

Felicity reached for her phone, took a photo quietly—just for herself. Just to remember this.

And as she looked at it later, Bee dozing with the same soft frown Oscar wore when he was thinking, her lashes dark against his chest, Felicity smiled.

One day, maybe he’d see it.

One day, she’d tell him.

But for now, she’d keep watching the two halves of her heart mirror each other in quiet ways they didn’t even notice.

And love them all the more for it.

They were more than similar.

They were the same melody, just played in different keys.

And the sweetest thing?

Oscar didn’t even realize.

Felicity watched him watch Bee sometimes — that soft, stunned look he got when Bee said something too clever for her age or organized her toolbox with color-coded tabs — and he looked amazed. Like she was something brand new, unfathomable, impossible.

And all Felicity ever wanted to say was: She learned that from you. That’s your steadiness. Your stillness. Your careful mind.

But she didn’t.

She just smiled, and let him marvel.

Let him believe Bee was a little mystery he got to unravel piece by piece.

Let him love her for all the ways she was different.

Because one day, maybe he’d see it. All of it.

And when he did, he’d realize what Felicity had known all along:

That the little girl who preferred schematics to dolls and corners to crowds—

She was her Papa’s daughter.

Through and through.

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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my-castles-crumbling · 2 days ago

Text

caught - jegulus - cw: implied shit home life for Regulus - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 384

“Professor, you can’t tell his mum.”

The words spilled out of James’s mouth as soon as he stumbled into McGonagall’s office, harried and rushed. He knew the policy. He’d been caught in out-of-bounds places far too many times not to know. Looking back, they’d been more than stupid to sneak off to the Astronomy Tower. Sure, it was ridiculously romantic, and Regulus had looked at him like he was the actual sun when he’d explained that he’d been learning the more-advanced constellations just for him, but the risk…it was just too great. Because when Walburga Black heard that her favorite son was snogging James Potter in a forbidden area of the castle at two in the morning on a Wednesday night? She’d have Regulus’s head.

“I’ll–I’ll do extra detentions. I’ll give up being Head Boy. Fuck, I’ll give up Quidditch, Professor, just don’t write to his mum, you don’t understand,” James continued to beg, Regulus’s terrified expression at being caught refusing to leave his brain.

McGonagall, who was sitting at her desk wrapped in a thick wool dressing gown, regarded him with a stricken expression. After James’s begging finally ceased, petering off into desperate panting, she spoke. “There’s nothing to tell. The two of you were on rounds, weren’t you? Mister Black is a Prefect, after all.”

James could tell from the Professor’s expression that she knew they were not on rounds. The position she’d caught them in had made that abundantly clear. But he knew better than to say anything to the contrary. “Y-yes,” he nodded, relief flooding through him like a tsunami. “Of course.”

“Well, then the only thing I shall say about Mister Black, if asked, is that he is very dedicated to his position,” McGonagall said lightly. “However, I would advise you both not to get…distracted on your rounds, yes?”

“Yes, Professor. Thank you,” James agreed, nodding some more.

“Mister Potter?” the older woman asked as he stood, determined to leave before she changed her mind.

“Yes?” he asked breathlessly.

“If I may say. I’m glad you two are…er…going on rounds together. I feel you will both be positive influences on each other,” Professor McGonagall said with a small smile.

James couldn’t help but beam at the approval. “Thanks. I agree.”

“Just be positive influences in private, yes?”

“Yes, Professor.”

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iydiamartinx · 2 days ago

Text

THE TODD-LER PROBLEM

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader ft. batfam

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources word count: 2.9k synopsis: Jason gets hit with a magical regression spell during a mission and ends up… five years old. Still foul-mouthed. Still somehow armed. a/n: Don't ask me how or why I wrote this, it just happened... warning: This is utterly unhinged, its a crack fic

There were many things you expected when you opened your apartment door at 3 a.m.

Your boyfriend, Jason Todd, in full gear. Shrunken to approximately three feet tall. And trying to pick your lock with a paperclip. was not one of them.

You blinked once. Twice. “…Jason?”

The tiny figure looked up, scowling, with his tiny leather jacket zipped to the chin and a modified red helmet under one arm. His helmet was clearly a custom fit because of course someone on the team had taken the time to resize his gear. Probably Tim. Or Alfred. Or Jason himself while he’d been cursed into a fun-sized menace.

He tilted his head. “Took you long enough.”

You stared. “You’re three feet tall.”

“Yeah?” he snapped, voice high-pitched but filled with all the rage of a war vet denied his nap. “Well you’re late, an’ I’m cold, and some guy in a sparkly cape turned me into a—” he waved a tiny hand wildly— “a frickin’ gremlin!”

You stared.

“I mean child!” he corrected, stomping past your legs and into your apartment like he owned it. “A frickin’ child. I have to use a stool to pee. I’m livin’ in hell.”

“Excuse me—”

He pushed past your legs like an angry little linebacker. “Also, someone tried to feed me carrots at the manor. Carrots. Like I’m a damn rabbit. I had to escape.”

“Jason, are you seriously—”

“—And Alfred was this close to making me take a bubble bath.”

You raised a brow. “You love bubble baths.”

“Adult me loves them. Toddler me has dignity.”

You shut the door with a sigh, already regretting every life choice that had led to this moment. “Fine. One night. But if you pee on anything, I’m calling Bruce.”

30 MINUTES IN...

You stared at the miniature version of Jason Todd standing dead center in your apartment. You still hadn’t gotten over the fact he was now a child.

He stood with his arms crossed. Eyebrows furrowed. Scowling so hard his little nose scrunched up. The resized red helmet was sitting crookedly on his head, and somehow, somehow, he was still wearing a tiny leather jacket like it was battle armor.

“Jason,” you said slowly, kneeling down to his eye level, “where did you get the gun?”

His eyes narrowed, suspiciously smug. “Trade secret.”

“Jason.”

He pouted. “You left your sock drawer unlocked.”

You blinked. “My sock drawer doesn’t have—”

Realization dawned.

You groaned, standing up and rubbing your face. “You hid weapons in my sock drawer?”

“Of course I did,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What if you got mugged doing laundry?”

You turned on your heel, already pulling out your phone. “Zatanna needs to reverse this spell immediately. How is his five year old self more dangerous than his adult one.” You muttered to yourself.

From behind you, Jason stomped his tiny boot. “I am not five! I’m five-and-a-half!”

You didn’t even look back. You just sighed and started texting Alfred for backup.

And possibly restraints.

Or duct tape.

Maybe both.

ONE HOUR IN...

You found him in the kitchen standing on the counter—barefoot, wild-haired, and determined. His tiny arms were stretched high above his head, fingers pawing at the top shelf with the sheer willpower of someone who believed they could reach it if they just tried hard enough.

“What,” you asked slowly, “are you doing?”

“I want Oreos,” he said, like it was obvious.

“There are Goldfish crackers right there,” you offered, gesturing to the open box on the counter beside him.

He looked at you like you’d insulted his ancestors. “I’m not a toddler. I have standards.”

He took them with both hands, giving you a small, pointed sniff of derision—as if your earlier suggestion of Goldfish had been not just offensive, but a personally insult.

Then, without another word, he hopped off the counter and disappeared down the hallway like a sugar-fueled cryptid preparing for war.

TWO HOURS IN...

You finally managed to corral him in front of the television, queued up some harmless cartoon with talking animals, and tiptoed into the kitchen to make yourself a much-needed snack.

When you came back, the cartoon was gone and you found him watching John Wick 3 with unblinking intensity.

You stared in horror. “You are not allowed to watch this.”

He didn’t flinch. “Too late.”

You snatched the remote from the armrest. “You’re five.”

“Five an’ a half!” he shouted, voice pitching up in outrage. “An’ I know all ‘bout vengeance! I lived it! Lemme watch Keanu!”

“No.”

“I will bite you.”

“You already did!”

He smiled. “And I’d do it again.”

You lunged for the remote.

He let out a feral shriek. The sound pierced the air like a banshee’s war cry. There was a flurry of motion, limbs, and one elbow jabbed directly into your ribcage. The remote went flying.

Somehow… you lost.

And there he was, not ten minutes later, curled in a blanket like a smug little gremlin, happily finishing John Wick 3.

You sighed, already pulling out your phone to call in reinforcements.

Alfred picked up on the first ring.

“Please tell me patrol is over,” you whispered, glancing warily toward the living room. “I need backup. Immediate. Preferably armed with sedatives and maybe a priest.”

There was the soft clink of a teacup on saucer before Alfred replied, calm as ever. “Master Grayson and Master Drake should be available in a few hours.”

You groan, “Anyone sooner?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” He said.

You hung up and returned to the living room.

Jason was kicking his feet now, reclined like royalty, humming the John Wick fight music under his breath. Every few seconds he’d mutter something like “yeah, get him, Keanu,” or “double tap, baby,” as if he were part of the director’s commentary.

By the time 300 started, he had risen.

He stood on the couch with all the solemnity of a war general addressing his troops, fists clenched at his sides. Then, with zero warning, he let out a piercing battle cry—“SPARTAAAAAA!”—and began hurling Goldfish crackers across the room like they were flaming javelins.

You didn’t bother trying to stop him.

You just slid slowly down the wall, sat on the floor beside the fridge, and accepted your fate.

THREE HOURS IN...

You were gone for five minutes.

Five.

You’d left him watching Love Island.

He’d finally—finally—fallen asleep, sprawled across the couch. The soft drone of British contestants filled the apartment, and for a precious, fragile moment, there was peace.

Just enough to sneak off for five minutes. That was all the time it took to use the bathroom and splash some cold water on your face in the vain hope that you could survive another hour of this gremlin-sized Gotham menace.

When you returned, Love Island was still playing on the TV and Jason was nowhere in the living room.

“Jason?” you called out.

You heard a noise come from the kitchen

Your stomach dropped.

You rushed in, skidding to a halt just inside the doorway.

The drawer was open.

That drawer.

The one that held the scissors.

The duct tape.

Your spare burner phone.

And, apparently, your last shred of peace.

You turned around slowly—already feeling the weight of regret in your bones.

Tiny Jason stood proudly in your hallway wearing a cardboard chest plate, duct-taped shoulder pads, and your colander on his head.

He raised a wooden spoon like a sword. “I’m Red Hood 2.0,” he declared in a voice that was both too high-pitched and far too serious. “Call me… Lil’ Death.”

You stared at him in exhausted horror.

“…Where’s the rest of the duct tape?”

He gave a wide, toothy grin.

“In mah hair.”

Of course it was.

FOUR HOURS IN...

Alfred had finally sent backup.

It was Damian.

By that point, you didn’t care—anything to give you ten minutes of silence and the chance to remember what breathing felt like.

And for the first ten minutes, it was peaceful.

Too peaceful.

You froze in the hallway, a familiar sense of foreboding slithering down your spine.

Then came the scream.

“YOU LITTLE DEVIL!”

Tiny battle cries echoed from the living room, followed by the unmistakable clang of steel meeting something very much not steel.

You ran in to find Damian standing on your coffee table, sword in hand, while Toddler Jason swung at his legs with a plastic baseball bat wrapped in duct tape and thumbtacks.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”

“He challenged me,” Damian snapped, breath steady as he parried a wild swing with the flat of his blade.

Jason bared his baby teeth, eyes gleaming with chaotic glee. “He tried to steal my Oreos and called me a baby!”

“Because you are,” Damian barked, deflecting another spoon-wrapped strike. “This is undignified!”

“I’m a toddler, you rich goblin!”

You slapped a hand to your forehead. “Jason, drop the bat.”

“NEVER!”

“Damian, he’s five!”

FIVE HOURS IN...

Damian was still on the windowsill, arms crossed, radiating hatred like a heat lamp.

He hadn’t spoken in nearly an hour. Not a single word since the incident—the one where he lost to a sugar-crazed toddler wielding a thumbtack-wrapped baseball bat and unyielding vengeance.

You knew that silence. Knew it too well.

He was plotting something. You just didn’t know what.

Not that you had time to dwell on it—because that was when backup number two finally arrived.

The door swung open and in walked Dick and Tim, both dressed down but wide-eyed, scanning the wreckage of your apartment like first responders to a war zone.

Jason—still pint-sized, still radiating the unholy combination of espresso and anarchy—lit up like a demonic Christmas tree at the sight of them.

“Well, well, look who finally showed up,” he chirped, spinning once in his little leather jacket and cardboard armour. “The Backstreet Boys of Disappointment!”

Dick froze mid-step. “I—what?”

Tim looked at you with the tiredness of a man who’d seen too much. “Is he still feral?”

“Worse,” you muttered. “He’s refueled. He ate three cookies and found my instant espresso jar.”

Dick’s eyes widened. “You gave him caffeine?!”

“I didn’t give him anything! He’s a damn toddler who still retained his lock picking skills!”

Across the room, Jason twirled dramatically and pointed at Tim. “Timmy,” he sing-songed, “wanna play hide and seek? I’ll hide… you seek therapy.”

Tim blinked slowly. “You’ve created a monster.”

You pointed at him with your coffee. “He was with you all when this happened.”

Jason pivoted toward Dick, eyes glinting. “Hey, Disco. How’s that permanent sidekick gig goin’? Still doin’ flips no one asked for?”

Dick narrowed his eyes. “You wanna go, tiny man?”

Jason smirked. “Bring it, Jazz Hands.”

And that’s all it took.

Two minutes later

Jason darted between them like a pinball on fire.

Tim lunged with a blanket like he was trying to trap a wild animal. Jason bit straight through it.

Not metaphorically—actually bit through it.

Dick went in next, trying to cut him off with a broad lunge, but Jason hurled a half-full sippy cup at his face with terrifying accuracy. It burst on contact. Sticky apple juice everywhere.

From the windowsill, Damian observed the descent into madness with narrowed eyes and smug silence. Like an evil cat waiting for the moment to pounce.

He chose his moment well.

With a cry of, “FOR HONOR AND BLOOD!” Damian vaulted from the sill into the fray.

He mostly landed on Tim. But the intent was there.

You stood in the doorway, clutching a first aid kit in one hand and your last shred of sanity in the other. It was unclear which would run out first.

Jason popped up from behind the couch like a goblin jack-in-the-box, eyes gleaming with the unholy thrill of chaos. In one hand, he wielded his modified bat like a sword. In the other, a full roll of duct tape, raised like a grenade.

“I DECLARE A BLOOD FEUD!” he roared.

Tim yelped and ducked just as the tape roll whizzed past his head and smacked into the wall with a dull thunk. “He almost took my eye out!”

“WHO GAVE HIM NEGAN’S BAT?!” Dick yelled, backpedaling fast as Jason swung in his direction with surprising force for someone who barely cleared three feet.

“He made it,” Damian grunted, trying to deflect the strike with a throw pillow.

The swing knocked the pillow clean out of his hands.

In the scramble to dodge the next blow, Dick and Damian collided—feet tangled, limbs flailing—and crashed to the floor in a graceless heap.

“WHO’S THE SIDEKICK NOW, SUCKERS?!” he cackled, arms thrown wide like a gladiator demanding cheers from the crowd.

On the floor below him, Damian and Dick groaned in tandem, still tangled in a heap of limbs and wounded pride.

You stood safely behind the armchair, one hand gripping your phone, filming the chaos. Might as well have some blackmail for later.

“You’re going to regret this when you’re big again,” you warned, deadpan.

“I’LL REGRET NOTHING!” Jason howled, launching himself into Tim’s back like a rabid possum.

Tim shrieked, flailing. “GET HIM OFF! HE’S IN MY HAIR—HE’S IN MY HAIR!”

“He’s like a feral koala,” Dick muttered, as he untangled himself from Damian.

Jason clung tighter, teeth bared, voice giddy with power. “Say sorry for the replacing me and I’ll only ruin your eyebrows!”

“Are we seriously doing this now?” Tim, flailing, shouted, “I didn’t replace you! You died!”

Everything stopped.

For half a second, the air went dead silent.

“TIM!” you and Dick shouted in unison, horrified.

Jason’s response was to let out a piercing shriek of righteous indignation.

“YOU VOTED ME OFF THE ISLAND!”

“WHAT DAMN ISLAND?!”

From the floor, Dick wheezed, “We need to start a support group.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “You’re all weak.”

“I don’t see you winning against him, demon spawn!” Tim barked, still trying to dislodge Jason from his spine. “You surrendered three minutes in!”

“I did not surrender,” Damian snapped.

Tim finally managed to pry him off with a desperate twist and a shove, sending Jason rolling back onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

Everyone froze.

Jason huffed, catching his breath where he lay sprawled on the couch. His curls were tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes glittering with unspent mischief. For one brief, shining moment, it almost looked like the storm had passed.

Dick rose to his feet slowly, warily, hands lifted in surrender.

“Okay,” he said, breathless but hopeful. “Can we finally all just… relax—?”

You took a cautious step forward, narrowing your eyes as you noted the look on his face. “Jason. What are you doing now?”

He turned to you slowly, far too slowly, a smile already creeping onto his face.

Dick glanced over, confused, just in time for Jason to pivot on his heel.

“THIS! IS! SPARTAAAAA!!!”

And then his tiny foot shot up and kicked Dick square in the jewels.

Dick dropped like a sack of bricks, letting out a high-pitched strangled wheeze as he crumpled back onto the floor.

“…Who let him watch 300?” Tim groaned, not even pretending to be surprised anymore.

You winced, trying not to look at Dick who was curled into a fetal position.

Jason raised his arms, victorious. “TONIGHT, WE DINE IN—WHAT’S THAT PLACE WITH CHICKY NUGGIES?!”

“…McDonald’s,” Dick croaked weakly from the floor.

Jason nodded solemnly, his reign unquestioned.

“McDonald’s.”

SIX HOURS IN...

You were exhausted.

The apartment looked like a toy store had exploded. There were still thumbtacks embedded in the coffee table, juice stains on the ceiling, and possibly a spoon lodged in the bookshelf. You didn’t want to know.

The others had practically fled—limping, muttering, and swearing.

And Jason? Jason had finally agreed to get ready for bed after a long, drawn-out battle of wills that involved one timeout, two bribes, and exactly ten minutes of him growling about how “Peter Parker wouldn’t last five minutes in Crime Alley.”

Now, he sat on the couch, arms crossed and sulking in a pair of oversized Spider-Man pajamas—the only ones you’d been able to find. His curls were still slightly matted from duct tape, and there was a Band-Aid on his cheek from another brawl he’d got in with Damian.

He glared at you over the rim of his sippy cup.

“This not over,” he mumbled darkly. “I know where you sleep. I’mma get payback.”

“Sure you will, Jason,” you said, trying not to laugh.

“I’ll put ketchup in your shoes.”

You tucked him in on the couch, pulling the blanket around him as he curled up like a tiny, angry cinnamon roll.

He muttered something else under his breath, unintelligible, mostly grumble. “…Night-night,” he muttered, already half-asleep.

THE NEXT MORNING...

Jason woke up full-sized, shirtless, confused, and sprawled across your couch.

He blinked up at the ceiling, brow furrowed, throat dry.

“…What the hell?”

You strolled in, far too cheerful for someone who had survived a toddler warlord just a few hours prior. You tossed your phone into his lap.

You strolled in, tossing a phone into his lap.

“Morning, Lil’ Death. I made a slideshow.”

He looked down at the photos. There he was—pouty, covered in crumbs, mid-battle with his brothers, wearing cardboard chest plate held together with masking tape and colander strapped to his head like a war crown. One had him dead asleep with his face smashed into a pillow, cuddling a stuffed penguin.

Jason groaned into his hands. “Kill me now.”

“I’d rather show Bruce.”

His head snapped up. “You wouldn’t.”

You grinned. “Wanna bet?”

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chamisulgrape · 1 day ago

Text

give me tough love 𖤐 [s.jy]

Jake's always liked pretty things, and you're the prettiest he's ever seen. Another thing about Jake? He always gets what he wants.

☆ pairing → jake x afab reader

☆ word count → 12.9k

☆ tags → omegaverse/abo dynamics, alpha x alpha, one-sided enemies to lovers (?), jock!jake, cheerleader!reader, jake is highkey a huge virgin & loser in this, jealousy and possessiveness, weed and smoking

☆ smut tags → pwp, unprotected p in v sex, lots of power play/switching dynamics, mild dubious consent, overstimulation, degradation & dirty talk, lots of spit and drool (they're nasty for each other), virginity kink/inexperienced kink, service top!jake, breeding kink, oral sex (f receiving), tl;dr just lots of nasty smut

☆ warnings → alpha x alpha dynamics if u r not into that! also as always, not proofread

☆ a/n → monster of a fic is finally done! pls reblog or leave me asks/comments if u enjoyed hehe that would make me very happy :3

minors dni.

♪ give me tough love, leave me with nothing when i come down my kinda love, push me and choke me 'til i pass out

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

One thing to know about Jake: he’s possessive.

It’s not one of his best traits, but it’s something he can’t help. It’s in his blood—his DNA and chemistry. He doesn’t believe in what’s mine is yours or what’s yours is mine, to him it’s bullshit. He’s an alpha, at the very top of the food chain. So why should he share something that’s his? There’s no such thing as ours in Jake’s book, and he’d spill blood before he lets someone have something that’s his.

Maybe he has a problem, but he never admits it until you. Rather, it never became a problem until he met you.

It’s unavoidable, you’re unavoidable. You, a cheerleader in his year; nice ass, long legs, pretty face. How could he have helped himself?

Jake’s always liked pretty things, and you’re the prettiest he’s ever seen.

Jake was doomed from the start.

“Dibs.”

Sunghoon turns to Jake in surprise, mouth parted and sweat sheening on his forehead, sparkling under the sun. “What?”

“I said dibs,” Jake repeats, looking across the field to where the cheerleaders are practicing with the rest of the team. He wipes his forehead with the bottom of his jersey and points with his free hand, “That one, I call dibs.”

“You can’t just call dibs on someone like they’re an obje—” Sunghoon squints, following his finger. “Dude, _____? No fucking way. She doesn’t even know who you are.”

Jake scoffs, tossing a football right into Sunghoon’s chest. “Yeah, not yet.”

Sunghoon winces, “You’re fucking weird. Have you heard what people say about her? She’s supposedly really bitchy. And she’s an alpha. It’s never going to work.”

Sunghoon hisses the word alpha out like it’d keep Jake from doing something rash. Jake sees it as a challenge.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Yeah, well you’re too blind to be staring at anything other than her ass.” Sunghoon tosses the ball back to him before calling in the rest of their team. “So, no. You can’t call dibs on her.”

Another thing about Jake: he gets what he wants. Not because he needs it and never because he deserves it, but simply because he wants it—and god, does Jake want. He craves you more than anything he’s ever wanted, desperately now just because Sunghoon says he can’t have you.

So Jake doesn’t listen to Sunghoon, his mind already far past made up. He decides at that very moment: you are going to be his.

Jake has a small problem: you hate him.

Saying you hate him is an understatement.

He doesn’t know what it is, it could be the fact that he’s been shamelessly hitting on you for weeks, but he isn’t too sure.

Okay, he isn’t exactly hitting on you, but he thinks he’s made it very clear what his intentions are. Very.

“Jake Sim.” You spit, glossy lips curling into a frown, your signature pretty pout on display.

“Were you waiting for me?” Jake smirks, kicking the locker room door closed behind him as he walks out and swinging his duffle bag over his shoulder.

“Why are you telling people that we’re fucking?” You cut to the chase, crossing your arms and glowering at him. Jake thinks you’re cute, and god, this only makes him want you more.

You’re a few feet too far from him, which Jake fixes easily. He closes the distance between you both, leaning against the side of the wall and grinning at you with a smug smirk, one that he knows gets under your skin.

“What can I say? Futuristic thinking. Manifesting.”

Jake watches as you furrow your brows, your pretty pout deepening further as Jake places a hand on your waist. “Well, you need to stop.”

“Stop what? No use when they’re all thinking it already.”

You huff, frustrated. “Stop going around and telling people we’re fucking when we’re not!”

“Why not?” Jake questions, just to push your buttons further.

“Because we’re not!” You snap. “Jake. I’m an alpha, you’re an alpha. What’s not clicking?”

Jake hums, tilting his head. “Do you have a mate?”

“No—”

“Aw, really?”

“No!”

Jake squeezes your waist once, twice, before sliding his hand further, resting his palm against your lower back. Leaning down a centimeter, he pulls you closer, until your hips are pulled flush against each other. “Then what’s the problem?”

When you sigh, he can practically taste the mint gum off of your breath. you maintain eye contact, squinting and leaning in further to prove your point. You press a finger against Jake’s chest, “You. God, you’re such a fucking sleaze.”

Jake places a hand over his chest, right where your finger just was, feigning hurt. “Sleaze? Angel, that’s so mean.”

“I’m not an angel, Jake. I’m an alpha. Leave me the fuck alone, Jake.” You say, before turning on your heels and stalking off. Jake watches you go like a predator stalking his prey, his eyes trained on your ass.

Jake feels a hand on his shoulder, and he turns to meet Sunghoon’s questioning gaze.

Jake shoots him a shit eating grin, shrugging his shoulders. “She wants me so bad.”

Sunghoon shakes his head in disbelief before squeezing Jake’s shoulder pityingly, hand falling to his side after. “Of course she does. Come on, lover boy.”

Jake prides himself in being patient—patience is a virtue, or something like that—so he’s not surprised when things change the night of the party.

Sunghoon’s omega is hosting a party for her cheer team (something about celebrating a win they had at a competition, but Jake is really only there for free alcohol) and if Sunghoon is invited, Jake is too. Best friend perks.

“You guys are late.” She says, greeting Sunghoon with a kiss when he opens the door for them.

“Sorry baby, blame Jake.” Sunghoon slings an arm around his omega’s shoulders, her arm coming around to hold his waist like it belongs there.

“You guys are sickening. Absolutely fucking sickening.” Jake gags exaggeratedly, pushing past the pair and making a beeline for wherever the alcohol is.

He makes it past the crowd of sweaty bodies, pushing his way through to find the kitchen. Jake finds it easily, knowing Sunghoon’s omega’s place like the back of his hand. The kitchen is packed with people pouring cups of something from a bowl, and others hanging around the clutter of bottles on the table.

Jake follows suit, filling his own red cup with some kind of red punch, when someone shoves him to the side, hard enough to have punch spilling from his cup and onto the countertop. He’s about to turn and say something when he sees a familiar varsity jacket.

“Get out of my way.”

Jake scoffs, worrying the inside of his cheek as he watches you fill up his cup. “Seems like you’re the one following me around. Careful, people might get the wrong idea and think that you’re the one who wants to fuck me instead.”

You pause, huffing before tossing the ladle back into the bowl. You turn to him fully, taking Jake’s cup right out of his hand and pouring the remnants into your own. “Get your head out of your ass, Jake. I’m just filling up my cup, you just happened to be here.”

“Yeah, filling up your cup with mine. It’s like you want me, or something.” Jake smirks when you roll your eyes.

You glower at him. “Shut up.”

“You’re so cute when you try to play hard to get.”

You down your drink in one go, shoving it against Jake’s chest after crushing your cup in your hand. “Eat my ass.”

“Gladly!” Jake yells over the music as you leave the kitchen. He laughs, amusement filling his chest. Jake licks his lips, pushing himself off of the counter to follow you out of the kitchen.

Jake bumps into Sunghoon and his omega as he’s about to leave. He grimaces at the sight of Sunghoon already sporting a few small hickeys on his shoulders. “You guys are sickening, did I tell you that? Because you guys are disgusting.”

She flips him off. “Shut up, ass eater.”

“You heard that? So you agree that it was an invitation, right?” Jake’s lips curl downwards at the sight of Sunghoon hanging off of her, arms wrapped around his omega’s neck. Gross. “I’d be mad about the fact that you guys keep forgetting that some people are single here, but I don’t think I’ll be single for much longer.

“Leave my cheerleaders alone, Jake.” She retorts, rolling her eyes.

Jake waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Not my fault that your cheerleader is hot.”

Sunghoon interrupts them then, “nice talk, but we have places to be. Bye, don’t come find us,” before shuffling aside and leading them both into the kitchen.

Jake scoffs to himself, mumbling something about how gross they are before remembering why he left the kitchen in the first place. He searches the crowd for his target, squinting when the flashing LED lights burn his eyes. His eyes roam the room, scanning over people dancing, hanging around in corners, making out on couches, before he finally sees you.

The sight makes his blood boil. There you are, sitting pretty in some douchebag’s lap. Jake laughs under his breath, tonguing at his cheek, seeing red at the way the guy seems so enamored with you. He probably thinks he’s the shit with a pretty cheerleader in his lap. Jake wonders if the guy is an alpha too.

Jake is about to say fuck it and go get you back himself, when someone elbows his side.

“Wanna smoke?” He turns to find Riki, who’s dangling a bag of pre-rolled joints in his hand.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

A few minutes later, Jake and Riki are seated on a couch just a few feet away from where you are.

Riki takes a drag of the joint before passing it to him. Jake takes a hit, eyes still trained on where you’re fucking laughing against the guy’s chest. He clenches his jaw, running his tongue along his teeth before exhaling. Jake can be funny, too.

“You good?” Riki asks, raising his brows at him. Jake is losing control of his scent now that he has alcohol and weed in his system, and he can’t bring himself to reel it in when you’re still in the guy’s lap.

Jake rubs a hand across his face, then takes another hit before shoving the joint into Riki’s hands. When the guy places his hand on your waist, just shy of creeping into the waistband of your pretty little skirt, he sees red. “Yeah, just—be right back.”

Jake can’t stop himself from walking right up to you. You notice him right away, Jake’s scent enveloping you as soon as he’s a few steps away. He towers over you, smiling sweetly. “Baby, who’s this?”

The guy looks between the two of them, quickly shuffling to the side and tossing you off his lap. “Shit—Sorry man, I didn’t know she was claimed.”

Jake smirks, filled to the brim with satisfaction and pride. Jake swears the guy’s tail would be between his legs if he had one. He looks down at you, who’s glaring at him with a curled lip, and he remembers why he’s mad in the first place.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You say, then standing to be toe to toe with Jake. They’re a ticking time bomb by now, both so close to exploding, and Jake feels as though the time is up. Jake is done with the games, he just wants.

“You. You’re my fucking problem.” Jake growls, taking a hold of your hand and leading them away from the living room.

To his surprise, you don't resist like he thought you would. “Jake—”

You let him lead them into an unoccupied bathroom, only narrowing your eyes at the way Jake locks it behind them. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Jake crowds him against the door. Your head knocks back at the sudden movement, eliciting a hiss out of you. The music is muffled from inside the bathroom, and he’s sure that you can hear the way he’s breathing heavily. He lets out a ragged breath before taking your jaw between his fingers with more force than necessary.

He can feel your pulse thumping against his fingers, matching the bass reverberating through the bathroom. He tilts your face up, his grip bruising. “What are you playing at?”

It doesn’t surprise Jake that you are allowing this, even though he’s an alpha. Jake knows that you also enjoy the game they play, he knows that you like the push and pull. Something tells Jake that you like being treated like this, if the sudden spike of arousal of your scent is anything to go by.

“What do you mean?”

You have the nerve to look innocent with your cheeks squished between Jake’s thumb and forefingers, like Jake can’t smell you at all, like your scent isn’t flooding the bathroom along with Jake’s.

“I mean,” Jake stops himself when your scent gets too heavy, making his head spin and his dick throb. He inhales sharply, bringing your face closer. “What do you think you’re doing? Sitting on that guy’s fucking lap?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say, grinning, trailing off into a wince when Jake squeezes just a tad tighter.

“You know what I’m talking about. You wanted me to see? Is that it?” He releases your jaw, only to grip your hips instead. “You knew I’d be there, you’re doing this on purpose.”

The arousal in your scent when Jake’s fingers dig into his flesh only gets heedier, and Jake’s mouth waters when he’s hit with the smell of grass and mint and tea and the air charged with your pheromones and—holy fucking god, Jake wants to devour you whole, every last bit of you.

You only swallow, eyes flicking down to Jake’s lips. Your breath is sweet, still smelling like the mint gum you chew every day, when you speak. “You’re fucking insufferable.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Is all Jake says before he closes the distance between you two.

It’s at this moment that Jake’s brain short circuits, reminding him that he’s never done this before—this being anything remotely sexual, aside from short makeouts with randoms he’s never cared for. You can most likely tell by the way their teeth clash together messily, but when Jake bites at your lip, you only whimpers in response.

It makes Jake want to laugh. You, who used to tell Jake that because they’re both alphas they can’t be involved, is now speechless, at Jake’s mercy.

For what he lacks, he makes up with enthusiasm. You gasp against his lips and he takes his chance to slip his tongue inside, licking over teeth and gums before pushing against your tongue. You don't let up easily, still fighting for dominance. Jake trails his palms down to your ass, squeezing the soft flesh there, and you break the kiss to gasp for air.

Jake nips at your jaw, and his chest rumbles with satisfaction when your head lolls to the side, practically submitting for him like he wanted. He trails kisses down from your lips to your neck, tongue coming out to lick at your throat and leave marks against the skin there. When he reaches your scent gland, you gasp, hips bucking against Jake’s when Jake grazes his teeth over it, licking tenderly.

“You’re so—fucking annoying,” you breathe out, words getting cut off when Jake bites down at your throat. He sucks a spot right above your scent gland, biting with the intent to hurt. Jake relishes in the way you whine, and it only spurs him on further.

By the time he leans back, your neck is already sporting fresh bruises and adorning marks that Jake can’t believe he left himself—that he can’t believe you let him leave. The mere sight fills him to the brim with pride.

“What the fuck are you looking at?”

“For someone who was just panting like a dog, you have a lot to say.” Jake bites back, using the hand he has on your ass to pull your hips closer against you.

You have the audacity to glare at him with glazed eyes and spit-slick lips, and you look so wrecked that Jake wants to retort more, to push your buttons further, but he knows that this is already enough—as an alpha, you’ve already allowed him to do so much. You’ve already given him more than enough.

“You’re an asshole.” You pout.

Jake just scoffs, shutting you up with another kiss. He licks along your lips, biting down when you don't willingly submit to the tongue prodding at your mouth. Your chest rumbles with a growl at the feeling, and Jake grins against your lips at the metallic taste of him breaking skin. He sucks your lip apologetically, sucking the flesh into his mouth to soothe it.

He gasps against your lips when he feels your hand come down in between them. Your hands trail lower before meeting his bulge, and Jake realizes that he’s embarrassingly hard. You hum, and Jake knows that your alpha is satisfied. You squeeze him over his pants once, before dropping to your knees.

Jake’s brain lags. “Wait—”

You look up at him through your wet lashes, and the sight is already enough to have him nearly close to coming in his pants. “‘Wait’? You brought me in here, and now you’re telling me to wait?”

“No, I—”

“What? You’re acting like you’ve never gotten head before.” He sees the moment it dawns on you, who scoffs. “No fucking way.” Jake swallows, words lost and his mind clouded and fuzzy. You laugh, throwing your head back. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

He bites his lip, not knowing what to say back for once. “That’s—”

Your lips quirk up at the corners. “You’re all talk and no fucking bite.” You unzip Jake’s jeans in a flash. “Who would’ve thought, Jake Sim is a virgin.”

Jake opens his mouth to rebuttal, his alpha and ego taking hits at your words, but once you tug his pants down low enough to see Jake’s cock straining against his boxers, he can’t find it in himself to say a word.

“God, you’re a fucking loser.” You shake your head, and Jake can tell you’re enjoying the role reversal, finally having the upperhand over him.

He sees the prideful look on your face when your words draw a faint whimper out of him, and he feels momentarily embarrassed, cheeks hot with mortification. He’s supposed to be an alpha, but here he is, putty in the hands of another alpha. Jake hates the fact that he likes it.

“You were going around telling people we’re fucking when you haven’t even fucked anyone.” You grin, palming at Jake’s bulge. “Such a disappointment of an alpha, hm?”

Jake groans lowly, and shame fills his chest as he bucks against your hips, seeking your touch out. “Shut up.”

You let out a laugh, squeezing the head of his cock. “You’re so wet already, practically soaking, just like an omega.”

Jake huffs. He reaches out to grab a fistful of your hair, pulling another hiss out of you. “You gonna suck me off or what? You’re the one who’s all talk and no bite.”

“Am I?” You tilt your head. “You think you’ll even last a few seconds?”

Jake opens his mouth to retort, to say anything in rebuttal, but he’s silenced at the sight of you getting up. You pull him close with a finger tucked into the waistband of his boxers, leaning in to bite at his ear. You tug them against the door, Jake stopping himself from hitting into it face-first with a palm against the wood.

He gets no warning when you slip a hand into his boxers, gripping him loosely and tugging his cock a few times. The slide is dry, making Jake hiss out a curse as you squeeze him at the head again. He sighs in relief when you pull his cock out, the cold air enveloping him.

“Such a shame, you have a dick like this and you don’t even know how to use it,” you stroke him slowly, almost as if you’re bored. “Pathetic, really.”

“Get on with it already.”

Jake chokes on a whine when you suddenly grip him tightly. “Don’t talk to me like that. You were telling everyone that we’re fucking, so if you wanna get your dick wet then shut the fuck up.”

He pants, nodding his head. You grin, picking up the pace again. “You’re pathetic.” You kiss Jake’s cheek, thumb applying pressure to the head of his cock, digging into the slit.

Jake nods again, whimpering out a please. “You’re so pretty like this, Jakey. When you’re not being a fucking bitch.” Your lips are warm against his ear. “But maybe if you last long enough, I’ll even let you fuck me.”

It’s embarrassing, really. The way your words make his stomach churn with arousal and his hips stutter, causing him to fuck into your fist. It’s even more embarrassing that you calling him a bitch and the image of him even being able to get close to your ass has him coming within seconds. His cum coats your hand as he spills into your fist.

Mortification fills him to the brim, his face and cheeks getting warm. The shame is hot, and he burns when you laugh at him.

“Seriously? I barely even touched you, how are you going to ever fuck me like this? I don’t fuck people that can’t even last a fucking minute.” You release the hold you have on Jake’s cock, pushing Jake off of you. “And I don’t fuck virgins.”

Jake closes his eyes, inhaling shakily as he falls back a step. Hot tears run down his cheek, and he can’t bring himself to open them to meet your gaze. “I—I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? And now you’re crying. Jake,” he opens his eyes at this, looking at you through blurry vision. “God, you’re a mess.”

You step around him and close the lid of the toilet down, the slam resounding throughout the bathroom. You settle on the seat, squirming until you’re comfortable. Jake doesn’t know what to do anymore, too embarrassed to even speak. His breath catches in his throat when you tugs your skirt down mid-thigh, rubbing yourself over your panties.

You beckon him over with a hand. “Jake, come here.”

Jake inhales shakily, trudging over slowly until his shoes knock into your sneakers. You tut at him. “Now sit.” Jake drops to his knees immediately, and you hum in satisfaction. “Good boy, now watch me.”

You spread your legs, and Jake chokes, mouth suddenly too dry. He can’t seem to look away from your face, feeling mesmerized at the way your lids are hooded with arousal, your gaze burning. You tilt your head, smiling at him innocently.

“Don’t look at me, I told you to watch, didn’t I?”

Jake nods obediently, and you grin. He watches as you rub yourself over the fabric of your soaked panties. Jake gapes, mouth dropping open at the wet patch at the front.

“What? You’ve never seen panties before? Sorry—forgot, you’re a virgin,” you jut your chin, beckoning him even closer. “C’mere, help me take this off.”

He obeys, reaching out to place his fingers over the fabric. With shaky hands, he helps you tug your skirt and panties off. He pulls your sneakers off one by one, placing them next to his knees. He places your clothes on the counter next to him, then places his hands on your hips, when you slap him away.

“I didn’t say you could touch, did I?” Jake shakes his head, mumbling out a weak no. “Good. You’re going to be a good boy for me, right?”

Jake nods at this, folding his hands on his lap. You lean your back against the toilet, cum coated hand coming down to caress your now bare cunt. You spread your legs further, and Jake almost comes a second time when he realizes that you’re touching yourself with his cum.

“Jakey, come closer,” you gasp, biting your lip as you rub yourself slowly. “Feels so good—you wanna touch, don’t you?”

Jake nods, entranced, too distracted watching in awe as your hole, wet and slick, clenches around nothing. You bring your sticky, shiny fingers in front of Jake’s face, holding them in front of Jake’s mouth. “Suck.”

He does as told, taking your fingers into his mouth and sucking eagerly. The taste is unlike anything he’s ever tasted, way better than his own come, and he finds himself wanting more.

Jake moans around your digits, licking in between your fingers. He barely notices when you start fingering yourself with your unoccupied hand, faster now to the sight of your fingers deep in Jake’s mouth.

“You’re so good, Jake. You listen to well, just like a fucking dog.” You trail off with a whine, and Jake looks down to see you adding a second finger inside of you.

He’s entranced at the wet sounds of you fingering yourself, the noises echoing off the walls. “Too bad you can’t fuck me, would feel so good to have you inside of me.”

Jake’s gaze is focused on your pussy, and he can’t find it in himself to look away. “Maybe I should go back outside, find that guy and use him instead, hm? He’d probably know how to use it better than you can.”

“No!” Jake objects, coming out muffled around your fingers. He pulls off with a lewd pop, “I can—I can show you. I can be good for you.” You hum, eyes closing and voice breaking off into a moan. “Yeah?”

He nods, “I can be good for you, please. Let me be good for you.” He hears your breath pick up, the squelching sounds getting louder as you move your hand quicker. “God—Jake, I’m close, so close.”

Jake’s mouth waters, and he can’t stop himself from getting up onto his knees to press their lips together. You gasp in surprise, granting Jake entry into your mouth. He breaks off the kiss to pant against your ear.

In the heat of the moment, Jake places his hand on top of yours, his palm against the back of your hand and moving in time with yours.

You shake, gasping, and Jake feels it when you cum, your body convulsing and shaking against him. “Fuck—shit, Jake!”

When you come down from your high, you pull Jake into another kiss. Your lips move languidly against each other, spit making the slide wet and slippery. Jake takes it all, swallowing down the small mewls and whimpers you let out.

When they pull away, Jake can feel himself dripping with more precome at the sight of a line of spit hanging from between their lips. You bring your hand up to your mouth, sucking your fingers clean and Jake swears he could’ve come again right then and there.

You pull out your fingers with a lewd sound before getting up from the toilet. You put your skirt back on, fixing your appearance in the mirror. He watches as you grab your discarded panties, shoving them into Jake’s back pocket.

You lean in, pressing your lips to Jake’s softly. “Keep them,” You turn to leave, hand on the doorknob before looking back over your shoulder. “And put your fucking dick back in your pants.” Jake looks down, cheeks aflame when he realizes that his dick is still out in the open. When he looks up, you are nowhere in sight.

He stands there in shock, groaning. They’re back to square one.

If he goes to lock the door and rubs another quick one out while holding your panties against his nose, it’s nobody’s business but his.

When you corner him outside of the locker room two weeks later, Jake feels a little bit surprised.

Jake flinches in surprise, “_____.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “_____?”

“Is that not your name?” Jake asks, just to be an asshole.

He smiles when you scoff. “My name? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What do you mean?” Jake says, furrowing his brows in confusion.

“What do you mean, what do I mean? You know what I mean, don’t play dumb,” you spit, crossing your arms. Jake can’t help the way his eyes drop to your chest. “Cheerleaders are your type now, huh? You think you can just go around making fuck me eyes at all the cheerleaders now?”

Jake cocks his head in confusion, before it dawns on him. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” You argue back.

“You’re jealous I haven’t been giving you any attention, is that it?” He tongues his cheek. “Never pegged you as the jealous type, angel.”

You purse your lips at the nickname. “I’m not jealous. You’re just being a fucking asshole and you know it.”

Jake raises a brow, stepping closer into your space, right until your toes touch. He leans down, towering over you. “Me? An asshole? Angel, I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“You!” You inhale, looking around to see if anyone was there to witness your outburst before lowering your voice. “You know what I’m talking about. Why the fuck are you hanging around them?”

“Hanging around who?” Jake pushes, a grin spreading across his face when he sees your cheeks get pink.

He sees you look past him, hiding in Jake’s chest when a few students walk by. “Fuck—come here.”

Jake lets you grab his hand and drag him away from the locker room, following behind you with a whipped, dopey smile on his face. They pass by Sunghoon, who’s on his way back to the locker room.

Sunghoon points at them with a shocked look, “What’s—”

“Hi Sunghoon—” you tug on his hand, making him almost trip over his own feet. “—bye Sunghoon!”

He gets dragged all the way to the parking lot in front of the field, not stopping until he’s in front of a black car. You turn on your heels, dropping Jake’s hand. “Get in the car.”

You scoff when he reaches for the passenger door’s handle. “No, you fucking idiot. In the back.”

Jake raises his hands in surrender, getting into the backseat. He’s a foot into the car when he realizes he doesn’t have his things. “Wait—I don’t have my shit.”

He gets shoved into the car, hands coming out to catch himself as you push him in roughly. “Can you just shut the fuck up and listen? You’re so annoying.”

“You tell me that everyday, angel,” Jake says, situating himself until he’s comfortable. “This is kinda—”

You groan, getting into the car and closing the door behind you. You lock the doors, tossing your keys somewhere and climbing into Jake’s lap to straddle him. “Do you ever shut up?”

Jake’s hands come to rest on your hips on their own accord. “What are you—” he stops himself when you squirm, grinding down into his lap subtly.

“You’re such a fucking dog,” you start, hands scrambling to take off Jake’s varsity jacket. He complies, leaning forward so you can tug each of the sleeves off. “You know what I’m hearing now?”

He hums, a little confused and a little turned on. Once you’re satisfied at the sight of Jake in just his white shirt, your hands creep lower until they situate themselves under his shirt and on his chest. “It’s funny, this girl is saying you guys fucked.”

“What?” Jake questions with a quirk of his head.

“Don’t what me. You know who I’m fucking talking about,” your manicured nails scratch at his skin, probably leaving angry red marks. “She’s saying you guys fucked the night of the party.”

Jake hisses when your nails dig into his skin, “but I was with you at the party.”

You scoff, taking your hands out from under his shirt and resting them on his nape. “Exactly, so tell me why she’s saying you guys fucked.”

“Hey,” he groans when you lean in to nip at his jaw, placing sloppy kisses down his neck. “Angel, how am I supposed to know?

Jake tilts his head back to rest against the headrest, letting you continue your ministrations. He bites his lip, a moan almost finding its way out of his mouth when you bite at a spot on his neck, sucking on the skin there.

You pause in your ministrations, “gonna mark you, have you walk around with my bruises on your neck so people know you’re owned.”

“Hey—baby, that’s great, but—” Jake’s voice breaks when you nibble harder, hand coming up to his hair to tug at the strands. “We’re at school. In the parking lot.”

You don't let up, kissing along his jaw until you find his lips. You kiss him once, twice before you place your hand over one of Jake’s wrists to detach it from your hip, trailing lower until his fingers meet the soft fabric of your uniform. “But Jakey, feel.”

Jake’s lips part in a silent gasp when you use his fingers to rub between your legs, and he exhales shakily once he feels that you're soaked. He’s losing his self control slowly, and when you rut down against his hand and whine against his lips, he throws all caution out the window.

He lets you grind against his hand for a bit before he cups you over your panties, fingers applying the slightest pressure. You gasp, leaning further against Jake’s chest when he captures your lips with his own, swallowing down all of your noises.

Jake rubs over your panties, the small whines and whimpers spurring him on further. He toys with the hem of the fabric, “Can—can I?”

You nod, cutting him off with another kiss. Jake slides your panties to the side, finally feeling how wet you really are. “Fuck—angel, you’re fucking dripping.”

“For you, all for you.” You say, panting against his mouth. Your hips buck when Jake trails his fingers through your slit, coating the digits with your slick. Jake groans at the stickiness, and he can’t stop himself from slipping a finger inside.

“Ah—Jakey,” Jake twitches in his pants at the sound of your voice. He’s been hard since you first sat in his lap, and he’s this close to coming untouched. “You can—you can add another.”

“Fuck—yeah, okay.” Jake rasps out, complying right away. He slips his middle finger beside his ring finger, relishing in the warmth and softness of your warm walls.

Jake’s brain short circuits and he panics internally because he doesn’t know what to fucking do. He didn’t think he’d get this far. You seem to take notice, because you start grinding down on his fingers yourself. “You don’t have to do anything just—ah, keep your fingers there.”

He obeys, hand staying still while he’s buried knuckles deep, two fingers in your cunt. You take it all, riding his fingers enthusiastically. Wetness drips down to his wrist, and his hips buck against you when you let out a throaty moan.

“Fuck, you sound so good.” Jake groans, leaning forward to lick the sweat off of your neck.

You huff at this, your hand gripping tighter from where it’s resting in Jake’s hair. “Shut—shut the fuck up.”

Jake moves his hand again, meeting your every move. He starts to get the hang of it, learning what makes you moan and what makes you whimper. When he curls his fingers, pressing his palm against your clit as he grinds down, you keen.

“Fuck, Jake,” you throws your head back, the sound of your moans filling up the car. “Right there—oh!”

You shudder, clenching around his fingers. Jake can’t stop looking at you, admiring the way your hair falls and the way you looks so pretty like this. “Yeah? There?”

He does it again, curling his fingers and keeping the same tempo as your grinding. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

Jake smiles at the way it brings a whine out of you. He gets brave, slipping his index finger inside next to his others, scissoring them the slightest bit. “Yeah? You like that? So pretty, my pretty fucking angel.”

“Mine, you’re mine,” you cry, head lolling forward to rest on the headrest next to Jake’s ears. You mewl, clenching sporadically around his fingers. “Tell me—say it, you’re mine.”

“Yours. I’m all yours,” Jake says, repeating it again and again. “I’m yours, only yours.”

“Fuck—” you trail off with a moan, reaching below them to tug at Jake’s shorts. “Off, off.”

Jake nods eagerly, using his free hand to shrug his shorts down enough for his cock to come out. “Yeah? Fuck, okay baby.”

Your breath hitches at the sight of Jake’s length before you’re licking your lips and pulling Jake’s hand out from your legs. You reach down to stroke him, humming appreciatively at the way he’s so responsive, cock already hard and leaking in precome onto your hand.

“Jakey, you’re so big, you’d fuck me so good, I’d feel it for weeks,” you close yours eyes at the thought, breath coming out shakily. “Too bad you’re a virgin.”

Jake makes a sound of distress, closing his eyes and whining at the feeling of you stroking him slowly. “Jake, Jakey. Look at me.”

He thinks distantly, whenever you tell him to look at him, it never ends well. He opens his eyes, meeting your mischief filled ones. Jake chokes on a gasp when he feels something wet rubbing against him, looking down to see you rubbing your dripping pussy right against his cock.

“You’re gonna be a good boy, right?” You say, voice coming out restrained.

He nods, he’d do anything he’s told at this point. You run your hand through Jake’s hair appreciatively before tugging, baring his neck back. “You’re gonna come like this. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “Uh-huh.”

You smirk, leaning in again to peck him on the lips twice. “You can’t come until I do first. If you last long enough, I might even let you fuck me next time.”

The pure thought of being able to fuck you almost makes him blow his load right there. Jake holds himself back with the little restraint he has left. He nods, promising that he’ll do good.

You reach below them again, grabbing ahold of Jake’s dick and pushing aside your panties to rub your wet cunt against his cock. Jake throws his head back, whining at the feeling. It’s warm and wet and better than his own right hand, and he has to tell himself to not come on the spot.

Jake, if you come right now I’m gonna fucking kill you. God. Do not fucking come.

He can feel himself throbbing when you grind against his cock, spreading your slick all over the length. Jake can’t stop his hips from snapping up, meeting you in your every movement.

Jake uses the hold he has on your waist to guide you back and forth, grinding up as you grind down. He moans at the feeling of you slicking up his cock, and he wonders distantly if this is what it’s going to feel like to be inside of you. His dick twitches in interest at the thought.

“I was so, so fucking mad when I heard that bitch talking about you,” you breath out. “And then I see you fucking hanging around her and, fuck, wanted to fuck you so bad.”

Jake preens, the thought of you being jealous fills his alpha to the brim with pride. “Yeah? Would let you, I bet you want that. Let her see us fucking in front of her. You grinding against my cock like a fucking slut.”

He feels your hips stutter. “You’re mine. She had the fucking audacity to ask me about you. Asking me why people were saying we’re fucking.”

Jake groans at this, his grip on your waist is bruising. He looks down between them, watching as you move your hips against him. Your skirt is covering what he wants to see, and he lifts the hem with a hand. He salivates at the sight of his shiny, wet cock sliding and disappearing between your legs.

“What’d you say? Hm? Tell me.”

Your hips speed up, your face scrunching up when Jake’s dick rubs you just right. “I told her—I said it was true. That we were fucking, and that you—”

“That I what?” Jake presses, using his grip on your hips to hold you down, grinding up against your pussy.

He removes a hand from your waist to reach between them, thumb coming down to rub between your legs. You grab his hand shakily, guiding him to your clit. Jake sucks in a breath at the way he can practically feel your hole fluttering against his cock when he rubs your clit experimentally.

“That I what?” Jake repeats.

“That I was your first,” you gasp, shaking in his hold. “That I took your virginity. Let you come inside me and that you were mine.”

Jake moans lowly, shoving his face into your shoulder. “Yeah? You want that? Bet you’d like that, knowing you’re my first. First hole I used—the only hole I’ll use.”

This pulls a shrill cry out of you, who nods eagerly. “You’re—you’re mine, only mine. Gonna let you fill me up like I said, marking me as yours.”

“Yeah, baby? I’m yours, my first is yours. All yours. Fuck.” Jake practically growls out, the thought of you taking his virginity is already too much for him, and before he knows it, he’s cumming against your cunt.

You moan at the feeling, voice rising in octaves as you feel Jake’s cum, warm and hot, shooting up against you. “Oh—fucking shit, Jake—”

You reach down between them, taking Jake’s cock into your hand and positioning it right against your hole. You run the tip of his cock over your hole a few times, spreading the cum there before pushing the head inside. “Fuck, Jake, come inside me—”

Jake bites down on your shoulder, the thought of his cum filling you up pulls a moan out of him, the sound muffled. His body shakes, hip bucking when he feels the tip of his head enter your pussy. “Fuck, fuckfuck.”

When he comes down from his high, head fuzzy and heart beating erratically, you’re breathing heavily. He winces when you grip his hair, tilting his head back with more force than necessary. “You didn’t fucking listen to me. You came first.”

“I’m—I’m sorry.” Jake gets out, still panting from his climax.

“Fucking pathetic, your dick is good for nothing. Can’t even get me off when I ask you to. Really, what are you even good for?” You spit at him, the words making his cheeks heat with embarrassment.

Jake begs and pleas, “No, I—I can be good.”

“No, you can’t,” you dig your nails into his scalp, smirking when Jake’s face scrunches up. “You’re not stopping until I come, alright?”

He nods at this, complying with your every word. It clicks in his brain then: he’s wrapped around your finger, and you don't intend on ever letting him go.

Things haven’t changed since the time you cornered him outside the locker room. Well, they haven’t changed much.

You still roll your eyes when you see him, always throwing some shady insults at him that Jake takes with pride, and he still chases you like a loyal dog.

“Why do you keep trying? She literally hates your guts,” Sunghoon says during practice one day. “Isn’t it tiring?”

Jake shrugs, tossing the ball to a random teammate. “I think I’m making progress.”

Sunghoon raises a brow. “Dude, just give up. You’re not gonna crack her anytime soon. How do you know she’s even into alphas?”

If only he knew, Jake thinks. “If your omega hated your guts, would you give up?”

“No, that’s my mate,” Sunghoon replies, easily. “Do you know how long I courted her for until she finally accepted me? Jake. I chased after her since I was a junior. In high school.”

Jake sends him a deadpan look. “Exactly.” He says flatly.

Sunghoon only shakes his head at him. “You’re down bad. So bad.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says passively, waving him off. Jake’s eyes are trained on where you’re stretching a few feet away from them on the field.

It’s routine now, the way you catch his gaze, smirking as you stretch your legs. Jake watches as you bend down to touch your toes, tilting your head in the way of the locker room before standing up and heading there first.

“Duty calls.” Is all Jake says before taking off, ignoring Sunghoon’s sounds of protest.

“Practice isn’t even over yet!”

Jake jogs over to the locker room, knocking a few times before the door opens and he’s getting dragged in roughly.

The door closes behind him and he faintly registers the lock clicking shut. Before he can get a word out, there’s a pair of lips attached to his neck.

“Angel, I’m sweaty, and we’re gonna smell like each other.”

You pout against his neck, hand trailing down to cup at his dick over his shorts. You squeeze him once, before rubbing your palm against him. “But I want you so bad, and everyone thinks we’re fucking anyway. Jake…”

Jake can feel his restraint slipping. “Fuck, you’re so…”

“Been watching you all practice, you’re so fucking hot. Couldn’t even focus today, all I can think about is sucking you off.” You say, slipping your hand into Jake’s shorts.

Jake takes a glance at the clock above the lockers, silently appreciative that he has roughly half an hour before anybody would be coming in to use the lockers. When he looks back at you, you’re already looking at him with lust filled eyes and blown pupils.

You blink at him, a lazy smile on your lips as you stroke Jake to full hardness. “Please? Come on, alpha.”

And who is Jake to ever deny you?

“Fuck, fine. C’mere.” Jake replies, pulling you until you’re between a row of lockers. He pushes you by the shoulders, back, back until your knees hit a bench.

Like this, towering over you, he can’t help but feel big—big at the way you appear so small beneath him, nothing like the alpha you’re supposed to be. Jake snorts fondly at the way you look up at him with the biggest puppy eyes.

“You’re cute.”

You instantly frown, lips pulling downwards. “You’re gross. I didn’t bring you here to be sappy. I’d be way cuter with my face covered in your cum.”

You tug at Jake’s shorts, frowning deeper when you realize Jake isn’t budging. “What are you still standing there for? Drop your fucking pants.”

Jake rolls his eyes, grabbing your hair with a fist. He yanks you forward, your chin now digging into his stomach. “You want it so bad? Beg.”

Jake preens internally when your mouth drops open in shock.

“Beg? You want me to fucking beg? In case you forgot, you’re not the one in charge here.”

“In charge? If you want to suck me off so bad, then beg, angel,” Jake says, yawning. “I have practice to finish, so if you’re not going to, I’m leaving.”

“You’re—” You open your mouth before closing it shut again.

“Or, how about we try something different this time?” Jake cuts you off, releasing his grip on your hair to get on his knees himself. Even on his knees, you’re eye to eye.

He leans closer, nosing at your cheek and inhaling deeply. “Let’s see how long you can last,” Jake glances at the clock again. “If you hold out, I’ll let you suck me off. Deal?”

“Who’s teaching you these things? Fucker.” You scoff, craning your neck to look at the clock behind them.

“You did.” Jake smiles, and you shake your head, mumbling little shit.

Your facade cracks easily. “Shut up.” You say, smiling so small that Jake would’ve missed it if he wasn’t already staring at your lips.

“So, deal?” He meets you halfway, kissing you softly before pulling away, not missing the way you chase after his lips.

You huff, pulling him back in by his jersey. “Deal.”

And just like the first and second and tenth time, you fall right back into each other.

One thing about you is that you get jealous.

At first, Jake is too caught up in his own jealousy to even entertain the thought of you being jealous.

Their relationship, if you could call it that, is remotely private. Although everyone used to think they’re fucking, they now either think that they hate each other, or are in some sort of platonic fuck-buddies arrangement because people catch them smelling of each other’s scents so often. You’ve both kept it under wraps for months, and you prefer to keep it that way. So when you start acting differently in public, Jake notices.

It starts like this: Having the same group of friends meant that they see each other all the time, being forced to hangout and be in the same vicinity of each other almost every day. So when the casual touches started, needless to say, their friends, and many others, were confused.

First, it was you wrapping an arm around his waist whenever you’re walking together.

After that, it was you throwing your legs over Jake’s lap at the bleachers.

Another time, when you showed up to practice in his varsity jacket.

Then out of nowhere, you start taking it further.

You start getting handsy in public; at practice, outside of the locker rooms, at parties. Not that Jake minds, he’s just curious to know what caused this. He isn’t complaining, not when you look like that and when you let Jake walk around with his hand stuffed into your back pocket like he owns you—which if you ask him, he does.

But it all hits him when they’re at another party.

When Sunghoon told him his omega is throwing yet another party, Jake automatically agrees, because wherever Sunghoon goes, he goes. And wherever Sunghoon's omega is, you are. You get the idea.

He goes with the intent of seeing you, and free weed, but mainly for you.

So when they get to the familiar house, Jake is on a mission to find you. He leaves Sunghoon and his omega to go around and find you, stopping by the kitchen to grab a cup of spiked punch for him and one for you.

He’s about to head upstairs when, just like last time, Riki stops him.

“Weed?”

Jake makes a mental note to text you and ask him where he is, before nodding. “Lead the way.”

Like the last time, they’re seated on the same couch, smoking Riki’s weed again. Except, you’re nowhere in sight.

Riki leans his head back, exhaling a thin cloud before handing the roll to Jake. “Did you figure things out last time?”

“Yeah,” Jake takes a hit, holding it in for a few seconds before exhaling. “But I can’t find her.”

“Who, ____?” Jake nods in affirmative.

“You sure she’s even here? I haven’t seen her since I got here. Want me to ask my girl?” Riki asks, already reaching for his phone.

“Nah, it’s cool. Pretty sure she’ll show up soon.” Jake shakes his head, waving the joint around before Riki plucks it from his fingers.

Riki shrugs, “If you say so.”

It’s quiet, but comfortable. That’s something Jake likes about Riki: the fact that he never feels the need to fill the space with meaningless small talk. They sit side by side, smoking in silence until someone walks up to them.

It’s a girl, another cheerleader on Sunghoon's omega’s team by the look of the uniform. She holds a cigarette out, asking them for a lighter. Riki motions to his pocket, mumbling something to Jake. He gets the hint and digs into Riki’s pocket, flicking the lighter open for the stranger. She bends over, closer to the flame to light the end of the stick.

“Thanks, you’re Jake right? Sunghoon's omega’s boyfriend’s friend?” She asks, already making herself comfortable on the handle of the couch.

Jake hums, head tilted back and eyes heavy. “Yeah, best friend.” The girl nods in greeting. “I’m Yun.”

“Riki,” Riki cuts in, snatching his lighter back before shoving it into his pocket. He stands up, shoving his small bag of weed into his hoodie. “My girl is looking for me, see you later Jake.”

Jake nods in goodbye, watching as Riki makes it across the room to the end of the stairs to meet his omega. The sight of Riki’s stupidly bright smile and her fond grin makes his stomach churn. He misses you.

He pulls out his phone, remembering to shoot a text to you.

jakey: where r u jakey: miss u jakey: lonely :(

Jake frowns when you don't reply, and he’s starting to regret smoking because he forgot how clingy it makes him. He huffs, pocketing his phone. He is not going to pout at a party. The girl clears her throat, reminding him that she’s still there. Jake glances up at her.

“Can I have one of your cups?” Yun asks, motioning to the two cups on the table in front of her that say Jake in sharpie.

Jake frowns, shaking his head. “No.”

The girl looks momentarily taken aback, before she recovers, tilting her head. “Why do you have two?”

“Because one is for ____.” He shoots back defensively, leaning forward to place the cups closer to him.

“____? Oh. The one on the team?” She looks up in thought. “She’s pretty cute.”

“Yeah, she is.”

Yun hums. “I think she has a boyfriend or something though.”

“Really?” Jake questions, partially out of curiosity, and mostly because he’s the only boy there could be.

“She comes to practice with hickeys sometimes. And people say they see her and some football player messing around all the time, plus she always smells like another alpha.” Her lips curl down at the corners.

Jake raises a brow in amusement and he has to hold back his laugh. “Really?”

Yun nods enthusiastically, looking around before leaning closer. “Can I have a cup now? I don’t think she’s even here.”

Jake closes his eyes, irritation bubbling under his skin. He forces down a growl, “No, I told you already. It’s for—”

“Me, Yun. It’s for me.”

Jake has never looked up so fast in his life.

“____!” Jake is so happy he could cry.

Your eyes soften at this, and before you know it, Jake is pulling you down right next to him, grabbing one of your legs to throw it over his own.

“I texted you and you didn’t reply.” Jake says, rubbing his forehead against your cheek.

You rub his nape with a hand, letting Jake rub and scent all over you as he pleases. Jake leans back at the sight of a familiar jacket. “Hey, this is mine.”

You laugh, making yourself comfortable and resting your other leg next to the one already over Jake’s thighs. Jake wraps an arm around your waist, and he can’t help but feel content because: one, he’s warm, and two, he really missed you so bad.

He voices it out loud, “Missed you.”

“Of course you did. God, you’re so clingy when you’re high.” You joke, but you rub your knuckles under Jake’s chin as a way of saying it back.

“Oh, I saved a cup for you. It might be warm now though, it was sitting for a while.” Jake reaches for it, and registers that the random girl isn’t with them anymore.

“It’s okay, Jakey. You can get me another one, yeah?” You reply, and Jake nods, standing up right away, keeping an arm around your shoulders. “God—baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Do you know how long I waited for you? Me and Riki smoked like, three prerolls. I counted.”

“Okay, dumbass. You can count. Now come get me a drink.” You start walking, and Jake follows, as always.

He says at your side, with his arm now around your waist. When they make it to the kitchen, Jake almost throws up at the sight of Sunghoon and his omega making out against a counter.

Jake groans exaggeratedly, tightening his hold on you. “Dude! There’s people here!”

Sunghoon's omega flips him off, only stopping to look over Sunghoon’s shoulder once she sees who Jake is with. She whispers something in Sunghoon’s ear, who turns to side-eye Jake.

“Why are they looking at me like that?” Jake says under his breath, against your ear.

You tilt your head back to look at him. “I don’t know. Maybe because you look dumb.” Jake sulks at this. “Why are you so mean?”

He only receives a pat on the cheek. “Get me a drink, please.” Is all you say before slipping out from under his arm to go meet Sunghoon's omega.”

Jake mumbles to himself about how he’s unappreciated and nobody cares about him, not even Sunghoon.

“Sunghoon what?”

Jake jolts. “What?”

Sunghoon squints at him. “Are you high?”

“No.” Jake replies, smoothly, too focused on pouring you a drink.

“Uh-huh. What’s up with you and ____?” Sunghoon asks, taking a cup for himself.

“What do you mean?” Jake says, turning to lean back against the counter, eyes drawn to you instantly.

Sunghoon follows his line of sight. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Hey. You made an oath, remember? No lying to your best friend.” Sunghoon nudges him with his elbow.

Jake groans, “You only bring that up when you want something.”

“So?” Sunghoon says, expectantly.

“I told you, nothing’s going on,” he replies. Jake’s chest burns with fondness when he sees you laughing, eyes crinkling at the edges and your pretty teeth on display. “It’s nothing.”

“Yeah, okay. Tell that to the mirror. And your stupid lovesick scent says everything, dumbass. You stink.” Jake can practically hear the sarcasm in Sunghoon’s tone, and he doesn’t have to look to know that he’s rolling his eyes.

“Whatever.” Jake trails off when you meet his gaze, sending him a small smile. He almost thinks it’s cute until he sees Sunghoon's omega, who’s glaring at him, practically cursing him with her eyes.

“Sunghoon. He’s doing it again.”

“Huh?” Sunghoon pauses for a second before throwing his head back and laughing. “Oh. Babe! I told you, you could totally beat him in a fight.”

Jake shouts in protest, only quieting down when you sidle up next to him. His voice gets caught in his throat, enamored by the way you look so, so pretty. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” You lean against his chest, standing between his legs.

Damn it, he thinks to himself, he’s so fond. “Wanna get out of here?”

Your nose scrunches up at this. “Greasy. The worst line ever,” You detach yourself from Jake. “I need to go to the bathroom first, come with me?”

Jake nods wordlessly, suppressing a smile when you grab his hand and slings it over your shoulders, latching onto his side. Jake likes this, like, really likes this.

“Reel it in, Jake. Your alpha is showing.” You shake your head, and Jake forgets that you can smell how pleased he is through his scent.

You lead them to the bathroom at the bottom of the stairs, telling him to wait for you. Jake nods, leaning against the wall while he waits obediently. You laugh, mumbling something about how he’s like a big puppy, and he can’t even find it in himself to argue back when you’re right.

He’s on his phone, tapping through people’s Instagram stories when he gets tapped on the shoulder.

“Hey! Jake, right?”

Jake turns to see Yun, standing a head shorter than him. Jake suppresses a tired groan, because he doesn’t want to be bothered right now, just wanting to get you and go home. “Yeah.” Jake replies, looking back down at his phone.

He can see her shifting awkwardly on her feet. “Are you waiting for the bathroom?”

Jake glances at her before looking at the door. “No, I’m waiting for ____.” “Oh,” she murmurs. “Are you guys a thing?”

“What? We’re—”

She cuts him off with a hand. “No! I didn’t mean it like that—I’m not against alphas dating alphas or anything, fuck society, but I was just curious.”

Jake nods. “Ah. But no, we’re not.”

“Is it like an open relationship thing then?”

“Dude, you’re—” Jake stops himself, trying to withhold himself from bursting on this girl, who hasn’t done anything to warrant it. “No, it’s not.”

“I mean, it’s cool if it is! I was just wondering if you were single.” She gives him a smile, and Jake narrows his eyes. “Is that too forward? It’s cool if you guys are in an open relationship, I’m not opposed to sharing.”

Jake can’t stop the annoyed sigh he lets out. “You talk way too fucking much.”

She frowns. “You don’t have to be rude.”

“Honestly, you’re overstepping right now,” Jake says, hand dragging down his face. “You’re killing my mood.”

“You’re being an asshole.” She spits out, crossing her arms.

Jake snorts, finding the whole situation amusing and exhausting. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

He silently sends a thanks to you when the bathroom door opens. Jake is quick to turn around and hold onto you, pulling you out of the bathroom in a rush. “Thank fuck, I was about to lose my shit.”

“What’s wrong?” You make a confused noise.

“Are you guys together or not?” Yun says, bringing the attention back to her.

Jake rolls his eyes, letting out a frustrated groan. “Please.”

“He’s not gonna fuck you.” Jake watches as you narrow your eyes at her, your scent spiking.

Jake bites his lip to hold back a laugh. “It’s not like you guys are together. Don’t you think that he’d wanna try dating an omega, rather than an alpha?”

“It’s not like he’d wanna fuck you either way,” you say, arm wrapping around Jake’s waist protectively. “Did you need something else? Because I have no problem with you watching us fuck if that’s what you’re really curious about.”

Yun’s face twists in disgust. “You guys are gross. And your boyfriend is an asshole anyways.” “I know.” You reply, and you both watch her turn on her heels and walk away.

When Yun is out of their line of sight, Jake sighs, turning in your hold and hugging you against his chest. Jake’s chest puffs up with pride and his heart swells. “My knight in shining armor. You’re so cute, did I tell you that already?”

You roll your eyes but your face is fond, letting Jake press his face against your neck. You place a kiss on Jake’s neck in return. “Let’s just get out of here, I wanna fuck.”

Jake fakes a pout. “All you want me for is my body.”

“She’s right. You’re an asshole. Hurry up before the offer expires.” You kiss him quickly, before slipping out of his grip and running into the crowd.

Jake’s heart starts to race at the challenge. If you want him to chase you, he will.

He counts a few seconds in his head before following after you, searching for a jacket with Jake Sim emblazoned on the back.

Jake slips out the door, finding you a few feet ahead of him. It’s already night, and goosebumps rise on his arms from the cold as he runs towards you, catching you in his arms.

“Wanna fuck in the car?” “No.”

Like always, Jake gets what he wants.

Five minutes later, just as he planned, they’re seated in the back of your car.

The windows are fogged, and he feels thankful that your windows are conveniently tinted—although he wouldn’t mind fucking in the back even if they weren’t.

“Fuck, Jake,” you breathe heavily against him, and Jake has to hold your hips in place to keep you from bucking up against his mouth and hitting him in the nose. “Jakey, fuck, yes.”

If there’s one thing that Jake likes doing, it’s eating you out.

Even since the first time you taught him, he still finds himself addicted to it. Maybe it’s the fact that you make the prettiest sounds when he does, but honestly, he just likes to make you feel good. Jake thinks he could eat you out for hours.

He’s ripped out of his thoughts when you place a hand into his hair, using the grip to hold him there so you can grind your hips against Jake’s tongue.

“Hngh, Jake—fuck!” you cry when Jake hums against you, licking along your folds before sucking your clit softly. He uses the hands he has around your thighs to pull you even closer.

Jake relishes in the moans you let out, pulling back the slightest bit to lick circles against your clit. He looks up to drink in the sight of you with your head thrown back, eyes rolled to the back of your head.

You shake in his hold, and Jake can practically feel the way you’re clenching around nothing. He moans, licking along your slit again before thrusting his tongue inside your hole.

“Oh,” it elicits a whimper out of you, one that breaks off into a long drawn out moan. “Jakey, do—do it again.”

He obeys, fucking his tongue inside of your hole a couple more times before coming back up to suck at your clit. The sounds they’re making are dirty, and Jake closes his eyes at the sound of the wet slurping noises filling up the car.

You grind up against his mouth. “Fuck, fuck your tongue feels so good. Ah!”

Jake lifts his head, licking his lips before kissing your inner thigh. “You gotta be quiet, people are gonna hear you.”

It’s impossible. Especially because the music coming from the house is too loud and nobody would be able to hear them unless they come to the car, but he likes to entertain the thought anyways, and he knows it gets you off too.

He smirks against your thigh when it brings a soft, breathy moan out of you. “Yeah? You’d probably like that, huh? You want them to hear you, want them to hear you whine like a fucking bitch with your alpha’s tongue inside of you.”

“Jake, Jakey, please,” your face contorts in frustration when Jake holds your hips down. “Keep going.”

“Say it. Tell me how much you want them to hear you,” Jake replies, moving a hand down to play with your clit. He rubs slowly, just to be a little shit. “Tell me, angel. C’mon.”

You shake your head, “I just—fuck, please.”

“You know what to say.” His breath ghosts over your pussy.

“Want—want everyone to hear me, want them to hear how good you fuck me,” you pant, head thrown back against the window. “Fuck, want everyone to know how much of a slut I am for you, alpha.”

Jake delivers a harsh suck to your clit, fingers entering your hole at the same time. You sound absolutely wrecked, voice cracking every time you moan. “Gonna stretch you out, open you up so good. Get you ready for my cock.”

You nod erratically, “yeah, yeah. Stretch me open—shit!” Jake curls his fingers, scissoring them and pumping them inside of your hole. The noises are loud, wet squelching mixing with moans and bouncing off the inner walls of the car.

“Jake, want you now. Can’t wait anymore. Wanna cum on your cock, please.” You get out between cries.

“Shit, yeah? Fuck, c’mere,” the position is awkward, but he leans back onto his knees to bring their lips together. You pant into the kiss, hips bucking up against Jake’s thigh. “Turn around.”

It’s hard to make it work in the small vicinity of the car, but with Jake’s back pressed to his chest and you on your knees on the seats, you make it work.

He runs his hands along your body, squeezing appreciatively when you shiver. You whine, pushing back against his dick. “Jake, fuck me already, want you now.”

“I don’t have a condom,” he says, looking around the car.

You huff, “I don’t fucking care. We’re both clean and if you don’t fuck me now I’ll kick you out of the car.”

“Impatient.” Jake kisses your shoulder before pulling himself out of his pants. He strokes himself a few times before grabbing his cock to slap it against your cunt. He slides the length between your folds, coating himself in slick to get himself wet. Jake runs the head of his cock against your hole before entering the tip in slowly.

“Fuck,” he groans out when you clench around him. “How are you so fucking tight.”

You both moan simultaneously when Jake finally bottoms out, hips flush against your ass. “Fuck. Gonna fuck you until you’re fucking loose. Gonna have you on my cock all the time.”

You pant, “Like you don’t—fucking do already.”

Jake pulls out to thrust back in harshly, shoving his face into your neck and groaning at the feeling of you so wet and tight around him. “You’re so pretty baby, such a pretty fucking cocksleeve.”

“Shit, Jake!” Jake’s thrusts are fast, unrelenting. The only thought on his mind is to make you come, to make you come first.

The sounds of his hips and balls slapping against you has him groaning, biting into your shoulder. “Wanna fill you up, fill you up with my cum. Gonna knock you up, fuck.”

Jake can feel his dick throbbing inside of you, and his hips stutter at the thought of getting you pregnant. “Gonna—gonna get you pregnant, let everyone know you’re mine. That I’m the only one getting you fuck you like this.”

He pulls your hips flush against him as he thrusts in rapidly, throwing his head back at the feeling of you clenching around him again. “You like that? Wanna walk around full of my cum, knocked up like a dumb whore.”

Your body trembles beneath him as you whimper out pleas. “Yes, yes, fuck, wanna—want it so bad.”

Jake wraps his arms around your waist, hand finding purchase on the smooth expanse of your tummy. “Baby, can you feel that?”

You hold yourself up with one hand, the other feeling around to find Jake’s where it is on your belly. Jake places his hand over yours, pushing down on your tummy. “You’re so fucking tiny, I can feel my cock rubbing up right against your fucking stomach.”

This pulls a throaty moan out of you. Jake’s thrusts don’t let up, and he pulls out until the tip of his cock is against your hole before slamming inside in one go.

“Baby, talk to me,” Jake says, his breath hot against your ear. He knows how you get, too fucked dumb to even speak. “Hm?”

Your mouth drops open, and Jake takes this chance to slip his fingers in your mouth. It’s wet, and he can feel the drool pooled up and dribbling down the side of your chin.

He stills, cock still buried to the hilt. “I told you to do something.”

“Mmph!” It comes out muffled around his fingers. Just to be a little shit, he pushes down on your tongue, chuckling lowly when you gag.

“I’m not gonna move until you do what I asked.” Jake keeps his fingers in your mouth, repeating himself.

You shake your head, mewling when drool escapes from the corners of your mouth. “I—hmph.”

Jake presses down on your tongue again before thrusting his fingers deeper, barely hitting the back of your throat. “God, you’re fucking drooling everywhere like a whore.”

He takes mercy on you, finally pulling his fingers out of your mouth with little resistance. You gasp, head lolling and forehead coming into contact with the window.

Your voice comes out broken, “Jake, fuck, please—need to come so bad, want your cock so bad, please, I’ll be so good.”

Jake decides to be nice, pulling out before thrusting inside roughly. He trails his spit slicked fingers down your jaw to circle around your nipple, smearing the spit there. You jolt, hips bucking back against Jake’s cock.

“You always get so dumb when you have a cock inside you, huh? That’s all it takes for you to shut up?” Jake pinches your nipple. “You’re so fucking easy.”

You clench sporadically around his dick, telltale signs that you’re getting close. Jake brings his hand lower to rub at your clit rapidly, hips never slowing.

Jake growls against your neck, “Such a dumb bitch. You’re a dumb puppy. Right? Getting fucked by another alpha like a stupid omega.”

You scream at this, voice high pitched when you cum around Jake’s cock. Jake groans at the feeling of your walls tightening around him, rolling his eyes when he feels wetness seeping down his balls and to his thighs.

Jake doesn’t let up, fucking you through your climax. “Fuck, you fucking squirted? You really are a dumb fucking bitch.”

He hears you sob, and it only spurs him on further. Jake fucks into you at an animalistic pace, stomach tightening at the whines and whimpers you’re letting out.

“Jakey, Jake, can’t—it’s too much, ah!” You cry, cheek pressing up against the window.

Jake growls against your neck, “fucking take it.”

His hips stutter when you choke on a sob, the band in his stomach finally snapping. He buries himself to the hilt, making sure to coat every inch of your insides with his cum.

Your hole flutters around him, tightening and clenching at the feeling of Jake’s cum, warm and hot, filling you up to the brim.

Jake manhandles them back against the seats, making sure to keep his cum plugged into you. He leans back, you now in his lap, back against his chest. At this angle, he feels even deeper, and he can’t stop himself from thrusting up into your heat once more.

You protest, scrambling until your hands are holding onto the back of the driver’s seat. “I’m, I’m too sensitive.”

He spreads your legs, hand coming down between them to rub at your swollen, abused clit. Jake suppresses a smirk when you flinch, tightening around him in surprise.

“Jake, I can’t—it’s too much, please,” you beg, squirming in Jake’s lap.

“Your alpha is still hard, baby. Be good for me, you’re gonna cum again, okay? I know you can.” Jake kisses your shoulder, nosing along your nape.

You shake your head, panting heavily. “I can’t, Jake, please.”

Jake tuts, hand still rubbing circles against your clit. He brings his other hand to play with your nipples, knowing where you’re the most sensitive like the back of his hand.

“C’mon, I know you can. You wanna be good for me, yeah?” He places a wet kiss onto your neck when you nod. “Be a good omega and cum again, wanna feel you cum around my cock again.”

You gulp, exhaling through your nose. Your whole body shakes and quivers in Jake’s hold. Jake talks you through it, whispering about how good you are and how obedient you are.

He brings the hand that was playing with your nipple up to wrap around your throat, applying the slightest pressure there. Jake thrusts his hips up at the same time as he squeezes your throat — and that’s all it takes to push you over the edge again.

You curl up, too fucked out to do anything other than cum and sob silently. Jake feels it when you cum, your walls tightening around his cock. He squeezes again before releasing his hold around your neck to turn your head and capture your lips in a kiss.

The angle makes it hard for them to kiss, but you take it all, opening your mouth obediently and letting Jake explore every inch of your mouth with his tongue. They kiss lazily for a few more minutes before you pull away with a wince.

“My seats are gonna be so gross,” you say, leaning your head back to rest against Jake’s.

He wraps his arms around your waist. “Who’s fault is that?”

“Yours. You’re the one who always wants to fuck in the fucking car. In my car!” You shoot back. You make a sound of protest when Jake goes to pull out. “Don’t! It’s gonna make a bigger mess.”

“Liar, you just like the fact that my cum is inside of you right now.” Jake teases.

You groan, “Shut up, no I don’t.” They both know it’s a lie.

“Kinky,” he strokes your stomach with a thumb. “Hey.”

You hum, still leaning against his chest. “Are we… Are we gonna keep acting like this?”

“Like what?” You question.

“Like we hate each other.” Jake replies.

It’s silent for a few minutes before you speak again, “is that what you want?”

“Is that what you want?” Jake repeats.

You swallow, the sound making an audible click inside the quiet car. “Let’s talk about this when you’re not literally balls deep inside of me.”

Jake makes a sound of agreement, but he can’t help the uneasy feeling that fills his chest. He listens, trusting that they’ll cross that bridge when they get there, because if there’s anything about Jake, it’s that he always wins and he always gets what he wants.

And what Jake wants? It’s always been you.

#chamisulgrape #enhypen smut #sim jaeyun smut #jake smut #enha smut #jake x reader #enhypen x reader #jake imagines #jake scenarios #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fanfic #enhypen omegaverse au #enhypen abo #enhypen jake smut #sim jake smau #enhypen smau #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours

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grotesquevi · 2 days ago

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18+ mdni, collage au, use of marijuana, high sex, blink and you'll miss perv!vi, you smoke while she eats you (feral), spit, stoner!vi that got out of hand. fic directory, requests?

if you recognize this it may be because it's from my previous account aka @vicorices who got deleted out of nowhere, i'm trying to get all my work back up again cause i'm not losing three months of writing. bare with me pls love me back this was good soup back then.

dealer!vi who’s deep down a damn loser when it comes to you, an unmeasured crush that started out when you bought weed for the first time and she got your number under the premise of talking to you whenever she had good stash.

she stares for a good while at her phone after, trying to find out a reason to talk to you without sounding lame, the last time she was so afraid to talk to a girl she was what? sixteen? so fucking lame.

dealer!vi who leaves in the middle of a party cause you texted asking is she was up and well, it's her fault when she's spoiling you rotten, constantly selling to you her very best stuff at a stupid low price: she wants you to keep coming to her, so she makes sure of making an undeniable offer.

she's knocking at your door and it's way to late to be in the streets, standing with her hands shoved inside her jacket as she waits for you to open up.

dealer!vi who's impressed actually by your rolling skills cause how the fuck did you learn how to roll a joint like that? you have such a good technique she finds herself looking at it, fingers in perfect control as they swiftly pour the green from your purple grinder into king-sized pink rolling papers — is it indirect kissing when you're licking the paper and she can visibly see strings of your saliva? must be.

she looks at you when you light up the joint and the air is quickly filled with the intense smell of weed, a subtle fruity and citric aroma as you passed her the joint. indirect kissing. indirect kissing when vi's smoking from the very same spot you did, sitting close to you after selling you a good amount of weed and accepting a sudden invitation to stay for a while and smoke, make the journey at least a bit more worth it and not leave after five minutes with you.

it doesn't have to be just pure business.

you're oblivious to it, but her gaze lingers in your legs and the subtle way your shirt rides up showing more and more skin without you noticing, worried you'll find out she's right there high and dry in your sofa.

stoner!vi who laughs at your jokes, leaning forward when talking to you cause even high she just thinks about how beautiful you are, eyes red, half lidded, relaxed in the comfortable of your small apartment close to the uni.

and like a good stoner she forgets about she's holding the joint at some point, too busy with the conversation, your company and the atmosphere you’ve so easily created, the ashes falling to the ground now. she has sold you marijuana for months, yet she's not able to talk to you for more than explaining you what strain she's carrying to sell until well — now.

liking your photos, flirting but not at all, it's absurd the amounts of times you appear on her mind without even trying to, messy haircut, she's sure you have a tattoo hidden under the winter clothes cause she can be a proud stoner, but she pays attention, at least when she wants something, when it comes to you.

"are you ever going to make a move on me, vi? cause i'm getting tired of waiting for you to snap out of it."

and maybe it's the weed, that dizzy and nice sensation on her chest that makes her smile, cause she's sure you're pulling her closer even when she's the one moving on her own.

"a move, you want me to make a move on you?"

you're taking the joint from her fingers and she swears it's the hottest thing she's ever experienced, the way you were suddenly so close to her only to pull away after, letting the smoke linger in the air when you light it again: she has felt that very same thing before, the awful need of pulling you into a kiss.

"i thought it was obvious when i texted you in the middle of the night, but you don't seem to get it much" the music seems to drown her unsteady breathing, the loud guitars by the speaker in the table while your bratty attitude only seems to turn her on even further. "should i spell it out for you? send a formal invitation?"

stoner!vi who's really bad in controlling her force when high, cause her hand fist in the fabric of your shirt and she's finally erasing the distance she was once polite to keep, moving you without much effort across the cushions to pull you closer to her, make you lay on the sofa to pin you down beneath her.

her muscles flex on top on you and she's finally aware of the effect she has on you, when she's finally kissing you and you're responding to her even when she barely touches you — so maybe it's not as lame as she thought, cause her kisses travels down your throat, messy, sloppy open-mouthed kisses she places as she holds you there, still and where she wants you to, not lame at all when you cannot control yourself either, squirming, already asking for more.

and fuck it's good. she can smell the subtle smell of weed in your clothes, and swear could choke 'cause you're parting your legs for her, a silent invitation she just gets with no need to spell it out for her now.

"gonna smoke it all by yourself?" vi's messing with you at first, watching you take the joint you forgot in your fingers to place it over your lips — "or are you gonna share that with me?"

stoner!vi who fantasizes with the thought of spitting right over your parted lips when she's helping you smoke, lighting up the joint as she sits on top of you. she's slower, but her hips press down against yours just right, and trapped in between her thighs is a damn sight. her blushed cheeks match her cherry hair who's much longer now since the first time you meet her, and you, a demon as always, let your hand find the skin beneath her shirt, the pad of your fingers roaming against her hip bone, trailing it down her pants.

with two fingers, she places the joint over your lips. your breathing collides against her hand, and she can feel the softness in your lips for a moment before you're blowing the smoke in her direction, slightly and for nothing more than five seconds but enough to make her think about kissing you again, yearning when she's stealing kiss after kiss, taking away the joint to have you pay attention to her instead. needy.

the weed makes her like that she'd say, but in reality vi's going to pieces even before her eyes become glassy. shambles when the music on the speaker is not enough to muffle your gasps, the irregular sound of your breathing after she slowly begins to ask you for more — hungry even when she's full fed.

she's building you up, taking her time since she dreamed about this a lot, and she desperately wants it to make it last, savor it as long as she can have it, so vi's dragging your shirt upwards, enough so she can see the obvious lack of a bra, latching on the skin of your breast until it's bruised and sensitive, purple because of her.

you do have a hidden tattoo, only for her to see.

yet it's her name on your swollen lips what she enjoys the most, how she's there in your lungs inside you, the sound of your moans when you ask if she could keep going. your always perfect hair lays now messy, and god she just want to imprint the sight of you in her brain, how your skin shiver when she's kissing the expanses of your belly, that flirty look on your face she can see even when she's completely on her knees for you already.

"you forgot about the joint again, peach" vi mutters against your navel, her chin presses against your stomach and the mere contact makes your skin burn "you okay up there? 'cause last time i recall i was invited to smoke with you love, you're making me feel a little betrayed here."

stoner!vi who likes the fact you're smoking from her weed. may seem stupid but she damn prides on knowing you choose her every time even when uni is fucking plagued with providers all around: you praise about her quality, chanting about how good your high was, how she never disappoints.

the world seems to stop against your skin, the time dies between your thighs, the intense smell of your arousal clouds her with longing and her mouth waters at the compulsion to lean forward.

"it's not fair, making me feel so- fuck so-" the words die on her tongue, cause your panties are soaked through, clinging to your folds and she's already drunk on it, lost in the haze as she looks up to you, barely illuminated by the lights in the apartment, the ember of the joint lighting every once in a while.

"talk to me," your voice is rough as your hand reaches down to her hair, taking the long strands of the mullet between your fingers — "how do i make you feel, huh? tell me vi."

stoner!vi who's a chaotic eater. she whimpers at your praises as her tongue laps from over your slick underwear, drool escaping from the corners of her mouth as her nose rubs against your sensitive cunt and she doesn't really care if she stinks like pussy after, if you're gushing all over her cheeks as she's making your underwear to the side; she's surrendering entirely, spreading you with her fingers and sinking her face in your puffy, swollen lips already sticky with a sheen of arousal.

she cannot seem to have enough, one arm tangled around your leg as she's comfortable enough to gather a good amount of saliva on her mouth so she can let it fall against your already leaky pussy, scooping it with her fingers to use it as lube when her digits are forcing themselves against your entrance, opening you up for her as vi's mouth sucks greedy around your clit.

so you forgot about the joint laying between your fingers as you hold her face against your sex, moving your hips against her mouth until she's looking at you through half lidded eyes and you can see how her face seems to glisten thanks to you. vi seems to be hitting all the nice places when her fingers scissor inside you, rubbing on your walls as you become pliant in her touch, inviting as you seem to suck her in deeper.

stoner!vi who pays attention, cause she's fixated in your face when you fall apart, dissolving into pleasure, splintering in lust for a brief moment she prolongs as much as it's possible, slowly pumping her fingers inside your tight entrance to keep seeing that pretty face all constricted in need, babbling about how good she's eating you, how full you are when her fingers fuck you dumb like that.

stoner!vi who shoves her fingers in your mouth right after fucking you, using her thumb to trace them along the seam at first, coaxing you to open them for her, pushing down on your tongue as soon as she's granted permission.

it's her turn to smoke now.

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rafesangelita · 2 days ago

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♡ bsf!rafe finds sheep!reader’s diary..

warnings: cnc (you’ve been warned), dirty talk, fingering, orgasm denial, suggestive ending

a/n: read more sheep!reader + cnc here !

as your best friend, rafe knew you all too well. he knew when you were sad, and he knew when you were holding something back from him, but lately he couldn’t figure you out and it was frustrating the living hell out of him. you hadn’t answered any of his calls or messages, you kept a safe distance from him whenever you two were together, he couldn’t help but feel like he had done something wrong to make you less comfortable with him around, and he was determined to find out what it was.

waiting until you left for your regular visit to the thrift store, rafe used the spare key under the welcome mat to open the front door and slip inside your house. he knew that if you weren’t telling him what was wrong, you were indeed telling the little diary you had hidden in your nightstand. grabbing the floral notebook out of the wooden drawer, rafe briefly flipped through its contents before settling on an entry from a couple of weeks ago.

04/26/25 — oh, i just don’t know what do!! today rafe carried me over his shoulder and slammed me down on my bed like i was one of those old rag dolls my grandmother used to make me. he’s just so strong, i started thinking about other things he could do. i shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts, but i can’t help it. we spend so much time alone together, it just makes me wonder about the manpower he has over me. he can do whatever he wants to me at any point in time, and while that idea should scare me, it makes me get butterflies just thinking about the possibilities.

rafe was rendered speechless, his curiosity getting the best of him as he flipped a few pages over.

4/30/25 — i can’t look at rafe without being reminded of everything i’ve been daydreaming about over the past few days. i feel so ashamed when he gets near me and i have to move away from him out of guilt. he’s looking at me like he did something wrong and i feel so bad. how can i tell him that i’m imagining things a ‘friend’ shouldn’t? maybe i just need to stop seeing him for a while…

now it all made sense. the sitting far away from each other on the couch when usually he’s spooning you, the way you look more embarrassed than usual when he’ll say something suggestive to tease you; it was because you were already fighting off dirty thoughts about him. rafe swallowed thickly as he tossed your journal to the side, his jaw ticking as he reflected over your words. ‘he can do whatever he wants to me at any point in time.’ — to know that both of you wanted this was all the encouragement rafe needed to hide away in your closet once he heard the lock of the front door click open.

you had forgotten your coin pouch, a sigh leaving your lips as you hastily made your way to your room to look for the little thing. upon entering, you immediately knew something was off. there was a dip print in your sheets as if someone was sitting there when you knew for a fact you left your room pristine. just as you caught a small whiff of rafe’s cologne, you screamed when you were suddenly yanked back with a heavy hand over your mouth. dragging you in front of your vanity mirror, rafe wanted you to see that it was him and not a stranger.

you stopped thrashing against him when you saw that it was rafe’s figure towering over your own. now you stood confused as he slowly removed his hand from your mouth and wrapped his fingers around your neck. “w-what are you doing?” you let out a shaky breath, your mouth falling open in a silent moan as rafe’s arm snaked around your waist, your backside flushed against him. “you’ve been ignoring me..” he started, your eyes widening as his hand slipped underneath your dress, “so i had to come over here and find out why.” you gasped when he cupped you through your underwear, his lips finding the underside of your jaw.

moving your gaze over to the notebook on your bed, you felt your heart drop to your stomach when you realized he must’ve read it. “with how innocent you are i would’ve never guessed that you were thinking such things,” he said through gritted teeth, the gruffness of his voice sending a chill down your spine. “now i’m going to do exactly that and there isn’t shit you could do about it, doll.” rafe dipped his fingers between your folds, your knees giving out on you as he held you up by your hips. “saying’ how you want me to overpower you and do whatever i want to you.. just know that you asked for this.”

you didn’t get a chance to take in what he meant when you felt his digits plunge into you, a squeal sounding out from your lips as you reveled in the delicious stretch of his fingers. dragging you over to your bed, rafe forced your thighs open as you gripped his hand, attempting to push him away with a cry. pinning your wrist above your head, you writhed underneath him as you felt an unfamilar tension beginning to build in your core. your bottom lip trembled, the mixture of both pleasure and pain wracking through your body as rafe thumbed your sensitive bundle of nerves.

your pastel nails clawed at the soft cotton of your comforter, your eyes screwing shut as the words ‘please stop..’ softly fell from your mouth. rafe forced your eyes open so you could confirm if you really wanted him to stop his ministrations, but once he caught that mischievous glint in your gaze, he chuckled, wrapping a fist in your hair and tugging so that you could watch his fingers curl inside of you and hit your sweet spot. your back arched up from the mattress, your chest caving in as rafe brought you to the edge and held you there.

“i’m not letting the first time you cum be around my fingers,” he slipped his digits out of you before popping them in his mouth, his hips slotting between your thighs, “i wanna feel this pussy clenching around my cock when i get you crying for it.”

thank you for celebrating with me ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

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ryunumber · 2 days ago

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Jimbo (Balatro)?

Jimbo has a Ryu Number of 3/does not have a Ryu Number.

(CORRECTION: Per multiple people, a Balatro crossover update for Don't Starve Together may give Jimbo a Ryu Number.)

(explanation below)

I don't have exact numbers, but I believe Jimbo is the character I've gotten the most requests to find a Ryu Number for since starting the blog, so I think this warrants going a bit more in-depth than normal.

First, I'm going to establish that Jimbo himself is a talking card. More specifically, he is both the literal Joker card that gives you a flat +4 Mult and the talking Joker card that gives you the tutorial and quips about the outcome of your run.

He seems to be unique in this regard; no other card in Balatro talks to you in this way, so while it is possible to obtain multiple copies of any Joker in-game, this flourish is a major defining characteristic of specifically Jimbo.

Next, there's the matter of the "Friends of Jimbo" crossover face card variants. As of the time of this post, there have been 6 Friends of Jimbo updates for a total of 24 properties represented by face cards of certain suits.

I would think that a cursory glance at the rules would make this clear, but I'll state it explicitly: these are not valid appearances by any definition of the existing ruleset. The characters are depicted on literal cards. For this blog's purposes, they have no relevance.

This means that Jimbo is essentially the only character in Balatro at the moment, so the game itself cannot be used for any links.

So has Jimbo been in any other games?

I'm aware of two games that reciprocated the Friends of Jimbo crossover with content updates. The first game is Dave the Diver, whose developers took the wild yet undeniably idiosyncratic move of... just straight up implementing Balatro at a smaller scale as a minigame.

It is called Jimbo's Game, and you can get a copy of the plain Joker that Jimbo ostensibly is, but I don't believe Jimbo ever actually speaks at any point in Dave the Diver, which as stated previously is the one characteristic that really makes Jimbo unique, so I'm not inclined to count the Joker card as an eligible Jimbo appearance.

The second game is Cyberpunk 2077, which gives you a small fetch quest to find Joker cards to get some Balatro-themed cosmetics. The questgiver in question is a fellow named... Jim B.

So no dice there either.

While this is it for reciprocal crossovers, there is one additional appearance I'm aware of: Dungeons & Degenerate Gamblers.

Unlike in Dave the Diver, Jimbo does actually talk in this game, so while you can get multiple copies of Jimbo, I'm willing to overlook that as a mechanical trapping of deckbuilders.

As for whether you can go anywhere from Dungeons & Degenerate Gamblers is... fraught. No other cards talk like Jimbo or have any other characteristic that suggests they're more than a simple playing card. The actual characters you go up against in the rounds themselves are a bit complicated. There's a couple of opponents in the later acts that resemble classical monsters, but the theming and titles they're given makes saying that they're the singular classical monster in question a bit more of a leap than I'm comfortable with.

There are also opponents that are pretty undeniable references, but there aren't any that I'm so willing to go out on a limb and say actually are the characters or people they reference.

The Actor, for instance, is clearly based on Picard from TNG, but "Actor" suggests that it's not Picard but Patrick Stewart, and I'm not aware of any eligible Stewart appearances in video games.

(There's also an Alucard, but if he's any specific Alucard, he's Alucard from the Son of Dracula movie, which isn't a lot to work with.)

I'd say the closest thing to a slam dunk in this regard is the titular Rain Man, but unsurprisingly, that doesn't give a lot of options.

So if there is a route for Jimbo as of the time of this post (and you might still believe there is one), it's probably through Dungeons & Degenerate Gamblers, and while it wouldn't be as unambiguous as I'd feel comfortable posting, it would probably be at least defensible.

(The actual takeaway you should have is that the Friends of Jimbo crossovers are emphatically irrelevant to this blog, and if you bring them up I will personally modify your copy of the game to remove every deck except the Abandoned Deck.)

(I know it's a good deck, it's about the principle of the matter.)

#jimbo #balatro #ryu number

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stars-inthe-sky · 2 days ago

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if there's solid ground below

It's been five years, but I wrote a whole fic this week thanks in no small part to the singular @iphyslitterator!

[Cross-posted to AO3]

“H—hey, Tommy?”

Tommy startles and bangs his head on the hood of his truck, recovering fast enough that none of the oil he was nearly done changing spilled but not so fast that it would have escaped Evan’s notice. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just surprised,” he says, grabbing for a spare rag to wipe his hands on. “Hi.”

“Got a sec?” Evan rocks onto the balls of his feet and back again, hands shoved deep in the pockets of a hoodie that, in southern California in May, it should really be too warm for. But he runs cold, and the layers always have the added bonus of making Tommy want to rip them off in some kind of Pavlovian response.

Had. Last summer, they’d had that effect. This summer was shaping up differently.

Evan tilts his head, a little quizzical, and Tommy realizes he’s been frozen in place for a few beats too long, dazedly dragging the rag between his fingers.

“Sorry, yeah, go ahead.” He glances down at the car, which hasn’t moved, then back at Evan, who’s still rocking but who looks, Tommy’s now realizing, noticeably lighter than he has in a while—certainly since the funeral, but maybe even more so than that night in the bar all those weeks ago. His smile is far too small, but it’s there. “Although if you need another helicopter, I’m gonna have to start charging you at some point.”

“That’s okay, I heard your fees are competitive,” he chirps, and if his grin isn’t yet lethal, it’s shifted to shit-eating. Which, for Tommy, is lethal anyway, and Evan knows it. “But no, I just…just wanted to talk this time. For real, for once.”

Oh. “Okay…?”

“You can keep doing whatever you were doing; I know you like to have something to do with your hands.”

“Uh, thanks.” He stuffs the rag in the back pocket of his jeans and fishes the oil canister out of his car’s innards. This might be easier without eye contact. “What’s up?”

“I’m taking a sabbatical from the LAFD,” Evan says. Tommy freezes again, more of a twitch than a full stop, and makes himself continue the actual task at hand. “Three months. Mostly thanks to an insane amount of unused PTO, because I realized I kinda haven’t taken a vacation that wasn’t just medical leave in like…ever. And I need a break, you know, after everything? Like, I spent a bunch of my twenties driving around, odd jobs and stuff, and the world is—is so much bigger than the firehouse, or this city, and…yeah. I think I need that space for a bit. Just got it approved today. And then I came here.”

He pauses for breath, and Tommy stares unseeing at some perfectly intact wiring he could reconnect by touch alone if asked. “That’s great they’re letting you do that, Evan. I’m sure it’ll be good for you. How’d the others take it?”

There’s a little sigh. “I haven’t told them yet. Battalion chief said I’d always have a job to come back to, but they couldn’t hold my spot indefinitely. Depends on the new captain and how they want to staff up. Makes sense, obviously, so.” His sniffle is nearly inaudible, but Tommy’s never been able to tune out Evan’s frequency.

He gives up on the car, closing the hood with a quiet click and resuming with the rag, even though his hands aren’t especially dirty. “Never thought you’d voluntarily leave the 118.”

“I know, right?” Evan’s mouth twitches, and it’s not quite a smile now, but there’s something genuine growing back. “I mean, I guess I might not be, but. Things change, and it’s…time, maybe. I’m doing this, in any case. I—I—I just need to clear my head for a while. Go visit Minnesota, never been there, but then…I don’t know, maybe touch the Atlantic Ocean again. Camp out in some national parks. Go see the sky in Montana—it’s so big, Tommy, I’ve never seen anything like it, not since those years, and the last couple of months…it’s like the smog is just in everything right now, you know?”

Tommy nods. He can relate, despite how often he gets to soar above the chokehold of Los Angeles; smoke is smoke, and heat still rises. “I get it. So…this is goodbye, then?” He swallows, bites his lip, stares down at his fingers and the rag still entwined in them.

“No!” Evan leans forward for a breath, arm lifting, but he seems to stop himself, like he’s remembering they don’t know where they stand with each other, if he’s allowed to grab Tommy’s shoulder. “No, no, I’m coming back. LA is still home, my—my stuff’s going into a storage unit next week, my sister and my niece are here, and the new baby—the job—no, yeah, I’m coming back.”

“That’s good,” Tommy muses. “So…”

“So, I wanted to ask—I—I—I’m asking if you’d maybe be up for thinking about coming with me.”

Tommy freezes so suddenly, and so thoroughly, that the rag drops to the ground. “You—you’re going on a three-month road trip to get away from it all, and you want me to come with you?”

“Yeah, I do,” Evan says softly, surely, ducking his head in that bashful way he pretends not to know is so damn effective. “I need a break from everything, and everyone—but you, you’re not everyone. I meant what I said about being together, before. I still mean it.” Tommy feels both arms drop to his sides, heavy and limp like emptied hoses, and the air jerks out of his lungs as his throat closes tight.

Evan plows ahead. “I—if—if you don’t want to, or you can’t swing it with work, or whatever—I get it, that’s why I’m asking and not—not telling you what to do. I don’t—even if you don’t come, I’d wait. And, and text or call, maybe? If you wanted to? Even if it’s just as friends, my life is always better when you’re in it. Kinda hoping that goes both ways here.”

Tommy croaks, “And when you get tired of me before we hit Reno?”

“I won’t,” he says, no hesitation. Tommy’s slack face must do something, because he repeats, “Tommy, I won’t. I won’t. I just want time with you, more time, all the time. I want to try again, so, so bad. And if we fight, we can talk, and not just think the worst, and keep going, be—because I want to eat crappy gas station food with you and not think about the inside of a gym for weeks. I want to drive out somewhere where it feels like we’re the only people on the planet, and fuck in the back of your truck, and then figure out a map that’s older than either of us because there’s no cell service. Maybe rent a chopper in Montana so we can see that sky up close—there’s, there’s so many stars, and you’re the only person I’d want to see them with like that. I want to be locked in a moving vehicle with you all day, except for bathroom stops, and see your face when you realize it’s been 16 hours and we still have more to talk about, and we’ll just keep going, because I’m never gonna get tired of you.”

He pauses and swallows thickly, and Tommy can’t look away. For all that Evan Buckley wears his heart on his sleeve so easily for anyone to see, actually opening it up and offering to hand it over to someone else—that’s still work. “So—that’s what I came to say. That’s what I want. J—just think about it. No rush, I’m not—I’ll wait. If it’s what you want. You…you get to want things, too. So. Yeah.”

Evan nods to himself, rubs the back of his neck, and turns to walk back to his car, parked on the street. Tommy has to move, has to say something, but the soles of his boots are melting, fused to the cement of the driveway, his throat is still closed, and Evan—Evan is walking away.

Tommy wants things, too.

He forces a breath, in and out, on a four-count, licks his lips, and asks, “When do we leave?”

Evan radiates a warmth that scatters out, tangible and visible like a sunrise before he even turns around, beaming. “I was thinking a few weeks after the baby comes, but—but—yeah?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I could chase some stars over the Rockies. With you.” Tommy’s insides unknot, and the life rushes back into his limbs. “And the rest, too. I noticed it’s my truck in this scenario?”

Suddenly Evan is in front of him, closer than they’d managed even that morning after, pressed gently against him from chest to knees, arms winding around his waist. “Much more cargo space. Very practical. And I kinda thought you might be in the same boat, you know, with the unused vacation. Maybe enough seniority to hang onto your spot.”

“Probably, yeah, they generally…” He doesn’t even know how that sentence might have ended, has rarely thought about anything more than a long weekend away, but then Evan’s kissing him, deep and slow and sweet like they might already be the only people on the planet. His warmth flashes over through Tommy, nerve by nerve, until he’s lit up and burning, flammable in places he’d spent months trying to forget this man could expose.

When Evan pulls back, it’s with Tommy’s face between his hands, his relief and hope palpable. Like life might go on, like the world might really be bigger, could even be better, sometimes, than it had been.

“Let’s go,” he whispers, so close and so quiet that Tommy can feel each syllable rumble against his skin, tires steady on a gravel road away from this scene and toward the next.

#911 #911 tv #911 abc #911abc #911 fic #911 show #bucktommy #911 bucktommy #buck x tommy #buck/tommy #this fic brought to you by the time my now-spouse and i went to the canyonlands in january and didn't see another human all day #and danny concannon's intonation on 'i want us to talk like we're gonna figure it out together'#and also tommy's emotional support rag #author knows nothing about car maintenance or lafd leave policies *and* heroically resisted the urge to fall down a google rabbit hole #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#for real though it's been half a decade how do you tag for visibility in a huge-ass fandom with multiple stylings?#on a website where the tag system has never accommodated hyphens very well?#anyway i wrote a fic for the first time in half a decade! please clap.

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poisonofthepaint · 1 day ago

Text

total control

after a wild shift, you head back to jack's apartment to hang out like you usually do, but today, something feels different. inspired on the song total control by djo :)

cw: age gap, lots of exposition, kissing, dryhumping briefly, fingering, pet names (baby, sweetheart, good girl, honey,), jack calls reader young lady in a nonsexual way, jack is an old man and it shows, dom!jack, sub!reader, lmk if i missed anything

wc: 3.8k

It wasn’t completely unusual to go back to Jack’s apartment with him after a shift. It had become a habit after the PittFest casualty. You had been put in the red zone with Robby, Abbot, and Samira, and you and Jack had hit it off immediately. You flowed together so easily, it made you switch to night shift. The way he taught was more attuned to you than the way Robby taught. All excitement, all thrills, unconventional medicine, doing stuff you probably weren’t exactly ready for, but Jack was standing beside you the whole time. It wasn’t that exciting surgical stuff didn’t happen on the day shift, because it definitely did. But, when your mentor doesn’t have the boss breathing down his neck every hour, you can get away with a few more things. Jack let you do procedures that you had once believed you would only ever read about. Anytime there was something interesting going on, he’d pull you from the bedside of a patient just so you could perform it. Ellis joked that he was playing favorites, but he didn’t seem to care.

The first night shift you worked after PittFest, he had let you do a REBOA. The patient had fallen onto a wooden fence after a night of drinking, and he came in with the piece of wood still inserted right next to his pelvis. Jack stood at your shoulder, carefully walking you through everything. How to remove the wood, where to place the balloon, how much to fill it up. He described everything that was happening while you performed it. He was huddled behind you, almost whispering it into your ear. To say Walsh was pissed was an understatement, but after that? You never wanted to work while the sun was out again.

Despite the age gap, it had slowly divulged into a friendship rather than a mentorship. Jack was really, really fucking funny. He had always seemed like a hard ass to you when you saw him for the brief transitions from night to day, but on his shift, he was a lot looser, less tense. There had been times you had to step away to gather yourself. It was mostly that he didn’t bullshit people. He once told a disorderly patient that he was going to give him a spanking if he didn’t stop being a jackass to the nurses, and you thought you were going to die.

You started hanging out after your third week. At first, you would just go out to a diner after. A lot of time all you wanted after a shift was sugar, and you knew the waitress at the small joint. She would fire up the milkshake machine for you, even though it was seven in the morning. Jack gave you shit for it, but you didn’t care. He was more simple, just some scrambled eggs and sausage, maybe a black coffee if it was an especially difficult shift, and he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping anyway.

But, you two were drawn together, it was a nice friendship. You trusted him to tell you what to do, and he trusted you to listen. And that was that.

The first time you went to his apartment, you were shocked by how empty it was. He was a simple man, to say the least. A recliner, a nice couch, a huge, mounted flatscreen, and a framed photo of some of his army buddies. Eventually, you convinced him to get a small, fake plant for the corner. He told you no at first, saying he didn’t need decorations, but the next time you came over, you saw a big, fake Monstera in the corner. He mumbled a quick, don’t even say anything, and you kept your mouth shut.

Hanging out with Jack after work in his apartment made you feel like a guy. He would hand you a beer some days, and turn on the TV. He watched old man shit, like Gold Rush, or American Pickers. You realized this was his equivalent to doomscrolling. It was his way to turn off his brain. At first, you found the hangout a bit strange. But then, you also realized that he probably didn’t know how to hang out with a woman half his age, so he just treated you like he would any of his guy friends, which you found inexplicably endearing. You would hang out for a few hours, talk about the shift, and then head home.

But today was different. Today, you felt the tension between you two. For the first time, you realized, oh, I might actually like this guy. Not in the friend way, not in the mentor way, but in a crush way. Usually, after a shitty full moon shift, you just wanted to be alone, but not today. All you wanted to do was watch American Pickers, drink his beer– well, drink the type of beer that you liked, that he had started buying for you– and sink into his couch. You realized, you didn’t just want company after this shift, you wanted Jack.

You push off the feeling as you exit the hospital together. Jack doesn’t live far, a fifteen minute walk down the street. It was nice out today, the sun shines down on you, it makes the top of your head feel hot. After the horrible winter, it felt really nice to see the big star again. You let out a content sigh.

“Sometimes I think the sun fixes everything.” you say, the vitamin D seeping into your skin.

“Why the hell are you on night shift then, kid?”

“Dumb question. Because if I work the day shift, then I can’t be outside while the sun is shining, duh.”

He opens his mouth in a dramatic way, raising his eyebrows, “Wow, you finally made a good point.”

You scoff at him, “Oh, c’mon,”

He looks over at you and gives you a small smirk. Like he knows exactly how to push your buttons, and he does.

“I cannot believe how many people were in tonight with dumb shit. Like, how do you even get a whole wine glass stuck in your foot? Literally, how is that possible?”

Jack shakes his head, “I used to think the full moon shit was a joke, but I don’t know anymore.”

The rest of the walk is quiet. You hadn’t even discussed going back to his apartment, it was just part of routine now.

When you reach the door, he unlocks it, and swings it open, heading to the fridge first to grab the two cans.

He settles into his recliner, and you go to your spot on the couch. You notice he folded the blanket you always use. You lay it across your body, and it smells, clean? Like fresh cotton.

“Did you wash this?”

“Yeah, you’re gross after your shift, didn’t want it on my couch.”

You scoff again, appalled at his truthful statement. “You’re one to talk, old man.”

“Old man?”

“You heard me.”

“I’ll tell Robby to put you on day shift if you keep talking like that, young lady.”

You don’t want to admit that the nickname makes your face feel hot, “God, please no, I cannot deal with Gloria.”

He huffs out a laugh, the TV is playing low in the background, the volume almost completely mute.

“Could you imagine if she saw how we dealt with that patient in chairs?”

“I think we would have to get the crash cart for her.”

He laughs again, and you both settle into silence. You want to talk more, you want to ask him if he feels this too– the pull to each other, like the moon and the tides. But you don’t know how far to push it. You want to do something about this crush, you don’t want to shove it down and let it get worse, and then really have to go back to day shift. But, you’re unsure how Jack feels, if he thinks of you that way, or if he just thinks of you as a young lady, as he put it.

After a while, when you’re almost drifting into a soft sleep, Jack speaks, “Hey, when that teen came in, and needed to be intubated, you didn’t start until I told you to, why?”

While Jack didn’t bullshit patients, he also didn’t bullshit you. He didn’t believe in biting his tongue, in letting things slide, if he wanted to know something; he asked.

“I don’t know, it’s complicated, and weird.” You didn’t want to admit the truth to yourself, much less to your boss.

“What’s complicated? You’ve done a million intubations. What stopped you?”

“Sometimes I feel, um–” You sneak a look at him and he’s already looking at you, his hands locked on top of his head. You notice his biceps bulging through the t-shirt he’s wearing, and it makes your throat feel dry. You reach for the beer, and take a long sip, needing some liquid courage. “Sometimes, I feel like I can’t do something unless there’s someone guiding me through it. I think that’s why I like learning from you so much. You’re always right behind me, telling me what to do. I know that I know how to intubate, but I’m used to being— told by you, I guess.”

He nods, a signal for you to keep talking. You’re sitting criss-cross now, body facing him. You stare straight down at your hands, twisting your fingers together in anxiousness.

“I just like to be guided sometimes. Maybe that makes me a bad EM specialist.” You leave out the part where Jack is really the only person you want to tell you what to do. If anyone else had told you to intubate when it was obvious to, you would’ve shot daggers through them. You feel the sudden urge to defend yourself, “I would know what to do if you weren’t there, I really would.”

“I know, that’s why it shocked me that you didn’t start.” Jack says, sitting forward a bit, “It doesn’t make you a bad EM specialist. You’re only in the second year of your residency anyway, you shouldn’t be doing everything by yourself.”

You nod, trusting what he says. “Is that weird?”

“No,” he says, and you swear you see his jaw tick. “No, it’s normal to want to be guided.”

“You’re very good at it.” you blurt out. “At guiding– teaching. I always just want to follow your lead, and do what you tell me.” You laugh; shake your head. “Sorry, I think I’m being weird. Maybe it’s the full moon.”

“Not weird, kid. I’d tell you if it was.” Jack gets up from the recliner and comes and sits next to you. “Can I ask you something else?”

You nod, and he doesn’t talk. He lowers his head so you can see him out of the top of your eyelids. You realize he wants you to look at him, so you do. “It’s your turn to tell me if I’m being weird, okay?”

You don’t move a muscle. Like you might scare him away.

“Does that translate to anywhere else in your life?”

“How do you mean?” You think you know, but you want to be sure.

He tilts his head in a quick flick, like he thinks you’re being obtuse on purpose. “In your personal life, y’like to be told what to do? Like to be— guided?”

“I think.” your voice is as low as the television. “I’ve never really done it, though. Never done it, like that, I mean.”

“You’ve never done it?” He has a small smirk on his face.

You groan and dramatically fall back on the couch, hands covering your face. “Yes, Dr. Abbot, I have done it.” You say, muffled, from the palms pressing into your mouth.

You sit back up. “Just not in the way you’re asking.”

“Yeah, because the people you’ve been with don’t know jack shit. I clocked it the first time we worked together, during PittFest.”

“I am not that easy to read.” You say it like it’s a fact.

“I hate to break it to you, honey, but you are.” He places a hand on your thigh, his thumb rubbing deep circles, and you think you might combust right there, on his couch. “You followed me the whole night. Not a bad thing, it was nice knowing you were right there, ready to follow, to assist.”

His words are going in one ear and out the other, all you can focus on is his hand on you.

“Hey, you with me?” He inquires; reading you again. “I want to make sure this is okay, I can stop right now, and we can act like it never happened, okay?”

“Yes, it’s okay. More than okay.” You nod, locking eyes with him, so he knows.

“I want to treat you right. I want to turn your brain off, so you aren’t thinking about anything but me. Following my orders, doing exactly what I say. Do you want that?”

“Yes,”

That’s all it takes for Jack to kiss you.

He isn’t gentle with it. He kisses you hard, like he’s been waiting years to do it, despite only knowing you for a few months. You have trouble catching up at first. It’s true what you told him, that no one else seems to know how to treat you. It’s not that your other partners were necessarily bad, they just couldn’t read you like Jack can. No one else is able to.

He pushes you gently back onto the couch until you lay flat. His chest presses against yours and it’s comforting, like a weighted blanket. You try not to wriggle your hips too much, not wanting to jump too far ahead, but you can’t help yourself, they press up into his growing bulge and he groans into your mouth. He winds down on you quickly to meet you halfway, the lower halves of your bodies mold together. The friction it’s creating makes you think you could come just like this. It’s all so hot. There’s no other way to describe it.

Jack groans again, this time in dissatisfaction. His hand comes down fast between your bodies to press you back into the couch, his thumb digs into the spot of skin right next to your hip and you whine, the pressure sending a wave of arousal through your body.

“Not yet, honey.” His tone of voice is a lot kinder than the cruel hand pressing you down.

You feel like you’re in a club with the way your heart is thumping, you can’t help but count the beats of it, taking your own pulse into account. Jack moves away from your mouth to your neck, sloppily trailing kisses all the way down. You can’t believe that you were so close to sleep a few minutes ago, now you feel like you’re running a marathon.

He gets off of you, fully stands up. You’re out of breath, you try to make a noise of protest but nothing comes out, you stare at the ceiling for a second until he clears his throat.

“Are you sure–”

You jerk your head to look at him, “If you ask me if I want it again, I’m gonna scream.” Jack lets out a low laugh. “I’m just regaining my sanity.” you express.

“The whole point of this is you won’t have any sanity left. C’mon, let’s go to the bedroom.”

You stand and follow him back, you realize you’ve never seen his bedroom until now, and it’s the same as the rest of the apartment. Plain, minimalistic. He has black sheets with a white comforter, and his bed is made perfectly, probably a habit from serving.

You stand awkwardly in front of the bed, twisting your hands in front of you.

“Nervous?”

You hum in response, keeping your eyes on him.

“You know me, it’s the same as working. Just follow me, do what I tell you, yeah? Just be a good girl.”

The praise goes straight to your legs and you feel your knees wobble a bit.

“Take this off for me.” He tugs on your shirt, “And these too, while you’re at it.” He puts his pointer finger into the top of your pants and swipes in across your stomach, the digit edging on the top of your underwear. If you knew this was going to happen, you might’ve tried to wear better undergarments, but this felt better, in a way; more natural. You knew you didn’t have to play it up for Jack. It was nice that he didn’t need all the fuss, he just needed you.

Obviously, you do what he says, stripping the shirt and pants off. You take your bra off too, letting it fall onto his floor. He lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head at the sight of your chest. “So beautiful.” Jack says, mostly to himself.

He walks towards you, until his body is pushing you back onto the bed. You sit instead of lay down, eyes staring straight into Jack’s. Sometimes his eye contact intimidated you, but not today, you wanted to catch every slight movement, every small inclination of what to do. His eyes shoot up to the top of the bed and then back at you, and you move yourself up until your head rests on his pillows. You feel loose, like your body has water running through your veins instead of blood. You feel like your limbs have connected to Jack’s mind, ready to do whatever he asks. Your brain feels a bit fuzzy, and all you register is that he’s climbed on top of you again, his eyes staring holes into yours. His shirt is off now, but he keeps his pants on. The vein on his bicep is prominent and it makes your mouth water.

He places his hands on the sides of your head. His lips ghost over yours, but he pulls away when you reach up to catch them.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to have you like this. I see how you are with Shen instead of me, how cocky you are, how independent you are. But anytime we’re on a case together, I know you’ll follow my lead. It’s not just about guiding, huh? It’s about me.”

You swallow harshly, knowing he’s right. Knowing that you’re independent when he’s not the one in charge of you.

“It drives me fucking crazy, sweetheart. Knowing that you only get this docile for me.” One of his hands starts trailing down your body, tracing your curves before it flows to the middle of your stomach. He rests his palm right on top of where you need him most, pressing gently. Your brows furrow, and he smirks.

He pulls your underwear off with one hand, and you lift your hips to help him. Once they're off, he slips a finger through your folds, feeling the wetness. He doesn’t say anything, just nods his head, eyes still locked to yours.

“I’m gonna make you come so hard that there won’t be anything on your brain after, okay?”

“With your fingers?”

“Is that doubt I hear?”

“No!” You protest. “Sorry, just— usually people care about themselves.”

“I’m not like other people, baby.” He makes a ‘tick’ noise with his tongue. “Thought I made that clear.”

That’s the last thing you hear before he stuffs two fingers in you. His mouth falls open at the same time that yours does. You throw your head back in pleasure, and your hand flies up to grip his arm. Your body writhes below you, like you’re chasing his fingers, making sure they won't stop.

“There you go, just like that.” he says, low, into your ear. “Tell me what you like about this. About us.”

You moan, trying to push out the words through the noises that involuntarily leave your mouth. “I like that you know I want you to take control. I like that you’ll always go to the diner with me, or let me come over when I have a bad shift, even when I can tell you want to be alone.”

“Yeah? What else?”

“I like that you call me sweetheart. Even before this, it’s always made me–god– always made me mad when other people did it. But it’s not condescending from you. I like how you look out for me at work. You can tell when I need a break before I do. I like how your fingers feel inside of me. I like when you take control.”

You pant, the ramblings taking the air out of you. You can feel his hard cock pressing against your leg and it makes you feel even hotter. Your orgasm is creeping up on you, your stomach tightening into a coil before you know it.

Jack moves quickly, so that he’s sitting on his knees. You wonder briefly if it hurts him to sit like that, but the thought leaves your brain when he brings his other hand onto your clit.

“Jesus Christ, Oh—”

“Not him, all me.” Jack says, cockily. You huff out a laugh before it’s taken over by another moan.

“You gonna come for me, baby?”

“Yes, please Jack.”

“God, you sound so good moaning my name. You’re fucking perfect.”

He picks up the pace, and you can feel the pressure building up behind your clit, your all familiar tell that you’re about to finish.

“Please, I need to come, please.”

“Asking so nicely. Of course you can, Go ahead.”

You preen; zero in on the feeling of your orgasm and let it wash over you.

“There y’go. Yeah, just like that.” His words barely register in your head.

It takes you a while to come back down, your brain still a bit fuzzy when you do.

“Good?” Jack asks once you’ve regained your breathing.

“Good.” You answer.

He makes you go to the bathroom before you get too comfortable in bed.

When you lay back down, your head falls harshly on the pillows, your body bouncing the bed lightly. He moves up next to you so that his head is on the headboard. He’s stripped out of his pants now, just his boxers on. He took the prosthetic limb off too, so that he could be more comfortable. He opens his arm and you scoot over to lay your head on his chest. He kisses your forehead, in a soft way. In a way that tells you this will happen again, that it wasn’t a fluke.

“Another question.” He says, softly, just loud enough to stir you from the sleep that was trying to take over your body again.

“Mm?” you reply.

“How long have you felt this way?”

“I think I always have, but last night was the first time that it was really obvious to me. You?”

“Yeah, same, actually. It was always in the back of my head but, wasn’t sure how to make it real until today.”

“Must’ve been that full moon.” you say, groggily.

He pets your head and laughs, “Yeah, must’ve.”

#jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x reader #jack abbot smut #the pitt fanfiction #jack abbot #jack abbot fanfic #jack ⋆⁺₊❅. ㅤ

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