#but the problem is if you have the starting point of him as like. a straight talking straight shooter or whatever

[iydiamartinx]

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?”

[cuntycompost]

Genuine question, how could something like this be undone?

I mean obviously that level of *heavy* socialisation and internalising is pretty hard to do anything about, and I’m not going to spend all my spoons trying to “fix him” on the wrong guys but like..

Idk, I’m reminded of my grandfather(/Nana’s partner) a lot in conversations like these - he grew up in a really sexist “you have to be a strong man with no feelings”/“the only thing that matters is your work ethic” environment, but at his core is really sweet. As an adult he fell for my Nana, who is Very Much Empathy First and is essentially the matriarch of my extended family (on her/my Mum’s side).

Over the years I’ve watched him deal with those internalised ideas being challenged (ie: my Nana letting us live with them when we were older teens getting into work “because that’s what family does”, & him having to face that worldview after growing up in a place where that was *not* what family did)

He’s not exactly the same ‘kind of guy’ described here, he’s very loving and never took on the idea of viewing women as objects (only men, lol) - but my point I guess is that growing up with him has taught me that people can tackle these ideas, and changes can be made.

Idk. I spent a day once at this socialist men’s group (they were at an event I was at, but I’m unfortunately not able to attend their regular meetings) and they/we were talking about little ways to challenge men who were making sexist comments about women (bc challenging that with them, as men, can unfortunately mean they’re more likely to listen to you and has been proven by a few of us to lead to introspection and change from them)

But I wonder about these more wide-spanning worldviews,, what would be an effective way of challenging that with men without having to bring out a lot of words and ideas they’re not already aware of?

I guess some little things like “what, so if you met the coolest woman you’ve ever met, but they took a photo of their food, you wouldn’t want to get to know them?” and/or something like “why women with [descriptor] specifically?” to encourage them to think a bit more on it could be a start?

But then for the second one I feel like the response would be something like “cause they’re all selfish” or “[some other nebulous idea they don’t really understand, calling them feminists or leftists or something]” and idrk what the best response to that would be.

Idk, I hate seeing shit like this. My circle of friends is mostly queer and anarchist or socialist, but I’m a guy (trans FTM, but generally pass) and sometimes straight men talk to me (ie at work). I really want to use that position to try and help these guys challenge their worldview, but the problem is that they have so little words or understanding that it’s hard to know how to get shit through.

For lack of a better phrase - Men are Stupid

Does anyone have any advice or ideas on how someone in my position (or generally!) can get through to them?/how to talk about these things to people who lack prior understanding of how the patriarchy works etc.?

Obviously so many men are just fucked and genuinely evil, but the people I talk to are college aged(usually 17 or 18-early 20s), deciding on what their worldview will be going forward (and open to input from people around them), and often… unfortunately… getting a lot of disgusting new ideas from online gurus🤮

The longer I exist as a loudly proudly gay man the more I think that cishet men aren't actually attracted to women.

[heartyluv]

I LOVE how you write the lads guys!!! May I please request taking advantage (in a kind way, of course) of zayne’s medical expertise and asking him silly medical questions? Just like really random stuff! lounging around with him at home or being out and about while asking those questions would be so funny and I’m sure he would kind of like it lol

Note: This idea is too cute, I love it. Thank you so much, luvly. I felt like this works best as headcanons, so I hope that’s okay. 😚 Enjoy!

Creds to @/strangergraphics for the dividers!

Warning: Just a brief explicit headacanon after you and Zayne have been intimate.

Zayne/Reader

✴︎ Dating a doctor meant that you officially had a walking medical encyclopedia for a boyfriend and you had no shame in utilizing his knowledge. Thankfully for you, Zayne was always happy to deliver whenever you asked him all kinds of questions.

✴︎ I feel like when you start getting comfortable enough to ask him, it’s really simple things. Like it’s questions about your personal health at first. You’ve definitely asked him something like; “Babe, how do I make my headaches go away faster?” and “What do you think are the best vitamins I should take so I don’t have to keep taking gross ones that aren’t doing anything?”

✴︎ Not only does Zayne answer your questions, but he gives you some deeper insight so that you have your own knowledge about things. And you like learning from him—especially because of the way he looks at you as you stay hooked onto his every word.

✴︎ He loves the little text messages you send him. You ask him something almost everyday, sometimes even attaching a photo for reference LOL. I picture you at the supermarket, stumbling upon these new health beverages that you want to try out. But if your Dr. Zayne says that they’re simply drinks full of more sugar than actual benefits, you’ll have zero problem putting them back on the shelf. “Do any of these actually work for gut health? I sent you the nutrition label. What do you think?”

✴︎ I believe he always takes your questions seriously, but you have moments where you ask him something so ridiculous that he can’t help but laugh. “Zayne, babe… I ate like three apples and a pomegranate, and now my mouth feels weird. Am I dying?” Don’t catch him on a day where he’s feeling goofy either, because he might scare you a little bit.

✴︎ “You may have oral allergy syndrome, my love.” Just imagine his tone being dead serious and the silence that follows. And when you start losing it over the phone, he tries to calm you down, but he’s just smiling so hard at your theatrics. When you search it up and you start worrying if you’ll ever be able to eat another mango again in your life, he tries to suppress his laughter, all while attempting to soothe you at the same time.

✴︎ You’ll be walking around while you guys are on a date and will randomly ask him how many calories does he think you’ve burned, just to see how accurate he is compared to your walking app that tracks all of that for you. Not only does he get incredibly close, he’s also able to do the same with the amount of steps you’ve actually taken.

✴︎ “Quick, we’ve been walking thirty minutes, normal paced. How many calories? Go!”

✴︎ Just wait till you start watching one of those medical shows. You never watch an episode without him because you have to know how accurate the writing is. He’s gotten through three seasons with you and sometimes, he’d answer questions before you even asked because he just knows you so well. And you legitimately learn so much that even you start pointing out unrealistic things yourself.

✴︎ “That doesn’t even make sense. He was hit in a major artery, wasn’t he Zayne? He shouldn’t even be able to argue with a doctor right now.” He’s so proud of you, by the way. How information sticks with you. And honestly? He finds it sexy—particularly knowing that he’s the reason why you know the things that you do.

✴︎ Times when you try to eat healthier, you always ask him how many calories something will be if you take something out or off. Like you’d still eat junk food or foods that aren’t exactly healthy, but you wonder what the difference will be if you add a vegetable. LOLLL.

✴︎ “Zayne, if I put only mushrooms on the pizza, is that better?”

“Honey, I think it’s best to just discard the pizza entirely in order to properly fulfill the goal you intended to reach.”

“But Zayne…It’s Friday and it’s pizza.”

✴︎ Some more questions off the top of my head from you would be; “If I eat more carrots than usual, will the decrease my chances of having to wear those thick bifocals when we’re old?

“If I’m on top more often when we have sex, will that tone my thighs out more?”

“How is it possible to drink a gallon of water a day? There’s just not enough time to drink all that liquid.”

✴︎ Omg, you totally believe that ginger is like the cure all and you even make him eat a raw slice of it a day LOLLLL. He admits that it has its benefits, but when he tries to tell you that you have to do more than just eat ginger, you listen, but you’re still so insistent about it.

✴︎ “Despite the benefits and your complete belief in the sacred ginger, love, please make sure you continue to take your daily supplements. Add to your regimen so that you improve your health—don’t take from it believing that something is an optimal replacement.”

✴︎ This one is a little explicit. But, I imagine you and him finish having sex, he’s on top of you, both of you already came and feel good. And even when you’re breathless, even with the glorious man above you, you can’t help it when you ask: “Do you think we’ve met our quota on physical activity for the next few days?”

✴︎ Zayne can’t help but laugh, leaning down to kiss your neck. But he’s also filthy enough to move his hips just a little, hinting that he in fact could go again and says, “I think it’s best to try again… One more time, just to be safe. I’m sure the quota will be more than met once I’m finished with you.”

✴︎ Of course you’re going to let him fuck your brains out again. Why wouldn’t you let Dr. Zayne take care of you? What kind of patient would you be if you didn’t?

[ghostlycamil4]

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝑇𝑒𝑛 𝑀𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑠, 𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝐶𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑡, 𝑁𝑜 𝐸𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑝𝑒

Can ten minutes in a dark closet change everything between two people who pretend they don’t care?

The game of spin the bottle had started out as a simple joke. A dumb way —according to Bakugo— to waste time. But when the bottle spun and landed on him… and then on you, his scowl deepened more than usual.

"Ten minutes!" Mina shouted, giving you a gentle nudge toward him, her playful gaze and cheeky wink saying it all. "Have fun," she whispered near your ear before closing the closet door, leaving the two of you locked in the dark, broken only by a faint beam of light slipping through a crack.

The walls seemed to shrink. Bakugo stood with his arms crossed, leaning against a corner with his eyes fixed on some invisible point on the floor, like just looking at you might make him explode—literally.

You hadn’t said a word. Neither had he.

But then, from the corner of his eye, he glanced at you. Just a flicker. And there you were, cheeks flushed, biting your lower lip like you were trying to hold back every word you wanted to say.

"What’s your problem?" he snapped, though his voice sounded a bit strained. "It’s not like I wanna touch you."

His words hit like cold water. Your eyes widened slightly, and your already blushing expression hardened in an attempt to hide the sting in your chest.

"I never said I want you to touch me," you shot back, though your voice trembled slightly, betraying your indifferent facade.

He turned to face you for the first time since you were locked in. His red eyes were glowing with something more than irritation. Annoyance? Confusion? Want? His whole stance shifted—from withdrawn to slightly alert, like he suddenly needed to make himself seen.

"Oh yeah? So you wanted the bottle to land on someone else, huh?" His tone sharpened, but behind every word there was something tightly held back. The muscles in his jaw tensed.

He stepped forward. Each move made the old wooden floor creak. His shadow fell over you, forcing you to look up.

"It’s none of your business, Bakugo," you murmured, unable to hold his gaze.

"Who then? Deku? Shoto?"

A plea disguised as rage. A silent “tell me it’s not them” hidden under his arrogance.

"Are you jealous?" you asked suddenly, your voice shaking slightly, but this time from the courage it took to confront him with the truth.

He didn’t answer right away. He blinked once, as if your words had slammed into his chest.

"Tch… idiot," he muttered, turning his face to the side.

You swallowed hard. The knot in your throat grew with every second. The tension was suffocating, like the air was about to catch fire.

You looked at Bakugo. He was still standing there, stiff, gaze stuck to the floor, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. He’d said so much… and so little.

"This is completely messed up…" you whispered, mostly to yourself.

Maybe you’d made a mistake. Maybe it was stupid to rig the bottle. Maybe he’d never looked at you the way you looked at him.

A shaky sigh slipped from your lips. Anxiety pushed you toward the only possible exit. You crossed the few steps to the door.

But you didn’t open it.

A firm hand grabbed your arm—tight, but not enough to hurt.

He spun you around, forcing you to face him.

Bakugo.

"What do you think you’re doing?" he growled, his voice rough, low. Every word dripping with something more than just anger.

Your back hit the closet wall.

"What are you doing?" you shot back, matching his tone, though the tremble in your voice gave you away.

"Why don’t you just shut up?" he said—but not in rage. This time, his voice was low… almost a whisper.

And before you could process it, he kissed you.

Your eyes flew open at first.

The first touch froze you. But then, when his hand slid slowly to your cheek, when his thumb brushed your skin like he wanted to memorize it… you closed them.

That kiss was everything he’d been denying. Every time he looked at you and swallowed his pride. Every night he thought about you and pretended he didn’t. It was wild. It was direct.

His hand on your waist slid lower, stopped at your hip, gripped hard. Pulled you closer like just touching wasn’t enough anymore. His other hand slipped under your skirt, just a bit, the tips of his fingers brushing your skin slowly… on purpose. It burned. It made you arch into him.

You let out a choked breath when his lips left yours just to bite your bottom lip before letting go. He looked at you with that expression only he could have—brows furrowed, eyes dark, lips parted… and hungry.

Then one of his hands trailed up your thigh and pulled one of your legs around his waist, like having you that close still wasn’t enough. He held you tight, like he knew exactly how and where to touch you to make you lose it.

Your hips reacted on instinct. A small shift, just a brush—and he growled against your mouth, making you tremble.

"Fuck…" he whispered, losing it for a second.

His mouth moved to your neck, open kisses, wet, fast, desperate. You felt him trace your skin, lick, bite, taste.

"Bakugo…" you breathed, barely a whisper.

"Say it again," he demanded, lips still on your collarbone.

"Bakugo…"

This time he bit down harder.

And just when he leaned in to kiss you again—

Knock, knock!

"Time’s up!" Mina’s voice. Cheerful, clueless, teasing.

You both froze.

Your breathing was a mess. Your lips red, swollen. His hand still on your thigh, the other on your waist. Your whole body shaking.

Bakugo looked at you. You looked back.

And neither of you said a word.

• Masterlist

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[chamisulgrape]

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.

[wingfleur]

# — dick grayson as a desperate ex.

man, it’s my first time posting on tumblr in years, y’all... make some noise! but seriously, i hope y’all enjoy. more notes at the end. :) | wc: 1.5k words.

cw: suggestive content under the cut mdni (18+), gn!reader, implied childhood-friends-to-lovers-to-exes-to-fwb(?) energy here, reader is holding a mean ass grudge, i kinda leaned into fuckboy!dick grayson for this so it's a little toxic? (its rlly not that bad though)

thinking about dick grayson as a desperate ex. 

i find this scenario so incredibly amusing because, god, he would do nothing but push your buttons. he knows juuust what makes you tick, even if you two weren’t together for all that long. seriously– dick’s that one ex that you cannot get away from, and trust me, it’s not for lack of trying!

a few days after you two break up, you follow standard protocol and block him on everything. his socials, his number— even his email, in case richard.grayson@hotmail.com wants to get any bright ideas— but your mission still proves to be difficult. 

you find it quite hard to ice him out completely.

much to your chagrin, all you two share is mutual friends, and dick likes to act like he’ll die if he leaves you alone, so you never get to know peace at any group function. each time, you find yourself split between two urges: 1) the urge to enjoy yourself and cause no problems at all, or 2) the urge to absolutely kill the vibe and brutally rip out your ex-boyfriend’s jugular. at this point, you’re convinced it’s a humiliation ritual: whenever you and your friends hang out, you make an effort to pointedly ignore him, and you wish he’d at least act like your nonchalance deters him, but because he knows that’s what you want, he doesn’t. instead, he sports this stupid, boyish grin while hovering around you like a fly, boldly occupying your space because he knows you won’t go in for the kill. 

for your sake, and the sakes of those around you, you try to focus on your friends, but dick is on a mission to be distracting. unfortunately, he’s incredibly capable of whatever he puts his mind to; he waits until you start to get antsy, searching for the right moment to take a second to yourself and ease your nerves. the escape route you choose is the kitchen, and you quietly excuse yourself to go and get some water. unbeknownst to you, though, the moment you begin to move is the moment dick springs into action, trailing quietly behind you until the opportunity to cage you in against the counter presents itself. in actuality, all he wants to do is whisper in your ear– to whisper that if he stops bothering you like you’ve asked, you’d last only a few days before you start to miss him. 

but before you can say anything, dick’s presence is gone before you can process that it was even there, and the cup he grabbed while reaching over you sits delicately next to where you’re leaning against your palms. the worst part is that, objectively, he’s right: you would start to miss him, because despite the fact that he was a pretty shit boyfriend, and you want nothing more than to wring his neck, you and him have history and were thick as thieves first. 

you’ve been in the picture long enough to see most of his past relationships go up in flames, and weirdly enough, dick grayson is a charming enough guy to end even his most tumultuous relationships on decently amicable terms. it’s why when you started looking at dick like, “i want to be more than friends, if that’s okay,” and dick started looking at you back like, “we can give it a try, if that’s what you want,” you stupidly thought that you would be the exception to this rule and you two could make it out of this unscatched. you thought that because of your history, you’d be okay with the secrets, and the no-shows, and the sneaking around that seems to have only gotten worse by the time you two called it quits. you thought that even if it didn’t work, you two would make it out and still be friends on the other side.

but now, as you pull open the fridge and grab the pitcher to pour yourself a glass of water, you find yourself thinking, of course it didn’t work. the moment the two of you found yourselves alone, dick unable to ignore the way your his t-shirt slips off your shoulders, and you, the warmth of his body pressing into your side, it was over. 

you were doomed to be like the rest, you realize, naive enough to think that this time, things would be different. you bitterly down your glass of water as if it would dull the sour taste in your mouth, and for good measure, you pour yourself one more to take with you for the road. as you finally step back into the living room to rejoin your friends, meeting all their beaming faces with a smile while you pointedly ignore dick’s burning gaze, you tell yourself that all you need to do is make it through the night. then, you can put this nightmare of a scenario behind you and have a good night’s rest at home.

fortunately, you make it back home in one piece, but the unfortunate part is that you aren’t back home alone. you aren’t sure when the hell this happened– was it when he challenged you to a game of mario kart, leaning into your side to sabotage you like he did when you were friends? or was it when the drinking games came out and you took enough shots to allow yourself to freely laugh at his jokes? whenever it was, you have no time to figure it out because five seconds after your door clicks shut, dick is on you, greedy hands grabbing at your waist and his tongue slipping into your mouth.

“thought you hated me,” dick sighs against your lips, hands shamelessly sliding down your back to take two fistfuls of your ass. you gasp into his mouth and tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging sharply enough to make his scalp burn, which causes a low groan to reverberate in his throat.

god, you forgot this freak’s a fucking masochist. 

“i do hate you,” you spit back, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip as if meant to punctuate your reply. you can feel dick grin– a fact you want to make fun of him for, because despite his high and mighty act, he just wants to get bitched in bed– and slides his hands further down to grab at the back of your thighs to pick you up as if you weigh nothing at all. 

“clearly not enough to keep you from fucking me, though." 

dick’s voice is irritatingly sing-songy, holding eye contact as he runs his tongue over his lip. there’s a metallic tang to the taste– a result of you biting down hard enough to break skin and a series of cuts in the midst of healing you’ve disturbed on his lips– but dick finds that he quite likes how this feels– likes you, to be exact. dick grayson likes you, even when you act like you don’t like him, because he knows you better than you’d like to admit, and he knows your breakup isn’t enough to keep you two apart.

“it’s because i hate you that i’m fucking you,” you admit, bestowing upon dick a surprising shred of honesty as he walks you two down the hall. he knows your floor plan like the back of his hand because he’s spent more nights here than he can count, and that fact tugs at something inside of you that you’re currently too scared to identify. luckily, you’re quickly distracted— when dick gets to your room, he wastes no time in dropping you onto the bed, letting you settle on your back as he busies himself with taking off his shirt.

“i’m fucking you because i can’t get your stupid face out of my head, or get over how fucking good it feels when you touch me.” your eyes follow the trajectory of his shirt as he tosses it onto the floor, calloused hands reaching down to grab at the fat of your thighs. he unceremoniously tugs you down toward him. “this,” you hiss, gesturing quickly between the two of you, “is purely selfish. don’t get any ideas, grayson.”

dick snorts at your visible irritation and rakes his nails across your skin, watching as an involuntarily shiver wracks your body in reply. “mhm,” he hums, “whatever you say,” and his hair falls handsomely in his face as he busies himself with your jeans. one hand keeps your thigh anchored to one of his hips, and the other skillfully pops open your button, the zipper following soon after. “i believe you. love that my baby’s finally being honest, actually.”

you’re bristling with irritation long before those patronizing words come out of his mouth, but when dick finally looks up at you, he smiles so brightly that it’s almost blinding. you want it to make you sick, how charming and utterly him that grin of his is, but it’s precisely because of those facts that it’s inherently difficult to get mad at. 

“but opinions change all the time.” dick lifts your hips off the bed, pulling your jeans down your legs. “so i’ll be sure to ask again after i fuck you.” 

“you know,” he adds, a sly grin settling on his lips, “for good measure.”

a/n: i’ve had this blog set up for a week or so now, and i’ve been working on a longer project i wanted to use to launch it. alas, i simply couldn’t take the wait anymore (i’ve been getting drabble and thirst ideas nonstop and they’re beginning to pile up!!!) and had to do it now! but honestly, i had my mind made up about launching this blog and saying "fuck it" days ago, but i needed to wait until i got a dick grayson-shaped drabble one-shot idea since most of my drafts may or may not be about jason todd…

thanks for reading this far! your time is appreciated. <3

# — navigation

[bullet-prooflove]

His Fucked Up Wang: John Shen x Reader (feat: Jack Abbot)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @miraclesabound @cannonindeez @fadeinsol @nommingonfood

Summary: John's forced to treat your ex when he's rolled into the ED.

Companion piece to:

Ashes - You take revenge on the first man your parents sold you to.

The Choice - In the wake of his brother’s suicide John goes against his parents’ wishes and makes a choice about his residency.

You Should See Me In A Crown - A chance encounter sparks the beginning of something special for John.

Dick Pics - You and John discuss your dating life in the ambulance bay during a rare shift break.

Brunch - John refuses to give up when you miss brunch with him.

Silly Little Boys (NSFW) - John's not like the other men you've been with.

In The Summer - You discover John's secret.

Tiger, Tiger - John reveals the truth between his engagement and his history.

Jack - John's mother opens up old wounds by giving John a copy of your DCFS file.

Bare (NSFW) - John and you commit to each other in a special way.

The Shirt - Jack realises that you're wearing a boyfriend shirt.

Tradition - Mrs Shen makes a decision regarding the wedding.

Daywalker - You and John discuss something that could cause a big change in your relationship.

The Wedding Gift - John’s dad brings out the worst in him.

Pandora’s Box - John realises he’s opened up Pandora’s Box when his brother pays a visit.

Fucked Up - You take care of John when he starts to have doubts.

A Few Weeks More (NSFW) - You and John find a moment to reconnect amidst the busyness of your lives.

John hates his patient.

It’s not a dislike or an annoyance, it’s a strong visceral feeling that he has deep down in his bones, a residual effect from an event that occurred six months ago.

“I can’t deal with this motherfucker. I’m not supposed to be within 100 feet of him.” Jack huffs when he saw the name on the patient chart he’d been given. He shoves the tablet into John’s hands and John sighs because he doesn’t want to deal with the asshole either.

“So you’re gonna make me handle Pharma Bro?” John mutters, casting a glare at the man being wheeled in on the gurney, a bandage wrapped around his head. He’s chatting up a storm as you push it down the corridor, trying your best to feign interest because you have such a kind soul.

“Attending.” Jack says pointing at his chest before jabbing his finger at John. “Resident.”

The message is clear. I’m the boss, deal with it.

The thing is John doesn’t blame Jack for slashing this guy’s tires. That man is fiercely protective of you and the fact Pharma Bro tried to fuck around on you with one of your friends, especially after everything you’ve been through. It’s unforgivable in his eyes.

“You know I’m gonna have to look at his wang right? Make sure it’s not neurosyphilis that caused the fall.”

It’s definitely neurosyphilis that caused that fall. They all saw the pictures you and Ivy put on that board on the breakroom at the time, the legions on his cock. They all know he has syphilis, that an asshole like that probably didn’t get it treated.

The left side of Jack’s mouth tips up into a knowing smirk. “Sounds like a you problem.”

“Sounds like you enjoy torturing your future son in law.” John shoots back.

Jack’s head snaps up and it’s John’s turn to smirk.

“Not yet Doctor Abbot.” John informs him, turning his attention back to the chart. “But there’s going to be a point when I ask and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t slash my tires when the time comes.”

“That’s fair.” Jack says tilting his head from side to side as if weighing up the pros and cons of having John as a son in law. “Just don’t fuck it up and get her something gaudy. She likes simple things, and no flash mobs.” - Jack shudders - “She’d fucking hate that.”

“I’d fucking hate that.” John tells him, snatching up a fresh pair of latex gloves and pulling them on. “Wish me luck, because it’s going to require every single ounce of patience not to murder this douche.”

“Good luck with his fucked up wang.” Jack calls after him and John walks away shooting him the middle finger over his shoulder.

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[axolotl-in-highheels]

Guess who's baaaack

Yes, it is I, and i bring you more of my horribly selfindulgent shit.

◇

Little A/N:

I think this fandom has a huge problem with making 'readers' usually female, straight up victims and it is jarring to see the 141 operators sometimes treating the 'reader' as some pretty object.

So! I am on a mission to fix that with making the 'reader' have a proper backbone (titanium baby!)

And with that i bring you...

◇

Task Force 141 x uninterested!Reader

Premise: the 141 boys are head-over-heels for you and are letting it out in some not-cool ways and you are having none of it!

DW/Tw: possesive behavior

Capt. Jonathan Price

He is actually the calmest out of all of them, still, he has his issues

Price gets overprotective over you, normal at first. Checking in with you after missions and being a shoulder to cry on if the nightmares catch up to you

However...after a while, things spiral. He starts putting you into less and less direct combat situations, from taking the sniper perch to being assinged purely recon and oversight

And worst of all, he is your commanding officer, so you have no real room for backtalk

Even worse, he gets worse privately too. He is around you almost all of the time, scaring off other male soldiers and dragging you into his office for benine reasons

At one point, you break. Combat, once your save-haven, now a distant memory. No more adrenalin spikes while under fire, just boring drone footage and comm oversight.

So, one night, you pack your shit and leave the SAS base. Erasing your tracks through shady contracts and grey areas, you go AWOL.

Price is spiraling now, urging higher-ups to find you, to bring you back where he can see you, where he can control you.

Now, imagine his utter horror when, one day, you emerge on a battlefield, gun in hand, and with a wolf-patch on your vest. Your new life, at KorTac.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Oh he was smitten with you, prettiest bird on base, always smiling at him like he hung the moon in the sky.

Everytime you talked to him this little voice in his head grew louder and louder. He wanted you to be his and how could you resist him? His smile, his personality, hell his everything.

In his eyes you were meant for him. So he started talking to you, a lot. Sure it was nice at first, he gave you tips in the shooting range or sat with you in the mess hall when you were alone.

Yet, you never tried to get closer than 'just friends' with him, you made that clear on multiple occasions afterall. But Gaz was determent, if you didn't want him now he was obviously not trying hard enough

So he doubled down, soon he was glued to your side like gum. Never giving you room to breathe. Still, you held firm, you two are friends nothing more, nothing less.

Seeing his attempts fail over and over, Kyle made a decision, he was gonna make you jealous. Setting his plan in motion, he met up with a lot of girls, civillians mosty, but sometimes a cute new nurse or two.

He was going strong by all means, telling himself it was a matter of time before you came crawling to him, wanting him in your bed.

However, that fell apart like a jenga-tower the day he saw you limping out of Lieutenant Riley's room, covered in hickeys and wearing his shirt, while flashing him a coy smile. Two could play that game, and you won.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Oh soap, poor little soap. He actually knew you, pretty well infact. The two of you were good friends, having met back in basics at the age of 19.

He only saw you occasionally when he was on a brief shore-leave between missions, meeting up with you and letting you ramble about your job in the 'regular' british army

If he was being honest with himself, he didn't like seeing you in such a rough field of work, sure, you were nowhere near his level of life-threatning but still.

Rarely, he voiced his opinion that you should leave the army and become a civillian again, working at a coffeéshop or a bookstore, something soft.

He only had good intentiones but his constant rebuttles and fairytale-like imaginations for your life got annoying quick. Paired with his sour demeanor everyrime you mentioned a new person you were talking to.

After a while of his incessant nagging at your occupation and not-so-suble hints that he's interested in you, you made a decision, one you should have made a long time ago.

You went to the SAS training, 6 months of gruelling physical activity, and torture training combined with little sleep. But you persisted, and were in the 10% success rate. You made it, an SAS soldier.

And by all means you were a natural, leadership came very easy to you and after a few short years of keeping johnny in the dark, you walked into the briefing-room with the rank Captain, ready for action.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon, Simon, Simon. Where do i begin. You were the newest face in the 141, being brought in as a Sergeant to work alongside them.

He didn't think too much of you at first, you did your job and that was all that mattered to him. Sure, you got along well with Soap and Gaz quicky becoming a part of the team.

Over time, he noticed you trying to get closer to him. Offering to train with him or making him a cup of Earl grey in the mornings.

Ghost really tried to not let you invade his thoughts, he was your CO and fraternization is a real danger in his profession but alas it didn't work and he fell for you, hard.

At first he went along with you, training with you and joking around sometimes.

But it quicky spiraled, after some time you came into his office just to work with him or came into his room just to talk if you had a nightmare. Slowly your belongings mixed into one another. You stole his oversized clothing or a pencil, he let you of course, he'd give you his heart if you asked.

But he bever made a move, always pulling back at the last second. When it got too personal he'd shut you out for days on end until you came knocking at his door again.

Yet, things like this never last. So one day, when he was avoiding you again, you had enough. One last time you dropped by his room, when the door finally swung open, you dropped all his stuff into his arms and left. No goodbyes or second chances, Simon, in all his avoidend behavior, blew his chance.

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So, that was it, i'm not too pround of it but eh.

Anyways if you liked it lmk or you can vent what pisses you off about some CoD fanfic tropes i'd love to hear it.

If you want to request something in a similar direction go ahead i'd love to write it!

Thank you and stay tuned

[lizardsfromspace]

Bluesky scolds are on a whole other level. Advanced tier scolds. If you're curious why so many people have locked replies there when most of the traditional troll-y groups haven't left Twitter a large part of it is its ridiculous subculture of scolds. There are people on there who, like, get angry if they see non-political content. Like they'll see anything not related to politics, and they'll lecture you on how you must not be aware of current events and don't care. A woman (oddly enough it seems to be primarily women being singled out? Who could say why!) once posted a photo of her dog on a cold day and got lectured about how "there's worse things in the world than the weather, you should go read the news" until the guy saw that she had posted enough political content for him to relent (since he didn't know her & hadn't read her feed, he just starts lecturing anyone he sees on his dash posting non-political content). She'd earned the right to post about her dog

It's wild that none of these people have considered for even one moment the many scenarios that would lead to someone doing things irl and *not* posting about them online, since clearly, you need to post online so strangers can judge if you've earned the right to post a photo of your dog (but don't get greedy now). I'd say they haven't considered burnout, but they have, and clearly believe you're morally obligated to give yourself burnout in order to, I don't know, get points for your suffering from the activism gods and go to activist heaven. It would seem, from my knowledge of this type of guy irl, that demanding people do nothing but Consider The Problems 24/7 leads far more frequently to people scrolling on their phone 24/7 and not so much doing anything, but you know. Could be wrong

[firelilyfox]

In your skin

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: After a mission the two of you have to share a room & at first Bucky gets really mad about it but ... he means well.

Words: 2,3k

Warnings: mention of trauma, weapons, sharing a bed, fluff, heart to heart talk, real sad Bucky

Note: english isn't my mother tongue so sorry in advance :)

____________________________________

It got late real fast after the successful mission in Nairobi. 

The African heat gave way to the cool night, making it way more pleasant to find some sleep soon. Part of the Thunderbolts found shelter in a luxury hotel in the middle of the lively city, but there were almost fully booked so the only two rooms left had to be evenly shared. Yelena, Alexei, Bucky and me. 

„I will not let my daughter sleep in a room with another man“, Alexei barked. „No offense Winter Soldier, I have deeply respect for you. But my daughter will be protected from you manly charme by myself.“ His strong russian accent marking the importance of his protectiveness about Yelena. 

„Alexei I’m a grown woman and can protect myself from stupid men“ Yelena says unimpressed. The four of us were standing in the empty hallway, on each side a closed door and fitting keycards in my hands. I look at them and then up at Bucky. He was easily two heads taller than me with a strong disapproval look on his face, but he kept quiet. He was always the quiet one of the group (besides one or two snarky comments from time to time). „You can sleep with him then if you want“, Yelena adds. 

„Don’t be ridiculous. I will not let you out of my sight with this nasty wound. You are my daughter and I will protect-…“ but Alexei couldn’t finish the sentence because Yelena shut his mouth with her own hand. 

„Got it old man. So its the two of us and the two of you then.“ She pointed at me and at Bucky afterwards. I opened my mouth for approval but got interrupted immediately. 

„No fucking way“, Bucky grumbles.  

Okay. Ouch. That was unnecessary and a bit rude. 

Even the farther-daughter duo frowned in confusion. It was true that Bucky and had a …complicated way of acting around each other for the last couple of months. At first I thought we would be good co-workers. He always kept an eye out for me when I started to train with the Thunderbolts because I didn’t knew my way around and had a tendency to stumble into very unfortunate situations. For example that one time in Norway … ugh I rather not think about that. Nonetheless with time passing by he had become more like … a friend I think. Bucky was always there if I needed him - but never too close. Even a little part of me, that I desperately try to suffocate, wants him to be just … closer sometimes. 

„Do I get to tell my opinion in this?“ I ask a bit annoyed by his sudden rudeness. „I have no problem to stay with you in a room.“ He shoots me a deadly look but that doesn’t scare me off. Not the tiniest bit. No clue what his problem his, but I won’t let him push me away like that. If he has something to say, then he can tell me whilst sharing a god damn room. 

„Great! Its settled then. You two get to - ...“ 

„This isn’t an option“, Bucky interrupts Alexei again and this time he almost exploded. His voice had a much deeper and darker ring to it now. But it didn’t made me flinch. It made me mad. 

„Why does everybody interrupts Alexei all the ti-…“ 

„Well I don’t care. Here.“ I handed Yelena and her father one keycard and kept the other one for Bucky and myself. „I’m done with this conversation. Get in here.“ I tell him and opened the door with a soft clicking sound. 

„Have a pleasant night“, Yelena chuckles and disappeared with Alexei in the room across the hallway. Bucky stands still as a stone without any muscle moving. My rage was overflood by hurt. Was it really that awful to share a room with me?  

„I have no idea why its such a problem for you to stay in a room with me. If it’s because I am a woman then I can assure you it’s more than common in this century for a man and a woman to …“ 

„It’s not because of that. I shared a room with a woman before.“ He says and stepped around me into the hotel room. Paying close attention to our arms not touching by accident. 

I closed the door behind me. „Well good for you I guess.“ A little stab of jealousy hit me. „But if it aint that then why -…“ 

„We should get some sleep.“ And just like that there was another sentence that won’t be finished this evening. Great fucking fun. 

We got changed into our nightgowns and by that i mean that Bucky was still wearing his black shirt and boxer. While i got rid of almost every piece of clothing. In my underwear and a simple tanktop I sat down on the bed beside him. His metal arm flexing a few times he looked lost in thoughts. 

„How does it feel?“ I ask before I could stop myself. 

He frowns. „What do you mean?“ 

„I mean do you really feel everything? Like heat when you burn yourself while cooking or the fabric of a blanket?“ No clue why I was bubbling with stupid questions like that out of the blue. Might be the sight of him in boxers that fried my brain a little bit. I’m thankful he isn’t a mindreader. 

A soft smile lays down on his lips. The first since we entered this room. „Yeah. In Wakanda they have some very advanced techniques and great minds who work on stuff like that. I have not the slightest idea how this works.“ He holds his metal hand with the palm up and looks at me. „But it works.“ 

Without any thoughts I lay my hand in his. I expected the metal to be cold and hard. But somehow it felt warm and … real. Like it is more than just a piece of dead materiel. I moved my fingers along the palm and up to his wrist. It was formed exactly like his other arm. Strong and even the muscles were mirrored to the tiniest detail. Something comes over me and out of pure curiosity my other hand finds his real arm to compare the two of them. 

For a moment Bucky stayed completely still. He was not moving at all and I doubt that he was even breathing normal anymore. „Does it feel the same?“ 

He cleared his throat. „No.“ 

„What’s the difference?“ I look up and almost drown in his blue eyes. His face must’ve come closer. Or did I move in his direction? I don’t recall. All I know is that his nose was only inches away from mine, wich means that his lips were… 

„You should get some sleep. Now.“ Bucky rumbles with a husky voice. Within a second he stood up from the bed and moved to the other side of the room. 

There it was. The hurt from before hits me like a truck. 

„You really find me that repulsive?“ 

He opened his mouth. Stopped. Closed it and opened it again. All without saying a single word. Understood. „Will you come back?“ I ask instead. 

He has one hand on the doorknob. „Yes. When you are asleep.“ 

And so I did. I cried myself into a dreamless sleep. Drowning in my own self-pity because the guy I like would rather run away in the middle of the night, than share a bed with me. 

A bright crack tore me out of my slumber and I was wide awake in the matter of seconds. But not because of the thunderstorm outside the window. My fingers were curled around something cold and hard. The silhouette of Bucky was calmly sleeping beside me. My senses knew the feeling of this heavy metal and it wasn’t the arm I felt earlier tonight. 

It was a gun. 

A fucking gun in my hand. 

What? 

„Bucky?“, I whisper. „Bucky wake up!“ My voice pitched high, wich made him wake up instantly. 

„What is it? What happened?“ He asks breathlessly, eyes wide in shock, head snapping from side to side to make out any danger. But the only thing what would fall in that category appeared magically in my hand while I was asleep. 

I hold the gun up and waved it slightly. „Hello? Why do i have your gun in my hand?“ 

„Why are you so certain it’s mine, doll?“ His eyes narrow. I try to pull myself together because I didn’t expect him to call me by his pet name for me. He only used it a couple of times before and only when we were alone. 

„Oh please Bucky! I know your guns by heart. So why is it in this god damn bed?“ I shriek. 

He broke the eye contact and shuffled himself into a sitting position. The thin blanket that we both shared shifted down to his lap. Bucky leaned his back against the headboard and let out a deep sigh. „Just in case.“ 

„I beg you pardon?“ 

„Just in case you need it.“ He still has his eyes closed but I could hear in his voice that he wasn’t telling the whole truth. 

„James Buchanan Barnes you better cut that shitshow and tell me why you put that thing in my hand“, I say as I sit up, not caring that the blanket completely vanished from my body. 

Bucky turned to finally look at me. His expression were serious at first, but then his eyes dart down to my naked legs and at the waistband of my top that slipped up a bit, showing a small gap of my hips and stomach. I could swear to see his throat move as if he had to swallow … hard. And his face transformed from serious to something much more intense. Was it longing or am I now completely loosing my mind? 

„You are the only person I allow to call me like that“, he says with a tight voice. 

„Cut the crap. Now.“ 

Bucky sighs again. „Fuck. Okay fine. The gun is for emergency. In case you have to take me out.“ 

My heart stops beating for a painfully moment. With widened eyes I look at him. He sits there looking so broken, so serious about what he just confessed to me. His sad sad blue eyes studying me, waiting for a response. I know what his reasons are. He has terrible nightmares. Bad ones from his past and even darker ones made from his guilt. 

„The fuck I will.“ With two quick moves I dissemble the gun in its individual parts. Bucky watches me with disbelieve in his eyes. „I refuse to let you think I would ever do that.“ 

„Maybe you will not have a choice when it becomes bad!“ He tries to grab the metal pieces but I throw them away without a second thought. „When the Winter Soldier takes over I can’t guarantee for anything. He could do …“ 

„I don’t give a shit!“ I bark. „You would never hurt me. I know that in my bones.“ 

He lets his hand sink and land on my knee. It needs a lot of self control to not follow it with my eyes. „You’re right. I would never. But he could.“ 

I lean forward, just a little to make my point clear. „I trust you.“ 

„You shouldn’t.“ His voice was nothing more than a whisper. I could feel it brushing over my cheeks. „I’m a threat.“ 

I cock my head to the side. „Is that the reason why you didn’t want to share a room with me? Because you were scared that you might attack me in your sleep?“ 

He nods. And my heart shatters into a million tiny pieces. His hair falls in strains into his face making him look even more exhausted than ever. I've come to thinking about the fact that his mind had to be constantly in stay alert mode. 

„Do you ever let yourself catch a break, Bucky?“ 

At first he stays completely still. Then a deep, tired sigh. And when he finally looks up to answer he da the saddest smile on his face that I’ve ever laid eyes on. „I don’t think so, doll. Can’t remember.“ 

I reach forward to place my palm above his heart. It beats slow but a little uneven - as if my touch had an effect on him too. „You deserve to feel safe for at least one night. You deserve so much more than that.“ I leaned in his direction, let my body sink against his and gave him the chance to slowly get used to so much skin to skin contact. But he didn’t hesitate as I thought he would do. Instead Bucky pulled me so close that I imagined to morph fully into him. Melt together and finally feel complete. 

His metal arm laid wrapped around me and gave me the support I needed. His other hand placed at the back of my head - fingers tangled up into my hair. I feel his body relax beneath me and a little smile appeared on my lips. 

„Nothing I could do would ever made me deserve you, doll.“ His words rushed my system like a big tidal wave and i shook my head up from his chest to look at him. 

„You don’t have to do anything. Bucky you already own my heart. And you truly deserve it.“ 

He smiled softly. I could feel his hand on my head pulling me closer up to him. I obey happily. „I will take good care of it, doll. I promise to be worthy for you.“ 

„I know because you already are.“ 

Bucky kissed me. His lips were touching mine with such softness I almost cried. Hands so tender and carefully holding me while his mouth claiming my whole consciousness. I leaned into him to feel as much of him as I could. He deepened the kiss and I let out a sigh of relief. I swear I could feel him smile against my lips.

I know I will never get tired of this. Ever. 

[stinkrat-aleks]

I’m loving this new fic on the Soccer Au, every interaction with David is so great.I love it so much

Now I have some questions:

In the epilogue, Lorna doesn’t go to therapy like everyone else does and she is starting her soccer career, do you think she may have the same problem as Erik ? Her anger affecting her career.

In this last chapter Wanda said that Pietro didn’t have any parent instincts, does that change in the future? Like Kurt and Pietro could adopt in the future or will they be child free?

Thank you so much for the sweet words! 🥹

1) Lorna is definitely out there having a terrible ol’ time, losing the fight against her unmedicated bipolar disorder, but also I think she’s a lot better at masking the pain than Erik was so she’s not losing her shit the way he was in public. Like, she’s grown past punching people in the face when she’s mad, but she’s probably not grown out of screaming and crying in the locker rooms etc. Maybe someday I’ll give Lorna the proper love she deserves on her own mental health arc ✨

2) Wanda’s just teasing, Pietro’s a bit clumsy but he loves David in his own “teenage boy who only thinks of video games” way! I would def give Pietro and Kurt a child at any point bc Pietro has a daughter in canon and I’d love to see him break the generational cycle of trauma 🩷

As thank you for reading my fic, here’s a doodle of an older David and Erik. David’s special interest will be soccer stats (not the sport itself though 😂) and Erik loves it.

[tmpestuous]

illicit affairs

summary: you’re bucky’s campaign manager. but he wants you all to himself.

pairing: (future)congressman!bucky x campaign manager!reader

warnings: smut (18+, fingering); mentions of anxiety, fluffy if you slightly squint

word count: 3.8k

a/n: i’m back! i’ve decided to make this a miniseries so i don’t have to deal with the commitment of a whole series again yet. this chapter is set before bucky is elected. also, i’ve been so back in my marvel obsession that i’ve expanded on some new york marvel lore that marvel studios clearly won’t do themselves </3 i hope you enjoy! apologies once again for the hiatus!

“Your numbers in the polls are doing much better, leading your opponent by 12 points; early exit polls from early voting are showing a lead of 7 points, and voters seem really ecstatic to vote for you which is a huge turnaround from the beginning of this election cycle.”

Bucky looked at you from his seat at his desk, a hint of admiration behind his gaze as you met your eyes with his. “Is that all?”

You looked back down at your notes, revising them one more time. “For now,” you said while nodding, then returning your attention to Bucky’s stare. Ignoring the heat in your cheeks, you gave him a confident grin. “I think we’re gonna win this.”

“And I,” Bucky started his sentence as he got up and made his way over to stand right in front of you, “couldn’t have done a single bit of it without you.”

Being part of Bucky Barnes’s political campaign for his bid in the U.S. House of Representatives has been nothing short of a whirlwind. It’s not that you’ve ever been apolitical; you’ve actually been quite the opposite given your family’s consistent involvement in politics. Your parents both worked as advisors in different government agencies, your father actually having a stint with SHIELD long before their ultimate demise at the hands of Hydra. 

Nonetheless, your interest in politics never seemed to push you into entering the scene itself. Having the knowledge was great; you were far ahead of your peers in university classes and weren’t susceptible to the growing craze of news outlets in a post-Avengers world. But you never desired to get into politics, much less as the campaign manager to James Buchanan Barnes. His campaign, however, intrigued you from the start.

Many people, especially in New York, do not forget the impact vigilantes and their world have on their lives as civilians. Not all of us are given mutant powers, super soldier serums, or involuntary training to become an assassin. Not all of us have the ability to be Avengers or associated with the like, and unfortunately for New York City, it’s seen days worse than just ugly. When everyone thought the Chitauri invasion was the worst the city could see, half of the population was snapped and turned New York into a ghost town. A once bustling city that indeed never slept, completely silent and left with a void that seemingly couldn’t be replaced. 

Once everyone came back, the world was forced to rebuild. New York’s homeless population was increasing exponentially, crime was on the rise, and the Avengers were nowhere to be found. Of course, you had your solo heroes, like Spider-Man and Daredevil. Then they were seemingly gone too, more preoccupied with what they dealt with outside of their masks and costumes than the looming threats over the city.

As soon as Fisk was predicted to win the election as Mayor, his poll numbers more than indicative of a clear sweep at the voting booth, your hope for the city was dwindling. You knew he meant no good, and having political power would only amplify that. The media seemed to disagree, though in the same vain, trashed Bucky Barnes for thinking he could run for the House. 

It was idiotic, really. A man who had no choice in his past, a man who was pardoned, is out of his depth for thinking he could run for Congress, but the notorious criminal is the answer to the city’s problems. Yeah, fucking right.

From that point, you’d decided to make your attempt at joining Bucky’s campaign. You wanted to do simple canvassing: knocking on doors and spreading the message of Bucky’s campaign. 

You spent about a week and half knocking on doors in the congressional district Bucky was aiming to represent. You’d even convinced maybe two handfuls of people to vote for him, earning praise from the team leads. You quickly became one of the campaign’s most valuable canvassers, but your position only propelled at a meeting with everyone working in the campaign office, Bucky making a rare appearance.

Bucky was never very conversational, clearly a more-than-reserved man, probably running for office to channel his desire to do good in ways other than vigilantism. 

It was no secret that the public’s opinion on vigilantes was mixed, especially in New York. The frontrunner for the mayoral election hates them and he’s killing the polls for crying out loud. But the city never felt as scary when the Avengers were around. Sure, the usual destruction of downtown Manhattan was an insane circumstance to consider for your morning commute. However, you knew you’d most likely make it home at night. If you got into trouble, you could hope that someone was coming. Where is that feeling now?

When talking to the room, Bucky expressed gratitude for everyone’s interest in his campaign. Ultimately, he wasn’t shy to mention the negative attention on his attempt for the House seat, which took you by surprise. 

“They’re not expecting me to win, and, if I’m being honest, I wasn’t expecting to win either.” That earned him a few laughs, but you could tell he was being mostly serious. “I need some help. If anyone wants to offer some ideas, I’m all ears.”

“I think you need to be more relatable!” Someone shouted.

“More fundraising!”

“Have a town hall!”

“Why not just be more of yourself?” You said in a tone loud enough for him to hear and turn his attention to you, but not shouting like everyone else.

“What do you mean?” He asked sincerely.

“The people don’t really know much about you outside of your service alongside Steve Rogers and, of course, your time as… well, the Winter Soldier.” You were honest, which earned you some stares and glares, no one wanting to mention the elephant in the room that didn’t have to be one at all. 

“Go on,” Bucky encouraged.

“It’s either you’re depicted as the past that you’ve worked so hard to make up for,” you alluded to his Winter Soldier days, which he didn’t seem as fazed by as you thought, “or you’re depicted as Steve Rogers’s best friend who faced tragedy during the war. Hell, you could even be depicted as Sam Wilson’s best friend. But the people don’t know you. It’s about relatability, yes, but it’s also humanization. Separating you from what everyone already knows about you. Who is Bucky Barnes? Insert the quote about people wanting to vote for someone they feel they can have a beer with.”

Speechless at (what seemed to be) your clear read on him, his gaze shifted to one of admiration. “You’re hired.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My campaign manager,” he corrected your confusion. “I want it to be you. Come with me to my office.”

After sending everyone back to their desks to finish their tasks for the day, Bucky led you to his office at the campaign headquarters. 

“So you’re telling me you’ve been at this for months and didn’t have a campaign manager?” You asked, an incredulous tone in your voice.

“She quit.”

“Oh.”

He turned to you, his back previously facing you, and leaned on his desk with his hands lightly gripping the ends. The light in his office was dim, but it still bounced off of his metal arm beautifully. You’d always thought the vibranium arm was a better look for him.

“I need to win this election,” Bucky broke the ice. “I think you can help me do that.”

“Well first, we need to fix… that.”

“Fix what?” He asked, his brows furrowed and a clear sass in his tone.

“You’re not really a man of many words.”

“Never have been.”

“I find that hard to believe,” you tested. “Does Sam Wilson get a lot of words out of you?”

He scoffed playfully. “No.”

You stared at him silently, your eyes slightly squinted.

He shook his head, a playfully defeated grin on his face. “Fine. Sometimes.”

With a smirk on your face in return, you pulled out a notepad from your bag. “Let’s channel some of that Bucky, hm?”

From there, you dove headfirst into fixing Bucky’s campaign. Between scheduling fundraisers, charity appearances, town halls, several advertisements (including a hilarious one with Sam endorsing him), and endorsements from current Congresspeople. 

In just a few weeks, Bucky’s campaign had done a complete 180. The media changed their coverage of him entirely, and you did so without compromising his personality and trying to turn him into America’s golden boy, like his previous campaign manager.

“I’m very grateful for you,” Bucky continued. “I don’t know how I’m gonna do it, but—”

“Don’t rush it,” you cut him off. “We still have an election to win and it’s still very early.”

Bucky nodded in understanding. “Something tells me you’re not worried, though.”

“I’m not,” you said, the same smirk from before appearing on your face. “Numbers don’t lie, Barnes.”

————————————————————————————

One Week Until Election Day

There was a line between professional and personal. It was clear. Never mix your professional life with your personal life beyond a reasonable amount. That couldn’t be hard, right?

Except when you’re working with—for Bucky Barnes who’s clearly gotten a bit of his 40s charm back in the last few years. 

You both enjoyed each other’s company. Bucky’s grumpy nature somewhat crumbled near you. Although you couldn’t completely break through it, you loved that part of him. He, on the opposite end, admired your wit, your knowledge and your wisdom that went well beyond your years. You shocked him with so many facts about history and he’s 110. You were a gem, the first person he’d actually opened up to after losing Steve besides Sam. And not once did you ever judge him.

But there was a line. It was clear, but fuck, is it now slowly starting to blur. 

“What are you doing later?” Bucky asked as he hesitantly placed his hands on your waist which you quickly swatted away.

“We’re at work, Bucky,” you warned, your attention still fixed on the list of tasks you needed to complete before Election Day in a week. “Someone could catch us.”

Bucky sat at his desk, loosening his tie. “The day’s over. It’s just you and me.”

“It is never just you and me here,” you corrected. “There are still canvassers and volunteers who have to make their way back to the office and collect their things. I have to hear back from the pollsters for our daily numbers, specifically from early exit polls, and then get in contact with media coordination to make sure that nobody’s pulled a quick one on you. I also need you to approve the last batch of ads to go out this week. It’s crunch time.”

“You’re insanely hot when you boss me around,” Bucky said as he undid the top button of his dress shirt, earning him an annoyed glare from you that he chuckled at. “I’m messing with you, although I wasn’t lying. You are gorgeous.”

“I’m flattered,” you said sarcastically. “I also don’t have any plans for tonight, to answer your question. It is a Tuesday.”

Bucky didn’t say anything as he studied your presence, soaking it all in. The furrow of your brows as you studied your to-do list, the way you bit the inside of your cheek absentmindedly whenever you were focused. 

He wasn’t lying. You are beautiful. Every piece of you.

Messing around with his campaign manager has the potential to raise so many alarm bells. After finally having the media and general public on his side—a result of your efforts—he couldn’t risk it. 

But the line was so easy to cross. 

Nothing had necessarily been romantic between the two of you, but you had gotten pretty damn close. 

There was a graze of each other’s hands, a gaze into each other’s eyes that lasted longer than it needed to, and a subtle glance at each other’s lips. There were late nights in the office, with takeout from Bucky’s favorite Chinese place and anecdotes from each other’s lives. There was a shared comfort between you that not only made you both feel at home, but a magnetic pull that was near impossible to ignore or fight. 

“No response, huh?” You turned your attention to Bucky, who you found staring at you. “Not even a slick remark? One of those sarcastic, grumpy quips of yours?”

“I am not grumpy,” he retorted.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you said with a giggle. God, he loved this side of you. “What are your plans for tonight?”

“Um,” he shrugged, moving his gaze to the traffic outside the window. “I don’t know. My campaign manager yelled at me about approving some ads.”

“I didn’t yell,” you defended yourself, moving to the other side of the desk where Bucky was. Sitting on the desk, you stared at the man to your right. “Why’d you decide to run?”

“Surprised it took you this long to ask,” he said, his head turning away from the window.

“My job doesn’t entail prying for unnecessary information,” you shrugged. “Just curious.”

Bucky chuckled, flashing that beautiful grin of his.

His decision to make a move for office was an amalgamation of things. After Sam had officially taken on the mantle of Captain America, Bucky had settled into more of civilian life. It was weird, not having a mission to accomplish. After fighting for several decades, being a regular person almost bothered him. 

Antsy, was how he described it to Sam, who had offered him tons of help that Bucky never took. He felt bad trying to get some work from his friend, though Sam never minded. With all of the resources at his disposal, he knew Bucky would be of great assistance. The brooding brunette, however, felt that maybe he needed to change his direction.

Eventually, seeing the struggles of the people in his neighborhood made him want a more grounded approach. There isn’t much help in the city since the Avengers have been gone, but fighting the bad guys with his fists was something Bucky wasn’t trying to do. Seeing Sam with government resources also gave him the idea, but searching for a different form of access. He can help the people in a non-destructive way, feeling better about himself and fighting the good fight.

“Needed a different approach to help people,” he admitted after gathering his thoughts. 

“Vigilante life not enough?”

“I never really considered myself a vigilante,” Bucky shrugged. “Didn’t do much work after the words were out of my head.”

“Didn’t you help Captain America stop the whole Flag Smashers thing?”

“I give him the credit for it,” he said sincerely. “He was meant to be a hero. Meant to have the shield.”

“You’re a hero too, you know,” you assured, offering Bucky a soft smile. “You just have different fights. Different paths, too.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Sam did have a different fight, but he’s built for it. Bucky was finally starting to be more forgiving of himself—of his past—and in a much better state of mind than years prior. He just didn’t need to fight with his hands. He didn’t need to create any more possibilities of destruction and violence. He wanted to help people in a way that felt more valuable. This was it.

————————————————————————————

Election Night

The polls close in an hour and a half, and Bucky’s leading by a decent margin to keep your (and his) anxiety at bay. 

It was at the point in the evening where all everyone could do was wait. Everyone who’s worked on this campaign has dedicated countless hours to pushing Bucky’s message. Though he is still not a man of many words, people weirdly admired him. The advertising did its job. 

Getting Bucky elected didn’t mean changing him. It didn’t mean forcing him to become a talkative extrovert that he was most certainly not. There was plenty to work with, and from the looks of it, success was in the cards. 

You looked over to Bucky through the doorway to his office. His eyes were glued to the computer screen, his usual contemplative stare adorning his face once again. Everyone had voted early in the morning when the polls had just opened, including Bucky. Since then, it’s been a waiting game.

“Feels weird voting for the first time in decades.”

After walking out of the voting location together, Bucky took you to get some breakfast at his favorite cafe.

“Who was the last person you voted for?” You said after taking a small sip of your coffee.

“Um,” he thought for a second. “Yeah. Roosevelt, 1944. Not even sure if my ballot counted during the war, but I filled it out.”

“That’s so crazy,” you giggled.

“What?”

“You voted for fucking FDR,” you exclaimed in a whisper, almost like a secret. “That’s so crazy to think of.”

Bucky chuckled, taking a sip of his own coffee with a roll of his eyes.

He was hiding it better this morning, but Bucky’s anxiety was almost palpable. He wasn’t anxious about winning, oddly enough. Sam had called him in the morning to wish him luck, not without a quick joke about him having to talk about more people. Bucky quieted his best friend’s contagious laughter with a confident voice, one he’d recently found with this campaign and your help. 

He knew he had this election in his pocket. It was a weird feeling, such confidence in himself. He was probably the biggest pessimist he knew, yet he felt a sense of serenity. 

The anxiety came with the waiting, the analysis of what kind of representative he’d be, what things he’d accomplish. Oh, and actually doing the fucking job.

What if his constituents ended up hating him, or protesting against him, or cussing him out in a town hall? He doesn’t do well with people, even though he had convinced himself he could become more talkative, more likeable. You had convinced him of that. Without wanting to change him, you helped him feel better about himself and what you called his ‘marketability’. 

And now he was going to win. Because of you.

“If you stare at that computer screen any longer, you might actually burn a hole through it.”

Bucky quickly looked up at you, a cocky grin on your face while you stood in the doorway with your arms crossed on your chest. 

“This is excruciating,” Bucky shut the computer, a grimace on his face.

“What happened to feeling good about today?” You said, closing his office door.

“I think I overestimated myself,” Bucky shook his head. “What if I’m not right for this at all?”

“You told me you were running because you wanted to help people,” you took a seat on the same spot of his desk where you were when you had said conversation. “That’s better than almost all people who run these days. Everything is about some kind of agenda that is self-serving and ends up hurting people more than helping them. You want to help them directly, even when you already have all of the means to do it. That’s more than enough to be right for it.”

“Shit, maybe you should have been the candidate.”

You giggled. “Shut up. You’ve got this. I know it.”

Staring at each other for a moment, Bucky placed his metal hand on yours. This was as far as you’d ever gone, neither of you initiating contact that clearly meant more than what meets the eye. 

“I meant it when I said I couldn’t have done this without you,” Bucky stood from his seat to stand right in front of you, his face mere inches from yours. “I probably would’ve dropped out by now.”

You smirked again, shaking your head. “I don’t think Sam would let you live that one down.”

“You’re right, and I hate when he’s right.”

Another brief pause, letting you get lost in each other’s eyes for a moment before you let yours drift to the clock in the corner of the room.

“Polls close in 20 minutes,” you said, but Bucky could only stare at your lips. 

Deciding he couldn’t wait any longer, he cupped your face in his hands, grabbing your attention.

“Is this okay?” He asked without hesitation, searching for a glimpse of rejection in your eyes, like he was expecting it.

Taking a quick glance at his lips before returning your gaze to his ocean-colored eyes, you gave him a quick nod. “It’s okay.”

Every late night, private one-on-one meetings to debrief events, planning Bucky’s appearances, Bucky learning all of your work habits, and each shared anecdote that only brought you closer. 

That line between professional and personal—there was no line anymore. Fuck the stupid fucking line.

Closing the short gap between you, Bucky planted his lips on yours, kissing you with a longing passion that both of you recognized had been brewing over the course of this campaign.

Bucky quickly undid the button and zipper of your slacks, he didn’t think he’d find fucking slacks attractive. Swiftly sliding his right hand past your underwear and rubbing circles on your clit, Bucky moved his kisses from your mouth to across your jaw and down your neck. You let out hard exhales, trying not to moan with the entire campaign staff right outside.

Bucky lifted his head to look down at you, then resting his forehead against yours as he proudly watched you squirm on his hand. You bit down on your lip as he slid two fingers inside of you, whimpering softly as you tried not to make much noise, but couldn’t stifle your pleasure any longer.

“Fuck, look at you falling apart for me,” Bucky whispered, his fingers getting faster with each thrust. “This is only my first thank-you, sweet girl. You deserve even more than this but I can’t feel those sweet walls around my cock with everyone outside, hm? So this’ll do, right?”

“Fuck yes, Bucky,” you moaned out, the sultry tone of his voice only pushing you toward your climax. “I’m so close.”

“Cum for me, baby,” he said before he kissed you again, curling his fingers inside of you, quickly making you shudder in pleasure as he helped you ride out your orgasm. “You’re so pretty.”

“Holy shit,” you breathed out after coming down from your high, Bucky retreating his fingers and licking them in front of you. “You’re a vice.”

He chuckled, just as everyone erupted in cheers outside. Bucky quickly opened up his computer, typing his password in while you buttoned and zipped up your pants. His last opened tab was one tracking the election results, and with polls closing in less than 10 minutes, the outlets were already making their conclusions.

Projected Winner — 10th Congressional District of New York: James Barnes

You smiled at the screen before looking at Bucky, who stared at the same screen in disbelief.

“We actually did it.”

You turned his face towards yours, planting another soft kiss on his lips.

“Congratulations, Congressman Barnes.”

—

A/N: stay on the lookout for the second and third part (while bucky is in congress and when he is out of congress — iykyk). i hope you enjoyed!

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

reader and daeho having sex for the first time with eachother but the condoms on readers house are to small for him so they both have to go to a store to get condoms his size🙈

please give daeho the closets to his canon sg personality all bubbly and shy and sweet and just daeho!!!

💗 “Size Matters”

pairing: reader × Dae-ho rating: 🔥 NSFW (18+)

| smut, fluff, awkward sweet tension tags: first time, size kink (soft), condom mishap, shy!Daeho, established relationship, reader-insert (fem), pure chaos, hot sweetness word count: ~1.9k

warnings: smut, fluff, Daeho being a shy king with a very not-shy dick, mild cursing, public embarrassment (condom shopping lol)

You hadn’t exactly planned on having sex tonight. But with Daeho? Planning never seemed to stick.

It started with cuddling—innocent enough. His oversized hoodie had somehow ended up bunched at his chest, and his thighs were tangled with yours beneath your comforter, all soft warmth and quiet giggles. One kiss turned into five. His fingers brushed your hip under your shirt and then suddenly—

You were both breathless, horny, and very naked on your bed.

And that’s when it happened.

You reached for the little drawer next to your bed, fishing out the little box of condoms you hadn’t touched in… way too long.

“Found ’em,” you said, turning over to him with a triumphant smile.

But Daeho was staring at the foil packet like it had personally offended him.

“Um,” he said quietly, cheeks going cherry blossom pink. “That’s… not gonna fit.”

You blinked. “What?”

He scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting anywhere but your face. “It’s… um… I need… bigger.”

You looked down.

Then really looked down.

“Oh.”

It was curved a little upward, heavy and flushed. Little drops of Pre already making their way down his shaft.

And it was definitely, undeniably, too big for the condoms in your drawer.

“Oh,” you said again, blinking.

“I’m sorry!” Daeho squeaked, clearly mortified. “I-I should’ve brought my own—I just didn’t think, and you had a box, and I didn’t mean to like brag or anything, I swear I’m not—”

You kissed him quiet.

“You’re fine. You’re perfect,” you whispered against his lips, fingers trailing down his flushed chest. “But… we do need something that won’t snap the second you get hard.”

He groaned, burying his face in your neck. “This is the worst kind of sexy problem.”

“Correction,” you teased. “This is the cutest kind of sexy problem.”

He laughed. Nervous. Sweet. Still very hard.

You kissed the tip of his nose. “Come on. We’re going shopping.”

The drugstore was mostly empty, thank god.

Daeho was wearing one of your hoodies and jogging bottoms, doing everything he could to look casual. It didn’t help that every time you glanced at him, you could see the outline of his cock straining against the fabric.

The aisle was too quiet. The neon sign above the “Family Planning” section buzzed.

“This is hell,” he muttered, crouching in front of the shelf like it might attack him.

You giggled. “They’re just boxes.”

“Boxes that say XXL in the largest font possible.”

“Which you need.”

“That’s not the point!”

You knelt next to him, scanning the options. “Okay… ribbed, ultra-thin, fire-and-ice—”

“No,” he said quickly. “That one burns.”

Your head whipped toward him. “You’ve used it?!”

“I didn’t know! It was an accident!!” he whispered, scandalized. “I cried in the shower for like 40 minutes.”

You were howling, wheezing with laughter in the middle of the store, while Daeho tried to die behind a shelf of lube.

Eventually, you grabbed a sleek black box labeled “XL + Comfort Fit”, pressing it into his hands.

“Perfect,” you said, leaning in with a smirk. “Now we can go home… and test them out.”

He went red from his ears to his chest.

“I need to hydrate,” he whispered dramatically. “And maybe do yoga. And mentally prepare.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, already walking toward checkout. “You’ll be too busy moaning to overthink.”

You barely made it to the bedroom.

He had you pinned to the wall, kissing you like his life depended on it, that XXL box clutched tightly in one hand.

Once you were on the bed again, Daeho knelt between your thighs, fumbling with the foil packet.

“Sorry—shit—my hands are—uh—nervous—”

You took it from him gently, rolling the condom down over his length with both hands.

He shuddered. Visibly.

“Oh my god, that fits so much better,” he whispered.

“Told you.”

He lined up, pausing just to breathe against your throat.

“You sure?”

You pulled him in with your legs. “Please.”

And when he slid in?

You felt every inch.

Thick, slow, deep—and so careful. He was blushing and panting and trying not to break you, even though your nails were already digging into his shoulders.

“F-fuck—” he whimpered. “You feel like heaven—I’m not gonna last—”

You kissed him again, full of giggles and need. “That’s okay. You’ve got a whole box.”

[apollonia4]

How do they..kiss! ☆

(Side characters)

SFW || again, slightly suggestive (barely noticable)

Diavolo:

• Caring and possesive.

• Diavolo treats you like his most precious treasure, like the gem grazing the very top of his royal crown. He adores kissing you and makes a point to do it infront of any potential suitors to show them that they have zero chance. He holds your head gently in his big hands and hums in content once your lips meet his.

• Sometimes, his wandering hands will land on your back, fingertips pressing under the fabric of your top, drawing circles against that small strip of bare skin that make you break the kiss with a gasp.

Barbatos:

• Focused and attentive.

• He is not the one to just randomly kiss you in public. He knows you won't runaway to some random demon, he trust you complitely. When you kiss in the privacy of his or your own quarters he'll be very caring. He knows exactly how and where to kiss you to make sure that you are satisfied. Rest assured, you'll get the best service there is.

• He'll always find time to show you just how much he cares for you even if it means sharing a quick (but passionate) kiss between daily routines without even looking up from what both of you are doing.

Simeon:

• Loving and gentle.

• Simeon is so full of love for you, he's yearning to show you the intensity of his emotions in every way possible. Before he kisses you, he'll touch his forehead to yours, brushing away any stray hair behind your ear. When he gets particulary affectionate he'll kiss all over your face untill you're squirming and telling him enough.

• He's a very affectionate man, it's challenging for him to stop once he starts. He nuzzles into your neck and kisses upwards untill he reaches your lips, lingering a little longer there. When you do manage to get him off of you he gets pouty but ruffle his hair and he'll drop it (unless you don't want him to stop, that's another story).

Solomon:

• Playful and cocky.

• Solomon loves you very much, he just can't help but tease you a little. He'll often come up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist or chest and kiss you behind your ear and down your neck. You just have to grab him by the jaw and finally bring his lips to yours. He likes when you get a little mad at him.

• Sometimes when he sees you're irritated or anxious about something, he'll come up to you, kissing you deeply so you can forget about your problems even if it's just for a fleeting moment.

☆

No undatables cause I think I don't know enough about them yet. Sooo disappointed we didn't get to see their true colors.

[fordiaz]

I Love You, I’m Sorry (Eddie Diaz) 𓍯 ִ⋆.˚ 💋ྀིྀི ⋆

“Eddie, loving someone doesn’t mean they’re going to leave you. You’ve lived like the next loss is always around the corner, but she wasn’t trying to go anywhere. You pushed her out.” . ݁₊ 🩸⊹ . ݁💉˖ . ݁

Synopsis: You and Eddie have always shared something deeper than friendship — an unspoken connection that lingers in every glance, every laugh, every brush of a hand. But when Eddie realizes just how much power you hold over his heart, fear sets in. He pulls away, leaving you confused and heartbroken. When you confront him, he denies everything, leaving you shattered. As time passes, it becomes clear to everyone around you that you’re both falling apart without each other. Eventually, it takes a push — maybe from Buck — for Eddie to finally confront the truth he’s been running from: he’s always loved you, and he may have already lost his chance.

Genre: Romance, Angst, Slowburn, Mutual Pining, Fluff

AU: None

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Afab!Reader

Warnings: Eddie’s an asshole but he didn’t mean to bc he runs away from his problems (😭)

Note: This was a request from my inbox (in my ask box tag) and I thought the plot was super interesting since it falls right into the genre of fics that I produce. Thank you to the anon who gave me a whole run down on the story! Happy reading and as always, every like + reblog and comment is highly appreciated.

There’s always been something quietly comfortable about being around Eddie.

You’re not sure when it started — the ease, the intimacy, the way your lives naturally bled into each other — but at some point, it became second nature.

His house was your second home. Christopher knew your coffee order and your favorite snacks. You knew which cabinet Eddie kept his aspirin in and which way the bathroom door creaked if you didn’t close it properly.

He never had to ask you to stay longer when you were over; your presence was a given.

You brought takeout on your nights off and folded his laundry when he forgot it in the dryer. He poured you a glass of wine after long shifts and let you steal his hoodie when it was late and you didn’t feel like going home.

There were no declarations. No spoken rules. Just the quiet way he always looked for you in a room, how he made sure to pour your coffee just the way you liked it — two sugars, no cream — or how his shoulder would graze yours when you walked side by side, like it couldn’t help but lean in your direction.

It wasn’t romantic. Not officially.

But God, if it didn’t feel like the most real thing in your life.

Sometimes he’d sit beside you on the couch, a little too close, and your thighs would touch for minutes on end. Neither of you moved.

You’d both pretend not to notice, but the air between you shifted. Grew warm. Familiar. Intimate. He’d chuckle at something on TV, and you’d smile because his laughter was your favorite kind of peace.

And the glances… those glances stayed too long to be casual. Like when you’d say something in passing and he’d stare at you as if he was memorizing your words — as if they mattered more than you knew.

His gaze would dip to your lips sometimes when you weren’t speaking, and you tried to tell yourself you imagined it, but deep down, you knew better.

Everyone else saw it too.

“Okay, seriously,” Buck said one night after a shift, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “Are you two ever going to admit you’re in love or are we all just going to die waiting?”

You rolled your eyes and laughed it off. So did Eddie.

“We’re just friends,” you both said in near-perfect unison, which only made Hen groan.

“Uh-huh. Friends,” Chimney muttered, sipping his coffee like he was watching a slow-burn rom-com unfold in real time.

“Friends who look at each other like they’re planning to die in each other’s arms.”

It was embarrassing — the way the team teased — but it was also validating in a weird, terrifying kind of way. Because you’d started to feel it too.

The shift.

The tiny changes.

It happened quietly. The way he started opening up more. How his voice softened when he talked to you, how his eyes searched yours when he wasn’t sure of himself.

The way you reached for him automatically during calls, always scanning the wreckage for each other before anything else. And maybe the moment that hit you hardest: when you caught yourself thinking about him as home. Not just his house or his presence, but Eddie.

He was home.

And that terrified you.

Because if it was real — if this thing between you was more than friendship — it meant you had everything to lose.

Still, the idea nestled in your chest and refused to leave. You thought about what it would feel like to kiss him. To wake up in his arms. To be loved by him fully and openly.

You thought about Christopher, about Sunday mornings and slow coffee and a life that maybe, just maybe, could be yours too.

But nothing was ever said.

Not out loud.

Because maybe he didn’t feel the same. Or maybe he did, and was just too afraid to say it. Either way, you weren’t sure who’d be brave enough to say it first.

But something was building between you.

You could feel it every time he looked at you like you were the center of his universe. Like he was one breath away from telling you everything.

And honestly? You were starting to wish he would.

It starts small.

A missed call here. A shorter reply there.

You don’t think anything of it at first. People get busy. Shifts get hectic. Life happens. You give him grace — because that’s what you do for people you love.

But then it starts to happen more.

He stops texting back as quickly. Your usual post-shift dinners turn into silence. The calls you used to get at 11PM — just to hear your voice before bed — go unanswered. He still smiles when he sees you at the station, still asks if you’re okay after a tough call, but it’s like he’s flicking a switch now.

Friendly. Polite. Detached.

And it hurts. It hurts like hell.

You try not to show it. You tell yourself maybe he’s going through something, that he’ll talk to you when he’s ready. Because this is Eddie — he doesn’t always know how to open the door when he’s hurting.

You’ve seen him do this before with others. But never with you.

Not like this.

One night, you knock on his door with your usual coffee order, the kind gesture that used to earn you a soft smile and a “You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did.”

This time, when he opens the door, he looks surprised. Like he wasn’t expecting you. Like he doesn’t know how to be around you anymore.

“Oh,” he says, eyes darting behind him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you reply, holding out the drink like some kind of peace offering. “Thought you could use this.”

He hesitates, then takes it from you. “Thanks.”

You stand there for a moment. Waiting. Hoping he’ll invite you in like always. But he doesn’t move.

“Is everything okay?” you ask softly. “You’ve been… different.”

“I’ve just been tired,” he says quickly. Too quickly.

“A lot on my mind.”

You nod slowly, trying not to let the sting show. “Okay. Well… I’m here if you want to talk.”

He nods once, almost absently. “I know.”

But he doesn’t invite you in.

And that night, for the first time in months, you don’t fall asleep knowing how his day went. You don’t feel like his person anymore.

At the station, it becomes harder to ignore.

He avoids lingering too long. Doesn’t sit beside you at the kitchen table anymore. Talks to Buck and Chimney and Hen like nothing’s wrong — and maybe to them, there isn’t — but you feel the distance like a cold draft under the door.

It becomes unbearable.

And one day, when you catch him alone in the locker room, you finally say what’s been aching in your chest.

“Why are you pushing me away?”

Eddie freezes, halfway into zipping up his jacket. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” Your voice cracks. “You don’t answer my calls, you barely look at me when I talk to you, and I feel like I lost my best friend without even knowing what I did wrong.”

He swallows hard. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then what is it?” you demand. “Did I cross a line? Did I make you uncomfortable? Because I swear, if it’s something I said or did, I’ll—”

“It’s not you,” he interrupts, voice low, eyes finally meeting yours. “It’s me.”

You let out a shaky breath, because how cliché. “That’s not an answer, Eddie.”

He hesitates. Looks down at the floor like it might help him find the words.

“I care about you too much,” he says finally, voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart stutters. “And that’s… a bad thing?”

“It is when I don’t know what to do with it.” His eyes flash with something unspoken — pain, maybe, or guilt.

“You don’t understand what it’s like. To have someone mean so much, to love someone so much, that you start to lose your grip on everything else. That terrifies me.”

Your breath catches.

“Eddie…”

“I’ve already lost too much,” he says. “Shannon. The idea of loving someone again—loving you—and losing it? I don’t know if I could survive that.”

You step closer, heart hammering in your chest.

“You don’t have to be afraid of your feelings. I feel it too. We’re not just friends and you know it.”

His jaw tightens. “It’s all in your head.”

The words hit like a slap. You actually flinch.

“No,” you whisper, eyes burning. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend it wasn’t real.”

“I’m not pretending. I’m telling you the truth.”

You stare at him for a long moment, waiting for him to break. To take it back. To tell you he’s lying.

But he doesn’t.

So you nod, jaw trembling, and back away.

“Okay,” you say softly. “If that’s how you really feel.”

And you walk out of the room, out of the station, out of whatever almost was between you — your heart shattering silently inside your chest.

He doesn’t follow you.

Yet, a part of him wants to.

You don’t slam the door. You don’t raise your voice. You just leave.

Quietly. With the kind of heartbreak that doesn’t need sound to be loud.

And Eddie stands there in the locker room, frozen in the hollow silence you leave behind.

Fuck, he wants to go after you. Every part of him screams to. His legs twitch like they might move on their own. His chest is tight with everything he didn’t say.

But he doesn’t.

Because if he does, he won’t be able to lie anymore.

And the truth?

The truth is you mean too much.

You got under his skin in ways no one else ever has. Not Shannon. Not Ana. Not Marisol. Not anyone.

You’re woven into the little things:

How his day feels lighter when you smile at him across the firehouse kitchen. How he sleeps better after hearing your voice. How he’s memorized the way you take your coffee, and how his hands gravitate toward you even when he’s not thinking.

How you looked at him like he was safe.

And now? Now it’s too much.

Because the last time he let someone that far in, he lost her. And the fallout nearly destroyed him — nearly destroyed Christopher.

He can’t afford that again. Not for himself. Not for his son.

Not even for you.

But God, he wants to.

He wants to tell you that he lied. That it’s not all in your head. That every night he spent distancing himself from you, he stared at his ceiling wishing he had the courage to love you out loud. That he hears your laugh when you’re not even in the room. That it’s you. It’s always been you.

But the fear is louder.

The fear says: What if it all falls apart?

What if you get tired of him? What if he’s not enough?

What if Christopher gets attached and you walk away too?

Eddie Diaz has survived fire, gunfire, and grief.

But loving you — losing you — that’s a battle he doesn’t think he’d survive.

So he lets you go.

At least for now.

At least until the ache of not having you outweighs the terror of loving you.

And as he finally slumps down on the bench, head in his hands, Eddie whispers to himself the truth he couldn’t say to your face:

“I love you.”

You’re still there.

You show up to shifts. You answer your calls. You laugh at Chim’s dumb jokes, take your turn cooking in the firehouse kitchen, and go on like nothing’s shattered.

But it has shattered.

And everyone can feel it.

Especially him.

Eddie doesn’t sit next to you anymore. Not unless the lineup forces it. And when he does, he doesn’t speak much — like your presence stings, like proximity might burn him alive.

Which is ironic, because you’re the one feeling scorched.

There’s a hole in your chest where he used to be. The silence between you is louder than the sirens that wail from the truck. It fills the kitchen, the locker room, the back of the rig, the pause before you slide into your bunk at the end of the night.

He tore the thread between you with trembling hands and didn’t have the courage to stitch it back.

And you’re left holding it, frayed and useless, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to stop loving someone who never really gave you a chance to.

Buck is the first one who notices the real damage.

He knocks on your door a week after the blowout. Shows up with Chinese takeout and a bottle of wine that he absolutely wasn’t supposed to expense, but “Chim won’t know if we drink it fast.”

He doesn’t ask what happened. He doesn’t need to.

“You can talk,” he says softly, passing you a spring roll. “Or you can just sit here and hate-watch rom-coms with me.”

You try. You really do. You sit beside him with your knees tucked to your chest, and you try to laugh at whatever stupid movie’s playing — but it cracks something open instead.

“I don’t get it,” you say, eyes fixed on the flickering TV screen. “He was right there, Buck. We were right there.”

Buck doesn’t tell you it’s okay. He doesn’t say Eddie didn’t mean it. He just nods and says, “Yeah. I know.”

Because he does know. He’s been in that liminal space between almost and never. He’s lived with a heart that wanted too much.

So he lets you cry. He sits there while your voice breaks and your mascara runs, and you tell him how much it hurts to love someone who’s too afraid to love you back.

At the station, things feel colder.

Hen pulls you into more calls than usual, always with a hand on your shoulder or a glance like, I’m here.

Chim tries to make you laugh too hard, and you let him — for their sake. Not yours. Even Bobby gives you a longer look during lineups, like he’s making sure you’re still steady on your feet.

But Eddie? Eddie’s unraveling.

He’s sharper with his words. Slower to smile. Quicker to volunteer for high-risk entries — the kind that make Buck flinch.

And Buck’s watching him, arms crossed, jaw tight, because he’s done waiting for Eddie to fix this.

“You’re miserable,” Buck snaps one night in the locker room, voice low and cutting. Eddie looks up from where he’s lacing his boots, surprised.

“What?”

“She’s miserable. You’re miserable. And for what? Because you’re scared? Because it’s easier to push her away than admit you love her?”

Eddie says nothing. Just clenches his jaw, like the truth might slip out if he lets his lips part for too long.

“You’re not protecting her,” Buck says. “You’re punishing her for making you feel something real. And you’re punishing yourself too.”

Eddie stands, tense. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple,” Buck says, stepping closer.

“You’re not a scared kid anymore. You’re a man. You’re a father. You know what love looks like. You had it in front of you and you shoved it away.”

Eddie looks away. His shoulders sag. His voice is quieter now.

“I didn’t want to break her heart.”

Buck scoffs. “Well, too late. But you can still fix it. Unless you wait too long and someone else does.”

The words land like a gut punch. Someone else.

That thought had been haunting Eddie for weeks — the way Buck looked at you now with that softness, that fierce protectiveness.

He sees how you smile at Buck even through your heartbreak. And he knows — he knows — that if he doesn’t move soon, he’ll lose you for good.

Eddie doesn’t know when the house stopped feeling like home.

Maybe it was the way the sunlight pours in on Saturday mornings and doesn’t land where you used to sit on his couch, coffee in hand, laughter soft as wind.

Maybe it’s the quiet—too quiet—like something’s been vacuum-sealed from his life, and no matter how loud the world gets around him, he can’t unhear the absence of you.

Chris asked about you the other night.

“Why doesn’t she come around anymore?”

And Eddie, sitting on the edge of his son’s bed, couldn’t find a real answer. He lied, gently, the way people do when they’re trying not to bleed on the people they love.

“She’s been busy, bud. Just life stuff.”

But Chris is too smart for that. He didn’t press—he just nodded and turned to face the wall.

That silence haunted Eddie more than anything.

He finds himself at Hen and Karen’s, one of the few people who’s always seen through his best performances. He tells them he needed someone to talk to. Karen hands him tea before he even asks.

“So.” Karen folds her arms. “How long are you going to pretend you didn’t break your own heart?”

Eddie lets out a humorless laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“To everyone but you, apparently.”

He sinks into the couch. “I just… I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“But you did,” Hen says. “And you’re hurting, too. It’s written all over you.”

“I thought if I kept some distance, it’d make it easier. Like… if I never said anything, she could walk away if she wanted. And I wouldn’t have to fall apart when she did.”

Karen’s expression softens.

“Eddie, loving someone doesn’t mean they’re going to leave you. You’ve lived like the next loss is always around the corner, but she wasn’t trying to go anywhere. You pushed her out.”

“I know,” he admits, voice raw.

“I was terrified. Of how much I loved her. Of how easy it was. And how… permanent it felt. Like once I let it in, I’d never come back from it.”

“And now?” Hen asks.

He doesn’t speak right away. He just stares at the tea cup in his hands like it holds all the answers he’s too afraid to say aloud. But eventually, the truth peels itself out of him.

“I love her,” he breathes. “God, I’m in love with her.”

Later, he’s on a late shift with Bobby, just the two of them by the rig. Bobby doesn’t pry—not at first—but he looks up after a long stretch of silence and simply says:

“You ready to stop punishing yourself?”

Eddie laughs, low and tired. “I don’t know how.”

“Yes, you do,” Bobby replies. “You just have to stop running. You’ve been in survival mode for so long, you forgot what it’s like to choose joy.”

Eddie leans against the counter, voice barely audible.

“I think she was my joy.”

Bobby nods. “Then go get her back. You still have time.”

That night, Eddie lies in bed staring at the ceiling, and for once, he doesn’t picture all the ways he could lose you. He pictures what it would feel like to hold your hand again. To tell you the truth.

To stop being afraid of a heart that beats a little louder when you’re near.

And he decides—finally—that it’s time.

He’s done running.

It’s raining when he knocks.

Not the kind of gentle drizzle that clings to windows like a whisper, but a downpour—relentless, cold, unforgiving.

It’s been weeks since you last saw Eddie in anything more than passing glances at the firehouse, and longer still since you heard his voice say your name without flinching.

You almost don’t open the door.

But when you check the peephole, and you see him standing there—soaked to the bone, eyes like bruises, shoulders sagging—you can’t bring yourself to walk away.

You crack the door open just enough to lean against it. You don’t invite him in.

“Really?” you say quietly. “Now you show up?”

Eddie’s lips part, but he doesn’t speak right away. You almost think he won’t.

“I know I have no right to be here,” he finally says, voice gravel-thick and wet with regret. “But I couldn’t— I couldn’t keep doing this. Not after everything.”

You cross your arms, biting back the ache in your throat.

“Everything like what, Eddie? Like telling me it was all in my head? Like pretending none of it meant anything?”

He flinches.

“I was trying to protect something,” he says. “I just didn’t realize I was destroying it at the same time.”

You open the door a little wider, just enough for him to see the anger that still flickers in your chest—anger born from heartbreak, not hate.

“Protect what exactly? Yourself? Because I sure as hell wasn’t protected when you said all those things. You made me feel insane for loving you.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he says instantly, stepping forward but stopping himself short.

“I thought if I kept you at arm’s length, maybe I wouldn’t lose you completely. I’ve lost people before—people I loved. And you—”

He swallows thickly, shaking his head.

“You scared me more than anyone ever has.”

That stings.

You let it.

“That’s not an excuse,” you say, voice firm even as your hands start to tremble.

“You don’t get to burn down what we had just because it scared you. You don’t get to come back when I’ve barely figured out how to function without you.”

“I know,” he says, and he means it. You can see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his shoulders curl inward like he’s folding under the weight of it all.

“I lied,” he says softly. “That night. When I said I didn’t love you.”

You glance away, jaw clenched.

“I was scared. I still am. But the truth is… I’m more scared of never getting to tell you how much I do love you.”

The silence that follows is thick and heavy, and for a moment, all you can hear is the rain pounding against the pavement and the thunder rolling overhead.

“Eddie,” you say quietly. “You broke my heart.”

“I know,” he breathes, voice wrecked.

“And I’ll spend as long as it takes trying to make up for that. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect you to trust me. But I needed you to know that I see it now. I see you. I love you. And I never stopped.”

You stare at him for a long time, and he doesn’t fill the silence with more words. He just stands there, letting it rain, letting it hurt.

Eventually, you step aside.

“Come inside before you catch a cold.”

He does. Carefully. As though you might change your mind at any second.

He peels off his soaked jacket and stands awkwardly in your living room, dripping water onto the rug he once helped you pick out on a lazy Sunday afternoon—back when things were still unspoken but full of promise.

“You still love me?” he asks, quietly, almost afraid of the answer.

You don’t answer right away.

Instead, you walk toward him, stopping close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his chest.

Your fingers brush over his shirt, soaked and clinging, and you look up at him through lashes heavy with everything you’ve carried.

“Of course I do,” you whisper. “That’s why it hurt so much.”

He exhales shakily, and for the first time in weeks, you see the man you knew—the one who carried your heart like something fragile and precious, even when he didn’t have the words for it.

“I’m still angry,” you warn.

“You have every right to be.”

“I’m not just going to forget it all overnight.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

You stare at each other, storm still howling outside, hearts both threadbare and somehow still beating in tandem.

And when you kiss—finally—it isn’t perfect.

It’s desperate. It’s trembling. It’s soaked in tears and rain and months of unspoken longing.

But it’s real.

And when he presses his forehead to yours, holding you like the world might split open, you realize that maybe love was never supposed to be fearless.

It was just supposed to be brave.

Falling asleep next to Eddie Diaz becomes a ritual you never thought you’d have the right to experience.

Not after the heartbreak, the months of silence, the tear-stained pillowcases, and the long nights spent wondering if you’d imagined it all.

Not after the ache of watching him walk away from something he felt as deeply as you did. But now, with his arm looped around your waist and his breath slow and even against the back of your neck, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Like it was always supposed to be this way.

Your mornings are slow now ever since you started sleeping at the Diaz household.

The world still spins fast around you—calls come in, emergencies rise like tides, and grief still knocks on your door sometimes. But in the stillness of sunrise, before the rest of the world wakes up, you and Eddie find time to just be.

You’ve gotten into the habit of making coffee while still wearing his hoodie, sleeves falling past your fingertips, the scent of him wrapped around you like armor.

He pretends not to notice, but there’s always a soft little smile tugging at his mouth when he sees you in it.

“You know, you do own clothes your size,” he says one morning, voice still rough from sleep.

You shrug. “But yours are warmer.”

He pulls you into his chest with a soft grunt and presses a kiss to your temple. “Can’t argue with that.”

After rough shifts, you hold his hand on the ride back to the firehouse.

Sometimes, you don’t even realize you’ve reached for it until you feel his thumb rub slow circles into your knuckles.

It’s never for show. It’s never performative. It’s just… comfort. Constant. Quiet. Sure.

You don’t need words to know what he’s thinking when he squeezes your hand just a little tighter after a difficult call. You just lean your head onto his shoulder and let him breathe.

On another note, Christopher loves having you around again.

Not in the polite, oh-she’s-nice way—but in the real, deep-bonded way that tells you you’ve become something sacred in his world.

After school pickups are his favorite, and even when it’s supposed to be Eddie’s turn, he asks if you can come too.

“Dad says you’re better at choosing snacks,” he tells you with a grin, swinging his backpack onto your back like it’s already your job.

You catch Eddie giving you a soft look through the window of the car. One that says, This. This is it. This is everything I almost threw away.

Sometimes, Chris falls asleep on your shoulder on the ride home when you’re sitting at the back. And sometimes, Eddie takes a picture of it on his phone, storing it somewhere private. Safe.

The teasing from the team is merciless—but warm.

Hen grins at you during lunch and nudges your foot under the table.

“You know, we had a pool going on. I won thirty bucks.”

Chimney raises a brow. “You all owe me. I called it two years ago.”

You shoot Eddie a look, but he’s barely pretending to be bashful.

“It wasn’t exactly subtle,” Buck adds, leaning back in his chair. “The way you two looked at each other? Come on.”

“I don’t remember you saying anything that night I told her I didn’t love her,” Eddie says dryly, smirking.

Buck raises his hands. “I was giving you time to figure out you’re a dumbass. Took longer than expected.”

There’s laughter. Real, full-bellied laughter. The kind that makes your ribs hurt in the best way.

But what gets you most is this: Eddie laughs too.

Like a man no longer holding his breath.

At night, you lie curled up in bed with him, the lamp casting soft light across his face. He’s reading something quietly, one hand draped over your hip, thumb tracing idle patterns into your skin like a habit he doesn’t want to break.

You study him sometimes. The way he softens now. How his smiles last longer. How his laughter comes easier. How he kisses you with both urgency and reverence, like he’s still making up for lost time.

“I think I stopped breathing for a while,” he murmurs one night. “When we weren’t… us.”

You look up at him. “Me too.”

He touches your cheek. “You bring me back to myself. Every time.”

You lean into him, heart swelling.

“That’s all I ever wanted to do.”

He presses his lips to your forehead, and you breathe together in the dark, the quiet warmth of the home you’ve built finally wrapping around you both.

Eddie Diaz once believed love was something you had to guard yourself against. That loving too much meant losing too hard. But now, with your head on his chest and your voice whispering sleepy dreams against his skin, he knows better.

Loving you didn’t ruin him.

It saved him.

And this—this gentle, messy, beautiful life—is everything he almost gave up.

But not anymore.

Now, he holds it all in his arms and doesn’t let go. Not ever again.

© fordiaz 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

[beeari]

Talking about platonic Jalph!!

The human is, as many animals are, a social creature. Since the beginning of humanity we have worked in groups to ensure survival. Even to the most introverted people establishing connections with other people is primordial, and to a child that is in a stage when is developing a sense of identity on its own having it’s fundamental for the normative development of said child's psyche.

Both Ralph and Jack are at their age in a stage classified as early teenagehood. A stage where kids start to gain a sense of identity and start drifting from their families and prioritizing their relationships with their equals.

The first time they meet Ralph takes a very judgmental approach towards Jack, calling him ugly. This is interesting cause it’s common for individuals to attribute bad qualities to people we consider unattractive and not want to associate with them, however since the beginning Ralph seems interested in Jack, most likely because he sees how Jack has power over the choir and, in the context, he has similar power, it’s only natural that people with similar status to want to associate with one another and that’s how their relationship starts, as two kids that have power above the rest.

This dynamic however seems to change when they climb the mountain together they already start forming a friendship, as kids of the age are more likely to consider better friends those who they do most activities with, and it seems that what i’m guessing are the first few weeks it could be theorized the time they aren’t tending to their duties they spend a fair amount of it together. Using the example of the scene where before Jack hunts the first pig, when coming back to the tribe, goes to talk to Ralph, check how the shelter building is going. This scene follows the two having a conversation, and while it is normal for the two kids that have taken the role of leaders to discuss the problems they are having regarding issues that affect them all, Is curious how the very first thing Jack does is go talk to Ralph.

Ralph's admiration towards Jack is no secret if you’ve read the book, but is it reciprocated? Does Jack hold him to at least a similar standard? The most common reason why two kids get into a conflict is because of issues of power in a group, feeling like he has the right to more power was what mainly led Jack to drifting from Ralph's tribe.

But just desiring a higher status than Ralph is not motivation enough for wanting him dead, and you could argue that at this point Jack was probably reaching some level of disconnection from reality, and while that could be true, there’s something else that could be a determining factor on the pure hatred he develops towards Ralph.

“Favour piggy like you always do”

There are studies show that the feeling of being left out can lead to conduct of aggression, and feeling rejected by a close friend is something that for a twelve year old that doesn’t know about emotional regulation is devastating, “like you always do” implies that in Jacks eyes to Ralph Piggy is a bigger priority, that he is going to prefer Piggy, someone he deems as inferior, over him.

We don’t get enough time of these two alone to really determine how deep the platonic connection this they had, but for what we can see they at least seemed to garner an admiration towards each other, and it’s a shame they never get to actually talk their issues without one of them being almost hunted..

Golding has absolutely no idea about how a child's mind actually works, so this falls flat as he probably wrote the scenes of those two without considering the psychological implications. I’m no expert on the topic either and it's been a while since the last time I read the book but child social development is one topic that fascinates me and all my claims are backed with sources that I can provide if anyone wants me to.

I'm sorry if this is messy and probably doesn't make much sense but I we all agree someone needs to bring the topic to the table.