#know only that i have never stopped thinking about them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inseobts · 2 days ago

Text

Captain

characters: luffy, law, shanks, kid and ace

inspired by: 'Captain' - Kang Seungyoon || spotify || youtube || apple music

a/n: hope this doesn't suck tbh

words count: around 1.0k - 1.5k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Luffy:

The sun is hot on your back as you lean over the Sunny’s railing. Waves crash below, sparkling like tiny stars in the ocean.

You sigh, but it’s not a sad sigh, just… tired.

Luffy’s jacket hangs off your shoulders, far too big, smelling faintly of salt and him. He’d dropped it on you earlier without a word, like he always did. Just something that happened now, the way you always saved the last bite of your food for him, or how he tucked your hair behind your ear when you weren’t paying attention.

“Oi! You’re making a weird face!”

You jump a little, turning around fast.

Luffy’s standing behind you, hands on his hips, grinning like he knows something you don’t. Which he usually does.

“I am not” you say.

“You are” he says “That’s your thinking-too-much face. I don’t like that one.”

You squint at him “You don’t like my face?”

Luffy laughs and walks up, grabbing your hand “Nah. I like your laughing face way better.”

Your heart does that stupid flip again. Luffy is always like this… saying small, silly things that hit you like cannonballs. You wonder if he even realizes what they do to you, or if he just lives like this, naturally, saying the exact thing you need to hear without trying.

He tugs your arm “Come eat meat with me.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You will be when you see Sanji’s new meatball thing. He said he made it just for me. That means it’s good.”

You don’t want to argue, so you follow him. His hand stays in yours as you walk. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even think about it, like holding your hand is the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe it is. Maybe with him, all the strange, lovely things you thought you'd never have just… are.

The kitchen is loud. Usopp and Chopper are arguing about who can eat more. Sanji is yelling at Zoro to stop drinking straight from the soup pot. Nami rolls her eyes at everything. And through it all, Luffy’s hand stays in yours until he lets go just to sit.

Luffy sits down at the table and pats the spot next to him “Here. Sit.”

You sit.

Sanji brings over a plate with a small mountain of meatballs.

“Special recipe” he says, setting it down.

“Only for idiots who eat too fast and the people dumb enough to love them.”

“Yay!” Luffy cheers “That’s me!”

You raise an eyebrow at Sanji. He just smirks and walks off.

Luffy hands you a meatball. You take it. You chew slowly. He doesn’t. He shovels in three at once and nearly chokes. You thump his back.

“Maybe you shouldn’t eat too fast” you say.

“Too good,” he says between bites “Can’t stop.”

You laugh a little. He grins at you with his mouth full, face messy, eyes shining.

And somehow, in that moment, you feel more at home than you’ve ever felt on land. You bump your foot lightly against his under the table and don’t pull it away. He nudges back without missing a beat.

Later, when everyone’s tired and full, and the stars are peeking out, Luffy sits on the deck with you again. He lies down and folds his arms behind his head.

“Did you still have the weird face?”

“No” you say softly.

“Good.”

There’s a pause. The wind is gentle tonight. Your fingers inch toward his on the wooden deck until they touch. He doesn’t say anything, just shifts his pinky so it loops around yours.

You look at him and wonder if he knows. If he knows how much he saved you. If he knows that before this ship, before him, life felt so small.

“You’re thinking again” he says without opening his eyes.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be your captain forever, y’know.”

You blink “What?”

Luffy opens one eye and smiles at you.

“Even if you leave the crew. Even if you fly away like a bird. I’ll still be your captain. Okay?”

Your throat feels tight. You don’t say anything. You just nod and lie down next to him.

The stars look different from here. Brighter. Bigger.

Just like everything since you met him.

That night you have a nightmare... you often dream of fire.

It’s not real, not anymore. But the smoke curls around your chest when you wake up, and your heart races like you’re still running.

You sit up fast, hand on your chest. You're sweating.

The bed is warm beside you, a tangle of blankets and the faint imprint of Luffy’s sleeping form. He must’ve gone when he felt you stir.

Outside, the sea is calm. The ship creaks gently like it’s breathing.

You step outside the bedroom, careful not to wake anyone. The deck is dark, quiet. The kind of quiet that feels too loud when you’re carrying a storm inside.

You lean on the railing, gripping it hard. Trying to stop your hands from shaking.

You don’t hear Luffy approach. You never do.

“Bad dream?” he says softly.

You nod.

He doesn’t ask more. He just sits beside you on the wooden deck, cross-legged like a kid.

You look at him. He’s staring out at the ocean.

You whisper, “I wasn’t a good person before this. I did some things... things I can’t forget.”

Luffy shrugs “That’s okay.”

You blink “Okay?”

“You’re good now.”

Your breath catches “But—”

“I don’t care what you did. I care what you do now. You protect people. You laugh with us. You love this ship.”

You bite your lip “Sometimes I think I don’t deserve to be happy.”

Luffy’s head tilts “Why?”

“Because I hurt people. I made bad choices.”

He frowns, serious now “Everyone hurts people. Even me. You ever see me not punch someone?”

“That’s different.”

“Why?” he says “Because I’m the captain?”

You open your mouth, then close it.

He scoots closer, his leg bumping yours “Listen. I don’t pick people because they’re perfect. I pick people who need a place. You needed one. So I gave you mine.”

Your eyes sting.

“And if you’re scared sometimes... that’s fine. I’ll be scared with you.”

You let out a shaky laugh “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Luffy grins “Thanks.”

Then he does something rare.

He reaches out and pulls you into a hug.

It’s warm and a little awkward, his chin bumps your shoulder, but his arms are strong. Solid.

Safe.

You lean into him, just for a second. Just long enough to feel like maybe… maybe you can breathe again.

“I still got you,” he says “No matter what.”

The next morning, you’re quiet at breakfast.

Not sad, just full in a way that makes your chest feel warm. Luffy sits beside you like always, stealing half your toast without asking.

You don’t stop him. You just shake your head like you always do and let your knee rest against his under the table.

“Oi, Luffy, chew!” Sanji shouts from the stove “Don’t scare them off with your lizard face.”

Luffy puffs out his cheeks “I am chewing!”

You shake your head “Barely.”

He grins at you with crumbs on his lips “You finally smiled.”

“Huh?”

“You smiled at me,” he says, like it’s some great discovery “I like that.”

You feel your cheeks heat up.

Chopper climbs onto the bench next to you “You look different today,” he says thoughtfully “Lighter.”

“Maybe you finally slept” Nami adds, sipping her coffee.

“Maybe someone got a good hug last night...” Usopp says, wiggling his eyebrows.

You nearly choke on your juice.

Luffy doesn’t react “I give good hugs.”

Zoro snorts from across the table “Not with those rubbery arms.”

You stare down at your plate, smiling to yourself.

Later, you’re helping Robin tie down books in the library when Luffy finds you again. He peeks in like a kid looking for snacks.

“There you are!” he says “Come with me.”

You follow him without asking where. That’s just how it is with Luffy. You trust him.

He takes you to the upper deck where it’s quieter. The sea stretches out endlessly, sky blue and soft.

He sits on the edge and pats the spot next to him. You sit.

“I was thinking,” he says, picking at the brim of his hat “About last night.”

You look at him, curious.

“You said you didn’t deserve to be happy.”

Your chest tightens again.

He leans back on his hands “But you look happy now.”

You nod slowly “I am.”

He grins “Told you. I’m a good captain.”

You laugh a little “You are.”

Then, softly, you say it “This happiness I have right now… it was gained simply by listening to you and following your lead.”

Luffy tilts his head, eyes wide and bright “Really?”

You nod “You gave me a place. You didn’t even know me, and you still let me stay.”

“I knew enough,” he says “You were lost. I don’t leave lost people behind.”

You look down, fiddling with the seam of your shirt “I think I was scared to feel like this. Like I belong.”

“You do.”

You glance up. His face is open, honest—Luffy in his rare, still moments.

“You really think I belong here?” you whisper.

He nods “You belong with me.”

Your breath catches.

Not “with the crew”.

Not “on the ship”.

With him.

── .✦ Law:

The storm isn’t just outside.

It’s in the way Law walks the deck—slow, sharp steps, as if each one might cut the wood beneath his feet.

You watch from where you sit near the stairs, arms tucked around your knees. He hasn’t spoken in hours.

The sky above is black. Thunder grumbles like it’s trying to decide if it wants to scream.

He doesn’t flinch.

“Go inside” he says suddenly, without looking at you.

You stay where you are.

“I said—”

“I heard you.”

Silence again.

Then: “The wind’s picking up.”

“I’m fine.”

He turns his head just enough to glance at you, eyes narrowing “You’re stubborn.”

You shrug “You’re angry.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Loudly.”

He exhales through his nose—one of those short, sharp sounds that’s not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.

You unfold your legs and stand, walking slowly until you’re beside him. Close, but not touching.

Close enough to feel the heat of him. Close enough that if you leaned in just slightly, your shoulder would brush his. But you don’t. Not yet.

“Is it about the intel?”

“No.”

“Then it’s about the crew.”

“No.”

“Then it’s about you.”

He says nothing.

The waves crash hard against the hull. Somewhere below deck, Bepo is probably pacing, waiting for the worst of the storm to pass.

But Law… Law doesn’t wait for anything. He carries storms inside him and tries to outpace them with silence.

You speak softly “Be at ease.”

He turns to look at you now, not annoyed, just… tired.

Your hand drifts to his arm, fingers barely grazing the fabric of his sleeve. You step in, gently, like approaching a wild thing. Like you’ve done this before—offering comfort without taking anything away.

“Let me watch your back now,” you continue, voice steady “My captain.”

His eyes search your face like he’s reading something in a language he forgot long ago.

“I don’t need—”

“I know.”

You take a step closer, your fingers brushing his coat sleeve.

“I’m not offering because you need it. I’m offering because you deserve it.”

His jaw tightens.

You shift your hand just enough to slide your fingers into his, letting them rest there—quiet and warm.

“Someone has to carry the weight when you can’t,” you add “Let it be me, even if it’s just tonight.”

For a long time, he doesn’t respond.

Then finally, he murmurs, “You talk too much.”

You smile “And yet you’re still listening.”

He doesn’t smile back but his shoulders drop, just slightly. And when the next gust of wind hits, he doesn’t flinch.

Because you’re there.

Because someone’s finally watching his back.

You lean in and press a kiss to his shoulder, not dramatic, just grounding. A promise. You feel him shift slightly toward you, almost imperceptibly.

The storm passes, but the cold stays.

You and Law sit under the overhang near the helm, out of the rain but not the wind. The ship creaks with each wave, but now it’s calmer. The kind of quiet that always feels like something is waiting.

He hasn’t spoken since you told him you’d watch his back.

But he’s still here.

You’re still here.

And that’s something.

You let your head rest lightly against his shoulder. His arm doesn’t move for a long moment, then slowly, tentatively, he curls it behind you, just enough that your bodies lean into one another.

“I thought you’d leave” he says at last, voice low.

You glance at him “When?”

“After Dressrosa. After the Doflamingo fight. Most people would’ve.”

“I’m not most people.”

He makes a soft sound in his throat, something between agreement and disbelief.

Then he says it.

“I didn’t expect you to stay this long.”

You blink “Did you want me to go?”

“No” he says too quickly. Then quieter “I just thought you would.”

You wrap your arms around your knees, watching the wet deck glisten under the moonlight.

“People leave you a lot, don’t they?”

He doesn’t answer.

You don’t need him to.

You reach over and take his hand again, threading your fingers through his with the same steady warmth you always give him. Your thumb traces soft circles over the back of his hand.

You take a slow breath and shift to face him more fully.

“You don’t always have to be the one doing the saving, Law.”

His head tilts, just slightly.

You lean forward but not too close, just enough to be clear.

“I’ll protect you now.”

The wind blows your hair into your face. You don’t move it.

He’s staring at you like he doesn’t understand the words. Like no one’s ever said them to him before and meant it.

“You think I need protection?” he asks, but there’s no bite in it. No challenge.

You smile “I think you’re tired of carrying everything alone.”

For a second, just a second, his expression softens.

Not in a dramatic way. Not like in the stories.

But his eyes lose that sharp edge.

He leans back against the wood behind him, shoulders dropping just a bit more than before. As if, maybe, he’s letting the idea settle.

Letting you settle.

You shift closer again and kiss his cheek, soft and slow, just near the corner of his mouth. He closes his eyes like he’s soaking in the quiet.

You don’t push it. You just sit with him, in the silence, your presence a quiet promise:

He’s not alone anymore.

The cold settles around you both like a second skin, but here, pressed close, there’s a different kind of warmth.

You lean into him slowly, head resting against his chest this time, right where you can hear his heartbeat. At first, he’s stiff. Not resisting, but still wired tight, like his body doesn’t quite remember how to relax.

You wrap your arms around his middle, pulling him into a soft, secure hold.

He lets out a breath against your hair. It’s quiet. Almost disbelieving.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” you murmur into his coat “Not with me.”

You feel it when something in him finally begins to loosen. Not all at once. Not dramatically. But like a knot unspooling deep inside.

His hand comes up, hesitant at first, then rests on the back of your head. His fingers thread gently into your hair, and you close your eyes at the feeling.

He doesn’t speak.

You tilt your face up toward him.

His gaze meets yours, wary, but no longer guarded. He’s let you in. At least a little. Enough.

You smile softly “Come here.”

And before he can argue, before he can overthink it, you press your lips to his.

One kiss.

Then another. Then another.

Soft and fast, like raindrops. Like a flurry of promises falling out of you all at once, impossible to hold back.

You kiss the corner of his mouth, his top lip, the edge of his jaw, then back to his mouth again.

With each kiss, you whisper:

“I will protect you now”

“My boss”

“My leader”

“My hero”

“My captain”

“My love.”

And something in him just… gives.

His breath hitches. His hands tighten around you, not pulling you away, but drawing you in. Letting you have him like this.

He exhales like surrender. His voice is barely above a whisper.

“…Fine. Do whatever you want.”

You press your forehead to his, smiling against his skin.

“I already am.”

And he doesn’t push you away. He doesn’t retreat behind silence.

He stays.

Wrapped up in your arms. Your warmth. Your words. Your kisses.

For once, Law lets himself be held.

── .✦ Shanks:

The first time you see him, it’s not on purpose.

You’re in a quiet port town, just passing through. Hiding, really. The kind of hiding that doesn’t involve running, it just means standing still long enough for the world to forget you.

Then the bar door opens.

And he walks in like he owns the ocean.

Red hair. Wide grin. A laugh that fills the room before he even speaks.

“Oi, Benn! I told you I could smell meat from a mile off!”

You glance up once and then away. You know who he is. Of course you do. Red-Haired Shanks. One of the Four Emperors. A name that carries storms.

You sip your drink and try not to look again.

It doesn’t work.

He notices.

You end up at the same table, somehow. He’s charming like that, pulls people in like the tide.

“What’s your story?” he asks casually, swirling his drink.

You shake your head “No story.”

“Everyone has one.”

“Not me.”

He smiles “You’re a terrible liar.”

You laugh despite yourself. It’s small. But he hears it.

“You’ve been drifting,” he says “I can tell.”

You pause “That obvious?”

He shrugs “Only to someone who’s done the same.”

Later, you’re sitting with him by the docks, the sea stretching out like a painting. He’s quieter now. Thoughtful.

You speak without meaning to.

“On a sea called loneliness… I’d come to lose my way.”

He turns toward you slowly, listening.

“My vision was dark. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t even know what I was looking for.”

Shanks doesn’t interrupt.

“But a single sailboat came close.”

He smiles faintly.

“And that happy ending became our story.”

He chuckles under his breath “You’re poetic when you’ve had rum.”

You smile, but it doesn’t fade.

“You’re the first person who didn’t ask me to explain why I left. Or who I used to be.”

“I don’t care who you were,” he says gently “Only who you are when you’re with me.”

The sea breeze lifts your hair. His eyes flick to it, and stay there a moment too long.

You don’t speak again for a while. There’s no need.

Two drifters. One sailboat. And, maybe, the start of something that doesn’t have to end in loneliness.

Years Later

The sun hangs low, golden and lazy, casting soft light across the deck of the Red Force.

Shanks is half-asleep in a chair near the railing, hat pulled down over his eyes. You’re sitting not far, feet propped up, notebook balanced on your knee. You don’t write often, at least not like this, but today feels different.

You glance at him. He’s relaxed, arms crossed loosely, the breeze playing with the hem of his coat.

Years ago, he was chaos walking. A whirlwind with a smile.

Now?

He’s still chaos. But he’s yours.

You smile and press your pen to the page.

“On a sea called L-O-V-E,

The sunlight dazzles as it reflects upon the water.

On that sailboat over there, are two people—

Just a captain and a sailor.

And that happy ending is our story.”

You pause.

Then close the notebook, leave it on the small table beside him, and go below deck. You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

Later, just before dinner, he finds you in the galley. One arm wraps lazily around your waist from behind, pulling you in.

“I read what you wrote” he murmurs near your ear.

“Oh?”

“It was missing one thing.”

You raise a brow, glancing back at him “Yeah?”

He presses his forehead to yours “The part where the sailor becomes captain of the captain.”

You laugh, soft and full.

“In your dreams maybe” you tease.

“In our story” he corrects, grinning.

You shake your head and kiss him anyway.

It’s meant to be quick, teasing, familiar.

But Shanks doesn’t let go. His hand cups the back of your neck, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw as he kisses you again, slower this time. Deeper. Like he’s been waiting all day for this one quiet moment.

You melt into him. The galley fades, the ship fades, even the sea feels quieter.

When you finally pull apart, your forehead rests against his. Neither of you speaks right away. You don’t need to.

He closes his eye, brushing his nose against yours “You still take my breath away, you know that?”

You smile against his lips “Even when I’m just trying to steal your coat?”

“Especially then.”

He leans back, just enough to reach into his coat pocket and pulls out something small, wrapped in an old cloth. He unwraps it with care, revealing a silver ring etched with faint waves.

“Was gonna wait,” he says softly, “but then I read what you wrote.”

Your breath catches.

“It’s not a proposal, not exactly,” he continues, “but it’s a promise. That whatever seas we sail, whatever storm hits… I’m yours. No matter what.”

You stare at the ring, heart swelling in your chest “Shanks…”

He slides it onto your finger, his touch feather-light “You don’t need to wear it if you don’t want. I just... I just wanted you to have something that says what I can’t always say.”

You take his hand in yours, kissing his knuckles “You already say it. Every time you look at me like I’m not just part of your crew, but like I'm part of you.”

He chuckles, a little unsteady “You are.”

The kiss you give him now isn’t playful. It’s reverent. Grateful. Fierce and fragile all at once.

Afterward, you whisper, “My captain. My anchor.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then your forehead, murmuring between each one:

“My light. My home. My heart.”

Later, beneath a sky dusted with stars, you lie curled in the hammock together—his coat draped over both your shoulders, his hand resting over yours, thumb absently brushing the ring now on your finger.

He presses a kiss to your temple and murmurs, “I used to chase the horizon. But then I found you.”

You smile into his chest.

“I’ll chase it with you,” you say softly “As long as you want.”

He holds you tighter.

“Forever sounds good to me.”

And with the steady lull of the sea beneath you and the warmth of him around you, you sleep in the safest place you’ve ever known.

── .✦ Kid:

The ship is on fire.

Well, not literally. But that’s what it feels like after the ambush.

Scorched sails. Blood on the deck. Your ribs ache, bruised or maybe cracked, and Killer’s bleeding from his arm, trying to stop Heat from collapsing.

Kid is in the middle of it all, rage and metal, torn coat, growling orders no one can follow fast enough.

“Damn it, where’s WIRE?!”

“Dead if we don’t patch him now!” you shout back, dragging your half-burned jacket off to wrap someone else’s wound.

He doesn’t answer. His jaw is clenched tight, eyes scanning everything like he’s trying to hold the whole crew together with nothing but anger and magnets.

But you’re not afraid.

You’ve seen him like this before. Broken knuckles. Cracked teeth. And still standing. Still fighting.

Still trying.

He doesn’t realize you’re next to him until your hand grabs his shoulder.

“Kid.”

He glances at you, blood across his cheek, chest rising like a storm trying not to explode.

“We’re not dead,” you say “We’re still here.”

He scoffs “Barely.”

You shake your head “You always think surviving means losing.”

“Because it is,” he snarls “Every fight takes something from us.”

“Now just breath” you snap, stepping closer “Look at me.”

His eyes go wide.

You don’t blink.

“I’ll follow you. I’ll follow you ‘til the end of my days.”

The words hit the air like thunder, loud, real, and permanent.

You lift your chin with your biggest smile.

“YES, SIR.”

Something shifts in his face, not softness, not yet. But a crack. A flicker. The kind of look someone gets when they realize they’re not alone.

His voice is low.

“You’re not scared of me?”

You grin.

“I was.”

“And now?”

“I’m yours.”

And for once, Kid doesn’t argue.

He just takes your hand, calloused and shaking, and holds on like it might be the only thing left that doesn’t burn.

The ship’s quiet now.

Not peaceful but quiet. The kind of silence that settles after screaming, after gunfire, after the medics say “He’s gonna make it” and you finally let yourself breathe.

You check on everyone first. Heat’s stable. Killer’s stitches are clean. Wire’s conscious.

Only after you’ve made sure the others are resting you walk down the hall to his door.

It’s half open.

You knock once anyway.

“…It’s open” Kid’s voice grunts from inside.

You step in.

He’s sitting on the edge of his bunk, shirt off, fresh bandages wrapping his torso and arm. His metal hand is still twitching from leftover stress—little sparks crackling at the edges.

He doesn’t look at you at first.

But he doesn’t tell you to leave.

You shut the door and walk over, slow and calm, like approaching a wild thing that might still bite.

“You good?” you ask softly.

“Peachy” he mutters, eyes on the floor.

You eye the bruise on his jaw “Looks like it.”

He grunts, but says nothing more.

You stand there for a few long seconds. Then you exhale, toss your jacket to the side, and without asking, climb onto his lap, straddling him gently.

He stiffens a little “The hell are you—?”

“Shut up.”

He blinks. You settle your weight down, arms looped around his neck, foreheads almost touching.

His breath slows.

“…You’re gonna make me soft” he mutters, voice rough.

“You are soft” you say, brushing his hair back from his face.

He huffs “Right.”

You smile.

Then, quietly, honestly, you speak “My hero.”

His jaw tenses.

“My captain.”

He doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Every day in this world feels like a battle… but you’re the captain who brought me to my victory.”

He looks up at that.

There’s a flicker of pain, disbelief, maybe guilt. He shakes his head.

“We lost.”

You don’t flinch. You bring a hand to his cheek, cupping it firmly.

“We all survived.” You lean in, eyes locked with his “Is it really a loss?”

The words hang between you, heavy and warm.

He stares at you for a long, long moment. Then finally, his voice low, almost gravel, he says “…No.”

You nod.

“Good,” you whisper “Now let me hold you until your stupid brain believes it.”

He lets you.

He even wraps his arms around you, tentative at first, then tight, like maybe you’re the anchor he didn’t know he needed until tonight.

You rest your forehead against his, feeling the tension bleeding out of him inch by inch.

His metal hand settles at your back, warmer than it should be. Steady.

“You always this bossy?” he grumbles, voice low but not annoyed. Almost… fond.

You grin “Only when you’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? I got impaled.”

“And still talking,” you say sweetly, brushing your nose against his “Clearly not fatal.”

A quiet sound escapes him, not quite a laugh, but really close. He pulls you closer, jaw pressing to your shoulder, voice muffled against your skin.

“You scare the hell out of me sometimes.”

You smile “Good. Keeps you on your toes.”

You shift slightly, just enough to ghost a kiss across his cheekbone. Then another, soft at the corner of his mouth. Then one more right on his lips, softer and a bit longer.

He exhales, like you’ve stolen all the fire out of him with that one simple touch.

You whisper against his mouth, “I meant what I said.”

“I know.”

“My hero.”

He groans lightly “You’re gonna kill me with that shit.”

“My captain” you say again, this time planting a kiss under his jaw.

“I’ll throw you overboard” he warns half-heartedly, pulling you tighter.

“No you won’t.”

He doesn’t argue.

You rest your head against his chest, listening to the slow thump of his heart, and he buries his fingers in your hair like it’s the only thing grounding him.

“You’re the only thing that makes this worth it” he mumbles after a while.

You grin again, eyes closed “Took you long enough.”

“Shut up.”

You don’t.

You just nuzzle in closer, his warmth surrounding you, his heartbeat steady against yours, and for once, even on a ship held together by bolts and scars and sheer, everything feels unshakably, impossibly whole.

── .✦ Ace:

The waves crash steady against the ship, stars scattered across the sea like someone spilled the sky.

You’re sitting on the edge of the deck, legs swinging over the side, the ocean dark beneath you. Most of the crew’s asleep. Only you and him are still awake.

Ace drops down beside you, barefoot and shirtless, sea breeze ruffling his hair. He smells like smoke and salt and freedom.

"You're gonna fall in one day" he says, nudging your leg with his knee.

You glance over "Then you better be ready to dive in after me. Oh wait, you can't even swim anymore!"

He grins "I'd like to see you try drowning."

You bump your shoulder into his "I did once, remember? Before you even formed this crew... That's how we met."

He goes quiet.

You weren’t joking.

Neither was he, when he dragged you back to the ship half-dead, coughing seawater, chest heaving as he yelled your name like it was the last thing keeping him afloat.

That was the first time he held you like something fragile.

And the first time you knew he’d never let go.

You look out at the sea again "You saved me."

"Hm?"

"Back then. And now. All the time, really."

He leans back on his hands "You act like I’m some hero."

You shake your head "No. You're not a hero."

He laughs "Gee, thanks."

You turn to him, steady “I'm your sailor. You're the captain. You saved me from drifting.”

He blinks. His grin fades, not in a bad way, just... softer. More real.

“I never saved anyone” he says after a second.

“You did, and I'm not talking about that time...” you whisper “You just don't realise it.”

He doesn’t speak, but you feel his hand brush yours, fingers grazing yours like he wants to hold on, but doesn’t know how.

So you do it first.

You intertwine your fingers with his, firm and warm.

“I didn’t follow you ‘cause you saved me that day” you murmur “I followed you ‘cause I finally felt seen.”

He swallows hard.

Then says your name... just your name, but it sounds like a promise.

Not grand. Not dramatic.

Just true.

And that’s all you ever needed.

Years Later

For once, everything’s quiet. No Marines, no missions. Just you, a sleepy harbor, and one very shirtless fire-user leaning against the rail with a half-eaten orange in hand.

You step outside, towel-drying your hair from the bath, and lean beside him.

He grins at you like always, like you’re his favorite sight in the world.

You smirk.

“Hey, Captain.”

Ace groans immediately, tossing the orange peel at your feet.

“You still call me that?” he says, exasperated “It’s been years since I stopped being a captain, Y/N. Drop it already…”

You shrug innocently “But it suits you.”

Before he can roll his eyes harder, you lean in and plant a quick, soft kiss on his lips.

Then whisper, just close enough for him to feel your breath “My boss. My leader. My hero. My captain.”

Ace exhales like you’ve just made his heart do a backflip, but he plays it cool... barely.

“Ugh,” he groans dramatically, gently pushing your face away with one hand “Can’t you just be a cute lover and call me… I don’t know, boyfriend? Honey? My love?”

You blink at him, lips twitching, then smirk.

“Alright, sure. How about... Flamey Hot Dumbass Supreme?”

He stares at you.

“...That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

You grin wider “What? It’s affectionate.”

Ace covers his face with one hand, groaning “What was I even thinking that day I confessed to you and kissed you...”

You press a kiss to his cheek “That I was the only person who could make your life this fun.”

He huffs but he doesn’t argue.

He just pulls you closer, tucking you under his arm, and lets the sunset burn quietly around you both.

The laughter fades slowly.

Ace still has his arm around your shoulders, thumb brushing slow circles on your upper arm. You rest your head against his bare chest, listening to the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat.

The orange-sweet breeze brushes past. The sun’s dipped lower now, gold turning to pink.

He doesn’t speak for a long while.

And then softly, without teasing “You’ve been sitting next to me all this time…”

You glance up, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your chest squeeze.

“Yeah” you whisper “Where else would I go?”

Ace lets out a breath that almost sounds like disbelief. His fingers move up to touch your cheek, warm and careful.

“I was so busy back then. Fighting. Running. Trying to prove something. I didn’t even see it at first.”

“See what?”

“You” he says “Of course.”

You smile, nudging his nose with yours “Took you long enough.”

His other hand finds your waist, pulling you gently closer until your knees are nearly in his lap. His voice drops “I love you.”

You blink, heart thudding.

He’s said it before, during arguments, in bed, drunk off sake. But this time? This time it’s bare, and slow, and steady.

You wrap your arms around his neck and whisper against his lips:

“I love you too, firebrain.”

You’re both smiling into the kiss when—

“Yo.”

You freeze.

Ace groans out loud, forehead thudding against your shoulder as Marco’s voice cuts you.

You both turn, Ace’s hand still on your thigh, your face flushed, as Marco stands with a completely deadpan expression.

“Am I interrupting?”

Ace doesn’t even lift his head “You think?”

Marco shrugs “Well, you're not in your room, you know? That’s basically an invitation.”

You’re trying not to laugh as Ace flips him off without looking.

“Five minutes, Marco” you plead.

Marco holds up his hands, already walking off “Sure, sure. Just letting you know dinner’s ready... lovebirds.”

Ace groans again, shoving his face into your neck as you laugh harder.

“I swear I’m gonna set that pineapple on fire.”

“Sure you are, Captain.”

“…Don’t start.”

716 notes · View notes

luna-azzurra · 3 days ago

Text

Ways I Write a Woman...

➤ Who’s Tired of Being Talked Over

You ever watch someone hold in a scream behind their teeth? That’s her, constantly.

✧ She starts choosing her words like landmines. Each one is sharp, controlled, and timed like a threat. She’s learned that being polite won’t get her listened to, but sounding like you might flip a table will. ✧ She’s mastered the art of the silence that feels loud. Doesn’t fill awkward gaps. Just lets the discomfort sit in the air like smoke. ✧ She explains things with forced calm, the kind that sounds like a teacher asking a second-grade class why the hamster is missing. ✧ She notices interruptions like bruises. She doesn’t react to them anymore, not out loud. But you can bet she counts them. ✧ She repeats herself less. Not because they understood her the first time. Because they never listened anyway. ✧ She’s learned how to weaponize eye contact. Not in a sexy way. In a “I will set this boardroom on fire with my mind” way. ✧ Her voice only shakes when she’s deciding if it’s worth the explosion.

➤ Who’s Been Called ‘Too Much’ Her Whole Life

She isn’t too much. She’s just tired of shrinking for people who were never going to make room anyway.

✧ She says the thing you’re not supposed to say. Then stares at you to see what you’ll do with it. ✧ She’s loud with her laugh, loud with her grief, loud with her love, because if she’s going to be punished for being “extra,” she might as well be honest about it. ✧ She over-explains. Over-apologizes. Then catches herself and stops halfway through the sentence. ✧ She tries to “tone it down” and ends up sounding like a censored version of herself, bland, miserable, unfinished. ✧ She edits her texts four times, deletes the paragraph, sends “haha ok :)” instead. ✧ She keeps her hands busy because otherwise they’d be doing something reckless. ✧ She overcompensates with sarcasm and then goes home and wonders if everyone hates her. ✧ She’s loved fiercely. Regretted it more fiercely. ✧ She walks into a room like she owns it, and then spends the entire time wondering if she should have stayed home.

➤ Who Wants to Be Soft but Doesn’t Feel Safe

She's gentle, but that gentleness lives under twenty layers of armor. And most people never even get past the first. ✧ She’s careful with her compliments, she knows how people weaponize kindness. ✧ She keeps her vulnerability behind locked doors and guards them with jokes, sarcasm, and “I’m just tired.” ✧ She’ll comfort others like she was born to do it, but flinch if someone offers her the same. ✧ She avoids mirrors on bad days. Eye contact on good ones. ✧ She cries where no one can see. Car bathrooms. Locked bedrooms. Grocery store parking lots at night. ✧ She doesn’t ask for help. Not because she doesn’t need it, but because the last time she did, it came with a price. ✧ She’s soft with animals, with children, with strangers, but not herself. Never herself. ✧ She daydreams about being taken care of, then immediately gets mad at herself for wanting something so “weak.” ✧ She wants love, but she’s terrified of being known. Because if someone really saw her? What if they didn’t stay?

And if you’re sitting there reading all of that thinking, “God, I don’t even know how to write women like this…” Please know: you’re not alone. Like, really not alone.

Writing female characters in a way that feels true, nuanced, and unapologetically real isn’t just about avoiding clichés. It’s about unlearning everything you were taught about what women are “supposed” to be on the page. It’s about getting underneath the polish. Past the performative strength. Past the “she’s not like other girls” and the “strong but broken” tropes. Past the idea that softness is weakness and rage is unlikable.

So many people struggle with this, not because they don’t care, but because no one ever really taught them how to see women as people first.

A lot of us grew up reading female characters written through a lens that flattened us. Made us background noise, love interests, plot devices, or emotionally bulletproof when we weren’t emotionally unstable. It’s no wonder we’re all trying to figure out how to do better now. I write a Book about How to Write Women that feel Alive... For you.

In the chapters ahead, we’re going to unravel that mess, together (Promise). We’ll talk about...

❥ Tropes — the ones worth reclaiming, and the ones you can toss into the fire. ❥ The psychology of a woman — how conditioning, survival, identity, and inner conflict shape her from the inside out. ❥ Female vs. male conflict — not in a “boys suck” way, but in a “our emotional battlegrounds are different and that matters” way. ❥ Expectations — society’s, her own, and how characters shrink or shatter under them. ❥ Emotions as strength — especially the ones she was taught to hide: fear, grief, longing, joy, rage. ❥ Female anger — what happens when she finally stops holding it in. ❥ Archetypes — and how to subvert them without erasing the truths they come from. ❥ Female friendships — no more cardboard “bestie” side characters. ❥ Romantic relationships — what it means when she’s finally seen. Chosen. Or rejected. ❥Mothers, daughters, and sisters — because female relationships deserve more than being backstory. ❥ Dialogue — how she speaks when she’s safe vs. when she’s scared. ❥ Inner conflict and development — her arc isn’t about fixing her. It’s about letting her evolve. ❥ Writing exercises — to help you get past the noise and write from a place that feels real. ❥ A full checklist for writing female OCs — layered, powerful, contradictory, alive.

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This isn’t a rulebook. It’s a guide. A toolbox. A comfort blanket. A callout. A reminder that writing women doesn’t have to feel impossible, you just have to be willing to look a little deeper.

So if you’ve ever felt stuck writing a female character… If you’ve defaulted to tropes because you didn’t know how else to make her “interesting”… If you’ve erased her emotions to make her “strong”… Or if you’ve stared at the page wondering why she still doesn’t feel real...This book is for you.

And I promise, by the time you reach the last chapter? You’ll not only know how to write her. You’ll understand her. And maybe even see a little of yourself in the process.

Love u All!!🖤

811 notes · View notes

foxy-eva · 2 days ago

Text

Love me Tender

Summary: When you finally tell him about your struggles with sex, Spencer proves to be the most understanding and gentle boyfriend anyone could wish for

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Comfort, Fluff, Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) Reader struggles with painful sex/penetration, implied medical issues (not specified), implied negative past sexual experiences, feelings of insecurity and frustration, nervousness, crying, heavy kissing, grinding, oral (both receiving, including 69), handjob, fingering, attempted penetrative sex

Word count: 4.6k

Author’s Note: Me? Writing a completely self-indulgent fic yet again? It’s more likely than you think. I hope this little story finds its way to people who need it <3

Masterlist

Heavy breaths. Heaving chests. Tongues intertwined and bodies so entangled it became impossible to tell them apart.

Yet again you had found yourself on Spencer’s couch, his weight trapping you beneath him, while you got lost in the haze of longing. Albeit still being protected by some layers of clothing, it felt like you might melt together. Ever so slightly you rolled your hips against him until you could feel his desire burning for you.

The lust you felt was overwhelming, yet the further things progressed, the more reluctant you became. That had happened before and Spencer sensed your hesitation. A sigh left his throat and you caught it with your lips. His kisses became more innocent until he was only softly pecking your lips.

The word sorry burned on your tongue but before you could voice it, Spencer hushed you. “It’s okay. Don’t apologize.”

He sat up and you mirrored his motion until you were sat beside him on the couch again. Gentle fingertips found the side of your face, caressing your cheek and ghosting over lips plump from kissing.

“You’re so incredibly beautiful,” Spencer breathed.

With heated cheeks you looked at him, his eyes dark and filled with yearning, staring at you like you were some kind of miracle he was witnessing. It was comforting to see his adoration for you. However, a part of you still believed he’d run out of patience with you soon.

It had been many weeks of you kissing and cuddling on his couch, acts that were innocent the first time quickly turned into something more sinful. A moan escaping his throat when he felt some friction against his hardness, a desperate sigh from your lips when you ground against him. And then you’d ask him to stop.

He never once complained when you voiced your wish to slow down, always content with any ounce of affection you’d grant him. But how could it be enough?

Spencer noticed the glistening in your eyes before you could even feel the tears forming.

“Hey,” he cooed. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

The first tear rolled down your cheek and Spencer pulled you into his embrace. “I.. I just..,” was all you could mutter before the dam broke and you just sobbed against his chest. His heart was beating erratically against his ribcage, the panicked sensation he must have felt was very familiar to you.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he mumbled. “It’s okay, you did nothing wrong.”

After several moments of silence, you wiped away the saline droplets from your face and shied away from Spencer’s touch.

“I’m sorry, you must be so frustrated with me,” you sobbed and Spencer’s eyes widened. “I’m really not trying to be a tease, I swear.”

“What are you talking about?” His voice was laced with concern and confusion. “That’s not what I’m thinking. And I’m not frustrated with you.”

More tears spilled from your lashes. His words were sincere. Maybe it was time to be honest with him.

“I know you want to have sex with me.” Your words almost sounded like an accusation but that wasn’t your intention, so with a softer tone you added, “And I want to sleep with you, too.”

His facial features were soft when he said, “It’s okay if you’re not ready. There's no rush.”

“It’s not that,” you tried to explain. “I can’t have sex.”

His brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand?”

“It hurts. I can’t have sex because it’s too painful for me.”

Spencer's eyes widened but only for a second. Then, after he encouraged you to speak, he just sat there and listened while words began bubbling from your mouth. Stories about advice from medical professionals and experiences with past lovers all spilled from your lips.

“There are good days,” you finally concluded. “But most days it's a struggle. And sometimes I think it will work but then it doesn't.”

Relief washed over you when you had finally told Spencer about this. It had been bothering you for weeks and you were glad it was finally out, whatever that would mean for your future together.

Staring at him, you suddenly felt your heart beating loudly inside your chest. His face still looked soft and understanding but you weren't entirely sure how he'd react.

“I'm very sorry you have to deal with this,” he softly spoke. “I can imagine how difficult this must be for you.”

Your sight fell to the floor when you muttered, “I would understand if this was dealbreaker for you. I'm sure you expected something else when we started dating.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” he said before gently touching your cheek to turn your head until you'd look at him again. Then, he continued, “I care about you and I really like you. I am grateful for any amount of physical proximity you'll grant me, whether sexual or not. I just want to be close to you in any way you're comfortable with.”

His words warmed your heart and made you smile. “Just for the record, I was very comfortable with what we did before,” you snickered.

“Yeah?” He purred as he leaned closer. “Good to know.”

His lips captured yours in a kiss that turned from sickenly sweet to breathtaking within moments. It didn't take long until you found yourself in your previous position lying on the couch with Spencer on top of you.

Within minutes you felt the heat rushing through your body again until this familiar tingling returned to your core. A slight shift of your legs and you had Spencer’s thigh pressing against you in the best way possible. It wasn't enough for you, though.

“Spencer…,” you mumbled into the kiss.

He leaned back slightly to look at you and whisper, “Do you want to slow down?”

Staring up at him, your heart skipped a beat. He looked so beautiful with unruly curls hanging into his face and his lips plump from kissing.

“No, I wanna do more,” you confessed. In an instant, your hands flew to his shirt, getting a hold of the first button. “Want to feel your skin.”

The sweetest smile spread over his face. “I want that, too,” he whispered and brushed over the hem of your shirt.

A little too enthusiastically, you tried to sit up to get rid of your clothes and almost threw Spencer off the couch. Ungracefully, he grabbed the armrest of the couch to avoid losing his balance and colliding with the floor.

“I'm so sorry!” You giggled as you helped him back onto the couch. He joined you in your laughter and placed several innocent pecks on your lips.

“It's okay,” he chuckled. “I didn't expect how eager you'd be to get me naked.”

“I have waited for too long,” you whined.

“Come on,” Spencer said as he stood up and took your hand. “We'll be much more comfortable in my bed.”

For a brief moment you hesitated but then you got up and followed him. You knew you could trust that he would be nothing but gentle and patient with you. If anything, it would probably be you who'd expect too much of yourself.

At his bedside, curious hands began pushing and pulling on fabric until both of you stood in front of one another in nothing but underwear. Gently, you pushed Spencer onto the mattress before you found your place on top of him, straddling his lap.

His clothed erection pressed against the lace of your panties and it almost drove you insane. As your sight travelled over his skin, you felt your cheeks heating up. You couldn’t decide whether to focus on the warm amber of his eyes, his saccharine smile, his heaving chest or the softness of his tummy.

He was just so pretty.

You noticed his sight dropping to the swell of your chest at the same time his hardness twitched against your covered heat. “God, you're so beautiful,” he whispered before his hands cradled your cheeks to pull you down for another kiss.

He didn't wait to deepen this kiss, his tongue begged for entrance right away. It became obvious how aroused Spencer was, a realization that only turned you on more. Tentatively, you began rocking your hips against his hardness, creating some much needed friction between your legs. The moan that escaped his throat sent shockwaves right through your body.

His hands travelled down your shoulders and over your back until they found the clasp of your bra. Skillfully, he undid it before you briefly broke the kiss to toss away the piece of clothing. Spencer cupped your breasts, gently exploring your skin before taking your hardened peaks between his fingers. Caressing you this way made your head spin and had you grinding even harder against his cock.

The lace of your panties became soaked with your arousal as the tension in your core only grew. The sounds of pleasure that made it past your lips were swallowed by him as he didn’t allow you to break the kiss.

When you ground over Spencer’s sensitive tip, a desperate “Fuck!” was mumbled against your mouth. It was then that you decided this wasn’t enough, you needed more of him. Your lips left his to kiss along his jaw and down his neck instead, nipping on his neck until you felt his throat vibrate with a content hum.

Sitting up, your hands wandered along his chest, caressing his skin before following the line of hair from his navel down to the waistband of his underwear. A smirk was painted over your face when you found his eyes again.

“I want to touch you,” you murmured and as if to answer you, you felt him throb against the confines of his boxers.

“Please…,” he breathed, watching your every move.

Spencer whined when you got off his lap and you mourned the loss of pressure as well. But you had other, even more fun things to do. With a swift motion, you hooked your fingers under the waistband of his underwear to pull it down and throw it on the flow to join the rest of his clothes.

His cock laid on his stomach, swollen and thick with a weeping tip that begged to be touched. Everything about this man lying in front of you was so aesthetically pleasing, it let heat rush through your veins.

Then, a very silly thought crossed your mind. Nothing you intended to say out loud but of course Spencer noticed the change of microexpressions in your face.

“Everything okay?” He said, having you tear your sight away from his body to look at his eyes again.

“Yeah sorry,” you awkwardly stammered as you laid down beside him. “I don’t want to kill the vibe, I just had a silly thought about something.”

He raised his eyebrows as he said, “Now I’m curious.”

“You’re very beautiful and so, so perfect, Spencer,” you said with the utmost sincerity in your voice. With a more light-hearted tone, you quipped, “It’s so silly but I kinda hoped you had a small penis. It would have made things a lot easier.”

When you heard Spencer laugh at your words, you were relieved and chimed in with your own giggles. He briefly looked down at himself.

“I’m pretty sure it’s just average,” he chuckled.

“Nothing about you is average, Dr. Reid,” you cooed before capturing his lips once more, feeling him smiling into the kiss.

One of your hands travelled down his body with a clear goal in mind. When you found his cock, you let your fingertips travel along his length. His skin felt like velvet under your touch. Spencer trembled when you finally wrapped your fingers around him to give him a gentle squeeze. The droplets on his tip were collected by your thumb and used to glide up and down his length with slow and precise motions.

When he dared to look down to watch you taking care of him, he downright growled at the sight. “Feels so good!”

Then, with greedy hands he grabbed your hips and drew circles into the lace of your underwear. He looked at you again, a soft expression on his face, and purred, “Can I touch you, too?”

His question made you sigh and retract your hand from him. Spencer apologized immediately, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

However, there was nothing to be sorry about. The truth was that you were burning for his touch and longed to find relief. Aware that your feelings of restraint were a result of previous experiences and didn’t have anything to do with Spencer, you wanted to give him a chance. He deserved to get the opportunity to show you the care you needed.

“Don’t apologize. I want you to touch me, Spencer,” you told him as you pulled down your panties, revealing yourself to him. “Just be gentle, please.”

His hand wandered over your breasts and gently brushed over them before it descended further down. His fingertips danced along your hips and your thighs before they wandered closer to your heat.

You were sure he could sense your nervousness when he whispered, “I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

You nodded and he placed his warm palm over your slit, holding it still for a moment. Despite your nervousness, you were so turned on you could feel your own heartbeat drumming against his hand. “Still feeling alright?” He wanted to make sure.

“Yeah,” you confirmed.

Gently, he let his fingertips glide along your seam, collecting the wetness that had dripped from you already. With the same amount of carefulness, he parted your folds with his forefinger to find your swollen pearl and started circling it with slow motions. Shockwaves travelled through your body and you could feel how your thighs trembled slightly.

He kissed your cheek and murmured, “How does that feel?”

“Feels good,” you sighed and instructed, “add a bit more pressure.”

When he did, your entire body shook and a broken moan made it past your lips. Spencer hesitated to continue moving his hand. “Too much?” he wanted to know.

Shaking your head, you whimpered, “No, it’s perfect.”

He smiled at you and continued this motion. Then, he let his fingertips glide through your folds to collect more of your arousal from your entrance. Without intending to, you flinched when you felt him at your opening. Not because it was actually painful, but because you expected it to be.

In an instant, he retracted his hand. Concern was written all over his face when he looked at you. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No,” you said and took his hand in yours. “I just thought it might hurt.”

You placed his fingers back on your sensitive nub to encourage him to continue before you wrapped your hand around his cock again. When you began stroking him once more, Spencer started moving his hand as well. Weeks of built-up tension begged to be released as you brought one another closer to the edge.

Closing your eyes, you focussed on this magnificent sensation of being at ease. Facing this wonderful man, your body pressed against his, you felt so safe and cared for. It only took a few more moments until you let yourself come undone, your thighs quivering and core pulsating as you ground your swollen bud against his fingers.

When you came down from your high, you shied away from his touch to focus back on him. His cock felt hot and heavy against your palm and even harder than just a moment earlier. Spencer tensed his entire body while panting some curse words right before relief washed over him. As he throbbed against your fingers, his essence spilled over your hand and onto his stomach.

Curling into his side, you placed a soft kiss on his cheek as you waited for him to catch his breath. It was hard to leave the comfort of his embrace but the two of you had to get up to get clean eventually.

Soon enough you were cuddled up under the blanket again, basking in each other’s warmth. Spencer held you safely against his chest while his fingers danced over your skin ever so slightly.

“That was fun,” you finally broke the silence and tilted your head to look at him.

Spencer smiled at you. “Yeah, it was.”

Even though Spencer seemed content, you still couldn’t quite tune out this nagging voice of insecurity inside you. Feeling brave for once, you decided to address it. “Can I ask you something?”

Spencer nodded, “Anything.”

After taking a deep breath, you wondered, “Are you disappointed that we didn’t …do more?”

The man beside you seemed surprised by your words and raised his eyebrows at you. He thought about his words for a second before he responded, “Absolutely not. I think what we did was plenty.”

That was all that you needed to hear. Spencer, however, had more to say about it, so he started one of his ramblings, “Did you know that studies show that the majority of women cannot reach climax from penetration alone? So if you think about it, it’s actually odd that what most heterosexual couples define as sex focusses so much on that. According to one study I read–”

As fun as it was to learn that Spencer apparently read sexual research papers, it wasn’t really the kind of pillow talk you needed right then, so you shut him up with a peck on his lips. He didn’t seem to mind and kissed you back in a same sickenly sweet manner. It didn’t take much longer until the both of you dozed off together.

Within the next few weeks you grew more comfortable around one another, exploring each other’s bodies whenever you were alone. That first night together was repeated in similar ways several times until Spencer confessed how much he craved to taste you. From then on you found his face buried between your thighs more often than you could count.

There was not much you could complain about and Spencer seemed happy, too. But still, whenever you caressed his throbbing cock you longed to feel him inside of you, to fill your emptiness and create a connection unlike anything else.

The next time you found yourself in Spencer’s bed again, clothes already shed and limbs entangled, you felt confident and comfortable and your pain was nothing more than a distant memory.

Spencer’s breath was hot against your cheek when his hand made its way between your legs. Desire was dripping from your folds as his fingers carefully glided through them. At the same time he began circling your most sensitive spot, you started stroking his hardened cock. You imagined how it would feel to have his swollen tip press into you and you instantly clenched around nothing.

Your free palm found Spencer’s hand between your legs and guided it further down until his fingertip was at your entrance.

“Inside,” you breathed

Your boyfriend hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

With widened eyes you looked at him and nodded. “Please,” you added.

Slower than necessary, he pressed his middle finger against your opening and stopped when he sensed some resistance. After taking a deep breath, you focussed on relaxing your pelvis. Once your body allowed him to continue, Spencer pushed his finger further in.

“Does that hurt?” He wanted to make sure.

The pressure was unwonted but not uncomfortable. You shook your head and noticed how Spencer curled his finger inside you, reaching a particularly tender spot. A gasp fell from your lips and you throbbed around his digit.

“Feels good,” you breathed.

Without any rush he worked his hand against your core until you were sure you'd float away any minute now. Your hand around his erection trembled as your imagination ran wild.

“I want your cock,” you finally whimpered, surprising the both of you.

Spencer looked at you with widened eyes and his mouth agape. Before he could say anything, you added, “I mean… I want to try if that's okay?”

Carefully, Spencer removed his hand from you, making you sigh at the loss of contact.

“That’s more than okay,” he breathed as he reached for the nightstand, taking out a condom from the drawer.

Intently, you watched as he opened the foil and rolled the latex over his cock. You motioned for Spencer to lean against the headboard of the bed before you swung your leg around his hips to straddle him.

Looking down at his hardness, your heart started fluttering. You couldn’t wait to finally be filled out by him. After wrapping your hand around his shaft, you tentatively let his tip glide through your folds.

Spencer watched you patiently, his hands resting on your hips.

“Take your time,” he purred before placing a soft kiss on your lips.

Positioning his tip at your entrance, you hovered over him and took a few deep breaths.

“Sorry, I'm really nervous,” you murmured as your cheeks heated up.

“That’s okay,” Spencer whispered. “You’re the one in charge here. We can stop at any point. I won’t be disappointed, I promise.”

You tried sinking down on him but once you felt the pressure of the head of his cock against your opening, you stopped.

“Can we maybe add some lube?”

“Yes, of course.” Spencer said as he reached for the drawer again. “I'm sorry I didn't think of that right away.”

You took the bottle of lube from his hand and softly spoke, “Let me do it.”

After squirting a fair amount of the liquid into your hand, you leaned back slightly to be able to spread it over his latex covered erection. Spencer moaned at the sensation and twitched against your palm.

When you were satisfied with that, you took in your previous position, hovering over his cock. One more deep breath and you began sinking down on him.

Half an inch in and the pressure was almost overwhelming. You stopped, took more deep breaths and noticed how you could feel Spencer's heartbeat inside you.

You took in a little more and the pressure morphed into a stinging that you were far too familiar with. A frustrated whine made it past your lips and Spencer stilled your hips.

“Please stop if it hurts,” he almost begged you.

In hopes your body would adjust to the intrusion, you kept still for another moment. It didn't though. The sting turned into a burn that made you yelp. Quicker than you probably should have, you lifted your hips again and plopped down on the mattress beside your boyfriend.

Your voice was already breaking when you said, “I'm sorry, I really hoped it would work.”

Spencer immediately wrapped you into his arms, just in time for the dam to break that let tears stream down your face.

“Please don't apologize,” he mumbled. “It's okay.”

His kindness only made you sob more and he pressed your body tightly against his. It wasn't the pain or any sadness that made you cry but the frustration over not being able to do what you yearned for.

When you had calmed down a bit, Spencer took a tissue to wipe away your tears while cooing, “I love you. You know that, right?”

“I love you, too,” you snivelled. “Thank you for being so kind and understanding.”

“Of course.”

With a sweet smile painted over his cheeks, he placed a tender kiss on your forehead.

After cleaning up a bit, you continued cuddling in bed. Many moments and innocent kisses later, the longing inside your chest returned.

Your kisses turned more urgent while one of your hands sneaked down Spencer’s body to dance over his hip and thighs. Your tongue brushed over his at the same time your fingertips found his dick, quickly hardening under your touch. The sensation of him growing inside your palm let shockwaves run through your body.

Spencer’s hands greedily brushed over your chest and down your body until they squeezed the curve of your backside.

When you began kissing down his body, Spencer threw his head back into the pillow. You wanted to feel him inside you, one way or another. As you kissed down his stomach, you took his erection into your hand.

He felt hot against your fingertips as you brushed over his velvety skin, making Spencer shudder when your thumb moved over his leaking tip. Leaning down, you started kissing along his shaft until you were sure that your lips had brushed over every inch of him.

You pressed your lips against his tip before opening them to let him slide into your mouth slowly. When he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed around him, eliciting a deep moan from your boyfriend.

With precise motions you began to move up and down, your hand covering what you couldn't fit into your mouth. The room filled with the sinful sounds of your mouth moving against his length and the moans falling from his lips.

“Wait,” he suddenly whined. “I wanna taste you, too.”

It took you a moment to understand what he meant. With a soft pop you released him from your mouth.

Smirking at him, you wanted to confirm, “You want me to… sit on your face?”

With more confidence than you had anticipated, he said, “Yes. That's exactly what I want.”

Shifting your position, you moved up the mattress before swinging one leg over his face until you were hovering over his face. Without wasting any time, Spencer showered your inner thighs with kisses and pulled you down so he could reach your core.

Like a man starved he let his tongue run through your folds and you couldn’t help but rock your hips against his tongue. For a moment you just sat there, revelling in the pleasure before your sight fell down on his cock, lying thick and hard on his stomach.

Spencer had such a tight grip over your thighs, you failed to lean forward.

“Spencer,” you snickered as you tapped his hands gripping your thighs. “You gotta let me go, I want to finish what I started.”

His hold on you lightened and you leaned forward until you could reach his hardness. After peppering him with kisses and tasting the little bead of precum that had spilled over his tip, you took him into your mouth again.

It was difficult to move with a rhythm, your own pleasure rushing through your body forced you to stop and moan around him every few moments. When he focussed his attention on your swollen pearl, you had to take a break. You released his cock from your lips and instead moved your hand lazily up and down his length.

Moans and sighs fell from your lips as you ground your hips back against his tongue, chasing that exhilarating sensation you so desperately longed for. When you finally came, Spencer became more gentle but didn't let you move away from him. Instead he lapped up your release before he let his mouth move over your folds carefully.

Once you had stopped panting erratically, you took his hardness back into your mouth, keen on granting him the same blissful feeling. It only took a few more skillful motions until he fell over the edge and released his warm essence on your tongue.

A few more soft kisses were placed on his tip, his shaft and at his base before you moved off of him to lay down beside him instead. His lips were glistening with your arousal when you kissed them, your own taste clearly perceptible.

You found your place inside his arms, your head resting on his chest. The comfortable silence was interrupted by your words.

“I love you so much.”

Tenderly, he kissed the top of your head.

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

“I love you more.”

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings @spensreid @silversprings-mp3 @person-005 @kittyisick @siriuslyval03 @sleepysongbirdsings @brownbunnyb @thegoodwitchs-blog

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds smut

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rafesbabygirlx · 3 days ago

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I’D RATHER HAVE YOU

✧ 𝙳𝙸𝙻𝙵!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚎𝚛!𝙽𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚢!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ✧

✧ 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 | 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

✧ Warnings- suggestive behavior, name calling (rafe about wife)

✧ Some inspiration from @moondustbaby headcanons! Thank you 🩵 it really helped with the motivation here!

You were young and beautiful and driving yourself crazy with college classes. Being nanny was the only thing that kept you afloat in your tiny apartment and worked around your class time.

The rich families on the island would pay any amount of money to not have to worry about their kids. That’s how you ended up working for Rafe Cameron. Richest man on the island. You made $55 an hour taking care of his 3 kids.

When you interviewed, Rafe seemed nothing short of uninterested. He sat there silent staring into the glass of whiskey he was swirling in his hand. You couldn’t stop your eyes from constantly flickering over to him. All while his wife read off a list of questions that sounded like she entered - “questions to ask someone who may watch my kids” - into an ai system.

If it weren’t for their 3 kids running in and crashing the interview, you didn’t think you’d even get the job. Their youngest, Ella. She warmed up to you instantly, getting you hired on the spot.

You worked for the Cameron’s for about a month when you noticed Rafe working from home more as the time went on. You worried about your hours being cut, but I never happened. Ella was constantly stuck to your side. You watched as Rafe’s eyes always lingered to you, but you thought the stares were directed at Ella.

When the older kids were at school and Ella was down for her nap, you took the time to do your assignments at the kitchen island. Rafe would wander into the kitchen, stand a little too close and ask you what you were working on. You’d try to ignore the way you can hear him smell the scent of your shampoo or the way he leave the kitchen clearly adjusting the crotch of his pants.

When the kids would be outside playing you’d sit in the grass with a book, occasionally keeping an eye on them. Rafe would come out and sit next to you with that same glass of whiskey. His hand would slowly inch towards yours and he’d softly brush his thumb across your knuckles. You felt a flutter in your stomach and tried to play it off as best as you could.

Then came the night when everything changed. His hair was ruffled and tie was loose from a stressful day at work. His wife was god knows where with god knows who. You were at the sink cleaning up the dishes from dinner when he came and stood behind you, placing his arms on either side of you, locking you in place between him and the counter.

Your breath hitched when he leaned in and his lips grazed your neck.

“You’d be a great step mom. The kids already love you.”

“Mr. Ca-” before you could finish he cut you off again.

“My wife is a big whore. She doesn’t think I know what she does. I know. I know everything. Working on leaving her, by the way.”

You’re at a loss for words. You’re frozen in place.

“You’re a smart girl. Working hard to get places. She’s no good. Worth nothing. My kids need someone like you to look up to. I need someone like you. You feel what you do to me?”

And you do. You feel exactly what you do to him. It’s poking you in the lower back, letting you know it’s there. “I do, I feel you, Rafe.”

“God the way you say my name. Your beautiful. I promise I’ll make you mine once everything’s settled. You’ll fit right in here. I won’t make you work baby. You just study hard… and make me hard. That sound good?”

You couldn’t deny it. He was a beautiful man. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you. You were ok with waiting and that’s exactly what you were going to have to do. Just as you went to turn around the front door open and shut making you jump.

“We’ll have a moment again soon.” Rafe stood up straight and walked over to the fridge grabbing a beer walking out of the kitchen as his wife walked in not acknowledging her presence, leaving you, standing there alone with her.

Tags + some moots @rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @diasnohibng @slurpdew @alphabetically-deranged @whydoesthemirrorhateme @currentresidentinhell @slut-4-rafey @akobx @rafesheaven @laniirackssss @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4you @larema121 @nemesyaaa @cherrywriterrr @inthelibrarybtw @littlelamy

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littledes1re · 2 days ago

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Hiii, i love your writing. Could you please do one where you and Joel just started dating. And maybe go to a little event or social gathering and he sees a lot of guys looking at you and talking to you and he gets jealous and sad. Thinking you deserve better, younger and he gets insecure. But you make sure he knows you love him. Thanks!!

My Old man

Warnings: Joel is insecure, Age gap!, lots of fluff!!!

It wasn't the first time he'd felt this way. Countless times when you two went out for dinner together or were invited to some event in Jackson, you were stared at. The staring was from young men who wanted to dance with you, who thought you were pretty, hot. But the other old men were staring too. And even the women. They spent the evening gossiping about how the hell you could have landed as a pretty young girl with an old geezer like Joel. Is he holding you hostage? Is he manipulating you? You'd heard it all.

But you never paid attention to this. You were happy with Joel, more than happy. All those other men in Jackson could never give you what Joel gives you.

But Joel still took it to heart.

The looks from others, the gossip. He knew this would happen after he held your hand and said he wanted to be with you. He had his doubts; he never thought you, a beautiful young woman, could ever love him. But you pushed those doubts away every time. You loved him more than anything in this world, and you showed him that, every day.

You saw his face. Pouting and eyebrows furrowed. Deep in thought. This event was a small dance, nothing serious. Joel didn't even want to go, but Maria insisted. Every time any of those men even glanced at you, he got jealous and had a sad face, that looked down on the ground, just thinking. You couldn't bear to look at it much longer.

"Maria, I'm sorry. I'm not feeling well, so Joel and I are leaving early."

You worried Joel with that. He immediately set off alarm bells and asked you if you were okay. When you got home, the questions continued, but you had something else on your mind.

“You mr.miller gonna sit down and we will have a little talk about something.” His face was all confused while you pushed him gently down to the couch, making him sit down.

You sat down on the coffee table in front of him, his sweet eyes never leaving you, like an obedient puppy.

“Baby. My old man. There is nothing in this world that I want more than you. And only you.” You could see his face drop and even heart drop at that.

He sighed into the room, looked at you with a certain exhaustion, and sadness. Uncertainty. "Don't look at me like that, Joel. I mean it, and you should know it."

"Sweetheart, I—I just don't know what you see in me. Heck, these guys that look at you are all fit, they can go with you to those stupid events without whining about their backs, can keep up with you and they don’t have a past.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. You sat up and gently sat down his lap, his cosy pullover hugging you just right.

“I can’t believe you think like that, joel. I don’t care about any of these guys. I don’t care about you ‘not being fit’ which is not true by the way—“ you stopped pointing at his crotch and winking, earning a chuckle from him.

“I don’t even want to go to these stupid events either, look— we went because of maria. Nothing more. Wanted to be home with my man and watch some stupid movies he loves so much.”

“Hey—they ain’t stupid.” He chuckled again.

“Yea yea, whatever. But this is what I really mean joel. Since I came to jackson you were the only one in my eyes. Didn’t care about your past, didn’t care about your back, didn’t care about the fact that you were grumpy—“

“Wait now you are putting extra things in there”

“Sh sh. Didn’t care about any other boys. I saw you and the way you handled things turned me on, your way of demanding, taking care of people, being so stubborn but also the kindest of them all. The one who came to my house because I skipped patrol one day and asked if I was okey.”

His sweet eyes turned glassy, as he held you on your hips and squeezed, letting out a little smile.

“You’re too good to me, baby.”

“Nah, it’s not being good, i’m telling the truth.” You nodded, gently stroking his hair, playing with his curls. “Of course, everything is going slower, of course there are things that you can’t actively do. But I love it just because of that. I enjoy slow evenings on the porch with you. I enjoy waking up late and drinking black coffee that tastes like poison—“ he let out a giggle.

“And I love your wood carvings, your handsome face, your white hair that suits you so much, that grumpy face you always make whenever you need to read something with your glasses.”

You looked into each other’s eyes, he leaned in and connected your lips.

“Can’t believe I have you, baby. My pretty girl.” He cupped your face softly, giving you a peck on your forehead.

“Promise me you are gonna stop having these thoughts about yourself.”

“Can’t really stop them, but I will try and do my best from letting them get me.” He whispered, nodding his head to you.

You put your forehead to his and looked into his beautiful brown eyes, the world around you going silent.

“I love you, joel.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Taglist: @vickie5446 @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @keseqna @shivispunk @kyloispunk @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @cuntyhunty22

#Oh i just want him😔#joel miller #joel miller fluff #old!man joel #peepaw!joel #tlou #the last of us #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #fluff #joel miller tlou #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x you

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violetrainbow412-blog · 2 days ago

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A little bit of jam [B. R.]

Bob Reynolds x fem!mutant!reader

wc: 2.5k

Marvel and I are so fucking back, baby!! I think this mass love hysteria toward Bob is the best, and I honestly wanted to play with the "found family" trope a little because I love it so much. I hope you like it!

and if u have any idea, let me know ;)

Two months had already passed.

Two months since the sky split in two, since the world almost went to hell—again—and since a dysfunctional group of dangerously competent people were thrust into the headlines as the new “heroes.” No one was sure if the title was too big or too accurate. The only clear thing was that, after surviving hell together, you had ended up sharing something more than a mission.

Now you lived in the old Avengers Tower. Together.

It wasn't an official government decision or part of any rehabilitation protocol. It just happened. Most of you didn't have a fixed place to return to, and the few who did... didn't want to return at all. So, without saying it out loud, you started staying. One night. Then a week. Then a sofa became a bed, a kitchen became a habit, and lights left on at all hours stopped seeming strange. Without seeking it, you had made it work. As if the disaster had woven an impossible routine between people who, otherwise, would never have shared more than one mission.

Nobody said it, but you knew it.

You finally, amid all that chaos, felt like you fit in somewhere. You weren’t an Avenger, you weren’t an X-Men, you were never officially from anywhere. You’d grown up far from anyone who could explain to you what to do about your mutation, and you’d spent more time evading labels than claiming them. But now… now you had a room with your name written on the door in permanent marker (thanks to Yelena), a mug for your coffee (which sometimes Alexei stole from you), and an old Bob sweatshirt that you’d sometimes find hanging on your desk chair for no reason; as if someone knew when you needed it more than you did.

So, little by little, you began to look more like a team, a real team. But also, in a way, you shared a certain familiarity that all of you definitely needed in your lives.

Weekends were occasions, without explicitly stating it, to spend time together. Sometimes you'd just gather in the living room, put on a movie, and the rest would join in, or someone would start drinking, and soon you were all doing it.

Speaking of which, that day you had decided that a few boxes of donuts wouldn't hurt you and your friends. Maybe you could even make some coffee, since with the rain that had started to fall in the city, that seemed like a good plan.

When you walked in, you could see most of them. Yelena was sitting on the floor, completely wrapped in a huge blanket, eating a bag of chips with her feet up on the coffee table. Ava was leaning against the wall, silently observing everything, her arms crossed and a neutral expression that didn't quite hide her curiosity. John Walker was flipping through a magazine upside down, clearly just pretending to read while he kept an eye on what you had brought. Alexei was snoring in the largest armchair, face up, a remote control resting on his chest, as if it were a sacred artifact. Bucky was leaning against the counter, probably making himself a drink or reviewing policy documents.

And Bob… Bob was probably in his room. You noticed he was sleeping a lot lately. Not because he was lazy, not because he was idle, but because he was carrying his own mind, his memories, The Void… exhausted him in ways the others could barely understand. So none of you blamed him for taking long naps.

“I brought donuts,” you announced, in case anyone hadn’t noticed the packages you were holding.

NO one refused the food, and even Alexei, who seemed to be asleep, got up to get a couple upon hearing your announcement. You'd bought a variety of flavors, a box of classics and some more sophisticated ones, so almost all of you sat down at the coffee table to enjoy.

You exchanged a few pleasantries, talked about things that had happened and possible future missions. At one point, when everyone had already eaten at least two pieces, you saw Walker's hand reach for the box of donuts.

Serious mistake.

“NO!” you screamed, almost like a spring.

John froze, his finger brushing the blackberry's glossy glaze.

“Why not?” he asked, offended, as if you had denied him the last glass of water on the planet.

“That one’s for Bob.”

“But Bob isn’t here.”

“But it’s for him!” you insisted, crossing your arms, as if that closed the case.

“There’s more!”

“But don’t eat that one. Eat anything else.”

“It’s my favorite!”

“Well, what a shame, there’s only one and it’s not yours.”

Suddenly, everyone seemed interested in the donut. It was a blackberry donut with vanilla glaze, a small work of art in dessert form. The fluffy, lightly browned dough was covered in a smooth, glossy glaze that smelled of natural vanilla extract, not the cheap, cloying imitation. Above the glaze, a purple swirl of homemade jam snaked like a miniature galaxy, with tiny pieces of blackberry peeking out here and there like barely revealed secrets.

“I saw it first,” he replied, his hand now closer to the box.

“DON’T TOUCH IT!”

By then, Ghost had already materialized behind John, her head peeking out from over his shoulder.

"What if I cut it into two equal parts? Half for each of you."

“I said no!” you shouted.

“Do it,” John concluded, lifting the box to give it to Ava.

Yelena, sitting on the couch, gave a curious look while she chewed her third donut with total shamelessness.

"Why don't we just hide it and see who finds it first? Like a stupid, grown-up version of a treasure hunt?"

“No one’s going to hide that donut. I already told you it’s Bob’s,” you complained, twisting around to shield the box with your body as if it were a nuclear device.

Alexei, sitting at the bar with a beer in his hand, licked his lips.

"I say the only fair solution is hand-to-hand combat. Whoever wins keeps it!"

“No!” you shouted, and Bucky joined in. However, your friends had a different opinion.

“I fight,” Ghost said.

“You didn’t even want it in the first place!”

“Me too,” Walker said, already taking off his jacket.

“I can eat it while you guys fight!” Yelena said, but you had already thrown a pillow at her with surgical precision.

The room became a chaotic choreography: Walker dodging Ava, Yelena climbing the back of the couch like a cat on sugar overload, you trying to put the box on top of the cupboard, Ghost dematerializing mid-leap.

From his position, Bucky watched you like an exhausted dad and issued a warning about not breaking any of the furniture. Alexei, at his side, was shouting to encourage the fight.

Peace only returned when a sleepy voice was heard from the hallway:

“Why are you shouting? What time is it?”

Bob peeked out, his hair a mess and his eyes still squinting from his nap. The chaos stopped. You all looked at him. And you held the box up in the air like it was a trophy.

“Take it away!”

"What?"

“Take it!” you practically ordered him.

The poor man stumbled over to you and snatched the box from you, hearing a collective sigh. You were relieved, the others were annoyed.

"What is this?"

“I bought you a donut,” you explained simply.

Then he frowned and opened the box. It was a little squashed, but the blackberry dessert was still in one piece.

Bob blinked.

“Were you all killing each other over a donut?”

Perhaps it was the incredulous tone of voice, or how ridiculous the situation sounded when said out loud, but suddenly all of you found yourself holding back a laugh. A few seconds later, laughter erupted.

“What a shitty team we are.”

“We can share it, if you want…”

"Yes!"

“No!” you shouted in unison. Bob flinched slightly at the tone of your voice. “Walker can choke on all that’s left, but that one’s for you.”

You said it in a way that left no room for argument and he smiled slightly.

“It’s my favorite.”

“That’s what I said!” John complained. However, he didn’t pursue the matter further and approached the others, taking two more donuts as a sign of resignation.

As quickly as chaos had appeared, it was gone.

Alexei occasionally expressed his approval of what had just happened, arguing that this kind of situation was an exercise in group bonding. You thought you heard Bucky call you idiots, but in a tone that made it clear he didn't mean it.

"Here"

Your murmur brought Bob out of his thoughts, and he smiled broadly when you placed a mug in his hand. It was a gift from Yelena and was inscribed with: Today is a good day. Very appropriate, in your opinion.

"Thanks”

“Two of milk and one of sugar,” you announced with satisfaction.

His happiness only increased when he realized that you were actually paying attention to him.

You plopped down next to him on the soft couch—most people's favorite when it came to a nap—and he shrank down to give you space, sitting in the lotus position as he always did.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye. That day, he was wearing a thick, slightly baggy olive-green sweater with slightly long sleeves. The color had a muted hue, like moss or old pine, which brought out the sparkle in his eyes.

There was a white T-shirt underneath, barely visible at the neck. A pair of soft, dark gray sweatpants, the kind with drawstrings and deep pockets. And on his feet, a pair of dark socks with which he glided around the tower.

He didn't look scruffy, just comfortable.

“I got scared a little while ago. I thought something bad was happening.”

You let out a soft chuckle at his confession, feeling the tension in the air melt away.

“I’m sorry we woke you up.”

“Don’t worry. At least it wasn’t in vain,” he smiled reassuringly, taking a sip of his hot drink. The steam brushed his face before he opened the dessert box and looked at him with more than just hunger.

“How did you know this was my favorite?” he asked, surprised, as he carefully turned the box over in his hands.

“You told me.”

He looked up at you, clearly confused.

“Well… you didn’t tell me directly. I heard you muttering it in your sleep.”

“Do I talk in my sleep?”

“Apparently so. And you actually answer. Because when you said I'd give you a donut, I asked you what you were talking about… and you said you wanted this one.”

"How embarrassing.”

“It’s kinda cute, if you think about it.”

The rest of the group was absorbed in their conversations, muted laughter, and the occasional impromptu board game. Between you, the air felt more intimate, softer.

Bob took a bite of the donut. The slight crackle of the glaze broke with the sound of a deep sigh, as if something inside had loosened.

“When I was a good kid, my mom used to give me money to buy one of these,” his voice lowered slightly, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he should share “It wasn’t all the time, of course. And sometimes we went together, on the… the better days, you know. I think everything seemed simpler back then.”

He was silent for a moment.

“I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately, maybe that’s why I mentioned it in my sleep.”

“Oh… I… had no idea.”

“But it's a good thing. I forgot how good it tastes” a soft, nostalgic smile spread across his face. “I always liked this flavor because it has just the right amount of sweetness, with a hint of sourness. “I feel like it’s very similar to what life is like.”

He was silent again for a second, fiddling with the napkin between his fingers.

“It’s probably not something you’re interested in, but…”

“Yes, I’m interested,” you quickly interrupted “Any story you want to tell us will interest us, Bob. There’s Alexei with all his anecdotes from his years in the service… we’ve never complained, even though he tells them over and over again.”

He laughed a little, brief but genuine.

“Do you want to try some?”

“But it’s yours”

“I'd like you to try it. It's something I want to share.”

You hesitated for only a second before accepting. You leaned closer and took a small bite from the side opposite the one he'd tried. The flavor was more intense than you expected: sweet, sour, and smooth all at the same time.

Bob watched you silently, as if observing your reactions was more important than the dessert itself. When your lips curved into a smile, he nodded, satisfied.

“It's delicious.”

“Um, you have a little bit of jam left…” he said softly, leaning slightly towards you. He raised a hand, hesitant, then pointed a finger at your lower lip “This way.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth. The air seemed to stop for a moment.

For a moment, just a moment, it seemed as if he was going to lean closer. That he was going to wipe the jam off with his lips instead of his hand.

His eyes searched yours. And then, he took a deep breath. He lowered his hand, barely brushing your chin with his fingertips, and pulled away with a shy smile.

"That's it."

You didn't say anything at first. The warmth was still there, floating in the air, unnamed.

“You should, uh, drink your coffee. Before it gets cold.”

Your friend nodded at your suggestion and after that you tried to shake the nervousness from your mind, ignoring the sting that still burned where he had touched you.

Minutes later, fatigue began to take its toll. The noise of the group became a distant murmur, almost like a lullaby in the background. Bob leaned back slightly on the couch, still holding his cup in one hand. Without thinking twice, you approached and rested your head on his shoulder.

“Do you mind if I stay like this for a while?” you asked quietly.

“No. Stay”

His words were gentle. There was something so serene about him that made you close your eyes. Your arm instinctively reached for his, wrapping it around him in a gesture that didn't ask for permission, only offered shelter.

Bob stayed still, careful with every movement, as if breathing deeply could bother you. He felt your weight against his side, your breathing slowing. The warmth of your body was unlike any blanket; it was human, alive.

He felt held, loved, in a way he hadn't known he needed so much.

The team was always affectionate toward him. Many patted him on the back, hugged him unexpectedly, or sat very close without question. But this… this was different. It wasn't a casual display of affection. It was something that asked him to stay. Something that said: you're safe here.

He looked at you once more. You were already asleep, your lips parted and your brow barely relaxed. And although the chair wasn't entirely comfortable, and the noise continued in the background, Bob didn't want to move.

Not that night.

587 notes · View notes

jaysbaefie · 2 days ago

Text

noona | sjy (2/2)

synopsis: in which your little brothers best friend can’t keep his feelings and true intentions a secret anymore.

genre: brothers best friend to lovers

pairing: little brothers best friendljake x older afab reader

warnings: sad!jake, petty!jake, degrading, light dubcon, light fondling, manhandling, oral (m.rec and f.rec), unprotected p in v, forced confession of feelings, choking, jake eats his own cum…overstimulation, fingering, pussy slapping, creampie, almost getting caught (again). that’s it….i think.

wc: 5.1k

read part 1 part 2

a/n: i didn’t think id pop out w a part 2 for this fic but here i am… i was procrastinating w my other ones so i decided to do smth w little to no plot and just filth. anyways.. hope u enjoy! notes reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

──── ୨୧ ────

weeks went by and you'd had enough.

the guilt was eating you alive, and every time jake touched you when sunghoon was nearby, your heart nearly stopped. it was reckless, dangerous and completely insane.

your heart ached whenever you saw jake and sunghoon hang out, seeing their friendship. you wondered how sunghoon would react if he found out that his best friend was fooling around with his older sister.

you couldn't bear the thought of your brother looking at you differently, so you made a decision.

that night jake was over, as he always was. you watched the two boys play games on the living room couch, standing afar as your cleaned up in the kitchen.

your parents had bid their goodnights, heading upstairs to go to sleep leaving you, sunghoon and jake alone downstairs.

"hey! you said you'd cover me!" sunghoon grunts, his eyebrows furrowed as he squints his eyes—focusing on the screen ahead.

"i was getting attacked! i had to protect myself!"

"and your ass still died. what was the point of that."

the two argued playfully amongst each other, the thought of them not being friends because of you ached you.

time passes by, you loiter in the kitchen—pretending to do work on your laptop.

"noona, you can go to sleep you know. i know you're bored," you heard sunghoon say to you, peering back to see you sitting at one of the barstools in the kitchen.

you give him a soft smile, shaking your head. "it's no big deal, i have to stay up anyways. have to finish off these papers."

he nods, adjusting his head set. jake looks over, your eyes widening when he smirks at you—biting at his bottom lip. you quickly avert your eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

jake had gotten much bolder with his actions, however, nothing too intimate had happened ever since the kitchen scene a few weeks ago.

he wasn't as touchy, but his words had gotten bolder.

he always found ways to lean in too close, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured things that made your face burn. "you smell good today, noona." or "you know, i have dreams about you. wanna know what they're about?" and when you pushed him away, he only chuckled, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

if you dropped something, he'd pick it up and hold it out—only to yank it back when you reached for it. "use your manners, noona. say please."

"please?"

his smirk widens, "good girl, noona."

if you were cooking, he'd stand behind you, arms caging you in as he reached for something. "careful, wouldn't want to burn yourself." he'd rub himself up against your butt, letting you feel how hard he was for you. but he never did more than brushing up against you or the occasional lingering touches.

it was almost like he was riling you up, teasing you so you'd snap.

when sunghoon was in his room with his headphones on, you pulled jake aside into the hallway. sunghoon had said goodnight, insisting that jake stay over since it was past midnight. jake had agreed, a dark smile on his face as his eyes raked up and down your figure—tongue jutting out to quickly swipe over his lips.

his usual cocky smirk was already forming, like he knew exactly why you wanted to talk.

"jake, we have to stop."

he blinked at you, amused. "stop what, noona?"

you swallowed, your stomach twisting. "this. whatever this is. it's wrong."

his smirk faltered for a second before his expression darkened. he stepped closer, forcing you back against the wall, trapping you between his arms. you tried not to shiver when you felt his breath against your skin.

"you think you can just cut me off like that?" he murmured, voice low and dangerous. "like i'm some bad habit you need to quit?"

you turned your face away, refusing to meet his gaze. "i—jake, i mean it. this is over."

he scoffed. "bullshit."

your eyes snapped back to him, widening as his fingers trailed along your arm. "i know you, noona. i know how you sound when you're turned on. i know how you taste when you're falling apart under me. and i definitely know how you look when you're pretending you don't want me." his hand suddenly slid between your thighs, over your shorts, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.

you gasped, pushing at his chest. "j-jake, stop—sunghoon is upstairs!"

his smirk returned, but this time it was cruel. "exactly. so why haven't you screamed for him yet?"

you froze.

your mouth opened, but no words came out.

his grip tightened on your hip. "you could call him right now. tell him everything. tell him what a perv i am, how i've been touching you when he's not looking, how i licked your pretty cunt until you were shaking in the kitchen." he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "but you won't, will you?"

your breathing was ragged. "jake—"

"because you like it, noona." his fingers pressed harder, making your legs clench involuntarily. "you like how dirty this is. how wrong it feels. you say we need to stop, but your body?" he chuckled, sliding his knee between your thighs. "your body says otherwise."

he squeezes your hip, pushing you down so you grinded against his knee. you held in a moan, pursing your lips as you feel jake get tougher with his actions.

tears pricked at your eyes. whether it was from frustration, guilt, or something else entirely, you didn't know. "this isn't fair," you whispered.

jake pulled back slightly, tilting his head as he studied you. then, to your horror, his smirk completely disappeared. for the first time, he looked... genuinely hurt.

"you think this was just a game to me?" his voice was quiet, almost disappointed. "you think i did all this just to fuck around and piss you off?"

jake was hurt, he felt like you didn't even know him. he was never the type of guy that fooled around with girls, and you knew that. he thought he had made it clear how much he liked you, and only you.

you didn't know how to answer, standing there speechless.

jake clenched his jaw, his hands dropping from your body. his warmth disappeared, replaced by an unsettling emptiness.

"fine," he muttered, stepping back. "if that's what you want."

you felt like you could finally breathe again. but the victory was short-lived.

because the very next day, everything changed.

jake ignored you completely. no teasing touches. no lingering glances. no stolen moments in the hallway. it should've felt like relief, but instead, it felt like loss.

and the worst part? he was still around.

he still showed up at your house every day, still hung out with sunghoon like nothing had happened—but now, he acted like you didn't exist. and it was killing you.

although you hate to admit that you missed him and his advances, you were thankful that it had ended.

but just when you thought you were free, just when you started convincing yourself that maybe this was for the best.

jake reminds you why you could never escape him.

it happened late one night. a week had gone by since jake had pretended as if you didn't exist, you were slowly coming to terms with it.

you were in the kitchen alone, getting a glass of water, when suddenly, the room darkened. the air shifted, and before you could turn around—a familiar voice whispered against the shell of your ear.

"miss me yet, noona?"

your heart stopped.

and that was when you realized. this wasn't over. not even close. and in fact, it'll never be over.

your breath hitched as jake's hands found your waist, his grip firm, possessive—like he had every right to touch you.

"j-jake," you whispered breathlessly, your fingers tightening around the glass in your hand. you should push him away, should scream for sunghoon, should do anything but melt into him like you seemed to be doing.

but your body betrayed you.

he chuckled darkly, his nose grazing the side of your neck making you shiver in delight. "you thought i was done with you?" his fingers slid down to the hem of your shirt, teasingly brushing against your skin. "you think you can ignore this?"

his free hand covered yours, plucking the glass from your grip and setting it aside on the counter. the moment it left your grasp, he spun you around, pressing your back against the cool marble of the counters.

you mind races with flashbacks from weeks ago, when jake had his head between your legs and his tongue in you—making you writhe in pleasure. your chest heaved as you finally met his gaze—dark, hungry, filled with something dangerous.

"i was trying to be nice," he murmured, dragging his fingers down the dip of your throat, over your collarbone, down to the top button of your pajama shirt. "but you don't want nice, do you, noona?"

you looked up at him with pleading eyes, "you're a lot stronger than i thought you were, noona," he starts, his hand grabbing a hold of your breast making you whine. "i thought you'd break in a few days, but seems like you were getting used to my absence. can't have that now, can we?"

you swallowed hard, eyes darting to the doorway. "s-sunghoon is upstairs," you reminded him, voice barely above a breath.

jake smirked, popping the first button open. "then you better be quiet."

your stomach twisted as another button came undone, then another, his fingers deliberately slow, teasing.

"jake," you tried again, but suddenly, his lips were on yours—hot, demanding, stealing the breath from your lungs.

your hands instinctively flew to his shoulders, but whether to push him away or pull him closer, you weren't sure. it didn't matter. he took the decision from you, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed himself against you, letting you feel just how much he wanted this.

a muffled whimper escaped your throat when he rolled his hips into you, your core throbbing at the friction.

"fuck," he groaned against your lips, one hand slipping under your shirt to splay across your bare waist. "you have no idea how much i missed this."

"we—we can't," you breathed, even as your fingers found their way into his hair, tugging him closer.

"we already are," he murmured, teeth grazing your jaw before trailing down to your neck. you gasped when he sucked at the sensitive spot just below your ear, your body arching into his as heat coiled deep in your stomach.

"so sensitive," he mused, his lips curving against your skin. "you missed me too, didn't you, noona?"

you hated that he was right. hated that you had missed this—his touch, his voice, the way he made you feel alive.

but before you could admit it, before you could even think of responding, his hand was dipping lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.

your breath hitched.

"jake," you gasped, your knees nearly giving out when his fingers brushed against your clothed heat. he groans at the dampness he found, his other hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"look at you," he murmured, eyes dark with need. "so fucking wet for me." you let out a soft whimper, and that was all it took for his restraint to snap.

"you're going to be a good girl, right noona?" he pants softly, his hand slipping out of your shorts. you almost whine at the loss, missing his touch where you need it the most.

you nod mindlessly, looking up at him to catch the dark look in his eyes. his lips pull into an almost evil smirk, "then you're going to have to apologize to me, noona. you hurt my feelings," he fake pouts.

you gape at him, your mouth opening to apologize only for jake to slip in two of his fingers past your lips. you gag around his fingers, not adjusting to the sudden intrusion in your mouth.

he stares down at you, his breath hitching when he pumps his fingers slowly into your mouth.

"nu uh, noona. that's not how i want my apology," he begins, his mouth pulled into a lazy smirk. he slowly pulls his fingers out, a trail of saliva connecting your mouth and his digits. he rubs his spit covered fingers over your lips messily, his face pulled into a pained look as he holds in a moan. "you don't need to use your mouth, but your going to let me use your mouth. yeah?"

your eyes widen at his words, swallowing harshly before you're nodding your head. it felt as if you didn't have control over your own actions.

he grins at your obedience, his hands tangling it into your hair before he's pushing you down to your knees slowly.

you sink down, coming face to face with jake's crotch—your eyes widening when you see the large tent in his pants. jake smirks, tilting your chin up.

"c'mon, take it out."

your hands fumble with his pajama pants, pulling them down along with his briefs. you gasp when his cock springs free, thick, flushed, already leaking. your eyes flick up to meet his, but he doesn't give you time to marvel or breathe—his hand is already fisting in your hair again, pulling your head closer.

"open," he mutters, and when you hesitate, he tightens his grip, yanking your head back. "don't make me ask again, noona."

your lips part, and jake doesn't wait. he slides his cock into your mouth with one slow, brutal thrust, groaning low in his throat when he hits the back of it. your hands fly to his thighs, nails digging in, but he doesn't ease up—he rolls his hips, feeding more of himself into your throat until you're gagging, tears stinging your eyes.

"this is what you wanted?" he grits out, in pure bliss that the woman he had wanted for half of his life was taking him in to her mouth. "just my cock, right? that's all i was to you, yeah?"

you try to shake your head, try to speak around him, but he just holds you there, his other hand coming down to cup your jaw, thumb smearing at the tears running down your cheeks.

"don't lie now," he growls. "you said it yourself. you thought i didn't give a fuck about you. you thought i was just using you."

he pulls out just enough for you to suck in a shaky breath before slamming back in, your moan muffled, choked, sinful.

"you're older than me, right?" he spits, voice bitter. "supposed to be the mature one. then why the fuck are you acting like a scared little girl?"

you look up at him, ruined. your jaw aching, drool trailing down your chin—and jake just smiles. not soft. cruel.

he could feel the familiar coil in his stomach tighten, but this wasn't the way he wanted to cum for you.

"you hurt me, noona," he whispers, finally pulling out completely. you gasp, throat sore, but he doesn't let you rest. he grabs you by the arms and yanks you to your feet, pushing you hard against the counter.

"bend over."

"jake—" you choke, blinking through the fog of tears and lust. "we shouldn't—sunghoon—"

"you think i give a fuck about sunghoon right now?" he hisses, dragging your shorts down roughly, letting them pool around your ankles. "you think he'd care about protecting his slutty sister who lies about what we have?"

you flinch, but you don't stop him—not when he kicks your legs apart, not when he presses the head of his cock right against your dripping entrance.

"say it," he snaps, one hand gripping your hip while the other holds your hair in a tight, punishing fist. "say i'm not just a fuck. beg me to forgive you." you hold in a mewl as his grip on your hair gets tighter, the crown of your head touching his chest.

you bite your lip, shame and heat colliding in your chest, but you say it anyway—voice trembling, broken.

"you're not just a fuck," you whisper. "i'm sorry, jake—please, i didn't mean it. i thought you didn't care...i was scared."

he goes still for a beat, his grip on you relaxing before his chest presses against your back. you hear the shift in his breath.

and then he thrusts into you so hard the air is knocked out of your lungs.

"you should be scared," he hisses against your ear. "scared of how much i fucking want you. scared of what i'll do when you try to run again."

you cry out, biting your own wrist to keep quiet as he starts to pound into you, fast, rough, relentless. you could feel yourself convulse around his girth, your velvety walls sucking him in like a suction.

"mine," he growls with every thrust, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. "mine. you hear me?"

you nod, gasping his name, body trembling from the intensity. it's overwhelming—the pace, the anger, the feeling behind every snap of his hips.

"say it," he demands again, thrusting particularly hard.

"i'm yours," you sob, gripping the edge of the counter like your life depends on it. "jake, i'm yours, i swear—"

"damn right you are."

he grabs your throat from behind, turning your face just enough so he can kiss you—deep, messy, almost violent with how badly he wants to consume you.

"no more ignoring me," he pants against your lips. "no more pretending this isn't real. you understand?" you nod frantically, unable to speak, unable to think—just feel.

and when his hand slides between your thighs, rubbing fast, precise circles over your clit, your whole body locks up. you could feel that familiar feeling tighten up in your lower stomach, your body shaking with every thrust he delivers.

"cum for me, noona," he whispers. "make a mess. and don't you dare try to hide it."

"jake—jake, i—" your voice breaks into a whimper, hips jerking as his fingers circle tighter, rougher.

"go on," he pants, cock driving into you so deep you can't breathe. "cum all over my cock like the slut you said you weren't."

you sob into your arm, your entire body tightening as the knot in your stomach finally snaps. pleasure crashes over you like a wave—sharp, hot, almost unbearable. you clench around him, trembling as you come hard, your release soaking the base of his cock, dripping down your thighs, coating his fingers.

jake lets out a strangled groan at the feeling, his hips stuttering. "fuck, fuck—you feel that?" he growls, voice cracking. "so fucking tight when you cum for me. you were made for this."

his rhythm falters, becoming erratic. you know he's close—the grip on your hips turns bruising, his breath uneven as he drives into you with punishing force.

"where?" he growls, leaning over you, his chest flush against your back. "tell me where, noona. say it. beg for it."

you turn your head slightly, eyes glassy as you whisper, "inside. jake, please—want you to cum inside me."

he curses under his breath, his hands shaking as he fucks you harder—desperate now, his control gone.

"say it again," he snarls, voice wrecked.

"come inside me," you cry, your knees threatening to give out. "need you, jake. need to feel you."

that's all it takes.

with a guttural groan, he slams in deep one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you. his entire body shudders as he comes, filling you up with thick, hot spurts that you swear you can feel leaking out even before he's pulled out.

he stays buried in you, breathing hard, one hand gripping your hip, the other fisted in your hair as he presses his forehead against the back of your shoulder. you're both shaking, sweat-slicked and ruined, your legs barely able to hold you up.

but jake doesn't move—not for a long moment. when he finally does, it's slow, careful, like he's afraid of letting go. he pulls out with a hiss, watching the way his cum spills from your swollen cunt, dripping down your thighs onto the kitchen floor.

his jaw clenches.

he gently turns you around, lifts you up onto the counter, and cups your face between his hands—his voice lower, quieter, but still rough with leftover anger.

"you really think i didn't care?" he murmurs, brows furrowed as he looks into your eyes. "you think i could fuck you like that and not be in love with you?"

your breath catches at his sudden confession.

"you ignored me," you whisper, still dazed.

"because i was hurt," he growls. "because hearing you call yourself a toy—saying i was just using you—fucked me up, noona. i've been in love with you, and you thought it was just my dick talking."

he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

"you're mine," he whispers, softer now. "and i'm yours. whether sunghoon likes it or not."

you swallow hard, your hand rising to rest on his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart.

"...i didn't mean it," you whisper. "i was scared. you're younger, and—i thought i was making a mistake."

he kisses you—slow, breathless, a stark contrast to how he'd fucked you minutes ago. and when he pulls away, he's smirking again, cocky and flushed and still so mad.

"you did make a mistake," he says. "and you're going to make it up to me." his hands slip beneath your thighs, dragging you toward the edge of the counter again.

"starting now."

his hands are already back on you before you can breathe—dragging you down the counter, legs parted, chest heaving. he doesn't even give you a moment to recover. you're still dripping with his cum when he spreads you open, gaze locked on your wrecked, swollen pussy.

"look at this mess," he growls, thumb smearing the mix of your release and his across your folds. "you look better like this. ruined. mine."

you gasp, hips jerking at the overstimulation, but he just chuckles darkly, grabbing your thighs to yank you closer until your ass is barely on the counter.

"you made me wait," he sneers, his tone dropping. "you ran your mouth. called me a kid. said i was just using you. and now look at you."

you try to respond, but he presses two fingers to your lips again, "no. you don't get to talk right now. just sit there and take it."

then he's dropping to his knees between your legs, and you barely manage to get a word out before his tongue replaces his fingers—licking up every drop of his cum that's still leaking out of you. he moans like he's starved, eating you out through the overstimulation, not stopping even when your legs tremble around his head.

"fuck—jake, too much—" you sob, fisting his hair, but he just growls into your cunt, locking his arms around your thighs to keep you in place. his tongue runs up and down your slit, flattening it where you need it most.

"this pussy's mine," he mutters against your clit, slapping it lightly with his tongue, making you cry out. "mine to ruin. mine to clean up. you don't get to tell me when i'm done." he continues the pattern, licking figure 8s on your clit as his fingers pry into you slowly—teasing you.

and he doesn't stop until you're falling apart again, legs shaking, tears streaking your cheeks as you cum a second time with a broken scream, biting down on your hand to muffle it—sunghoon still upstairs.

he stands up slowly, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, eyes wild. his cock is hard again, flushed and angry-looking, already twitching against his stomach.

"turn around," he orders, his eyes wild as he stares down at you with hunger.

you hesitate—wrecked, overstimulated—but he grabs your hips and flips you over himself, bending you back over the counter like you weigh nothing.

"you wanted rough?" he pants, lining himself up again. "you wanted to act like i was just some horny little kid with a crush?"

you try to speak but scream instead when he slams into you in one brutal thrust.

"jake—"

he wraps his hand around your throat from behind, yanking you upright against his chest. you gasp at the feeling, his grip on your throat now bruising as you struggle for air.

"say it again," he hisses in your ear. "say my name like that again."

"j-jake," you sob, your voice breaking as he fucks into you with punishing force.

he leans down, biting your shoulder hard enough to bruise. "you're never calling me a kid again. i'm the only one who fucks you like this. the only one who makes you this dumb."

his other hand slides down, slapping your clit repeatedly without mercy, and your whole body jolts.

"gonna cum again, noona?" he pants. "fucking pathetic. creaming around my cock again when you said we couldn't. when you said i didn't mean it." your body trembles as jake forces your third high out of you, your cunt convulsing around him pathetically.

you cry out, tears falling freely now, your body on fire, collapsing in on itself with every thrust.

"beg for it," he growls. "beg me to fill you up again."

"jake, please—" you gasp, clawing at the marble. "fill me up. need it. need you."

"yeah?" he groans, his rhythm faltering as you tighten around him again. "say you're mine. say you love this."

"i'm yours," you cry, so close to breaking. "i love it—love when you fuck me like this—i'm yours, jake, only yours."

he lets out a low, desperate moan, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "that's right. my noona. my pussy. mine."

his hips slam into you once, twice more—and then he's spilling inside you again, groaning through gritted teeth, his entire body curling over yours like he's trying to bury himself so deep you'll never forget.

you collapse against the counter, boneless and shaking, his cum dripping out of you all over again as you relish in the feeling of your third high.

he leans down, kissing your shoulder softly now—contrasting the bite he left minutes ago—and whispers, "never again. don't you ever say i don't mean it."

he pulls you back up into his arms, pressing soft kisses behind your ear now, your body still trembling.

"...you okay?" he finally asks, quieter now. "too much?" you nod slowly, clinging to him. "no. not too much."

just jake. your jake. four years younger and somehow still the only one who's ever made you feel like this. you don't know how long you stood there, pressed against jake's chest, his arms tight around you as if he couldn't bear to let go.

your legs barely worked, still trembling from the aftermath, and you knew you looked wrecked—shirt open, hair tangled, neck littered with blooming marks. you were both soaked in sweat, your thighs sticky, his cum dripping slowly down your leg.

jake kissed your temple softly, breath still ragged. "i should clean you up," he murmured. "but if i touch you again, i'm not gonna stop."

you leaned your head back against his shoulder, exhausted. "don't think i can take another round anyway."

he chuckled, but it was laced with something darker—possessiveness still simmering just beneath the surface. "you'll take what i give you next time. and you'll say thank you."

you didn't get the chance to respond because that's when you heard it.

a door creaking open upstairs.

both of you froze.

footsteps.

"shit," you breathed, panic setting in as the reality of your situation crashed down.

sunghoon.

your little brother.

he was awake and if he came down and saw this you two would be screwed.

"move," jake whispered harshly, grabbing a dishtowel from the counter and tossing it over the wet mess you'd left behind. "go to the bathroom. now."

you scrambled to button your shirt, tugging your shorts up with shaking hands, nearly falling in the process. jake tucked himself away quickly, grabbing his hoodie from the kitchen chair and pulling it over his head just as the stairs creaked again.

you slipped down the hallway barefoot, heart pounding in your throat, ducking into the bathroom and locking the door with a soft click.

two seconds later, you heard sunghoon's voice from the kitchen.

"jake?"

"yo," jake replied, voice smooth—so effortlessly casual you wanted to scream.

"what are you doing down here?"

"water," jake said, cracking open the fridge to grab a bottle "couldn't sleep."

sunghoon hummed, still half asleep, "you good?"

jake laughed, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. "never better, hyung." you covered your mouth to keep from making a sound.

"you coming back up?" sunghoon asked, voice groggy with sleep as he reaches for the bottle of water that jake had offered him.

"in a bit."

they stood there in silence for a moment before you heard the footsteps retreat. the stairs creaked again. the door shut.

you waited a beat longer—just to be safe—before cracking the door open. jake was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, head tilted slightly.

his eyes met yours. slow. hungry.

you looked like hell—still flushed, lips swollen, hair a mess.

and jake?

jake looked like he'd do it all over again if he had five more minutes alone with you.

"you okay?" he asked, voice quiet now—sincere. you nodded, stepping closer, until he reached out and tugged you into his arms.

"you scared the shit out of me," you mumbled into his chest.

"you scare me every time you act like this is something i'm not serious about."

you froze.

jake pulled back slightly, his hands gentle now as he cupped your jaw. "i'm not just fucking you, noona. i've never just been fucking you."

your chest ached at the truth in his voice. raw and exposed.

"i know," you whispered, finally. "i believe you." he smiled—small, but genuine. "good. because next time you call me a kid, i'll fuck you and fill you so you have mine."

your breath hitched, but this time it wasn't from fear or shame—just need. you kissed him—soft, slow, the kind of kiss that promised this wasn't over.

because now you knew, it would never be over.

and god help you, you didn't want it to be.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

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exhuastedpigeon · 1 day ago

Text

The fight starting over groceries and quickly spinning out to what they really needed to talk about – grief and loss and how neither of them are handling it well was so good I can't stop thinking about it. Because they weren't talking about their grief with each other!

Buck was using a psychological assessment to ‘measure’ everyone’s grief instead of just ASKING HOW THEY ARE. He wasn't talking to them about how he's feeling alone and lost. He saw grief like it's a thing you can quantify and measure.

So the fight started over who was supposed to get the groceries and quickly moved on to Eddie getting the job offer in El Paso and him letting Buck find out from someone else (even if he was going to tell him, he put it off for so long that Buck found out from Ravi).

Buck making that about him ("did you not think I'd be happy for you").

Eddie throwing how Buck is grieving back in his face ("making it all about you again").

Buck being extremely passive aggressive and saying "sorry I'm sad Bobby's dead".

Eddie snapping at Buck about how they all lost Bobby and how Buck never asked what it was like for Eddie to find out about Bobby while he was 800 miles away.

Eddie letting his grief bottle up because he felt guilty for not being there and because he hadn't talked to Bobby in a couple of weeks.

Not having a resolution at the end of the scene and letting Buck (and the audience) think Eddie left without clearing the air or saying goodbye.

That kitchen fight scene was so masterful because it took all of the things they weren't talking about and put them on the table.

And then to have Buck walk into the house thinking he'll be spending the night alone with his sadness only to have Eddie still there, to have Eddie call himself a dick, to have Chris there, to have Pepa there cooking them a family dinner.

The resolution was never going to be some perfunctory apology because that's not who they are (and that's boring TV). There's a reason we never saw Buck apologize to Eddie about the basketball game and it's because the writers are assuming we're smart enough to know all is forgiven. Having Eddie's apology be with actions, not words is so fitting for his character and for their relationship.

Having that apology be Chris is even more important. This isn't Eddie driving across town with Chris to cheer Buck up, it's Eddie getting Chris there on a last minute flight because he knows seeing Chris will help Buck (will help all of them, really). He knows Buck is feeling alone in his grief and like he's losing his family so Eddie made sure to show Buck he isn't alone and that his family is right here with him.

I love when a show lets the characters be flawed and messy and makes resolutions fit the characters. Really great work from 911 on this one.

#buddie #911 #911 spoilers #911 abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz

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abbygailfox · 1 day ago

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This is so, so important.

The amount of posts I have read – especially during the last few weeks – about how people think that she has always been this way and she wrote Harry Potter with the intention of pushing her agenda onto children from a very young age.

I truly, honestly think that that's incredibly dangerous. Because it operates under the believe that people's believes always stay the same. It stems from a black-and-white mindset in which people are – in the most simple of terms – either "good" or "bad" and they always stay that way. That is not the case. People are never unchanging in their views. They are made and influenced by things that happen to and around them. Constantly. And usually that is even a good thing. We measure the ability of critical thinking by observing how someone reacts to new information. If we give people information that they did not have before, we expect them to reconsider their stance. However that also means that we need to check ourselves again and again and again. And to do that tomorrow as well. And next week. And next year. And every day that comes after that again. It's a never ending process.

Because human beings never stop changing. And we are so easily influenced. Mainly because of two things:

1) All of us – every single one – want's to belong somewhere. Some of us may enjoy being alone, yes. But no-one ever wants to be lonely. And people have done and will do horrendous things to prevent being lonely.

2) If we have power, we don't want to let go of it. Especially if we know what it feels like not to have any. That doesn't mean that no-one ever does. There are good people in this world. But our first impulse is always to hold onto what makes us stronger and harder to hurt. And power does that.

Number 1) is what makes it so easy for people to get caught up in even the most ridiculous, dangerous or hateful cults and why it is so incredibly hard to leave them again. Because as soon as you can push a "we against them" agenda, you are a part of the "we". You're part of a group. You belong. No-one in their right mind would want to leave that. The situation – of yourself or someone you hold extremely dear – has to be incredibly dire for you to leave everything you know behind, leave your entire social circle, and subsequently be helpless, lost, potentially without means and confronted with people who don't understand why you joined in the first place. Who will potentially make fun of you and exclude you.

Number 2) is what happened to Rowling, I suppose. I don't know Rowling and at this point I don't care to. But she also probably didn't just wake up one day and said: "Actually I like all this money and power and the platform I have now quite a lot. But if I help marginalised groups to get more power, I might loose some of my own. So let's hate on them instead." No. It happens in increments. Maybe one day she was asked to give up more money than she was comfortable with for "some charity". And she decided the cause wasn't worth it, because after all, it was "just trans-people" and wait a minute what have "they" ever done for her? Or for women in general? In fact, couldn't their mere existence be a hinderance to the progression of women's rights? And after all it's her money. She worked hard for it. They could have done the same thing, but they didn't, did they? Or something else entirely, I can only speculate. (I don't support any of that, obviously. I'm trying to show how you slip into this kind of thinking.)

The point is, non of this is noticeable in the beginning. All these processes are gradual.

No cult just knocks on your door and goes: "We have the most insane conspiracy theories out there, science is a scam, we won't allow you to take modern medicine and we will drain all our your financial means to a point where you are helpless without us. By the way, do you have any LGBTQIA people in your social circle? We don't condone those. But hey, we can provide you with people who will act like they are your friends. You know, to substitute the ones that you will inevitably push away, if you join us. Heads up though, if you try to leave, we will blackmail you." No racist (or at least very few) will just come up to you and say: "I have this theory, that white people are better than people of colour. Let me convince you of it." (And frankly most people are not self-aware enough to realise when they are being racist.)

It will always start small. It will seem reasonable and harmless in the beginning. Some of the arguments you might even agree with. And suddenly you are in too deep, to get out.

This is NOT – and I cannot stress this enough – meant to be any sort of excuse for Rowling. I think the woman and the bullshit she spews is truly vile. This is also not meant to condemn all people in positions of power, because there are counterexamples – even if they get way to little attention. There are rich people who give money to science. Silently and without a self-serving agenda. Famous people who speak up for all kinds of marginalised groups. Powerful people that do invest in slowing climate change. There are powerful people giving a shit, just as much as there are people in marginalised groups that hate on everyone else and buy into a "we against them" agenda. (It's never black and white).

And please don't misunderstand me. You absolutely have every right to be angry at the bitch. You *should* be fucking angry. At anyone who tries to hurt and invalidate you. You should be livid. I am too. Oppose hatred wherever you find it. Oppose every vile word that comes out of Rowling's mouth, every anti-human rights bullshit you hear. Not just from her, but from everybody around you. Protect yourself and others. Do whatever you need to do to cope, especially if people don't just attack your believe in everyone being treated equally, but if they hit you on a more personal level. (Frankly, I personally get twitchy when people burn books – no matter which ones – mainly because I am German and pictures like those do not have great connotations in my world. But everyone copes differently.)

However the point is, the focus of this conversation has turned to "Harry Potter" way too much. (Yes, it makes her money, but we're not about to stop that, at this point. And I'll leave the decision, if the work can be separated from the author, enough to engage with content that does not make her money, for everyone to decide for themselves. The debate has been going on since before Roland Barthes discussed it [yes I know he mainly meant the level of influence the authors bibliography had on the text, it's still the same argument, but with a different aspect], using multiple prominent figures as examples. That is something every single person has to decide for themselves and we cannot push our decisions onto others.)

What I am really trying to make you understand is: We all like to think about ourselves, that we would use our power for good if we had any. That we would treat all people equally and would use our money to further the cause of all marginalised people in the world. End world hunger, end poverty, end the patriarchy, the list is endless. But we do not know if we would do that. Because we are not in the situation to do so. We do not know if – on the road to power – we would have kept the same three friends, that call us out on behaving like an asshole. We don't know if we could have kept a hold on our humility and our worldview and our ability to still see people in positions of less power and feel the urge to help.

What I am really, really trying to say in this rant (and I know it is endlessly long and I apologise) is this:

Nothing in life. EVER. Is black and white. You are not on the "good side", because you once made a selfless decision. Other people are not on the "bad side" because they have power or money. And the borders are not clear-cut. There are so many shades of grey. You can always ALWAYS slip. And you probably won't notice. EVERY SINGLE PERSON on this planet is corruptible. And this is not meant to discourage you. I don't mean to paint our world and our society as hopeless, because they are NOT. You are not condemned to become some soulless creature that does not care a lick about others, simply because you get to a place of greater power. This is in fact meant to encourage you. Encourage you to call others out. Especially encourage you to call yourself out. Encourage you to listen, truly listen, to people when they tell you, that you're being an ass about something. Maybe they are wrong. But maybe they are right. You can be influenced. But you can also influence how you yourself behave and how you treat people. How you view people. Not just groups, but individuals also. Have the courage to be kind. To everyone. And have the courage to question. Yourself and others. Check yourself and your thinking. Always. And if you think this could never happen to you and you could never harm people or mentally sort them into groups to be stigmatised and thusly easier pushed aside… Check yourself twice!

ok im going to #seriouspost for a second here. I don't think Harry Potter is a manifesto. I think it was a flawed passion project that millennials latched onto because of the fantasy of sticking it to their mean teachers and arbitrarily categorizing themselves (hogwarts houses; it's the thinking millennial's astrology). I think the fact that the series got popular when and how it did was very much a product of its time.

I don't think Harry Potter is the biggest symbol of JKR's bigotry. I think the most flagrant sign of that was how she responded to critics. I watched her become radicalized in real time. I watched how she doubled down on her racism when she was called out for the ways she promoted her tragically mid fantastic beasts movies. I watched her chase marginalized teenagers with a double digit follower count off of twitter for daring to criticize her thought process, and no one with any kind of power standing against her because she was the one who was paying them. This isn't to say Harry Potter is without flaws. This is to say she really didn't give a shit about that. Getting rich and powerful is a hell of a drug, and she had enough sycophants that she had no reason to care about what her critics were saying.

She was convinced that she was a martyr; a voice for the unheard; a leader for the ages, so of course her detractors were the bad guys. And I think we should take this to heart. We should see this as an example of how easy it is to get radicalized; if you think of yourself as a paragon of virtue, you are going to think that whatever you see as good and right is an objective fact. Most people don't know this, but the majority of terfs start out as trans allies. You are not immune to propaganda! You are not immune to falling into dangerous ideologies!!!

This is why the most important thing you can do as an activist is to listen. Do NOT think you're above being wrong; do NOT develop a god complex; do NOT form an identity out of being right all the time. Involve yourselves in the groups you claim to speak for. Listen to trans women; share resources that help trans women; familiarize yourself with the diversity of experiences that trans people have and the struggles they face.

No, none of you are as bad as JKR because you don't have her money or her power. You will likely never have the capacity for harm she does. But check yourselves. Do not affirm yourselves into thinking you always have the moral high ground. Watch yourselves; humble yourselves; check yourselves for signs of cult behavior and internalized prejudice. You are always learning. You will always be learning. Do not allow yourselves to get a power trip from brushing off marginalized voices.

#important #i don't even know how to fucking tag this #i just spent an hour ranting in this post instead of doing my thesis #because of course i did #but it was really important to me to get this right #and i spent all week reading and writing in german and french so english doesn't come easy to me right now #i had to look up a lot of things/words that i usually wouldn't have to #society #harry potter #j k rowling #should i even tag the bitch?#this is ultimately not so much about her as it is about the discussion about her #cults #is this about cults?#i don't even know #human behaviour #human rights #power and how to not use it

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angelltheninth · 2 days ago

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Grumpy Boyfriend Bucky Barnes

Paring: James "Bucky" Barnes x Reader

Tags: fluff, kissing, soft for you, protectiveness, grumpy for others, scary privilege

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: This movie brought back my obsession full force.

Grumpy!Bucky always has a scowl on his face even if he's talking to you but those who know him can tell that his voice always softens when he's talking to you or about you

"I don't frown all the time. Only when I need to, which is most of the time. But it's not my fault that everyone keeps pissing me off. And besides, I always have you to make me smile, so I'm not too worried about getting frown wrinkles."

Grumpy!Bucky scares people when he looks at them so you have to remind everyone that he is actually one of the good guys and not there to hurt or kill anyone, it gets really bad at meetings and parties because it creates an empty circle around you

"Better that way no? Least I don't have to look over my shoulder the whole time to watch out for people. They avoid me all on their own. Except for you I guess. You're stuck with me, for live mind you."

Grumpy!Bucky doesn't mind when people tell him that his attitude scares off potential partners, both in romance and in superhero work, he already has a team to belong to, and a really great lover who always makes his days better

"There's no point in trying to please everyone. No one can do that no matter how hard they try. I don't need to attract anyone, I have you don't I? Who more do I need? Well there is my team, I think they're pretty okay with me the way I am."

Grumpy!Bucky isn't easy to fluster even though you try your hardest to, actually some people say it could be an impossible mission, getting the Winter Soldier to blush and or lose his composure in any way

"Care to give it a try? I won't work you know, others have tried. I've been part of honeypot missions before I met you, no one has ever... wait... why would you talk about that in public?! I don't care how good it felt, my friends... teammates are hearing this! Stop!"

Grumpy!Backy only stops frowning when he has something else to do, or he is distracted, for example by a kiss from you, which is one of the only ways to wipe that frown off his face so you resort to that tactic when his scowl gets to be too much for the people around him

"That was a dirty trick. I'm not arguing with its effectiveness, or doubting your strategy, never. Just... maybe try something different when we're in the middle of a serious meeting. Getting kissed like that damages my image. I worked hard to maintain it."

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thescarletfang · 3 days ago

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breathe, baby

I couldn't stop thinking about these two from this drabble I wrote, so I expanded upon it.

breathe, baby: jack abbot x f!doctorreader

word count: 5.8k

summary: the day dr. jack abbot accidentally calls you "baby" during a shift is a day that changes everything.

warnings: MDNI!!!!!!!! 18+, lil angst, fluff, smut, sliiiiight breeding kink?? praise kink, feelings etc

******

The day Dr. Abbot accidentally calls you “baby” during a shift is the day that everything changes.

If you’re being completely honest, you think it’s been building toward this for awhile, but you’re too afraid to let your brain linger on that thought for very long.

You’re his top resident and you two have a rhythm. Years and moments and fragments built upon pain and trust and chaos. Lingering looks, a language of your own working together. A rough, strong hand on the small of your back as he passes behind you. A coffee set down in front of you, just the way you like it, accompanied with a muttered, “Hang in there,” out of the corner of his mouth. A “lemme walk you home” grumbled to you after a harrowing shift.

Quiet moments on the rooftop after losing a patient. Not saying anything. Just fucking existing together, shoulders brushing, this quiet, strong, capable man a safe space for you after all this time.

You both ignore the knowing looks from Shen and Ellis and Walsh and fuck, even Robby and Dana have made comments about how the two of you disappear into your own world when working together.

Jack always just quirks the corner of his mouth up at their teasing, then gets back to work. Your face is always warm for at least twenty minutes after one of their barbs.

But this day - it’s fucking hard.

You almost lost a patient. A teenage girl. You watch them roll her up to the OR after she’s finally, finally stabilized. But this one hit differently. She just…she reminded you of you.

You’re rooted to the spot and it’s hard to breathe and everyone else is clearing out and your vision is swimming and you think, please let me just disappear—-

“Breathe, baby. Breathe. You fuckin’ rocked that shit, okay?”

It’s out of the corner of Dr. Abbot’s mouth, a passing comment, in that low rasp of his voice.

Your eyes dart up to him, but Dr. Abbot— Jack — is moving away, taking off his bloody gloves and throwing them into the trash. He’s already moving on to the next patient, the next case, and you can’t even catch his eye, you just watch his steady, slightly uneven gait cut through the chaos of the ED.

Breathe, baby.

Breathe, you remind yourself.

You let out a breath and it steadies you and your heart rate returns to normal.

You finally move, strip off your gloves and remove your mask and then you feel it, him staring at you across the hectic room, where he has a chart in his hand and you think maybe, finally, everything’s changed. His gaze is intense and it’s loud and it looks like he realized what he said, what he let slip. He’s always been one for eye contact and he’s just standing there in his black scrubs, staring at you like you’re the only thing he sees.

You fucking burn.

* * *

When you transferred to the night shift in your third year of residency, you were nervous. You’d heard all about how fucked your sleep schedule can get, how wild and feral the night shift at PTMC could be, but you didn’t have much of a say in scheduling. You gritted your teeth together and got to work.

Ellis and Shen immediately welcomed you with their sarcasm and quick-wit. Walsh was cold, predictably.

And Dr. Abbot?

Jack?

He was fucking intimidating. He greeted you with eye contact that made you want to squirm. You were convinced he never cracked a smile a day in his life. His eyes – dark, hazel, penetrating - held such a layer of overall sadness that, despite not knowing anything about him yet, this man had lived a life.

“Welcome to the chaos,” Jack’s first words to you were thrown carelessly your way, locking eyes for a beat, before turning back to the computer at the nurse’s station. You had nodded, and Shen had swept you away on a case.

You didn’t talk to Dr. Abbot for the rest of the day, but you were amazed at his ability to command the ED and how he effortlessly led the team with calm, biting competency. His movements were so sure. His hands were steady. His mind was unimaginably capable. A respect for the war veteran settled deep within your bones immediately.

Within a month, you and Dr. Abbot - Jack - had a rapport that felt professional. Within three months, you got him to crack a smile in your direction when you sassed Myrna right back. Within six months, you were working together fluidly in a way you couldn’t have predicted. Within a year, Jack knew your coffee order and you knew his.

You learned things about one another. You learned he was a widower when you caught a glimpse of his wedding band hanging around his neck, next to his dog tags that he wore under his scrubs. You learned that he was in therapy and that sometimes, he stood too close to the edge of the roof.

He learned you, too. Learned that you ran yourself ragged and would keep going unless he told you to take a break. Learned that you had trouble sleeping, that you were on an anti-anxiety medication, that a warm tea after a shift with lots of honey calmed your racing heart.

One time, after a particularly brutal shift, you were lying in bed, showered and staring at your ceiling, your heart pounding in your ribcage, adrenaline coursing through you. Your phone buzzed.

A text - from Jack.

Jack: Postmate should be at your place shortly. Get some rest, you earned it.

You frowned in confusion for a moment before a knock on your door caught your attention. You padded down the hall and opened the door to find a courier holding a coffee tray with a steaming cup of your favorite tea, and a little brown bag with your favorite pastry.

You texted back immediately.

You: You really didn’t have to do that. I’m kinda speechless???

Jack: Don’t be dramatic.

Then you watched as the bubble with the three little typing dots appeared, disappeared, came back, then stopped altogether.

You bit your lip, pulse racing.

You: Thank you, Jack. Who knew you were such a softie under that hard exterior.

As you took your tea and pastry back to your bedroom, snuggling up under the covers, the warm seeping into your bones and relaxing you, your phone screen lit up.

Jack: Only for you.

You had stared at your phone until the weight of exhaustion had lulled you into a dreamless sleep.

And now your heart is beating in your chest so quickly you think it’s going to burst. It’s been two years since you transferred and you’re still here and Jack called you baby and it has lit up every single neural pathway in your brain. You feel warm all over, can feel the word wrap around your body and caress you. The low timber of his voice. The way it'd anchored you in the moment, floating you to the surface.

You close your locker hard, the day heavy on your shoulders. Surely he didn’t know what he was saying. You’re all overworked and under caffeinated and exhausted. He probably calls everyone “baby,” right? Though the idea of Jack calling Ellis or Walsh or Shen “baby” makes you angry in a way that you don’t care to examine.

You step out into the early morning light, grateful to leave the whirlwind of confusion and feelings behind in the ED. Then you see Jack standing there, camo backpack slung around one of his shoulders, leaning against the side of the hospital. He’s out of his scrubs, in a black-shirt and cargo pants and the minute he sees you his jaw clenches. You can see the tension in his shoulders, in his posture. You’ve rarely seen Jack look uncomfortable but there’s no other word to associate with him right now.

“Hey,” he says, walking right up to you. “Walk you home?”

You feel your face grow warm but you force yourself to maintain that goddamn eye contact of his. His hazel eyes search your face but he’s completely guarded and unreadable - his default setting.

“You don’t have to do that—”

Jack lifts a brow, his salt-and-pepper curls blowing slightly in the wind. He rubs a hand over his jaw.

“Yeah, but I want to.”

Jesus Christ, is this man trying to kill you today? Butterflies erupt in your stomach like you’re a preteen. You nod and shrug, shouldering your own backpack and you fall in step together.

You live about fifteen minutes from the hospital. Jack’s never actually been up to your place, but he has walked you home before plenty of times. His own home is just five minutes further than yours, so there had been those mornings, when you didn’t want to feel confined to the inside of your car, where you’d walk home and Jack would join you. You’d always try and brush it off, could see the way he favored his right leg, could imagine the pain of the prosthetic left leg throbbing. But he would always roll his eyes, grumble something about “not being that old” and the two of you would walk in companionable silence.

This silence doesn’t feel companionable.

The silence is loud between you. You can feel Jack studying you out of the corner of your eye. He never hides when he looks at you.

You glance at him and purse your lips. “What?”

He doesn’t say anything, just rubs the back of his neck and mumbles, “Nothin’.”

A minute later he breaks the silence. “Just makin’ sure you're okay.”

Your mind races, trying to land on what he could be referring to. Surely, not—?

At your confused glance, he clears his throat. “The young girl. You seemed really shaken back there. Haven’t really seen you like that in a while.”

Right. Of course Jack isn’t going to bring up what he called you, because he didn’t mean it. Because you’re his resident. Because the working relationship you’ve built is just that - it stays at work.

You feel panic crawl up your throat for a moment; feel embarrassed and ashamed that for a second in that trauma room, you thought maybe this fucking torch you’ve carried for your attending could be reciprocated.

You feel like a fucking fool.

By the time you decide to answer, you’re at the entrance to your apartment building. You turn, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. He’s studying you like he knows every answer; like he has you fucking memorized.

“I’m fine,” you lie. It rolls effortlessly off of your tongue.

Jack takes a step closer to you, his hand still clutching his backpack strap. You’re close enough that in the cresting light of the morning, you can see the gray stubble that lines his jaw. You think he’s so handsome it’s a bit unfair. You think he’s the kind of man that was meant to be fifty, he’s settled into his body and features in a way that feels like he was always meant to get here. Can see how every line of his face tells a story that he keeps too close to his heart.

You can’t read Jack. You never could.

But he’s looking at you like you’re his favorite book and you don’t know what to do with it all.

“You’re lying,” he says, and it’s so matter-of-fact that it feels like you’ve been slapped.

You harden your gaze, try to stand taller. “You walk me home just to accuse me of lying?”

He shakes his head and his eyes never leave yours. “You don’t gotta do that with me. You know you don’t, so why are you doing it now?”

You burn for this man. It consumes every cell in your body and you just want him to either call out what all this means or leave you the fuck alone. Over a year of this push and pull between you and you fear you’re at your limit.

“I’m not the only one who’s good at lying, Jack.”

The sentence hangs between you. You see something shadow his face, a muscle in his jaw works overtime. He puts his hands in his pockets and he lets out a breath, a half-laugh and a half-scoff and finally looks away.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters. Jack looks back to you then and you swear you see it. Swear you see the longing and the fear and you recognize it because you feel it right back.

Something pulls in your sternum; it’s a tiny ball of light, of bravery, and it’s buzzing inside of your bloodstream.

In the span of a few seconds, you think of so many moments with Jack. You think of the time he found you crying on the rooftop, exhausted and at your mental brink. About how he sat beside you, about how he rubbed your back as you wept.

You think about how when you told him a few months ago you were going on a first date with some anesthesiologist, he’d grown silent and stoic and you’d lost him to his own mind for the rest of the shift. How he’d seemed relieved the next night when you’d told him it had been a dud of a date.

You think about that time everyone went out for Ellis’ birthday to that run down little pub around the corner. How you’d actually gone home to change first, how Jack’s eyes had immediately widened for a second when you walked in wearing a little sundress. How his gaze was hot, how he’d put a hand low on your back and asked you what your drink was. How he watched you the entire night, how you felt drunk with that power, knowing his eyes were on you. How he’d laughed and smiled and looked like everything you’d ever wanted in a man.

It lit you up. It made you feel like a champion.

You look at him now and he’s looking right back.

“You call all of your residents ‘baby’?”

The question is out of you before you can keep it behind your lips. You see the words tumbling out, see them reach over and land on Jack. He lets out a sound that’s halfway between a groan and a scoff, a sound like he never meant for you to hear any of it at all.

His eyes dig right into yours. Your chest is rising and falling now and he’s closer, just by a step. You’re in each other’s space.

Jack’s eyes flicker down your face before they find their home back in your gaze. It looks like he’s made a decision but you can’t tell what it is.

“You fuckin’ know I don’t.”

It’s both a confession and an answer. It lingers between you and you want to pull it around your fingers. You want to believe him.

Warmth pools between your legs and you realize you’ve never been this turned on and you’re not even touching. You’re standing outside the door to your apartment and you’re wet because Jack fucking Abbot is looking at you like you’ve wrecked him.

You don’t respond, you just punch in the code to your building and open the door. He stays rooted to the spot, watching your every move. You look over your shoulder at him, heart thundering against your chest so hard you swear he can see it.

“Wanna come up?”

He swallows and you track the movement with your eyes. Waiting for his answer feels like an eternity and you’re nearly regretting it until he says, “Absolutely.”

The nerves settle in as you climb the three flights to your floor. You can feel him at your back, can feel the heat of him behind you. Can feel his eyes all over you and it makes your skin prickle with anticipation.

When you get to your door, he’s standing so close behind you that you’re breathing heavily, like you just ran up the stairs. Your hands tremble as they fiddle with your lock and then, slowly, his right arm comes around you. His left hand finds your lower back and it’s a steady, warm pressure there. His right hand settles over yours and you can feel his breath tickle your neck. Can feel his chest expand because he’s breathing heavy too, and you have to physically force yourself from pushing your ass into him, to see if he’s as affected as you are.

What the fuck is wrong with you that you want to grind against your attending in the hallway outside your apartment?

The weight of his hand on yours steadies you. His fingers work with yours to help you unlock the door and it opens and you step inside with him right behind you and you’ve crossed both the physical and metaphorical line.

You enter your apartment, toss your backpack on the ground and turn around as he quietly closes the door behind him. He drops his own backpack and then you’re just staring at each other in the foyer of your place.

He clears his throat and the sound scrapes across your skin.

“I need you to be very clear with me right now,” Jack says, voice serious and grounding. “Cuz if I’m reading this wrong–if I’ve been reading this wrong—”

“You haven’t. You aren’t.”

He stares at you and it’s hard and you want him so badly, so much more than you’ve ever wanted anything in the entire world.

He sounds ruined when he says lowly, “I don’t wanna be reading this wrong.”

Jack’s gaze tethers you to the ground. You feel so strong.

You step a hair closer. You can hear and feel his intake of breath. His nostrils flare.

“In every way you read this, I want you,” you say softly. Jack lets out a ragged breath at your confession, like he’s taking his first lungful of air after drowning for eternity.

“C’mere.”

His voice is wrecked.

The line between you is obliterated when you close the remaining distance and Jack puts one hand around your waist and the other goes to cradle your jaw. Your eyes flutter at the comfort from his touch, how it makes you feel so deeply in your body.

His eyes can’t seem to focus on a single part of you; they trace your own eyes, your nose, linger on your lips, devour your throat as you swallow, caress your chest as it rises and falls quickly. Finally, his eyes come back to your own.

“You’re absolutely sure about this?” His question hangs between you.

“I am,” you say. He swallows, his mouth so close to yours. If you wanted to, you could lick his lips. Your breath mingles together and your warm all the way to your toes.

“I’m broken and old,” he says lowly, gravely, and in those few tiny words you hear so much. You hear him offering himself up to you, all of his wounds and shrapnel and baggage and darkness.

It doesn’t scare you.

It makes you feel alive.

You offer him a little smile, bite your lip and he groans at the sight.

“I want you just as you are, old man,” you tell him and then his lips are on yours and it’s everything.

The first kiss is soft. It’s a re-introduction. A slow movement of lips against each other’s and then you both pull back at the same time and his eyes are so dark and you feel like you’re buzzing.

The second kiss is nothing like the first.

It is filthy and open and wet, tongues slipping into each other’s mouths. Jack’s hands skate down your body until they grab your ass, pulling you roughly against him. You tangle your fingers in those fucking gray curls that have driven you wild for far too long.

You press your pelvis against him and feel him through his pants, hard and aching and you rub against him, grind against him like you’re a teenager.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he growls, one hand remaining on your ass, the other finding its way under your scrub top, grabbing hold of the flesh of your waist like he needs it to stay tethered to the ground.

You lean your head back and his lips attach to your neck, his tongue tracing the tendons, sucking at your pulsepoint.

You let out a breathy moan and feel him twitch against you. “You have me, Jack.”

He pulls your top off and even though you’re just wearing a sports bra underneath, he looks at your chest like you’re destroying him. You both fumble and kick off your shoes quickly. You pull his t-shirt off and your hands finally get to touch those shoulders, those biceps, that fucking chest you’ve dreamt about.

You slow down when you see his dog tags and wedding ring around his neck. He goes tense for a moment, like he’s unsure how you will react.

You look up at him gently and he’s watching you so carefully. Very slowly, you touch the dog tags and ring reverently. You kiss his chest just next to where they lay.

“You have me,” you repeat quietly. “I want you and everything that comes with you.”

Jack’s eyes glisten for a moment and then he kisses you, both hands cradling your jaw. He works your mouth like he was designed for it. Then he pulls away and carefully takes off the dog tags and ring, lays it gently on your end table.

You stare at one another and Jack swallows. “I never thought I’d get to have this again.”

“‘This’?”

Jack puts his hands on your waist. “A person I’d feel safe with.” His eyes hold yours like a promise. “I feel safe with you.”

Your eyes wet before you can stop them. “I feel safe with you.”

He rests his forehead against yours and his hands trail up your arms, cradling your jaw as he tips your head back slightly. His lips find yours and this time it’s a benediction. It’s an offering, a healing and you feel the air shift around you. You bite down on his bottom lip and pull it slightly and he lets out a moan, deep in his throat.

“Bedroom,” you mutter. He nods still kissing you and you smile against his lips, pull away breathlessly and tug his hand down the hall.

The second you’re in your bedroom (thank god you remembered to make your bed this morning), you push him down on the edge so he’s sitting with his legs spread. You stand between his legs looking down at him, your chest heaving. His neck is corded, like he’s having trouble holding himself back. It makes you want him so badly you think you’ll die if you don’t have him.

Your eye contact doesn’t break as you untie your scrub pants, sliding them down and over your ass and thighs. You kick out of them and your socks. Jack’s gaze is hot and he sucks in a breath when you shrug out of your sports bra, throwing it in the corner.

You’re standing in front of him in just your simple cotton panties. (In so many fantasies you’re adorned in lingerie but somehow this is better. This is real.)

His eyes hold yours for a moment before they finally take in your naked torso and he huffs air through his nose.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says, the edges of his words serrated with want. Your face is warm as you walk closer to him. He’s watching you like you hold the answers to everything as you straddle his lap, your plush thighs on either side of him. Your hands land on his shoulders and his hands immediately find your ass, dimpling the skin there.

You can feel how hard he is and you can’t help the way you grind instinctively over his hips, feeling the clothed head of his cock deliciously hit your soaked panties.

“Fuck, look at you,” he rasps, his eyes fixed on where your rubbing yourself over him. “You’re so perfect.”

“Jack—need you—god—” you’re babbling, delirious with need and the way you’re pulsing between your legs.

“Yeah, baby?” Jack’s lips attach to your neck again, teeth surely leaving a mark. His hands grab under your thighs and in a swift motion he stands up, turning you around and tossing you onto the bed. Your tits bounce and Jack is crawling over you, his lips tracing a path down your sternum until he’s sucking a nipple and you whine, high-pitched and throaty. He bites a little and you make a noise you didn’t know you were capable of.

His hands find the waistband of your underwear and he’s panting as he slides them down your thighs, giving your other nipple attention until he has your panties completely off and dropped to the floor.

You’re bared to him and you can no longer catch your breath.

Jack leans back on his haunches, staring at you like he can’t believe this is actually happening.

Like he can’t believe you're his.

You let your thighs fall apart, open your legs for him and the breath catches in Jack’s throat.

“Fuck,” he bites out. “Fuck, baby, I need to taste you.”

You lay back, run your hands through your hair because this all feels insane. You’re burning up and feeling delirious.

“Please,” you beg because right now you’re not above begging, you’ve never been above begging when it comes to this man.

Jack slides down your body until he’s lying on his stomach. His face is so close to you and he actually breathes you in and it’s the most erotic moment of your life.

Until his tongue is inside you and you whimper.

“Fuck—fuck—Jack—yes, yes, oh my god.”

Jack eats your pussy like he’s devouring it. Relentless and precise, you’re humiliated to think you’re going to come in under a minute. He pulls back for a moment, mouth glistening and you stare down at him as he slides a finger inside of you. You groan, throwing your head back as he glides it in and out for a moment, before sliding in a second and using his thumb to play with your clit.

“Fuck!” you cry and Jack has this little smirk on his face before he puts his tongue back in you, licking so deep and so good. Your thighs end up over his shoulders and you realize he’s grinding into the mattress. He groans into you and you feel it - you’re so close -

“Jack, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come—how am I gonna come already?”

Jack pulls away, his thumb and fingers working in tandem together like you’re his favorite instrument to play.

“You’re so good,” he tells you, coaxing you toward your orgasm. “Come for me. Come on my tongue, baby.”

It breaks you open.

You come hard and fast on Jack’s tongue and you feel his moan as your heels dig into his back. Your hands grip his hair and it tethers you to the bed. You’re panting as he licks you through out, his thumb and fingers still working in you.

“Fuck,” he bites out hard, gently gliding his hand out of you. He brings it to his mouth and you go slack-jaw as he licks his fingers. “You taste so fucking good.”

You laugh because it’s all so insane. Breathless laughter that shakes your body and he grins at you and he looks so boyish.

“I just came so hard,” you tell him because you no longer have a filter. “What the fuck?”

He rests his head against your thigh and you just stare at each other for a moment. Your fingers run through his hair and he closes his eyes.

He’s gorgeous.

He’s yours.

“I wanna ride you now,” you tell him. His eyes fly open and he chokes on a breath, lifting up to hover above you.

“Yeah? God, you’re so good. You’re so fucking good.”

Now that does something to your psyche you’ll need to inspect later. You grin up at him and your fingers go to the ties on his pants. He helps you, kicking them off until he’s just in his briefs.

Your eyes land on his prosthetic.

“Told you I was broken and old,” he mutters, a hint of self-consciousness breaking through. You put a hand on his cheek, staring up at him where he’s still holding himself above you.

“And I told you I want you exactly as you are.” You glance down again. “Will it be better to take it off?”

Jack hesitates, just for a moment, then nods.

You lean up and kiss him. “So take it off.”

You roll to the side as Jack takes off the prosthetic, lying it against the foot of your bed. You kneel on the bed, watching him massage the end of the amputated leg. He grunts in relief.

“There’s a—there’s wipes, in my pocket—”

You reach down to his discarded pants and take the wipes out of the back pocket.

“Lay down,” you tell him. Jack watches you, breathing heavy before he listens to you, lying back with is head on your pillows. You - naked, humming with your previous orgasm - lean down and gently wipe at the residual limb. You feel his gaze on you, watching you.

This moment feels sacred and you’ll remember it for a long time.

You toss the wipe in your wastepaper basket before you turn to him, grinning.

His eyes are glistening and he swallows roughly.

“Hi,” you say, suddenly shy.

“Hey,” he tells you back, voice gravel.

You bite your lip, your hands going to the top of his briefs. “I’m going to take these off now.”

Jack groans. “Fuckin’ please.”

You take them off and when you see his cock you die a little. It’s throbbing and red at the tip and strong and proud and you’ve never been one to fantasize about an actual fucking dick before but Jesus, it’s as gorgeous as the man it belongs to.

You straddle his thighs, hovering above it. His hands find your hips and you reach over to your bedside table, take out your bottle of lube.

You put some in your hand, and when you reach down to rub it along Jack’s cock, he hisses, presses his head into the pillows and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’m not gonna last,” he grits out. “It’s been—awhile–”

Your hand strokes him twice more before you line him up at your entrance. He squeezes the flesh of your waist.

He looks down at where he’s lined up. “Did you wanna use a condom?” The question is so earnest, so kind, but you really need his fucking cock filling you up right now.

“I’m on birth control,” you tell him, rubbing yourself over the head of his cock and he gasps. “I’m clean. Are you?”

Jack nods. “Yeah, yeah, I am, can show you the tests—”

“I trust you,” you tell him. “And no, I don’t wanna use a condom. I want you to come inside me and fill me up.”

Jack throws his head back, baring his throat to you and his hands move to the flesh of your ass, squeezing so hard you’re sure they’ll be marks.

“Fucking Christ—dirty fuckin’ thing, fuck, I’m gonna die,” he growls. You smile to yourself, body completely flushed because yes, you’ve always been confident during sex, but Jack makes you feral in a way you cannot explain.

You sink down on him slowly and he hisses when he breaches you. You take him, inch by inch and you whimper because the stretch is so good, it feels so good to be full.

“Oh god,” you moan when he bottoms out. You sit there, him inside you and you look down at him and he looks up at you, his hands dimpling your ass.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he hisses and when you begin to move, his eyes roll to the back of his head.

It’s the hottest sight you’ve ever seen.

You start out slow, adjusting to the feeling of him inside you. Jack leans up, licks your throat and sucks on your tit. It’s so good.

You feel like you were made to ride Jack Abbot. Sweat shines on both of your bodies and when he moves a finger to touch your clit, you cry out, leaning forward with your hands attached to the headboard. His other hand goes to your throat, holding you there securely, not tightly, but grounding.

The bed shakes.

Jack stares down at where he’s sliding in and out of you, punching up and meeting your grinding with thrusts of his own. His chest is completely flushed.

“Takin’ me so well,” he growls. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

You babble, delirious with pleasure. “M’gonna come, Jack, I’m gonna fuckin’ come again.”

Jack nods, his thumb strumming your clit in time with his cock. “Come for me, baby. Wanna feel you come so bad.”

He locks eyes with you. “You’re so fuckin’ good. Mine.”

You break open again, for the second time.

“Jack! Jack! Nnnnghhh—”

He’s properly thrusting up now, can feel you spasm around his cock. “Jesus you were made for me,” he growls. “Gonna come. Gonna fill you up.”

Your legs are jelly and you can barely hold yourself up. Jack’s hands find your waist as he bounces you on his cock. You feel tears stinging the corners of your eyes because it feels so good.

“Fill me up, Jack,” you moan. “Fill me up—-”

He comes with a broken moan, pulsing deep inside you. Your hands are on either side of his head, your hips are aching, and you’re both panting and staring at one another.

You’re not sure who laughs first, but breathless laughter breaks the tension.

“Jesus,” Jack mutters, helping you slide off him. His come drips down your legs and he watches it for a moment, takes his finger to it and pushes it back inside you.

You kiss him before you quickly go to use the bathroom. When you return, Jack is staring at the ceiling, breathing deeply. He looks at you and opens an arm up and you quickly slide in next to him.

He turns on his side so you’re both staring at each other.

There’s no awkwardness. It’s warm and sunny and it feels like a weighted blanket is over the both of your shoulders. He brings a hand up, tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Dunno how I got so lucky,” he tells you. “You’re it for me, you know that, right?”

You don’t realize how badly you need to hear him say it. You give him a teary smile and his thumb grazes under your eye.

“I know,” you whisper.

The early morning light filters through the window and brings a sense of peace you’ve both been searching for.

You can finally breathe.

#dr jack abbot #dr jack abbot x reader #dr jack abbot x you #the pitt #jack abbot x f!reader #dr jack abbot x f!reader #dr jack abbot x f!doctorreader #jack abbot smut #jack abbot x you

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sirfrogsworth · 2 days ago

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I've been thinking deeply about "good people" and "bad people" and how those labels don't work for me anymore except in rare cases (Elon, Trump, MTG, etc).

I've switched to good and bad behaviors as much as I can.

Jay Leno the comedian was just bad behaviors all the way down. He literally made Monica Lewinsky's life nearly intolerable. He was in some part responsible for her brush with suicide. Not only did he make jokes about her every night, but he has kept those jokes in his act TO THIS DAY.

He was probably the first mainstream transphobic comedian. When Cher's son Chaz Bono came out as a trans man, Jay did jokes for months. To his credit, he later did an interview with Chaz and you could see in real time Jay thinking, "Oh, this isn't what I thought." It seemed like meeting an actual trans person changed his perspective a bit. (Imagine that.)

And, of course, the entire saga screwing over Conan was just peak bad behavior. Conan's 60 Minutes interview is the perfect thing to watch if you want to know more.

HOWEVER...

Jay Leno the boss is a solid dude. He was the Anti-Ellen. Got along with everyone. Took an interest in their lives. He'd give them extra jobs like paying the art department to recreate vintage car advertisements for his car museum.

He rewarded loyalty and took care of his crew for the run of his show. He'd give them bonuses and expensive gifts for years of service. When there were strikes he would pay their salaries. He was so loved as a boss, that many of his crew members stuck with him for the entire run of his Tonight Show. They once did a thing where they showed the crew babies born during the Tonight Show and it looked like they brought in the entire student body of a grade school.

Jay Leno the car historian is a sweet old grandpa doing important work in conservation. Cars are a part of our history and I think it is important to have a robust historical sample. Jay does not just collect expensive cars just to have them and show off his wealth. He collects cars throughout history, preserves them as they were (to the best of his ability), and he *drives* them.

So many museums will do this historical pausing thing where they take an old thing, stop any current degradation, and then preserve it from that point forward. Or they might restore the car to its former glory and then do the pause. Keeping it on display and never driving it again.

But I find this problematic with cars for a couple of reasons. First, when you do that, you lose the context of how the cars needed to be maintained. You can lose access to mechanics that can work on them and create parts for them. Cars are not just visual objects, they are mechanisms with thousands of moving parts and the history of those moving parts is important too. Cars need to be driven to be maintained. The longer you let them sit, the more they will break down, the harder it will be to keep them in working order for preservation. Perhaps one paused and one driven would be a better approach due to the risk of accidents.

But also, the experience of driving these cars is important historically. How fast were they? How good was the acceleration? How did they corner? What did all the buttons and dials do? Were they fun to drive? Were they scary death traps? (Looking at you Dodge Viper. How many dentists did you kill?) The actual driving of the cars has important historical context. I think car museums should be next to a track and people should be allowed to experience riding in them.

Jay is an amazing historian and has a wonderful sampling of important cars going back to steam. He even has a steam fire engine from the early 1900s. He is a gracious host and gives lots of people access to his collection. He does weekly videos so there is a great visual record of this history and anyone can watch and learn about these old (and new but inaccessible) cars.

If you were to poke me with a stick, I'd say Jay Leno the comedian is a giant asshole. And Jay Leno the boss and historian is a solid dude.

And holding those two ideas in my head breaks my brain a little.

But I think there is merit in thinking of people as collections of good and bad behaviors rather than just giving them a singular verdict of good or bad person.

Jimmy Kimmel is another interesting study in good vs bad behavior.

He started doing comedy in the misogynistic manosphere genre. Famously, he did "The Man Show" with Adam Corolla. What's funny about that is I think Jimmy thought it was mostly satire (though he was absolutely problematic) and Adam was a true believer who thought he was really sticking it to those feminist bitches.

Jimmy Kimmel might be one of the most public examples of genuine, authentic growth. A person who analyzed his bad behaviors and decided to limit or replace them with good behaviors. I'm guessing his marriage and family helped push him along. But he started this journey long before that. He learned he could still push the limits of crude humor and even satirize his misogynistic past while generally being a solid dude. Slowly he became one of celebrities' favorite shows to go on. And, because of his growth, he started making friends with tons of them. You would not believe how many big stars are good friends with Jimmy Kimmel outside his show.

And when Trump came along, Jimmy got fucking WOKE. (The OG usage) His empathetic side came out in a big way. He couldn't hold it back with his crude man humor facade. He started caring about the world and what his kids were going to grow up in, and he added scathing political humor to his repertoire.

Jay Leno remains apolitical as much as possible with some mildly shitty conservative views popping out every once in a while. He is into old school WWII style patriotism and thinks everything should be made in America. Like, when someone says a car part is made in America, I worry Jay is just going to jizz in his pants right on camera.

Is Jay Leno a bad person? Sometimes. Absolutely.

Was Jimmy Kimmel a bad person? Sometimes. Absolutely.

Is Jimmy still a bad person? Not as far as I can tell.

Is Adam Corolla a piece of shit? Absolutely. Absolutely.

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mitsuki91 · 3 days ago

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Please don't put this in the main tag because no. You were starting good, because actually "you are my girl" is a common phrase that don't imply owning, and used by teens is perfectly in line with their sense of dramatic and hormons.

Coriolanus Snow doesn't want to own Lucy Gray in the sense of closing her somewhere and eat the key, please just stop. I already analyze somewhere the infamous cage quote but I'm telling again: he was just arrived in 12, he knows nothing about her and Covey habits beside the fact that they play, and is worried because BT and Mayfair are actually out there and already tried to murder her once. Everyone will be worried. He doesn't want her closed somewhere by herself, he wanted to be with her to protect her. The only thing I almost agree with is the fact that his want to control things actually do mean he wants to know everything - and mind you, this is mutual with Lucy Gray, this is the trust she was talking about from the start. So if Lucy Gray is somehow involved with the rebel Snow must know it: or to try to gaslight her to stop or, at worst, to keep finding ways to protect her (but, mind you, if LG was a rebel she was fundamentally another person altogheter, so...). Basically the same that happened to Sejanus, but Snow was able to betray Sejanus because he is Sejanus and not Lucy Gray. Because in his mind he is stupid and keep putting him (and Lucy Gray and the Covey) in danger (also another point for another day but Snow was convinced that Strabo could have saved him anyway).

So yeah. Snow could not comprehend how Haymitch is so chill about his lover Lenore Dove to keep her secret and not involve him in her plans. It is something he will never understand.

But both of the calling their significant other "my girl" is actually the same, and is actually a sign of teens in love, nothing less nothing more. Stop analyzing characters with bias just because you know one of them becomes evil in the future (if you think Snow was evil from the start, this is another problem for another day).

“Bet I know a thing or two about your dove.” “Like what?” “Like she’s delightful to look at, swishes around in bright colors, and sings like a mockingjay. You love her. And oh, how she seems to love you. Except sometimes you wonder, because her plans don’t include you at all.” Something something, Coriolanus calling Lucy Gray "my girl" versus Haymitch calling Lenore Dove "my girl."

#coriolanus snow #haymitch abernathy #tbosas #sotr #of course you want your girl to be yours and there is nothing wrong with it #“possessivness” is not enterly a wrong concept #expecially if you grow up in a war and actually have nothing #but you don't even have to go in a deep analysis about how owning is related to love here because the meaning is not that #is just a common phrase #also I want to point out that both of them think of themself as their boyfriend #the feeling is mutual here #as I always said #I am a 33yo married woman and my husband is MINE and I am no toxic for this #I am HIS too #snowbaird #haydove

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nanasrkives · 2 days ago

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Navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! haikyuu EP!

"FOR HER" — Sakusa Kiyoomi

a/n : its official i am entering my baby fever era :) content : GIRL DAD SAKUSA. fluff. post timeskip. headcanon.

Girl dad! Sakusa who doesn’t cry in the delivery room, but when the nurse places her in your arms, you see the change happen in his expression before he even speaks. He stands beside you with one hand resting on the bedrail, still in his zip-up, curls flattened from the long hours, eyes fixed so intently on her tiny face that he barely breathes. You offer her to him, gently, and although he nods and reaches out, it’s with a kind of quiet reverence, like he’s afraid any sudden movement might shatter something fragile. When she’s finally in his arms, wrapped in that standard-issue hospital blanket, he doesn’t look away once. “She’s really ours,” he says after a long silence, voice soft and level like he’s stating a fact that still hasn’t settled in. You’re tired and aching and overwhelmed, but in that moment — watching him fall in love so quietly — you feel steadier than you’ve felt all day.

Girl dad! Sakusa who approaches parenting the way he’s approached everything else that’s ever mattered to him — with focus, with discipline, and with the same determination that made him the top ace in the country. He just does it. He reads every product label, tracks feeding times in his phone, and practices swaddling until the corners lie flat like muscle memory. You find him at night adjusting the baby carrier straps with one of her stuffed animals, narrowing his eyes like it’s something to be mastered. In the nursery, everything has its place: pacifiers in labeled containers, diapers stacked perfectly, bottles washed and sterilized on a rotating schedule that no one asked him to create. He’s not afraid of mess — he’s an athlete, after all — but this kind of order calms him. It’s the only way he knows to make sense of something this overwhelming. When you catch him in the early mornings rearranging the drawer of onesies so the softest fabrics are on top, you don’t interrupt. You just watch because you know that this is how he’s learning to love her.

Girl dad! Sakusa who is the first to notice that post-partum hit you. The way your smile doesn’t quite reach, the way your hands linger over chores but don’t quite start them, the way you keep saying you’re fine even when your voice betrays how deeply tired you are. He doesn’t corner you about it — he just starts making it easier to breathe. He finishes bottles without being asked. He folds laundry without announcing it. He draws a bath and offers you the quiet without implying you owe him anything in return. And when you finally sit down beside him on the bed and admit, barely above a whisper, “I think something’s wrong,” he takes your hand and says, without even flinching. “We’ll take care of it. You don’t have to do it alone.” That night, when the house is quiet, he tucks her in and then tucks you in too, placing your tea on the nightstand and brushing your hair back from your forehead before placing a kiss on your forehead like he’s reminding you that you’re still being held.

Girl dad! Sakusa who keeps her world structured, calm, and clean — not out of fear, but out of habit, and a deep belief that consistency makes kids feel safe. He doesn’t scold when she forgets to wash her hands before dinner. He just walks her to the sink, adjusts the faucet for her, and says, “Let’s try again,” with the same steady tone he uses when coaching a teammate through a play. You can already see how much of him lives in her — not just in her temperament, but in her tiny routines. The way she lines up her shoes by the door. The way she wipes the table with a napkin after dinner. He never told her to do any of that — she just watched him and followed his steps.

Girl dad! Sakusa who always stops what he’s doing when she calls for him. He never rolls his eyes or tells her to wait. Whether she’s holding a drawing she drew or asking him to see the rain outside on the balcony, he gives her his full attention. She brings him stories, toys, questions he doesn’t have answers to yet, and he listens to every single one. Sometimes, she climbs into his lap mid-stretch, legs crossed beneath her, curls sticking to her forehead, and just rests there like she knows there’s nowhere safer. You glance over from the kitchen and watch as he adjusts his posture just slightly to keep her steady, continuing his cooldown stretches like her presence is just part of the routine now.

Girl dad! Sakusa who teaches himself to braid because one morning she tugs at his sleeve and says, "Papa me want hair like Mama” and he doesn’t want to be the kind of father who says i don't know how to something like that. That night, while the house is quiet, you find him on the couch with one of her dolls in his lap, video tutorial paused on his phone, fingers fumbling but determined. He practices until the parts are clean, until the elastics hold. The first few mornings, the braid sits crooked on her head — slipping by lunchtime — but she runs to you saying, “Papa did it !” every single time. When he finally gets it right, she wraps her arms around him like he just won a trophy. And later, when you're brushing your own hair before bed, he watches you for a moment from the doorway, then comes up behind you, fingers gently sweeping your strands aside. “I didn’t realize how much of you she carries,” he says, quiet and sincere. “It makes me want to do everything right.”

Girl dad! Sakusa who brushes through her damp curls with more care than you thought possible. The spirals are his — the same exact texture that still coils around his forehead after a shower — but the color is yours, unmistakable in the morning light. When she’s sitting between his legs and he’s sectioning off her hair into neat parts, you sometimes find him pausing just to look. Not because he’s unsure of the process — he’s got the rhythm down by now — but because every time he sees her, it’s a new reminder that she’s equal parts both of you.

Girl dad! Sakusa who brings her to matches and never says a word about it being a distraction, though you know how seriously he takes preparation. She always sits with you, gripping a wrinkled “Go Papa !” sign in her fists, her legs swinging off the bleachers while she yells his name through a mouthful of fruit snacks. He rarely looks into the crowd — he’s too focused for that — but today, when she screams his name mid-serve, you swear you see the smallest flicker of a smile on his face. After the game, he comes straight to you both, drops to one knee, and listens to her long-winded play-by-play with a patience that makes even the camera crew step back. You take her hand as he packs up his bag, and she says, “Papa did good today !” He doesn’t say anything, but you notice how he walks just a little taller after that.

Girl dad! Sakusa who changes his phone ringtone to a voice memo of her calling for him because he says it’s easier to hear. It plays once during a team meeting and Atsumu nearly falls out of his chair laughing, but Sakusa doesn’t even flinch. “She’s loud,” he says calmly, setting his phone face down on the table, “but she gets my attention.” When you hear it go off at home, it always makes you smile.

Girl dad! Sakusa who never talks about how much he loves being a father — not in words, at least. But you see it in how he shows up. In the way he learns her favorite breakfast, remembers the exact way she likes her blanket tucked in, memorizes the lyrics to a show he pretends to hate. You see it in how he looks at her when she doesn’t notice — like she’s the most surprising, most important thing that’s ever happened to him.

Girl dad! Sakusa who holds her hand tightly on her first day of school, walking her up to the gate with slow, even steps. She’s excited and confident. She lets go of his hand the second she sees her teacher and runs inside without looking back. You expect him to say something — maybe a joke, maybe a quiet sigh — but instead, he just stands there for a long moment. When you brush your fingers against his, he finally speaks. “She didn’t even turn around.” You lean your head on his shoulder and whisper, “She''s growing up.”

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