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solar-wing · 23 hours ago

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⚣ Jason: The Rebel 🏍️

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

⚣🏍️ Words → 38.9K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! ❤️

⚣ ENJOY 🏍️

Jason Todd? Everyone knows who Jason Todd is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason laughed at that.

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

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

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

And he did.

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

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

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

People made up their own stories about him.

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

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

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

Because trouble is intoxicating when it looks like Jason Todd.

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

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

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

And maybe that was the most frustrating thing of all.

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

They couldn’t stop looking.

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

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

The only question was, who?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The table erupted into laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

That earned him a few raised eyebrows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whatever. Y’all are insufferable."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ignorance is bliss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the motorcycle Jason rode today?

That was theirs.

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

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

"Everywhere."

That had been a promise.

One Jason intended to keep.

Then everything changed.

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

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

But then, he heard it.

"Willis Todd has been arrested."

And suddenly, everything made sense.

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

Jason didn’t want to look at him.

"I’ve gotta go away for a while."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he never did.

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

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

Either way, he softened.

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

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

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

"No more sleepovers."

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

"No unsupervised nights out."

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

"Not yet," his father had muttered.

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

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

At least, until he moved back home.

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

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

Jason’s knuckles ached.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Willis’s eyes darkened.

"Watch your mouth, Jason."

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

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

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

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

Jason’s laugh was sharp, humorless.

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

Willis’s jaw tightened.

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

A pause.

"I’m not a kid anymore, Dad."

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

"Then stop acting like one."

Jason snapped.

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

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

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

And maybe some twisted part of him wanted him to.

But he didn’t.

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

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

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

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

The words hit harder than any punch could have.

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

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

Something that looked a hell of a lot like guilt.

Willis let go. Turned away.

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

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

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

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

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

"Window’s open."

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

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

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

Just moved.

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

And then—fuck.

The scent hit him first.

Warmth. Comfort. Y/N.

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

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

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

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

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

And fuck, Jason was not ready for this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His instincts screamed.

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

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

He wasn’t okay.

Not even remotely.

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

Almost.

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

"Yeah."

A beat.

His grip tightened.

"I am now."

Y/N gave a small tug at his hoodie.

"Come on. Bed."

Jason hesitated.

He wasn’t sure he could handle this.

But he let himself be pulled anyway.

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

Jason wasn’t two seconds from unraveling.

He already had.

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

And then—soft fingers.

Threading through his hair. Scraping lightly against his scalp.

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

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

"No, you don’t."

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

A pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason exhaled a short laugh, his shoulders finally relaxing.

He wasn’t okay.

Not even close.

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

He could pretend he was.

And for tonight, that was enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because Jason had always been there first.

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

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

Because everyone else already knew.

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

"Dude. You’re gone for him."

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

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

"You poor thing."

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

And maybe he had been.

Because suddenly, everything felt different.

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N had no fucking clue.

None.

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

And that?

That was gonna be a fucking problem.

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

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

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

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

Jason had immediately short-circuited.

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

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

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

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

Logic is key.

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

Not what Jason’s instincts immediately jumped to.

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

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

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

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

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

And Y/N?

He wasn’t nervous.

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

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

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

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

Jason’s jaw locked.

Every muscle in his body coiled tight.

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

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

Jason’s vision went red.

The next thing he knew, he was moving.

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

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

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

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

"Yeah? Then move."

He did.

And Y/N?

Didn’t even notice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Jason didn’t feel the cold.

All he felt was heat. Actually…

It felt like he was fighting for his goddamn life.

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

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

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

It was everywhere.

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

Jason went rigid.

Too close.

Too dangerous.

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

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

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

And fuck, why was it so warm?

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

He needed to focus.

On anything else.

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

Jason bit the inside of his cheek, hard.

How the fuck was Y/N sleeping through this?

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

Jason squeezed his eyes shut.

This is why sleepovers got banned.

Holy shit, this is exactly why sleepovers got banned.

And the worst part?

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

Or if they’d been for him.

Because this? This was torture.

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

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

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

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

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

Jason knew.

He wasn’t gonna survive much longer.

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

He went to Y/N’s father.

Because Jason was done waiting.

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

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

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

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

But this?

This was a new level of terrifying.

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

"Jason."

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

"I wanna court your son."

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

Silence.

The longest fucking ten seconds of Jason’s life.

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

"That so?"

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

Another long pause.

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

"Babe, I owe you twenty bucks!"

Jason blinked. What?

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

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

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

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

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

"Took you long enough."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason was here.

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

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

And he looked… nervous.

Not angry. Not frustrated. Nervous.

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N stepped closer. "What’s wrong?"

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

Then, finally, he spoke.

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

Y/N narrowed his eyes. "Bullshit."

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

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

Jason never hesitated.

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

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

But Y/N wasn’t people.

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

Pouting.

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

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

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

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

Y/N arched a brow. "It’s your name."

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

And Y/N knew exactly what he meant.

Jason had never been just Jason to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because Jason had never let anyone else call him that.

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

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

But when Y/N said it?

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

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

"Jason—"

…

Call the cops because the law’s been broken.

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

"Whatever, just—here."

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

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

Y/N did not relax.

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

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

Familiar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N almost teared up.

Almost.

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

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

But Jason wasn’t done.

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

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

And somehow—everything made sense.

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

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

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

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

"This is the real thing, though."

His voice dipped lower, softer.

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

Y/N’s throat tightened.

Because the motorcycle wasn’t just Jason’s.

It was theirs.

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

Y/N’s chest ached.

He knew what Jason was really saying.

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

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

Y/N’s throat tightened. "Jason…"

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

Y/N didn’t think.

Didn’t hesitate.

He just moved.

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

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

Really fast.

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

Jason kissed like he fought—with everything he had.

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

And Y/N?

Y/N was gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A full-body offense.

"A maybe?"

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

"Unbelievable."

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

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

Jason bit him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It’s a yes, dummy."

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

"Good."

And then—because Jason Todd was a menace—

He kissed him again.

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

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

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

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

Jason didn’t need to look.

He could already feel the stares.

And the thing about Jason Todd?

He thrived off that shit.

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

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

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

And now?

Now, he never would be.

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

And fuck—it felt good.

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

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

Their two closest friends.

Finally. Together.

It was about damn time.

Dick, naturally, was the first to speak up.

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

Jason’s eye twitched.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason bristled. "Okay, I’m leaving."

Y/N just laughed harder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unless?

…

Pfff, yeah right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just a note: Manny won the bet.

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

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

Because his focus was elsewhere.

And then—it happened.

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

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

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

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

But the problem?

Jason got to Y/N first.

And Pimple Roid Rage?

He wasn’t handling it well.

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

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

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

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

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

Not even close.

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

And, well…

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

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

But…what even happened?

Well…

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

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

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

The next?

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

The entire hall went silent.

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

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

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

Jason didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

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

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

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

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

Y/N swallowed, heart racing, breath shaky.

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

And it was hot as hell.

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

"Jay," he murmured.

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

Y/N licked his lips.

"I’m fine."

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

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

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

And in the middle of it all?

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

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

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

Jason was merely defending him.

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

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

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

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

Texting his omega.

Jason: this is 100% your fault

Jason: u need to stop being hot

Y/N: wow. tragic. truly.

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

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

Jason:

Y/N: RUDE

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

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

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

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

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

And by dad, he meant both of their dads.

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

He even helped make Y/N’s ring.

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

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

Y/N knew the truth.

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

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

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

Or salary.

Or health benefits.

Or a 401K.

Or a retirement plan.

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

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

He cared about the smaller things.

The thoughtful things.

The practical things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it wasn’t just groceries.

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

Because, according to Jason—

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

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

And if anyone ever questioned it?

Jason would just glare, deadpan, and say—

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

Because no.

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

Hell would have snow days before that happened.

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

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

But his actions?

They screamed devotion louder than words ever could.

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

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

And Y/N would tease him about it.

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

Jason would just grunt.

“Formality.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was half joking, half serious.

(…Mostly serious.)

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

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

And then—his voice.

Low. Rough.

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

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

He was definitely at fault.

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

Because Y/N?

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

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

And tonight? Tonight was no different.

Except this time?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because fuck, he could feel everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then—

The scent shifted and Jason froze.

Something sweet. Something new.

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

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

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

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

His face went red.

“Oh my god—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The second it hit his tongue—

Jason fucking groaned.

Because holy shit.

Sweet. So fucking sweet.

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

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

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

Mine.

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

Jason nearly fucking snapped. Because he needed more.

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Now you remember.”

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

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

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

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

“Dripping. Leaking. Practically begging for me.”

Y/N hid his face in Jason’s shoulder, shaking. Jason just chuckled darkly.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Jason murmured against his ear, his tone sickly sweet, full of smug satisfaction. “Can’t handle what you started?”

Y/N whined again, thighs clenching around Jason’s waist, slick dripping down between them. Jason felt it. Smelled it.

And fuck, he wanted to ruin him.

To press Y/N down, spread him wide, fuck him so deep he’d still feel it tomorrow. His instincts were screaming at him—breed, claim, mark, take.

It would be so easy. So fucking easy.

But Jason?

Jason was in control. He had to be.

Even as he felt his self-restraint slipping, even as his body was aching to give in, even as his mouth watered at the scent of slick soaking into the mattress—

Jason forced himself to stop.

He ripped his hand away from Y/N’s mouth, dragging his thumb across swollen lips, smirking when Y/N tried to chase it.

“That’s what I thought,” Jason murmured, voice thick with satisfaction.

Y/N let out a desperate, broken whimper, thighs still twitching, body still aching for more.

Jason smirked.

"Be patient, sweetheart."

Because when Jason finally knotted him?

Y/N wouldn’t be walking for a week. But, it seemed the omega was willing to try his luck tonight, as Jason felt fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his sweats, just barely brushing him—

Jason growled. A low, guttural warning.

“Stop.”

Jason’s grip tightened. His body locked up, every inch of him wired too tight, too hot, too close to breaking. He exhaled slowly, his breath hot against Y/N’s throat, trying to get himself under control.

“…Behave,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked, pressing a grounding kiss to Y/N’s shoulder.

Y/N barely managed a nod.

“Good boy. Not yet,” Jason exhaled through his nose, gripping Y/N’s chin, forcing his dazed gaze back up to him. His lips curled, but it wasn’t teasing—it was fond. “I want you,” Jason’s voice dropped, rough and thick with heat, his thumb brushing over Y/N’s bottom lip, lingering. “But not yet. Not like this. I’m not gonna—” He swallowed, voice softer now. “I wanna do this right. You deserve that.”

Y/N’s fingers curled into his shoulders, pulling him closer, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. Soft at first. Then hotter, needier, tongue flicking against his pulse point just to hear Jason’s breath stutter. And Jason—big, bad Jason Todd—fucking melted. His weight fully pressed down, his grip tightened, and suddenly—Y/N was flipped onto his stomach.

Jason’s breath was hot against his ear, his body grounding and deliberate as his hand slid between Y/N’s thighs, spreading them wider. His fingertips brushed against slick, damp shorts and Jason groaned, half in frustration, half in approval. “Oh fuck, baby. You’re driving me insane.”

Y/N whimpered, hips trembling, thighs slick and shaking, pressing against Jason’s hand like he couldn’t help himself. Jason smirked, voice thick with amusement. “Be patient.” Then, slowly, he sank his teeth into Y/N’s shoulder—hard enough to bruise, but not break skin. Y/N gasped, back arching, thighs clenching around Jason’s wrist.

Jason groaned, satisfied, his free hand sliding up Y/N’s stomach, palm pressed firm against his ribs, holding him in place.

Jason was really trying to behave himself.

Really.

But another look at Y/N—flushed, dazed, lips swollen from his teeth, completely pliant beneath him—and Jason lost his patience.

A low, wrecked growl rumbled in his chest, his body moving before his brain could stop him. His hands shot down, fingers hooking into the waistband of Y/N’s shorts and underwear, yanking them down in one sharp motion.

The next second—his own sweats and boxers were shoved down, his cock finally free, thick and flushed and aching—

And then—

Bare skin. Heat.

The moment Jason slotted their bodies together, the moment he felt the slicked-up warmth of Y/N’s entrance pressing right up against his cock, he nearly fucking lost it. A deep, animalistic groan tore from his throat, his hips rolling forward instinctively, grinding into the wet heat, the tip catching just barely against the soft, sensitive rim.

Y/N gasped, back arching, thighs trembling, and Jason’s restraint shattered. Because fuck, he could feel everything.

Every soft, wet, aching inch of Y/N’s body ready to take him. His cock throbbed painfully, the tip leaking against slicked-up skin, every muscle in his body tight, coiled, on the verge of snapping again.

He could just—

Just a little more—

Just one good push forward—

He could feel every inch of Y/N’s slicked-up entrance, could feel the wet heat pressing right against his cock, the way his body trembled, opened up, begged to be taken. But it wasn’t just that.

It was Y/N’s reaction.

The way he whimpered, the way he squirmed, the way he fought to get Jason inside. Y/N was clinging to him, arms wrapped around Jason’s shoulders, legs locked tight around his waist, hips rolling, grinding up, trying so fucking hard to pull Jason in.

“J-Jason—” his voice cracked, high-pitched, needy, fucking wrecked.

Jason growled, locking Y/N’s hips in place, holding him down, refusing to let him move.

Y/N whined. Loud. Desperate. Pitiful.

His fingers dug into Jason’s biceps, his nails scratching down his back, clinging, yanking, trying to push him deeper. Jason could feel the tremors rolling through him, could hear the whimpering little sobs, the broken, pleading moans, the way his omega was fighting to be claimed.

Jason smirked against his throat, mocking, cruel.

“That bad, sweetheart?”

Y/N nodded frantically, writhing beneath him, hips rolling up again, chasing the friction.

Jason tightened his grip, forcing Y/N down, refusing to let him have what he wanted.

“No—please—” Y/N was barely coherent, panting, gasping, eyes unfocused, lost in the need.

Jason chuckled, voice low, taunting, dripping with amusement.

“You think crying’s gonna change my mind?”

Y/N’s body convulsed and a wrecked sob tore from his throat. And it was the most beautiful thing Jason had ever heard.

So much so that he gave in—for just one second.

His hips rolled forward, letting the tip of his cock slide against Y/N’s entrance, pressing just barely against the slicked-up rim, letting Y/N feel just how fucking close he was to having it.

Y/N let out the most broken, shattered moan Jason had ever heard, full-body trembling, clinging to Jason like he’d die if he pulled away.

Jason groaned, lips pressing against Y/N’s ear, voice thick with restraint, rough with frustration.

“You want my dick that bad, sweetheart? Hm?”

Jason stopped. A sharp, wrecked inhale. A visible shudder. Then Jason’s voice—low, teasing, still full of hunger.

“Too bad.”

Y/N let out a full-body shudder, a sob of frustration, trembling beneath him.

Jason ripped his lower end away, forcing his hips back, shaking, panting, his cock still aching, flushed, dripping against his stomach.

Y/N whimpered at the loss, still shaking, still needy, still desperate. Jason smirked, but it was wrecked, his voice low, teasing, but tinged with frustration.

“You almost got me, sweetheart,” he murmured, grinding one last time before finally pulling away completely.

Y/N whimpered again, a helpless, wrecked sound that nearly undid him. Jason chuckled darkly, pressing his forehead against Y/N’s.

“Tell me who you belong to.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, lips parting, a full-body shiver rolling through him. Jason’s fingers tightened around his jaw, tilting his face up.

“Say it.” Jason’s voice dropped, slow and dangerous, thick with possession.

Y/N swallowed. “…You.”

Jason grinned, sharp and predatory.

“Damn right.”

And then, with a final bite to Y/N’s bottom lip, Jason separated them. He forced himself to breathe, forced himself to pull away, even as his cock throbbed between his legs, demanding to raid the fertile and lush sanctuary between the omega’s assailable thighs.

It really needed to be studied how he could go from damn near feral to soft in the blink of an eye.

One minute, he had Y/N pinned beneath him and then on top of him, breath hot against his skin, whispering filth into his ear—praising, promising, taunting.

The next?

He was cleaning the omega up himself, taking his time, hands slow and careful, his body still wired too fucking tight to even think about calming down. He was wiping him down gently, a warm, damp rag sliding slowly over sweat-slicked skin.

Once satisfied, Jason pulled out a fresh pair of underwear and shorts from the Omega’s drawer for him, turning around to give him privacy while he fixed himself up. His body ached, hard and unsatisfied, his dick pressing painfully against the waistband of his trousers, wanting nothing more than to penetrate, fuck, knot, breed.

He gritted his teeth, willing it away, finally tugging his own sweats back up before climbing into bed. He grabbed Y/N’s wrist and tugged him down. And instead of pulling Y/N against his chest like usual—Jason laid directly on top of him.

Y/N huffed. “Jay—”

Jason just grumbled, burying his face against Y/N’s chest, wrapping his arms around him like a goddamn teddy bear.

“Shut up…this is where I live now,” Jason muttered, voice muffled.

Y/N snorted.

Jason’s weight was solid and warm, his grip strong, but the way he nuzzled into Y/N’s skin was so soft that it was almost unfair. Slowly, Y/N lifted a hand, threading his fingers through Jason’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

Jason groaned in satisfaction, shifting closer, tucking his arms tighter around Y/N’s waist. Y/N smiled sleepily. “…Clingy.”

Jason scoffed, but it wasn’t nearly as gruff as it should’ve been.

“Shut up.”

But he didn’t let go. Not even a little.

If anything? He held tighter.

Because Jason Todd was many things.

A menace. A rebel. A walking disaster.

But when it came to Y/N?

Yeah…he was clingy.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Jason murmured against his skin.

→ This story concludes on AO3:

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

🏈 | Conner: The Jock | 🏈 • 😉 | Dick: The Popular Kid | 😉

236 notes · View notes

littelovelunette · 1 day ago

Text

Certain Site

Roommate!Sevika x College Student!Reader

Characters are in college and 21 years old

Contains suggestive themes, oral, clit stimulation

When the dorm management board had told you that they finally found a roommate for you, you were ecstatic. She was South Asian as far as you knew, and that wasn't a problem since you knew Hindi more or less because you had a friend before who was Indian, which just so happened to be her native language as well. "Sevika," you repeated the name after the warden.

"Yeah, that's her name," the warden, an elderly woman with a strict face but a sweet attitude, spoke.

"Okay, so when will she move in?" You asked, shifting on one foot to another, arms crossed.

"Just around Friday evening, you're probably gonna have class during that time so don't worry too much about. I already had a spare key sent to her," Janine said.

"Oh, okay."

"Let me know if there are any problems at all," She left. You sighed softly, this would be a long week. You had to clean up the dorm room. You couldn't afford leaving your lacy bras all over the place anymore. And forget about hooking up with a woman every now and then.

Classes were as exhausting as ever, and you were walking back from the campus, your feet dragging again the ground slowly and softly. You felt like you'd pass out from exhaustion any moment. You walked up the staircase and reached your dorm room, twisting the doorknob. It was unlocked.

That meant Sevika was probably already in the dorm. You took a deep breath and pushed the door open. You slowly walked to the other room in the dorm where Sevika should've been settling in, you paused. You could hear rustling and shuffling. She was probably moving some things around. You knocked. "Hey, it's me, your roomie."

The shuffling stopped and you heard heavy footsteps before the door was swung open. At the doorway stood a tall, easily 6'1, woman with a muscular build and dark skin. "Hey," she said, dressed in a wife pleaser and cargo pants, "'M Sevika."

Your jaw dropped. She was hot. Her muscles were shining with sweat and her hair was in a half updo. Your cheeks flushed red at the sight of the hot mess she was. You told your name, but it felt incoherent on your tongue, your raised a hand to meet hers.

"Ha, I would, but," Sevika showed her grime covered hands.

"O-Oh, right, yeah," you awkwardly pocketed your hands, taking a look around in her room, "You've settled in already, I see," you commented.

"Yeah," Sevika looked at her room, then back at you.

"Science major, I'm guessing," you crossed your arms and leaned into the doorframe. Oh, gosh, was Sevika so hot. Why did no one tell you you were getting a hot butch woman for a roomie?

"Not even close, engineering," Sevika smirked, "Lemme guess, desi parents stereotype?"

"Yeah, sorry," you giggled, and sighed. "You want something to eat?" You asked, you wanted to get to know her as much as possible now since she was moving in with you anyway.

Sevika nodded, "Yeah, food sounds good about now. I'll finish up and come downstairs."

As you walked out of her room, you couldn't help feel the heat decrease from your face. Great, you just met her and she was already starting to have an effect on you. Nevertheless, you headed downstairs and looked through the cabinets for food. You were excited to get to know her.

It had been a few days since Sevika moved in and today was a Saturday night. The apartment was strangely silent and you were in your room. You scrolled through your phone mindlessly, thumb scrolling through Tiktoks without really paying heed to whatever you saw on your feed. You could be studying at this moment but you chose to chill, it had been a long week and you were mentally drained and exhausted.

Just then, you heard borderline aggresive rustling of sheets from the other room. What in the hell was Sevika doing inside there? Wrestling the bedsheets ghost? You rolled your eyes and got up, feet adorned with some plush slipper as you waddled your way to her room.

You stopped in front of the door, listening to the soft gasp and moans. Did she sneak a girl inside? Because those moans were almost too high for Sevika's voice. Her rough, deep voice. With your eyebrows furrowed, you turned the knob and stepped inside.

You were met with a very flustered Sevika standing there with her grey eyes wide as if she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "You should knock." Sevika said in a tight voice, almost slamming her laptop shut as she stared at you with her wide eyes and red cheeks.

"Have you been watching porn or something?" You laughed and walked upto her with quick, long strides. You stopped in front of her bed and Sevika shook her head.

"No." She said almost too soon. You rolled your eyes at the obvious lie. Sevika shifted almost uncomfortably and you could tell she was naked under the blanket so you grabbed the corner of the sheet and yanked it off. Sevika yelped a little, almost jumping. "Hey!—"

Your jaw almost set open seeing her pussy, slick with arousal and just... It was crowned with dark hair, her happy trail starting right below her belly button, continuing down to her vagina. And her clit was big and swollen. Just like you preferred them on women you hooked up with. You silently eyefucked her for the first few seconds before mumbling.

"If you have such a hot roommate like me, why do you bother touching yourself? You're only tiring yourself out you know." You giggled. Sevika flushed more and looked away. You knelt down between her legs, bringing her close by the knees, taking in the musky scent of her pussy.

That's how Sevika found herself moaning and rutting her hips at you desperately, her pussy was so soaked and so needy in front of your face. You forced her legs down. "Behave for me, now. Will you?" You grinned. You were enjoying this far too much.

Your fingers were manicured so there was no way you were putting them inside her, instead you let your long nails drag across the skin of her thigh causing her to moan breathily. Her muscular thighs flexed around you, making you giggle and you pressed your index against her clit, the pad of your finger on the sensitive bundle of nerves. Sevika moaned loudly. "Stop teasing me already, dammit." She whimpered and shook her hips in your grasp.

You sighed. "You're so impatient." Your finger lifted off her clit just to land back on it and press harder. "I guess it can't be helped then." You smirked up at Sevika, her lower back pressing hard against the mattress in response to the pleasure.

"You fuckin' tease." Sevika's mouth then opened but no words came out, only a very loud moan of your name. You kitten licked her clit, slowly wrapping your lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your eyes met hers, and you held the stare. Sevika tried to hold it too, but then her hips bucked and eyes squeezed shut feeling you start to suckle her clit.

You giggled at her reaction, tongue flattening against her clit before you pulled away to attack her slit. Her slit dripped with arousal and you could taste her sweetness as you ate her out slowly. You weren't in any rush but it was clear that Sevika was. She was bucking her hips needily, trying to get more friction to her needy pussy.

You swatted her pussy to remind her who's in charge making Sevika groan and sink her hips back down on the mattress, "You're enjoying this way too damn much." Sevika muttered.

"Maybe." You pushed your tongue inside her pussy, tongue fucking her with practiced ease. Sevika moaned loudly again, hands coming to hover over your head as if silently contemplating whether to grab your face and fuck it silly or not. But she knew better than to do it to the mouth that ate her out.

You smirked at the power play she was under. "Somethin' on your mind, pretty?" You asked, your voice taking a cocky undertone. "Fuck you." Sevika cussed her legs shaking as if threatening to clamp shut around your head.

Your hands held the underside of her thighs, guiding them up to do exactly that. Sevika hesitated, afraid she'd hurt you by mistake because of how smaller your body was compared to hers. But you urged her on.

"Do it." Sevika clutched the sheets tightly, "Fuck, I'm close. Please." She whined. You pressed your face further into her pussy, almost losing all sense of breathing but you didn't care. Her pleasure was your top priority now. Your brain felt all mushy and no coherent thought formed at that moment.

Sevika's mouth, still agape, made a soft moan you thought was beyond her. Her body tensed up again and she released in your mouth. You smiled against her heat making Sevika blush. You'd just made her cum so effortlessly.

Or so you made it seem.

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the-return-of-yagamimi · 2 days ago

Text

REVENANT

"Revenant: Prologue" is a 3 part animated indie short series that my team and I are making! You know the drill - vampires, cyborgs, pixels, polygons, awkwardly named gifs, etc. We're hard at work putting this thing together, and we could really use some support!

It’s about cyborgs, vampires, and a world recovering from catastrophe, inspired by the likes of Metal Gear Solid, Death Stranding, Berserk. Cowboy Bebop, Trigun, and much more

It will be followed by "Revenant", an Action-Adventure-Social Sim indie game inspired by Onimusha 3, Yakuza, Majora's Mask, and more. (Not yet in development)

Meet our crew!

Yagamimi - Project lead, writer, director, art director, concept artist, storyboard artist, character designer, creature designer, mechanical designer, weapon designer, CG artist, animator Bongfish - Writer, voice actor @guysullivan - Writer, co-director, voice actor @caffeinatedartificer - Writer, concept artist, character designer, storyboard artist @pg--animation - Storyboard artist carnage-queen - Fight choreographer, fight scene writer, storyboard artist, weapon designer, concept artist Evie Lepidoptrix - Concept artist, animator, mechanical designer, weapon designer DOMROM - Character designer @demon-dai - Character designer, creature designer, vehicle designer Gobl1n - Concept artist Lisa Mc.Rad - Sound design Troubled Dreams - Composer Cicada Sirens - Composer

Meet our main cast!

Lauren Kong as Nova Benji Buckley as Tristan Indigo Ross as Vita funnywes as Quinn TarooiMono as Raul Sean Letourneau as Dunham Vivian Reed as Pike Maganda Marie as Kim Phillip Sacramento as Renfeld (will replace this with a better image once all their models are done)

REVENANT PROLOGUE PART 1 - RAPTOR

Part 1 is currently being animated! Keep an eye out! It stars Lauren Kong, Peter Wicks, Tom Schalk, Heather Nichols, and Guy Sullivan

REVENANT PROLOGUE PART 2 - T.O.M.B

Part 2 has been fully written and recorded and we're gearing up for storyboarding. It stars Benji Buckley, Sean Letourneau, Phillip Sacramento, Guy Sullivan, funnywes, Tom Schalk, Bongfish, and Scott "KaiserNeko" Frerichs

REVENANT PROLOGUE PART 3 - UNDERWORLD

And all details pertaining to Part 3 are going to be kept under wraps until it releases, but you can listen to this track Cicada Sirens made for it in the meantime

youtube

and while you're here, listen to this track by Troubled Dreams too please

youtube

If you want to see this come to fruition, you can support us on Patreon for as low as $1 a month

Or if you want to support me personally so I can survive (because I am frequently broke, perpetually on the verge of homelessness, and seemingly no place wants to hire me) you can donate to my ko-fi

You can find more stuff for the project through these links, I'm most active on Bluesky and the 3 Part Prologue will be on YouTube

Sonic Blog | Apron Strings Blog | Patreon

#revenant #patreon #blender #indie project #indie animation #indie game #3d #ps1 #low poly #vampire #nova #ps1 aesthetic #yagamimi #big post #long post #Youtube

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seumyo · 17 hours ago

Note

you asked and i shall deliver!!!. never seen you before but whatever ehe

a bit cliche, but do a vtuber reader x idia. I've been obsessed with this concept for whatever reason but I am way too lazy to write about it!!

if you want to you can do other characters ofc, but I just need a vtuber reader lololol

- 🌼 (idk i just like this emoji)

IDIA SHROUD ✰ FANBOY.EXE

NOTE. I love this prompt now (ﾉ ˃ˋᗜˊ˂ )ﾉ I might make another post with another version—maybe a more in-depth headcanons of fanboy!idia and vtuber!reader; just really wanted Idia to be reader’s VTuber model artist in this one !!

It all started with the artist behind your VTuber model. You didn’t know him. Well, you did—technically. His username was Thanatos, a well-known but highly elusive illustrator and Live2D animator who had a reputation for only taking on projects he found personally interesting.

It had been pure luck that he accepted your request in the first place.

You had sent him a formal commission request with a concept sheet, expecting radio silence or maybe a polite rejection. Instead, you got a response within the same day.

Accepting the commission. No revisions after initial sketch.

It had been brief, almost cold, but that was fine. He was an artist in high demand, and you weren’t about to risk annoying him. True to his word, he worked quickly. Within a week, you had a breathtaking, fully rigged VTuber model that moved like an absolute dream. The expressions, the fluidity of motion—everything was perfect.

You were overjoyed. You followed it with a generous tip immediately and sent a long thank-you message.

Thank you so much!! It’s even better than I imagined! You’re amazing!!

No response. Not that you expected one. Thanatos had already moved on, and you should too.

Idia knew about your actual debut a month later.

He had no reason to be watching. None. He had no attachment to this commission—it was just another job. But the moment you went live, his fingers were captivated toward the keyboard before he even realized what he was doing.

You were streaming.

With the model he made.

Using the animations he painstakingly rigged for months.

…It wouldn’t hurt to check, right? Just a little? For quality control.

His screen was already open before he finished that thought.

At first, he convinced himself it was a professional curiosity. He was just making sure his work functioned properly in a real-time setting. But then he heard your voice.

“Hello, hello! How is everyone doing today?”

You had a warm, welcoming voice that filled the empty space of his room like a summer breeze through an open window. You weren’t overly polished or exaggerated—you just seemed genuinely happy to be here.

And the way you moved—

He hadn’t noticed before, when you two were going through some test runs via call, but you had an adorable habit of tilting your head slightly whenever you were thinking and how you bounced subtly in your seat whenever you got excited. These were all movements he had programmed, but seeing them now, paired with your real-time reactions, it felt… like something else.

Something that will haunt him very soon.

His chest felt tight. He didn’t like that feeling.

He minimized the tab.

He closed it entirely.

…Then reopened it in an incognito window.

Not because he cared. Obviously. It was just research.

Right.

At least, that was what he told himself. Until the next stream. And the next. And then, before he knew it, he was a regular viewer.

Not publicly, of course. No, he lurked in the chat like a ghost, watching you without making his presence known. Every laugh, every excited gasp, every soft, murmured “thank you” to your viewers kept him hooked in place. It wasn’t just your voice—it was the way you carried yourself. You were unguarded, genuine.

It’s rare for him to see that nowadays.

He started to recognize the regulars in chat. A user named StarGazer89 who always sent supportive messages. MuffinMan, who donated too much and made you flustered every time. VoidPrince, who constantly made inside jokes that you played along with.

Idia was none of these people.

His username? User492015.

Generic. Disposable. Untraceable.

Not that you’d ever notice him. Which was exactly how he wanted it.

Probably.

But then something happened.

One night, during a casual chatting stream, you leaned forward slightly, resting your chin in your hands as your model mirrored the motion. “Ahh, I really lucked out with my artist,” you mused, your voice warm with gratitude. “Thanatos, if you’re out there—thank you again! I still can't believe someone like you took my commission.”

His breath hitched.

His fingers hovered over his keyboard.

He could say something. Just a simple “you’re welcome”—no one would even know it was him. They’d probably think he was delusional.

Instead, he closed the stream.

His heart was beating too fast. It was stupid. He was being stupid.

This was just a job. Just a commission.

So why did he feel like some kind of phantom, watching from the shadows, unable to reach out? Why did he get attached to you?

Idia knew he shouldn’t make it a big deal.

That he’s a big deal or that you’re a big deal to him. He doesn’t understand anymore.

As much as he hated dealing with people, he couldn’t deny it—Thanatos was one of the most sought-after VTuber artists in the industry. Everyone wanted a model from him, from corporate VTubers to indie up-and-comers hoping for a miracle. His commissions filled up within seconds. His rates were high—stupidly high. And yet, people were more than willing to pay.

He was used to clients freaking out when they got a slot. Used to them gushing, spamming thank-you messages, treating him like some kind of god of Live2D.

You, on the other hand? You had been normal about it, though it was evident how excited you were to work with him.

Oh, thank you for accepting! I’m excited to work with you!

No excessive flattery, no begging for a rushed commission, and no asking for discounts despite his prices being borderline robbery. You had sent over your references, paid upfront, and patiently waited.

Professional. Efficient. A dream client.

So why—why—had he ended up like this?

Why was he sitting in his room, watching your stream every single night like some desperate, diehard fan? Why was he buying your merch, collecting keychains, standees, and even the limited-edition tapestry that sold out in minutes?

Why was he spending more money on you than you had on your model?

Idia groaned, slumping over his desk as your latest stream played on his second monitor.

“This is so bad. So bad. I’m supposed to be a professional. I’m literally a big-name artist—people in the industry respectme. And now I’m sitting here like some pathetic fanboy, throwing my money at her like—“

A notification popped up.

Your donation of ¥75000 has been sent successfully!

Idia froze.

He had done it again.

“NOOOOOOOOOOO—“

He slammed his forehead against the desk, as if that would somehow undo his actions.

Why was he like this?!

He had never donated to streamers before. Ever. But with you, it had started with small amounts—¥1000 here, ¥2000 there. And then it escalated. He had no self-control. He had literally spent more on your streams than you had paid him for your model at this point.

And the worst part? You noticed. Always.

“Oh! Another big donation from ‘GhostKing999’! Thank you so much!”

You didn’t even know GhostKing999 was Thanatos.

Since when did go from User492015 to GhostKing999?

Maybe that should’ve been a warning for him.

You sounded so genuinely happy. Idia felt like he was going to die. He probably should.

Not because he wanted you to notice him, specifically. No way. He wasn’t some creepy, obsessive fan trying to force attention. He just… liked supporting you. Liked seeing you excited when you reached a donation goal. Liked the way you always took the time to thank your chat, no matter how big you got.

But god, he was in so deep.

And then, as if the universe wanted to kill him completely, it happened. Again. A common question that would probably get him to be a millionaire whenever other people asked his former clients.

Someone in chat asked, “Who made your model?”

And just like every other time, you answered without hesitation.

“Thanatos! I was super lucky to get a slot in their commissions! And when I got another slot, I had to go all out and even commission my winter, summer, and formal looks.”

Idia screamed into his pillow.

Why—why—did you always say it like that? Like he was some kind of mythical being you had miraculously summoned into existence? Did you have any idea how much he respected you? How much effort had he put into making your model perfect, even going above and beyond what you paid for?

Maybe he liked your vision for your model.

Maybe he just liked you in general before he knew it.

Maybe he like-liked you the more he thought about it—

Ok, stop, Idia Shroud, think about how weird that sounds. He barely even met you in person.

He peeked back at the screen.

You had that little, thoughtful smile on your face. The one you did when you were about to get all sentimental.

“I know they don’t really talk much, but… yeah. I was really lucky,” you said softly. “Thanatos did an amazing job. I still can’t believe I have this model sometimes. If they’re ever watching—thank you. Seriously. And I wish all other aspiring VTubers manifest their slot in Thanatos’ commissions soon!”

Idia short-circuited.

His chair nearly tipped over as he wheezed, trying to process the fact that his client—his former client—his CRUSH was sitting there, thanking him in front of thousands of people, completely unaware that he was watching.

That he was always watching.

That he was your biggest fan now.

“Oh my god, I need to log off. I need to uninstall the internet. I need to throw my entire PC out the window—“

His phone buzzed.

Another donation confirmation.

¥100000

From him.

To you.

Well, most of the earnings he got from commission were certainly going somewhere.

He screamed again.

140 notes · View notes

wholoveseggs · 2 days ago

Text

Reverence

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Request(s)~ #1 - "Could i request for elijah pls? maybe something like the fic you did a while back about klaus making her insecure. as a bigger girl its nice to see the comfort from my man LOL! so yeah just something about someone/something making reader upset about her body and she kinda shuts elijah out? he finds a way to reassure her/comfort her! (can definitely be smutty) thank you angel! have a great day 💜" #2 - "Could you possibly write something with Elijah about body worship? Maybe the readers a bit insecure and he reminds her of all the physical things he loves about her as well as the mental and like personality traits… like just soft fluffy smut?"

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!reader} Elijah protects you from a stranger’s insult, then shows you why it was never true...

♡♡ Thank you for the requests beautiful anons!!! I adore this idea, struggling with body issues is a subject close to my heart and I hope I did it justice, and that this feels like a comfort to anyone who needs it.~ ♡♡

4.3k words - Warnings: smutt, heavy body image insecurity, reader is plus-size and self-conscious, fatphobia (insult from a side character), crying, hurt/comfort, very soft Elijah, white knight Elijah, fingering, slow sex, body worship, praise kink && tiny bit of violence...

You didn’t want to leave the house. You barely had the energy to exist, let alone face the world. But your job at the bar didn’t care about bad days. It didn’t care that you wanted to curl up in bed and pretend the world didn’t exist. It didn’t care that your body felt too heavy. It just demanded you show up, slap on a customer-service smile, and tolerate people you had no patience for today.

Your uniform didn’t help. The black t-shirt was too tight, the logo stretched across your chest, and the skirt was even worse. No matter how much you tugged it down, it still felt like it was working against you. It was hard to feel comfortable in it, especially when you felt like every set of eyes lingered too long. Like every glance held something unspoken. You could sense their judgment, could feel it pressing down on you, and you felt shame bloom hot and heavy in your chest. It was as if the world was reminding you that you took up too much space. That you shouldn’t exist.

You sighed, laced up your sneakers, and threw on your leather jacket, tugging it tight around you like armor. Maybe it would offer at least some comfort.

The night was a mess. You were short-staffed, the customers were assholes, and the clock seemed determined to move at a glacial pace. Every minute felt stretched thin, dragging endlessly. When you finally got a breather, you slipped out back, leaning against the wall and dragging in lungfuls of cold air. The night bit at your skin, sharp and bracing, but at least it was real. At least it was something other than the weight in your chest.

Just one more hour. One more hour, and you could go home, take a long shower, and maybe scrub away the feeling of existing in your own skin tonight.

"Is there anyone working here?" A voice bellowed from inside, slurred and impatient. "I've been waiting for a refill for, like, fifteen minutes!"

You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly through your nose. Fucking prick.

"I'll be there in a moment!" you called, shoving yourself off the wall and forcing your legs to move.

The man at the bar looked wasted, his hands flat on the counter as he scowled at you.

"Finally!" he spat.

You didn’t bother responding, just grabbed his empty cup and refilled it. "There you go." You slid the drink toward him.

He downed it in one go, then slammed the glass back down. "Put it on my tab," he slurred, "and get me another."

"No problem. What's your name?"

His bleary eyes narrowed. "What? Why should I tell you?"

You sighed, already regretting this conversation. "I can’t put anything on your tab if I don’t know who it belongs to."

He reached for the drink, but you pulled it just out of reach.

"Name?"

"Fuck you."

You arched a brow, unimpressed. "Right. Then you’re paying cash."

His lip curled. "Oh, fuck off, stupid fat bitch," he spat, his words sharp as broken glass. "You can't do shit."

The breath left your lungs.

For a second, you didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

The bar noise faded, drowned under the roaring in your ears. Heat crawled up your neck, but your body felt frozen. Locked in place, your hands gripping the counter as if letting go would send you crumbling to the floor.

He was still talking, still slurring insults, but you weren’t really hearing him. Not over the voice in your head that whispered, See? Everyone could see just how awful you looked. Even this drunk asshole. You should be ashamed of yourself, embarrassed.

Glass shattered.

It took you a second to realize what had happened. That he had smacked his empty cup off the counter, sending shards flying. He was standing now, a sneer twisting his face as he leaned toward you.

"Fucking cunt," he snarled. "Give me my damn dri-"

He never finished the sentence.

One moment, he was lurching forward, and the next… A blur of movement. A hand, firm and unyielding, slammed down on his shoulder.

The man gasped as he was shoved back into his seat, his body caving under the pressure. His face paled, and he let out a choked, strangled sound.

The hand didn’t move. It didn’t need to and a familiar voice, calm and cold as steel, cut through the air.

"That," Elijah said, "is quite enough."

Elijah stood behind the man, his fingers digging just enough to make the drunk squirm, but his expression was unreadable. controlled, collected. But you knew better. You knew the quiet, simmering rage that lurked beneath his civility.

The bar had gone silent.

The man tried to move, but Elijah’s grip didn’t falter. He only leaned in slightly, voice as smooth as ever.

"Apologize."

The drunk swallowed hard, his bravado crumbling under the weight of Elijah’s presence. "I…" His voice wobbled. "I didn’t mean…"

"Apologize."

The word was softer this time. Deadlier.

The man turned his panicked gaze to you. "I-I’m sorry," he stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

Elijah didn’t release him right away. He let the silence stretch, let the man feel his power pressing into him. Then, finally, with an almost dismissive flick of his fingers, he let go.

The drunk bolted from the stool, muttering some half-hearted excuse as he stumbled away.

The moment he was gone, the tension in the bar broke, conversations resuming in hushed tones. But you were still frozen. Still stuck in the moment before Elijah had intervened, in the moment where the words had hit you like a slap.

You turned away, suddenly desperate to escape. To hide, to try to breathe, to not let Elijah see the cracks forming in your expression.

You ran into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it. The tears came then, spilling down your cheeks as you pressed your forehead to the cool wood of the door.

It was stupid. You were fine. You were a big girl. You were used to this, and it didn’t hurt. It wasn't like you hadn't called yourself worse. It wasn't like you hadn't spent nights wishing your body was different. You weren’t the kind of person to get upset over a few words.

So why did it feel like you couldn’t breathe?

A soft knock on the door.

"Y/N." Elijah's voice was gentle.

You didn’t answer.

"Y/N," he repeated, softer this time, "may I come in?"

You drew in a shaky breath, rubbing furiously at the tears on your face. You couldn’t hide from him, not forever, so you pushed yourself off the door, unlocked it, and stepped back.

Elijah eased the door open, slipping inside and closing it behind him. His expression was calm, but his eyes were bright with concern.

"Are you alright?"

You nodded quickly, turning away from him and trying to wipe the remaining tears away. "It's fine. Sorry. I'm fine."

You were mortified. Elijah had seen everything. The scene. The confrontation. And now, your tears. The two of you had just recently begun dating, and the last thing you wanted was to start the relationship off with your baggage.

You couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn't look up from the floor. You were a mess, and he was immortally chiseled and beautiful. How could he possibly find you attractive, especially after he saw how weak and pathetic you were acting.

Elijah took a slow step toward you.

"It is okay if you are not fine," he murmured, his words warm and soft. "It is okay if he upset you."

He brushed his knuckles along your arm, then he took your hand, lifting it to press a gentle kiss against your skin.

His sweet gesture broke the last remaining shreds of your composure, and the tears fell harder. You turned to face him and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. You buried your face in his shirt, breathing in the scent of his cologne as his hands stroked along your back.

He pulled off his heavy woolen coat and draped it over your shoulders. The weight was comforting, and the lingering heat of his body surrounded you, easing the trembling of your limbs.

He didn't say anything. He just took your hand and led you out the door, and then outside, the cool night air a relief on your flushed face. You followed him, letting him guide you to his car.

"Stay here," he said, opening the passenger door for you. "I'll return shortly."

You nodded, climbing in and shutting the door. Being inside his car muffled the noise from the bar, and you leaned back, closing your eyes and exhaling.

When the driver's side door opened, you looked over, watching as Elijah climbed in and started the car. For a moment you wondered what he had gone to do, but the question didn’t linger. The answer came when you saw the small specks of blood on the cuffs of his sleeves.

He handed you your leather jacket and purse, which he must have collected from the break room. You smiled to yourself, and the knot in your stomach loosened a bit.

"Thank you," you murmured.

"Of course."

He pulled out of the parking lot and into the night. The ride was quiet, the radio playing some low, soft classical music. After a while, he glanced over, and you felt his eyes on you. You still couldn't look at him, and you kept your eyes down, staring at your lap.

Your soft belly was sticking out slightly, the skin between your shirt and skirt exposed. You could see the way the flesh dimpled, and a rush of shame heated your face.

Elijah placed a strong, warm hand on your thigh, squeezing gently.

"May I ask," he began softly, "why did his words hurt you so deeply?"

You looked up at him, his expression calm and open.

You sighed. "I don't know."

It was a lie. A poor, pathetic attempt at a shield. Because you did know. You knew why the words bothered you.

He nodded, but didn't push. He just returned his hand to the steering wheel, his attention on the road ahead.

It wasn't a long drive, and when the car pulled up to your apartment, it was well past midnight and most of the lights were off. The large building felt so cold, empty, imposing, and you didn't want to go inside. Not alone.

Elijah got out, coming around and opening your door. He took your hand, helping you out, and you didn’t let go. Not as he led you to the elevator, not as he opened the door to your apartment, not as he guided you inside.

The apartment was dark, and Elijah moved to the lamp by the couch, switching it on and filling the room with a warm, gentle light.

You shrugged off his coat, handing it to him. He folded it carefully, setting it aside, and for a moment, you just stood there, arms curling around yourself, like you could shield your body from his eyes.

You swallowed hard, shifting uneasily, staring at your feet. You crossed your arms tighter, wrapping them over your stomach. Just a feeble attempt to shield yourself from Elijah’s gaze. You didn’t want him to see you like this: hurt, weak and ashamed.

Elijah watched you carefully, his expression unreadable, but you felt the weight of him, the way he saw everything even when you wished he wouldn’t. He didn’t move closer, didn’t press you to speak. He let the silence settle, warm and patient.

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

"For what?" His voice was gentle, but firm.

You hesitated, then exhaled. “For… tonight. For making a scene. For ruining the evening.” Your head shook, your throat tightening. "For being-"

"Stop," Elijah said softly.

"Why do you stay with me?" You said a little harsher than intended. The words spilled out before you could stop them, sharp and raw and ugly. Your voice wavered, and the shame burned hot and painful in your chest.

"Am I a pity case? Are you bored by beautiful women, so you chose to date me?" The words came faster now, tripping over themselves, tumbling from your lips before you could cage them.

"Stop," Elijah said again, stronger this time.

The quiet authority in his tone cut through the air like a blade, sharp and deliberate. It made you pause, made you glance up despite yourself.

He was watching you with something almost… pained in his eyes. As if the idea that you could blame yourself for any of this physically hurt him.

"I know how you feel about yourself, and I know that there is nothing I can say or do to change that." His voice was warm, heartbreakingly gentle, yet unyielding in its certainty.

"But allow me to ask you one thing. If someone said those words to another you care for, would you blame them? Would you think less of them for being hurt? Would you think them weak, or that they deserved it?"

"No." You muttered, the word slipped out before you could think. It was immediate, instinctive. Reflexive.

"Then why," Elijah asked softly, "do you think that of yourself?"

You let out a choked breath, your fingers curling into your sides like you could claw your way out of your own skin. "You don’t get it."

Elijah stepped closer, filling the space you tried to shrink away from. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to ground you, to remind you that he was here. That he wasn’t going anywhere.

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking your head.

“Elijah, look at me.” The bitterness in your voice startled even you. You stepped back, pushing him away, your arms unfolding as you gestured to yourself. "Really look at me."

"I am."

"No, you’re not."

Your breath stuttered. The words were rising now, acid in your throat, too much to hold back.

"I'm fat." The word felt heavy, like a curse, like something filthy. "Not just soft, not just curvy in some romanticized way. I have rolls, Elijah. I have stretch marks, my thighs rub together when I walk. My stomach isn't flat, my arms jiggle, and if I sit the wrong way, I feel like I’m spilling out of my clothes."

Your voice was rising, cracking under the weight of your self-loathing. Your hands pointed to all of your unsavory parts, you grabbed at your stomach and arms, the tears falling in earnest now.

"You could have anyone. Someone effortless. Someone who fits into the world the way they are supposed to-"

"Enough."

His voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t harsh.

But it stopped you like a wall of stone.

And before you could blink, his hands were on you. Not rough. Not unkind. But firm. Unyielding.

His fingers closed around your wrists, stopping your frantic gestures, silencing your spiraling words. His grip was steady, grounding. Holding you together before you could shatter.

Before you could protest, before you could even breathe, he moved.

Effortless. Controlled.

One moment, you were standing. The next, your back hit the wall, and his body was against yours, pressing you into it like he could mold you into him.

A sharp gasp broke from your lips, and instinct took over. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your hands clutching at his shirt, the heat of him overwhelming.

"I am looking," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble, "at exactly who I want and what I want,”

His hands stroked down your legs, hooking under your thighs, his fingers pressing into soft flesh like he wanted to commit the feel of you to memory.

His mouth traced slow, reverent kisses up your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"I have seen women starve themselves to fit into corsets, their ribs near breaking. I have seen them darken their skin, pale their skin, carve their features to fit a mold that would be reshaped within a decade. I have watched beauty be declared, discarded, rewritten over and over again."

His lips brushed over your jaw before ghosting over your own lips. "But none of it has ever been real. Not like this. Not like you,”

You let out a shaking breath. Your fingers curled into his shirt, holding onto him like an anchor.

"Elijah-"

He silenced you with a kiss.

Tender and insistent, cutting off every self-destructive thought before it could take root. His grip tightened, his body shifting, and suddenly, the wall was gone.

Your arms locked around his neck, your legs tightening around his waist as he carried you with effortless strength, the motion smooth and deliberate. The bed met your back in the next breath, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he settled you there.

His lips never left yours, his hands never stopped touching. Trailing reverent paths down your arms, your waist, the softness of your belly.

He pulled away for a moment, his hands moving to the buttons of his shirt, his movements unhurried. You watched as he shed his clothing, his body beautiful and chiseled and perfect.

And for a moment, it was a reminder of how imperfect you were. How soft you were where he was hard. How different.

But then he was kissing you again, his lips insistent, claiming, and his touch chased away all your negative thoughts, at least for a moment.

He gently pulled off your top, revealing more soft curves, more places to touch, to hold. Your breasts spilled out awkwardly, your bra unable to contain them, but Elijah only smiled, undoing the front clasp, and kissed the swell of skin there.

He helped you peel away your bra, and you covered your chest instinctively. He brushed his hands over yours, guiding them away, and pressed his lips to the valley of your breasts, the tender flesh beneath, the sensitive spot where the swell of your stomach curved.

Your skirt was next. Elijah slipped it off, letting his palms drag along your legs.

His hands left fire in their wake, the heat of his touch sinking deep, setting every nerve alight. Every time you tensed, every time your body tried to curl in on itself, he was there, lingering longer, chasing every instinct to hide. His fingers traced each curve with purpose, as if learning you, mapping you, claiming you.

"’lijah," you whispered, voice unsteady, caught between need and uncertainty.

His only response was to press his lips to yours. The kiss was slow and deep and overwhelming, pulling you under, drowning you in him. And for a moment, everything faded. Everything gone but his hands and his mouth, the heat of his body against yours, the steady, deliberate way he took you apart.

His fingers skimmed between your thighs, teasing, testing, spreading the wetness he found there. His touch dragged along your slit, and you gasped against his lips, your body responding before your mind could catch up.

His tongue brushed over yours, stealing the sounds from your mouth, his thumb tracing teasing circles over your clit.

"So beautiful," he breathed. "And all mine."

The words made a rush of warmth pool low in your belly. You couldn't form a reply, not with the way his fingers were working you over, the way he was looking at you. You squirmed, arching your back, trying to grind yourself against his hand, but he only smirked, pulling away slightly.

"Not yet," he murmured.

His fingers moved down, slipping inside, and you let out a shaking gasp. Your hips rolled instinctively, needing him deeper.

Elijah watched with a satisfied expression, his lips brushing against your cheek, looking down to where you were connected.

"You grip me so tight, so warm, wet and lovely," He curled his fingers, watching as your eyelids fluttered shut. "I like the way your body moves, the way you give into pleasure."

He kept the perfect pace, the heel of his hand bumping your clit in slow, easy rhythm. Wet, filthy sounds filled the air, the slickness coating his fingers and your inner thighs.

He watched as his touch coaxed a wave of heat over your skin, as it left you panting, and a small, helpless sound caught in the back of your throat. Your body was tightening, every muscle winding into a knot, and when he sucked your nipple between his teeth, the tension snapped.

Pleasure burst through you, sharp and overwhelming, and his fingers didn't stop, dragging the climax out until your entire body was trembling.

He let out a low groan as your pussy clenched around his fingers, his lips found yours. You felt him undo his pants, the head of his cock dragging over your slit. You gasped and lifted your legs, wrapping them around his waist.

Elijah's eyes darkened, his pupils blown wide, and his hands slid beneath you, grabbing your ass and lifting your hips, easing himself inside.

"Y/N," he hissed, a low, feral sound, his lips pressing to yours as his cock sank deep.

"’lijah," you moaned, clinging to him, letting him take control.

His mouth sealed over yours, muffling the soft, desperate sounds spilling from your lips. Your hips rocked into his, the pressure building in slow, aching waves, each movement pulling you deeper into him.

Elijah pressed deeper, his thrusts turning sharper, his pace quickening, more desperate now. The room filled with the wet, sinful sounds of your bodies moving together, of your breathless moans and the quiet, strangled curses slipping from Elijah’s lips, the only sign that he was losing himself in you.

He adjusted, angling you just slightly and the shift sent pleasure sparking up your spine. A gasp broke from your throat, and he drank it in, his chest pressing flush against yours, pinning you to the bed.

He didn't care that the soft skin of your breasts spilled out, didn't care that the squish of your belly crushed his sculpted abs. No. He leaned into it, drank in the feel of you, how soft and lovely you were. His tongue slid up the curve of your neck, tasting the salt on your skin, drinking in the way you moaned his name.

Your fingers found his hair, tugging and pulling, your legs locked around his hips, every little detail in you wringing pleasure from him. Your sweat slicked skin, flushed and trembling, the greedy, needy way your body took him.

You felt his control begin to slip, a growl, low and visceral building in his throat. He leaned back, his dark eyes glittering as he looked down at your body.

He watched the way your body bounced with each deep thrust, the way your breasts and belly moved with him. One hand skimmed down, and his touch teased over your clit, the other tightening on your hip, holding you in place.

You wanted to cover yourself, feeling so utterly exposed underneath his intense stare. But his fingers were relentless, circling and stroking, your entire body tightening and trembling.

"That's it, darling girl," he growled. "Let go."

You broke.

You shattered with a helpless cry, pleasure rushing through every nerve, leaving you trembling beneath him. The moment your body clenched around him, his perfect rhythm faltered, grinding deep as he followed you over the edge. He had held on, resisting until he had unraveled you completely, until he could finally let go, spilling inside you, filling you with warmth.

It was hot, messy, primal…but neither of you cared.

You clung to him, holding onto every last wave of pleasure, every last tremor that wracked through your bodies.

Slowly, your breathing evened, the heat of the moment giving way to a softer, quieter intimacy.

Elijah shifted, carefully rolling to the side, but he didn’t let go. He pulled you with him, keeping you pressed against his chest, like letting you go was out of the question.

His fingers traced absent patterns along your stomach, a slow, idle reverence. He wasn’t even aware he was doing it, you realized. He simply couldn’t stop touching you.

You hesitated, watching as his hands traced over the softest parts of you. Without hesitation, without doubt. Normally, you would swat him away, retreat into yourself, discomfort creeping in before his touch could linger. But you couldn’t. Not now. Not when you could see it so clearly in his eyes. How much he loved you, every curve, every so-called flaw. He didn’t just accept them. He worshiped them. And who were you to deny this adoring man the very thing he cherished?

“Do you really mean it?” you whispered, your voice barely above the hush of the night.

Elijah’s eyes lifted to yours, dark and unwavering. “Mean what, darling?”

You swallowed. "That you…” The words caught in your throat. "That you think I’m beautiful."

His hand flattened against your stomach.

"Look at me."

Your eyes slowly met his as heat crawled up your neck to your cheeks.

Elijah leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm, steady, unshaken.

"I do not think you are beautiful," he murmured, voice as certain as stone. "I know you are,”

A tear slipped down your cheek, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness. And Elijah kissed it away before it could fall.

"You will believe me one day," he promised, his voice threaded with something fierce, unshakable. "Until then, I’ll keep showing you."

He gathered you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin. For a moment, you stayed stiff, uncertain. But then, slowly, you let yourself melt into him, your body relaxing against his, your breathing syncing with his steady, unshaken rhythm.

Your hand drifted over his, where it still rested against your stomach. You hesitated, then laced your fingers together, holding him there. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe him.

Just for a little while.

And that was enough.

#elijah mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #vampire diaries #tvdu #elijah mikaelson smut #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikealson imagine #elijah mikealson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #tvd #the vampire diaries x you #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #the originals imagine #elijah mikealson smut

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blueberry3241 · 3 days ago

Text

★彡 Bts reaction to their S/O having a child from a past relationship

↷ Pairing : bts x reader ↷ Genre : Fluff, Angst,Comfort ↷ word count : 2,440 words

↳ Disclaimer : This is an original work of fiction. All characters, settings, and story elements are my own creation. Any resemblance to real people, places, or events is purely coincidental. Please do not reproduce, distribute, or adapt this work without my explicit permission.

↝Namjoon

Namjoon sat across from you at the small café, his fingers wrapped around his coffee mug as he listened intently. You had been dating for a few months now, and everything was going well. However, there was something you hadn’t told him yet—something that you were terrified would change the way he saw you.

Taking a deep breath, you finally confessed, “Namjoon… there’s something you should know. I have a child from a previous relationship.”

Namjoon blinked, clearly surprised, but he didn’t say anything right away. He leaned back in his chair, processing your words.

“How old is your child?” he asked softly, his voice free of judgment.

Relief washed over you at his calm response. “She’s five… her name is Hana.”

Namjoon smiled, the dimples you loved appearing on his cheeks. “That’s a beautiful name.”

You searched his face for any hint of discomfort or hesitation. “I understand if this changes things between us. I should have told you earlier, but—”

Namjoon reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “Why would it change anything? If anything, I admire you more. Being a parent is no easy task, and yet, here you are.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “You really mean that?”

He nodded. “Of course. I’d love to meet Hana whenever you’re ready. But even if it takes time, know that this doesn’t scare me away. If I’m dating you, I’m also accepting every part of your life, including her.”

At that moment, you knew Namjoon was someone you could truly trust.

↝Jin

Jin nearly choked on his food when you blurted out your confession over dinner. “You have a what?!”

You flinched at his volume, looking down at your plate. “A son. His name is Minho… he’s six.”

Jin blinked rapidly, his mouth opening and closing. “Wait, hold on—why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I was scared,” you admitted. “Scared you wouldn’t want to be with someone who already has a child.”

Jin let out a deep sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… I won’t lie, I’m a little shocked. But not because it’s a bad thing. Just… I didn’t expect it.”

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I understand if this is too much.”

Jin frowned and reached across the table to take your hand. “Hey, don’t say that. I just need some time to wrap my head around it. But if you think I’d leave you just because you have a kid, you clearly don’t know how stubborn I am.”

You laughed weakly, the tension easing.

“I mean,” Jin continued, smirking, “if he likes dad jokes, I think we’ll get along just fine.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Maybe, just maybe, things would work out.

↝Yoongi

Yoongi sat in silence after you told him. He wasn’t angry or upset, just deep in thought.

After a long pause, he finally spoke. “How old is your kid?”

“Three,” you said softly. “Her name is Jiyeon.”

Yoongi nodded, then leaned back against the couch. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I was scared you’d leave.”

Yoongi sighed, rubbing his temples. “Do you really think so little of me?”

Your heart clenched. “No! It’s just… a lot of people wouldn’t want to date someone with a child.”

He stared at you for a moment before shaking his head. “That’s bullshit. If I like you, I like all of you. That includes Jiyeon.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “So… you don’t mind?”

Yoongi scoffed. “Why would I? If anything, I respect you even more. Raising a child isn’t easy, and you’re doing it.”

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

Yoongi smirked slightly. “Though… I should warn you, I’m not great with kids.”

You chuckled. “Don’t worry, she’s good at making people fall for her.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Like mother, like daughter, huh?”

You blushed, but you knew—this was Yoongi’s way of saying he was here to stay.

↝Jhope

You sat across from Hoseok in your small living room, your hands fidgeting in your lap. Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

Hoseok noticed your nervousness and placed his hand over yours. “Y/N, what’s wrong? You’ve been so tense lately.”

You took a deep breath, squeezing his hand. “Hobi… there’s something I need to tell you.”

He nodded, his expression soft. “You can tell me anything.”

You hesitated, then finally spoke. “I have a son. His name is Minjae, and he’s four years old.”

Silence. Hoseok blinked, as if processing your words. His grip on your hand never loosened, but you couldn’t read his expression.

“You… you have a kid?” His voice was quiet, uncertain.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Yes. I should have told you sooner, but I was afraid. Not everyone is willing to date someone who already has a child.”

Hoseok suddenly let out a breath, and then—he laughed. It wasn’t mocking, but rather full of warmth and joy. You stared at him, confused.

“Oh my god, Y/N, you had me so scared! I thought you were about to break up with me or something!”

Your eyes widened. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Hoseok grinned. “Y/N, this is amazing! I love kids! And now I get to love you and your son? This is the best news ever!”

Your breath hitched. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do!” He beamed, eyes sparkling. “Minjae, huh? Oh, I bet he’s adorable! When can I meet him?”

Tears welled in your eyes. “You… you really want to meet him?”

Hoseok took both your hands in his, squeezing them gently. “Y/N, I’m serious about you. That means I’m serious about Minjae, too. I want to be part of your lives, if you’ll let me.”

At that moment, you knew—Hoseok was truly someone special.

↝Jimin

Jimin hummed softly as he stirred his tea, his eyes on you. “You’ve been acting a little distant lately, Y/N. What’s on your mind?”

You opened your mouth but hesitated. How could you tell him? What if he thought you were too much trouble?

Sensing your hesitation, Jimin reached for your hand. “Hey,” he whispered. “It’s okay. You can tell me anything.”

Taking a deep breath, you finally spoke. “Jimin… I have a daughter. Her name is Ara, and she’s four.”

Jimin’s hand froze around his mug, his lips parting in surprise. His eyes widened slightly, but there was no judgment in them—just quiet shock.

“A daughter?” he repeated, as if making sure he heard correctly.

You nodded, heart hammering. “I wanted to tell you earlier, but I was scared. I didn’t know how you’d react.”

Jimin set his mug down and turned to face you fully. “Y/N… I won’t lie, this is unexpected.”

Your stomach clenched. Here it comes—the rejection.

But instead, Jimin reached up, cupping your cheek gently. “But why would you think I’d leave because of that?”

Tears pricked your eyes. “Because not everyone wants to take on something like this.”

Jimin’s gaze softened. “Y/N… I love you. And that means I love all of you—including Ara.”

Your breath hitched. “You really mean that?”

He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Of course. If she’s anything like you, I already know she’s the most precious thing in the world.”

Tears spilled over as you clung to him. “You’re really not scared?”

Jimin chuckled, rubbing your back. “Maybe a little. But I’d be honored to get to know her.”

At that moment, you knew—you and Ara had just gained someone truly special.

↝Taehyung

Taehyung sat beside you on your couch, his arm lazily draped over your shoulders. He was humming a song, completely unaware of the internal battle raging inside you.

“Taehyung… there’s something I need to tell you.”

He turned to you immediately, his eyes filled with curiosity. “What is it, love?”

You swallowed, gripping your hands together. “I… I have a son. His name is Daehyun. He’s five.”

Taehyung froze. His usual playful expression shifted into something unreadable. For a moment, you panicked. Was he upset?

Then, suddenly, he gasped.

“You have a kid?!” His voice was full of excitement, not anger.

Your eyes widened. “Uh… yes?”

Taehyung’s entire face lit up. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?! This is amazing!”

You blinked. “You… you think so?”

He nodded vigorously. “Of course! Kids are incredible! And if he’s anything like you, I already know he’s amazing.”

Your heart swelled. “I was scared you’d leave.”

Taehyung frowned, grabbing both your hands. “Y/N, don’t ever think that. If I love you, I love all of you. And that includes Daehyun.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “You really mean that?”

Taehyung nodded, grinning. “Yes! Can I meet him soon? I wanna be the cool parent.”

You laughed through your tears, your heart finally feeling at peace.

↝Jungkook

Jungkook fidgeted with his sleeves, glancing at you curiously. “Y/N, you’ve been acting kinda off lately. Is something wrong?”

You hesitated, your heart hammering in your chest. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Jungkook sat up straight. “Okay… I’m listening.”

Taking a deep breath, you finally spoke. “I have a son. His name is Jisoo, and he’s three.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened. His lips parted slightly, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything.

Your stomach twisted. “I understand if this is too much for you.”

Jungkook shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I’m just… surprised.”

You bit your lip, waiting for his next words.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I won’t lie, this is new to me. I don’t know much about kids, and I don’t know if I’d be good at this.”

Your chest ached. “I understand.”

“But,” Jungkook continued firmly, “I want to try.”

Your eyes widened. “You… do?”

He nodded, determination burning in his gaze. “I really like you, Y/N. And if Jisoo is part of your life, then I want to be part of his, too.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, squeezing your hands. “I might mess up. I might be awkward. But I promise, I’ll do my best.”

You threw your arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder. “Thank you, Jungkook.”

He held you close, whispering, “I’m not going anywhere.”

At that moment, you knew—you and Jisoo had just gained someone who would love you both unconditionally.

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s4nniebe4r · 2 days ago

Text

the roommate

part ten: domestic

pairing: roommate! san x fem! reader

synopsis: things in the apartment have become a little more comfortable

wc: 5.5k

tags: slow burn, roommates, enemies to lovers, angst, forced proximity, eventual romance

etc: so sorry this took longer to post than usual! i should take the time to let you all know that updates are sporadic as this is something i do in my free time! i’m so happy you all received this series well and are enjoying it! lots of love, liebchens, and as always, this is not proofread!

previous part next part

You don’t even remember when it started, when the evenings started to stretch and melt into one another.

It’s quiet tonight, but it’s not silent. The soft clicking of San’s controller fills the living room in a little rhythm, broken by the occasional shout from the voice chat playing through on the television screen. You’re curled up into the left side of the couch, legs tucked under you, laptop open but practically untouched from the past hour. The document sits there half-finished on your screen, you’ve typed and deleted the same sentence at least six times now.

San’s on your right, his back resting against the arm of the couch, one leg bent whilst the other stretches along the cushions, his leg nearly brushing yours. His hair’s a little messy, damp at the ends from a shower earlier, and his expression is so focused. His eyebrows are furrowed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. There’s a hoodie sleeve pushed halfway up his arm and his controller rests comfortably in his hand as he moves through the game. He’s mid match as you glance up at the screen, some brightly lit map you couldn’t even tell the name of if you tried.

It should annoy you. It should annoy you how immersed he is in it. But it doesn’t. Not tonight.

He’s losing his match. And he’s clearly not very happy about it.

He huffs through his nose, leans forward, then back into the armrest again. “What is this idiot doing,” he mutters, barely loud enough for you to be able to register it.

You stretch your legs a little, shifting in your seat. The cushion dips slightly where his thigh finally slips close to yours. You hide a small smile, dragging your cursor across your document again. You’re not even pretending to work anymore. Your paper is an end of semester reflection due this upcoming week. Every time you start typing, your eyes drift toward the game. Or toward him. You’re not even watching the screen so much as watching him. The way his brows twitch. How he exhales sharply whenever he dies. How he leans forward when the stats start getting tighter. It’s kind of endearing.

You’d never say that aloud though. Never.

“Why are you making that face?” San asks suddenly, not even taking his eyes off the screen.

You blink. “What face?”

“That face,” he says, still focused on the game. “Like you’re actively judging me.”

“Maybe I am.”

He scoffs and then returns back to his game. Letting out a string of curses as his character dies on screen again. You hear the other players shouting at him as he continues to mash the buttons on his controller.

“You good over there?” you ask lightly.

He doesn’t look away from the screen. “Peachy.”

You stifle a laugh. “Want me to backseat again? I can tell you what you’re doing wrong. Just say the word.”

“God, no.” The slants a quick glance at you. “You don’t even know what’s happening.”

“I don’t need to,” you reply, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. “You keep playing the same map over again. You just threw… a smoke? And got knifed by someone behind you.”

San groans. “I really don’t need a commentator, thanks.”

You hum, tapping a key idly on your laptop. “Seems like you might actually.”

He turns his head slightly to glance at you, narrowing his eyes. “Think you can do better?”

You lift your brows. “Is that a challenge?”

San sets the controller down in your lap before you can argue. “Here. Prove it. You won’t last five seconds.”

Your mouth opens, then shuts again as you tilt your head. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he says, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Come on, superstar. Show me.”

With a theatrical sigh, you shift your laptop to the side, shuffling to be positioned even closer to him now, and pick up the controller. The second you enter the match, you’re overwhelmed. Your character spawns in, and within seconds, you’re already taking fall damage from jumping off something you weren’t supposed to. You wince as the screen flashes at you.

“Okay, that was on purpose,” you mumble.

“You lost almost all your health just from falling, Y/N.”

“I was just looking around.”

“We’re in a match.”

A beat later, a single bullet from the corner takes you out. You frown at the screen, scowling.

“No. This is rigged,” you mutter, brows scrunching in concentration.

“Sure, sure,” he says, nudging your shoulder. “Keep telling yourself that.”

You last another three minutes before tossing the controller back into his lap with a dramatic groan. “I hate this stupid game.”

He’s still grinning when he takes it back. “It’s okay. Not everyone’s built for it.”

“Whatever,” you mutter as you stand, stretching your arms over your head. “I’m going to the kitchen for food.”

“What are you making?” he asks, already half-distracted, fingers flying over the buttons again.

You shrug as you walk behind the couch. “I dunno. Fried rice, maybe.”

You move into the kitchen, tugging open the fridge and collecting what you can—leftover rice from the night before, an egg, and some sad-looking vegetables that need to be used sooner rather than later. San’s still back on the couch, but you can feel a set of eyes follow you briefly as you shuffle around.

You’re mid-stir when you reach over the burner without thinking. Just a quick reach, barely a stretch, but the heat is too close. It’s nothing bad, but you can still feel it. You flinch as the edge of your wrist catches a sting of warmth.

“Ow—fuck.”

San’s already halfway out of his seat. “Seriously?” He rounds the corner. “What’d I say about being so clumsy?”

You shoot him a glare, cradling your wrist. “It’s fine. It’s barely anything.”

“Yeah, that’s how it starts,” he mutters, reaching past you to turn the heat down slightly. “Gonna end up burning down the apartment complex.”

“Don’t give me ideas, maybe I’ll do it on purpose.”

He tosses you a look over his shoulder as he takes the spatula. The sizzling oil starts to quiet, and he’s moving around like it’s nothing. You catch him glance toward the kettle, and moment later, he fills it with water and sets it to what. You notice, but don’t say anything. He’s just focused now.

“I forgot you can actually cook,” you say, sliding next to him at the stove, reaching around to grab the salt.

There’s a few moments of silence as he lets out a small hum and continues to work around. You take the time to grab plates, glasses, and utensils.

The kettle clicks off, and you see a mug appear on the counter beside you. You don’t think much of it at first. You rinse off the dishes from earlier while he keeps cooking, the two of you working on your tasks in silence.

This isn’t the first time you’ve had a night like this. A week ago, you’d fallen asleep on the couch while he was playing. You hadn’t meant to, but you woke up with a blanket over your legs and your head tilted against his shoulder. He hadn’t mentioned it. Neither had you.

Another night, you made grilled cheese, and he insisted on making tomato soup. You didn’t fight him on it. He didn’t comment when you added more seasoning than he would have. You were both just coexisting.

You finish drying your hands and glance toward the counter. The tea is there, steam curling from the rim of the mug, almost golden tinted in the faint kitchen light. You didn’t make it. You didn’t even see what kind it was.

You take a sip. Honey citron.

You blink down at the cup, lips parting in surprise. It tasted as good as Seonghwa had said earlier. You assume this was from the box you found not too long ago when rummaging through the pantry for snacks.

You don’t say anything. Not yet. But you sip again, slower this time, letting the sweetness melt on your tongue.

“Food’s ready,” he says, plating two portions and sliding them across the counter.

You take a seat at the kitchen island, sliding onto the left barstool as he settles beside you on the right. He’s close, his shoulder brushes yours when he shifts his plate.

It’s not tense. Not weird. Just comfortable.

“Pretty good,” you say after the first bite.

San hums at your comment. “I know.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

You glance over at him, smiling against your will. He’s already watching you, elbow on the counter, twirling the utensil lazily in his hand. You continue your conversation. Mostly commentary on the rice and a few other jabs at each other.

After you eat, he stands to clear the plates and you go to help, grabbing the sponge and running the water.

“I got it,” he says.

You wave him off. “I’m already here.”

San lets you scrub while he dries. He doesn’t say anything when your arms bump or your elbows brush. It’s almost automatic, the way you pass the dishes off without needing to speak, the way he catches the ones you rinse before they even hit the drying rack.

“You feeling okay?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re being weirdly helpful.”

He shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You look at him a little more intently now. “You’re plotting something.”

He smirks at you. “Always.”

You finish the last dish and rinse your hands, drying them quickly. San’s still there, hovering near the sink. You place the towel down and lean against the counter beside him, not quite looking at him yet.

“You’re not gonna mention the tea?”

San blinks. “What?”

You nod toward the mug. “The new honey citron tea.”

He shrugs again. “Ah. Didn’t think I needed to.”

You glance at him. “I mean, you bought it.”

“Yeah.”

You nod once, then look away again. It’s silent for a long beat. You think maybe that’s the end of it, that neither of you will say more.

But then San murmurs, “You looked like you needed it.”

You freeze fingers curling around the edge of the counter. When you finally glance back up at him, he’s already looking away, reaching for the dish towel you just used to dry his hands.

You don’t say anything else. You don’t need to.

A few seconds later, he brushes past you quietly, back to the couch, to his game. He doesn’t say another word.

You’re still thinking about the tea. How good it is. How right Seonghwa was.

You settle on the floor with a heavy sigh, pulling your laptop and notebook in front of you just like you’ve done at least a hundred times before with this paper. The carpet is cool underneath your legs as you cross them. The blanket you’d been curled up in earlier is still bunched on the couch behind you, forgotten as you’re now fixed on sitting on the ground. Somehow, you need this, you need the distance from comfort to focus on this. To lock in.

San’s switched from his game to a show, the volume is switched down, and you can barely hear it, the subtitles flickering across the screen. He’s quiet now, settled back into the corner of the couch with a knee up, phone in hand but mostly idle. You haven’t said much since you sat down, and neither has he. It’s not awkward. Just quiet.

You open your laptop and blink at the mostly empty page. You type a few words. Delete them. Start again. Only to tap the backspace button once more. Your notebook sits open beside you, a few ideas scribbled along the lines, but nothing’s clicking. You can feel it, the deadline is breathing down your neck, your brain shutting off the closer it gets.

Ten, fifteen minutes pass like this. Then you sigh, a sharp exhale that deflates your chest.

Behind you, San speaks. “Is this what academic death looks like?”

You don’t turn around, you just throw up a hand and wave him off. “Don’t start with me.”

You hear the faint smile in his tone as he hums back at you.

You try again. A few more sentences. Another failed paragraph. And it’s all starting to swirl together. You rub at your eyes, trying to stop the frustration from welling up too fast.

“Want help?” he offers, casually.

You blink, then glance over your shoulder. “You?”

He raises an eyebrow, gesturing vaguely. “I’m capable of making thoughts.”

You shake your head but shift your laptop slightly so he can see the screen. “Be my guest.”

You feel the couch shift as he leans forward, bracing himself on one arm, chin hovering just behind you, scanning the screen. His proximity warms your back.

He hums softly again, tilting his head. “Starting with a quote? I guess that’s one way to do it.”

“It’s relevant.”

“It’s pretentious,” he counters, voice dry, there’s no bite.

You elbow his leg. “Okay, professor.”

His voice quiets. He leans back again, still reading, but he stops making snide comments. And for a while, he’s just there, reading, glancing between your screen and notebook. You go still, fingers tapping nervously on your thigh. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel there’s a shift in him, it’s when you started getting more tense. The way your posture has folded in, like you’re trying to curl away from the pressure.

Then the blanket slips down from the couch behind you.

You blink, startled as it drapes over your shoulder from above, it’s warm and comforting. You glance up, only to find San resettling behind you again, quieter this time.

He folds himself back onto the couch, one leg tucked under him, the other bent up beside your right shoulder. His thigh rests close, almost too close, like it’s fixing him to the floor without quite touching you. You feel his presence radiate at your back.

Your chest tightens. It’s a small gesture, and yet you feel your body react before your mind can catch up. Why does the blanket feel heavier now that he’s the one who put it on you? And then his hand is there still, his palm is resting over the blanket on your right shoulder. At first, it’s just the weight of it. But then his fingers start to move, tracing lazy, shapeless patterns through the thick fabric. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you. His touch is quiet and rhythmic, like he’s drawing something only he understands.

It’s not fair. Not fair at all how much you notice him. The way his fingers trail without any purpose, the heat is seeping through despite the barrier of fabric. It’s like every inch of your skin under his hand has become a live wire. He’s not even trying and yet, it still makes your thoughts scatter.

You don’t realize your eyes have shut until the motion stops. You blink them open, glancing up just as he reaches for something on the table to your left. Your tea.

He passes it over without a word, and your fingers wrap around the warmth instinctively. It feels heavier now, like you’re more aware of the sensation. The tea is still warm when you take a sip.

His hand returns to your shoulder, settling there again like it never even left.

You shouldn’t like this as much as you do. You shouldn’t feel like this.

You exhale slowly. Your pulse has calmed, but something about the moment feels suspended in time, like the seconds have come to a halt.

Then, just as you shift to reach for your notebook again, San leans forward slightly. His voice comes quietly, right near your ear, almost brushing against your skin.

“You’ve got it.”

You still.

The mug in your hand doesn't rise. Your fingers go a little slack. The words wrap around your spine like a string pulled tight. You’ve never heard him say something like that. Not like that. Not to you. Not so close.

You don’t respond right away, and he doesn’t press for it. Instead he stays there. Warm and present. His hand stays exactly where it is, slowly moving now in small strokes along the curve of your shoulder blade.

You close your eyes again. Just for a second. Just to feel this.

You let yourself lean back just slightly, not enough to rest on him, not really. But enough for him to know you’re still there, still waiting.

The door clicks open, and you barely register it at first, too absorbed in the steady rhythm of your hands as you stir something simmering on the stove. But then, the familiar voice of Seonghwa cuts through your space, drawing your attention immediately.

“Smells good in here.”

You turn just in time to see him step inside, his smile already wide as he takes off his shoes and steps into the apartment. You’re still stirring the dish on the stove. It’s almost done, the creamy tteokbokki bubbling just right, and the dumplings sizzling in the pan. You smile as Seonghwa steps further inside, the sight of him bringing a quick surge of fondness. “Hey,” you greet, setting the spoon aside to walk over to him. The space between you is closing, and without even thinking, you pull him into a tight hug.

“Didn’t think I’d be walking into something this good,” Seonghwa chuckles, his arms wrapping around you. You chuckle, it’s easy and familiar, and you let your body relax against him. It’s been a while since you’ve had the chance to just hang out like this, and you didn’t realize how much you’d missed it until now.

“Missed you, Hwa,” you say, pressing your cheek against his shoulder, the comfort of his just being here easing into the quiet of the evening.

“I missed you too,” he replies easily, his voice bright, though he’s already walking toward the kitchen, the scent of dinner catching his attention. “It’s been too long.”

Seonghwa moves to the kitchen, running a hand through his hair as he glances over the counter. His eyes settle on the bubbling tteokbokki, the crispy dumplings still cracking in the pan. You step back to the stove, your fingers grazing over the edge of the pan, the warmth from the heat seeping through your fingertips.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he moves around the kitchen, clearly appreciating the smells that fill the room. You return to your dish, absentmindedly reaching across the stove to grab the dirty dish you had left to clean, but before you can grab it, San’s hand catches your wrist, pulling it back gently.

“Didn’t I tell you not to do that anymore?” His voice is soft but firm, there’s concern buried in his words.

You blink, a little flustered, especially in front of Seonghwa, but laugh as you tug your wrist free from his grasp. “I’m fine, San. I wasn’t even that close.”

He narrows his eyes at you, giving a small shake of his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re gonna end up burning yourself. You’re so clumsy.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but smiling anyway, knowing he’s probably right. “You’re dramatic,” you tease lightly, picking up your tea and taking a sip. It's your second of the evening, just like the one he made for you earlier. You don’t acknowledge it, not aloud at least. Neither does San. But Seonghwa notices.

He’s quiet for a moment as his eyes flicker between you and San, a thoughtful look on his face, but neither of you are looking his way. His gaze shifts back to the food, breaking the brief tension. “It’s been a while since I’ve walked into this kind of domesticity,” he says, his voice light and teasing.

San doesn’t even flinch at the observation, though you do notice a subtle shift in his posture, his fingers flexing ever so slightly on the spoon in his hand as he stirs the pan. You try not to pay too much attention to the small things, how you and San have moved through the kitchen together, there’s ease in the way you anticipate his actions. It’s just comfortable.

Seonghwa steps closer to the counter, eyes lingering for a moment longer before he grabs a glass from the cupboard. “So, what are we making?” he asks, trying to sound casual, but his gaze doesn’t stray too far from you and San.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” you reply, setting the sponge down as you turn to plate the food. “You can help me set the table if you want.”

Seonghwa takes a deep breath and does as you say, moving toward the small dining area with a few plates and glasses. “Smells amazing,” he mutters, glancing toward San, who’s still focused on the stove. You can feel the small shifts between them, Seonghwa’s keeping tabs on every little thing, so it seems.

It’s easy. Too easy. But it’s also something Seonghwa has been picking up on, and you pretty much know it. The quick glances, the way you move in sync without a word. It’s something neither you nor San acknowledges.

You finish plating the food and set it on the table, Seonghwa already filling his glass with water. There’s a quietness between the three of you as you take your seats. Seonghwa is directly across from you, and San is to your left. The conversation flows easily between you.

“So,” Seonghwa starts, glancing between the two of you, “You guys cook together often?”

You freeze briefly, then brush it off with a light laugh. “More often than I’d like to admit.”

San chuckles, but there’s a subtle shift in the air again, something in how he doesn’t look at you when he responds, something you can’t quite place. “We get by.”

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow at the casualness, his gaze flicking down to his food. There’s no comment, not yet.

Dinner continues, and Seonghwa tells you stories from his week, little anecdotes about classes, but you let yourself drift away from the conversation for a moment. Letting yourself feel the shift in the air, the shift you can’t quite put into words. And Seonghwa seems to catch it.

“I gotta say,” Seonghwa finally speaks up again, his voice light but his words sharp, “You two are weirdly in sync tonight.”

You freeze for half a second, before brushing it off with a half-hearted laugh. “What does that even mean?”

San shifts in his seat, making direct eye contact with Seonghwa, and his fingers tap lightly against the table. “Nothing. Just… dinner. Relax.”

But Seonghwa’s eyes are still on you both, and you know he’s watching for something. His gaze flits back and forth. He doesn’t push it any further though. The rest of dinner passes with light banter, but there’s an awareness between him and San, even as Seonghwa continues his stories.

As you finish, the dishes are cleared and the living room starts to invite you over. The three of you make your way over, and you flick on the television.

The game on the screen hums softly in the background, the flickering world of your game providing a light, easy distraction. You sit on the floor, comfortably nestled between Seonghwa’s legs, the soft cushions of the couch pressed against your back. It’s one of those moments that feels effortless, and you let yourself sink into it without as much of a second thought.

Seonghwa sits behind you, his fingers moving through your hair slowly, absently, as if it’s second nature to him. You lean back just enough to feel his warmth, letting your head lay against his knee, the soft pull of your hair as he braids a few strands, all while his eyes remain on the screen. There’s a gentle rhythm in his actions, it’s soothing, like there’s no words needed between you two. His attention is split between the game and the little affection he’s showing you, and you let yourself be.

Occasionally, Seonghwa offers you little tips on the game, but it’s more out of habit than anything else. “Careful there,” he says lightly, his voice just a soft murmur above your head. “You’re about to fall into a hole,” he says as he tugs a little harder on your hair out of shared nerves. You chuckle, moving your character just in time, and he smiles down at you, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

San, however, sits across from him on the couch. He’s a little more distant physically, his body leaned back against the armrest with one leg draped across the cushions. Despite his relaxed posture, there’s something about the way his eyes flicker toward you every now and again when he thinks you don’t notice. He’s quiet, absorbed in his own thoughts, but his gaze never strays too far from you. You can feel him watching, even when you aren’t looking at him directly.

Every so often, you glance up at him. His jaw is slightly clenched, his thumb tapping against the edge of his phone, but his eyes flicker between the game on the screen and you. There’s something unreadable again, in the way his eyes meet yours for a second before darting away, and you can’t help but wonder what’s got him like this.

You’re so caught up in the game, the banter with Seonghwa, that you don’t notice how your body gradually shifted even closer to him. At first you're just comfortable between his legs, playing the game, laughing at the graphics, but eventually you lean back further into him. It’s small, something like second nature, and you’re not sure when it happens, but now you're pressed fully against his leg. It feels like you could stay here for a while.

But then, the silence is broken by San’s voice.

“Are you trying to make another trip to the chiropractor down there? He calls out, glancing over at you from his spot on the couch. “Remember last week when we were working on your paper? You complained for days after. There’s room on the couch, you know?”

You blink at him, caught off guard for a second. You hadn’t really thought about moving, but San nudges his leg lightly in your direction, like a subtle invitation.

“Come on, the couch isn’t too crowded up here,” he teases, the smirk in his voice clear even though he’s not looking at you directly now.

You chuckle, glancing up at Seonghwa for a moment. “I’m fine here,” you say, half-defensive, but there’s no real conviction behind it.

Seonghwa smiles down at you, his eyes crinkle for a moment before he lets his fingers untangle from your hair. “San’s right, there’s plenty of room with us.”

So, you don’t fight it, though part of you wishes you could ignore the way San’s voice was the pulling force at you. You push yourself upright, making space for yourself on the couch, unsure of where exactly to settle. You end up sitting between them, but noticeably closer to San. You're not sure why, but your body seems to naturally gravitate toward his cushion. You let yourself lean toward him almost unconsciously, his presence familiar more so these past few days, you don't even realize how much until your shoulder brushes against his arm.

It’s not an awkward thing, just easy. You’ve been around each other like this more and more lately, and for once, it feels a little comfortable. His warmth and the light sound of his breath next to you, it all fits around you well. There’s no second-guessing as you settle into him, letting yourself lean slightly against him as you turn yourself to face Seonghwa.

San doesn’t say anything at first, but his body shifts slightly, his knee brushing against yours, a touch so soft it might as well be accidental. You glance up at him, and he’s still focused on Seonghwa, but now he’s more turned toward the conversation too, his body angled in a way that mirrors yours. You find your back resting against his chest now, almost without realizing how you got there. You tell yourself you’re not noticing the heat from his side, but you absolutely are.

As you talk with Seonghwa, your attention shifts between him and San, and you don’t even realize how much you’re leaning into San now. You feel the slight shift of his weight beside you, the way his body seems to almost instinctively adjust to give you more room. His arm just barely brushing yours, you’ve already found a rhythm in your movements. Not entirely aware that your body is more pressed against his side now, the curve of your shoulder resting against his ribcage.

His warmth feels solid, you feel… safe. You laugh softly at something Segonwha says, your head tilting back just slightly, resting against San a little, your loosely braided hair falling to one side. His breathing is steady, and you can’t help but notice the way his chest rises and falls beneath you, each exhale something you let yourself fall against.

Seonghwa, ever the observer, catches the shift, but he doesn’t comment on it. Just a fleeting glance from him to San, before he dives back into the conversation.

As the evening is winding down. The air is now quieter, as if everyone is letting the night unfold. The lights seem to be getting darker, and the television hums in the background, but you can feel Seonghwa’s departure looming.

Seonghwa stretches, his eyes flicking toward the door as he grabs his jacket from the back of the chair. “I should probably get going,” he says with a light yawn, brushing his hair back with his fingers. “It’s getting late, and I’ve got that early meeting tomorrow.”

You push up away from San on the couch to walk him to the door. “I enjoyed you coming over tonight, Hwa. Maybe we should have people over more often, right, San?” You say looking over at him with his back draped against the armrest of the couch.

He lets out a small hum of agreement, nodding his head up and down lazily as he shifts his attention from the television screen to the two of you at the door.

“Of course,” Seonghwa says, adjusting his jacket. He pauses by the door, eyes flickering between you and San before settling back on you. “It’s been too long, really. I’m looking forward to next time.”

You laugh, shrugging lightly. “You know, this would have been sooner if you didn’t keep running off on me.”

Seonghwa chuckles softly at your teasing. "I can't help it, I've got a lot on my plate." He says this with a grin, clearly not bothered by the comment. As he steps closer to you, you give him a quick hug, your arms wrapping around him in a comfortable, familiar way. The moment feels warm, easy, just like it always has been with him.

"Take care of yourself, alright?" you murmur into his shoulder as you pull away.

"I will, I will," he replies, pulling back with a wink. "I’ll see you soon, Y/n.”

With one last smile, Seonghwa steps out the door, leaving you standing in the dimly lit hallway. You close the door behind him, and as you turn back to the living room, the silence falls over you.

You walk back to the couch, your footsteps soft on the carpet, and sit down again, this time closer to the middle of the cushion. His eyes are still glued to the screen, though the quiet hum of the TV doesn’t seem to hold the same weight anymore. The space between you feels quieter now, but not uncomfortable.

You feel a small pull of curiosity tugging at you. You glance over at San, his features soft in the dim light, and then, almost on impulse, you let your mouth work faster than your head, you ask, “Were you jealous?”

San doesn’t turn to face you right away, but there’s a small shift in his posture. He tilts his head just enough for his gaze to flicker in your direction. His lips curl into him shyly, letting a small smirk, and he doesn’t miss a beat before answering, “A little.”

You don’t know why, but the short response makes your face heat. There’s something about the way he says it, as if it’s no big deal, but you know better. You roll your eyes, but there’s a softness in your smile. “You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, though your voice isn’t carrying any sort of edge.

San chuckles under his breath, but he doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he leans back further against the armrest, as if settling into the silence between the two of you. “Just a little,” he says.

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#choi san #san #san ff #san fanfic #san fluff #san soft hours #san x reader #ateez fluff #ateez soft hours #ateez #ateez soft thoughts #ateez choi san #ateez san #choi san x reader #choi san fanfic #choi san ff #choi san fic

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lovemomhatepolice · 2 days ago

Text

max verstappen nswf alphabet (part 2) (minors DNI!)

navigation taglist requests

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) Max is not a fan of “consensual sex.” You may have all sorts of emotions bubbling up inside you, and the easiest thing to do would be to throw yourself at each other in the heat of the evening, but that's not it. Verstappen definitely prefers to analyze everything first, talk, and only then think in the future about making love to you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Fortunately or unfortunately, Max tends to be the type who prefers “take” in this subject. He can make you come several times by p in v, but he himself thinks he's not the best at going down on you. That's why he prefers it when you take the initiative and take care of him to the best of your ability. He loves to see you on your knees in front of him and your beautiful lips which he has only for himself.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Fast and rough. For Max, there is no other answer. Like him on the track, like him in bed. Especially when the race (by some miracle) did not go his way. Then you have the best sex. Of course, this is all within your limits and he never exceeds anything. But he loves to have you in his hands and do whatever you want and however he wants.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) There is no time for quickies. As funny as it doesn't sound, Max doesn't have time to fleetingly grab you and play around corners. For the rest, I don't think he's a big fan. He likes to have time, he likes how you are all for him and how he can show you physically what he shows you verbally when he is not next to you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) Shucks, it's hard to tell. Max loves a challenge, but I wouldn't say he loves taking risks either. It depends on what kind of risk you mean. He certainly wouldn't take the risk that someone would see you - he values his, let alone your, privacy too much and tries to protect you as much as he can. Likewise with the risk of your pregnancy - he'd like to become a father, but you both think there's still time for that, especially since you're at the peak of your form and gaining great achievements, so the time for domestication will come yet.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) He can do it as long as you let him. Because of this, you don't see each other often, or at least not as much as he would like. Therefore, when he has the opportunity, he goes all in. As long as you let him, Max will be happy to have you all to himself. And that you can have all of him.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) Once in his life he bought you a vibrator because he saw advertisements everywhere and wanted to see you satisfy yourself with it. Was it as he wanted? He himself doesn't know, but the sight of you in front of him, taking care of yourself was definitely worth the money and the cunning plan. That's why he's not a contrarian, I wouldn't likely call him an enthusiast either - he just thinks it's a cool thing to diversify.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) It depends on his mood. Mostly you're the person who initiates something, especially between races when he's all rushed and his head flies off to the track. But sometimes he's in such a mood that he's happy to come to you and be super clingy, touching you and trying to make you feel good. And during sex he likes to prolong your orgasm, although you beg him to stop.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) It seems to me that Max is one of those things that aren't particularly loud, but he likes to let you know he's feeling good. Silent mutterings, your name repeated like a mantra, words of affection. Max likes to let you know that you make him feel the best in the world.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) In the past (before your relationship) Max had a disturbingly high interest in older women. Perhaps he also thought more than once about how nice it would be to have someone in the form of a sugar momma? He himself doesn't know where this came from with him, maybe it started when he found old records at his father's house?

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) You probably didn't expect it, but Max is relatively large. Really, when it came to your first close-up, you couldn't believe what he was hiding under his clothes. You were even shocked and, without hiding it, afraid of what would happen once he was inside you.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Max is poised. He doesn't need much and he doesn't need often. This is mostly due to the lifestyle he leads and has led long before you came along. The man is even unnaturally muted, but with your proven ways, you are able to seduce him in a second.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Max is a world champion. He is constantly on the go, has a lot of responsibilities, the whole world is literally on his head. Therefore, every moment when he can rest is precious to him. And rest with you? He couldn't have dreamed better. An intoxicating evening and then a whole night in the arms of the love of his life is something he could give up everything for. Therefore, answering - yes, he falls asleep quickly. Even too fast.

A/N: part one if anyone missed it!! AAND first part of Lando Norris series

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 days ago

Note

Wish we knew more about Silver’s bio family. Questions about Maleanor still have potential to be answered, but there’s not much hope that we’ll get anything about Dawn Knight or Leah. I get that they’re meant to be forgotten but still wish we knew more. Might’ve missed something but do either of them have magic? We barely know a thing about Leah and it would’ve been nice to know KOD’s name. Why was KOD blessed by those fairies? Are those fairies still alive? What was Leah doing during the war? B

I think there’s always more potential to expand on the characters’ family members in future content, even if it’s just a brief moment or a throwaway line. That includes Maleanor, the Dawn Knight, and Leah! Silver’s noble family might be mentioned in a textbook or in one of Lilia’s stories, or maybe we’ll get an event where we visit the place where his kingdom used to be. However, since the narrative seems to really lean into him finding his family in Lilia, we may not hear many more specifics on Silver’s biological family.

While it’s not explicitly stated, I assume that neither the Dawn Knight or Leah are mages. They live in a time period where mages are seemingly discriminated against. (Maleanor is called the derogatory phrase “witch” but, confusingly, the Silver Owls have their own battle mages.) Secondly, I find it odd that the Dawn Knight wouldn’t use magic in combat if he was capable of it. His sword seems to fire lasers, but it seems to be enchanted rather than him casting a spell.

I’m also assuming that Leah was likely holed up in a castle back home and waiting for the Dawn Knight to return? Lilia mentions that human princesses may be dainty and in need of rescuing, but his princess isn’t anything like that; Maleanor is strong-willed and perfectly capable of defending herself. I’m guessing that Leah is Maleanor’s opposite then. More demure and stereotypically “princess in a tower”/“damsel in distress”.

Heinrick also mentions that their father is sick with an incurable illness (hence why they want Maleanor’s powerful magestone, the Princess Glow/Majestic Ember). He also states that Leah prays everyday for their father to heal. It’s possible that she stayed behind to look after their ailing father, the king, while the men went off to war. This would be supported by the earlier suggestion that Leah is Maleanor’s opposite, and thus not able to contribute in combat. It therefore makes more sense for Leah to stay back home.

I’d be interested in learning why those three guardian fairies sided with the Silver Owls in the war 🤔 I’ve seen people suggesting it’s because they, too, dislike the nocturnal fae (since diurnal and nocturnal fae have historically not gotten along), but I don’t think that’s why?? We see several pixies (classified as diurnal fae) whose lands were ravaged in Briarland battle maps. Surely they must have known about the tensions between fae and humans…? Did they have some reason to be loyal to a human kingdom or to protect the Dawn Knight? We don’t know what the life spans of these guardian fae look like either (while Baur and Maleficia are still alive and well); it would be wild if we met them sometime.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Lilia Vanrouge #Maleanor Draconia #Silver #Dawn Knight #Leah Istvan #notes from the writing raven #book 7 spoilers #book 7 chapter 13 part 2 spoilers #Baur Zigvolt #Maleficia Draconia #Heinrick Istvan #Silver Vanrouge

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errriiie · 3 days ago

Text

Let me see ya move

jackieshauna x fem!reader minors DNI, all characters are 18 y.o

TW: smut, poly relationships, shauna shipman, jealousy, OOC extra tags: fem!reader, y/n mentions, porn with so-little-plot, jealous sex, sharing is caring, fingering (r! receiving), oral (r! giving), spanking, degrading (not much but still), praising, dirty talk, rough all the way until the end, sweet in the end :з word count: 3.5k proofread english is not writer's first language! You had been in a relationship with Jackie and Shauna for a few months now. You were enjoying it, and if you closed your eyes, your poly relationship was perfect. You liked them both, too, but there was a catch - you didn't quite know when to draw the line. Then Jackie and Shauna had to do it for you.

You said you'd step away "to pour some punch." Jackie and Shauna were fine with that - you want a drink? Well, they'd be there to haul your drunken body back to Shauna's car and take you home to sleep it off. When you're with your girls, you don't have to worry about anything, after all.

But you weren't back for a minute. Or two. Or five. That's when they started to worry.

"Where is she? I don't see her, do you, Shauna?" Jackie's eyes hawk-eyed, scanning the crowd around her, trying to sound loud enough to be heard over the throngs of school kids chattering away at this party.

"I don't think I see her," she mutters, her eyes darkening as she senses something is wrong. "No normal person spends five minutes pouring themselves a fucking punch."

"So we're thinking the same thing, Shauna?" Jackie asks dully, getting up from the couch. Just to clarify.

"Looks like it." Shauna replies, standing up. Her arm flings over Jackie's shoulder to keep her close. They walk through the crowd, Shauna looking menacing enough and Jackie looking serious enough that people make way for them as soon as they see them. Luckily (probably for you) they find you quickly. You were talking to some... girl? Jackie frowned. They don't even know who she is! Some no-name girl was talking to you. Oh, it was driving them crazy.

Jackie came up to you first, frowning and breathing through her nose, and Shauna followed.

"Hey," Jackie smiled falsely, finding your hand and taking a firm grip on your elbow. "So this is where you are and we've been waiting for you. Have you been pouring yourself a punch for so long? Or are you doing something else?" she asks, looking at you almost murderously.

Your heart sinks because you don't like that look. "Oh, I was just chatting with Jess," you smile shyly, "Here's Jess, by the way."

Jess smiles tightly, clearly unhappy that her opportunity for a quickie just disappeared.

"Hi... Jess." Jackie tries not to grind her teeth. Shauna doesn't even say hello, her eyes boring another hole into the damn bitch's head. "Anyway, come on, baby. We need to talk to you about something."

"Uh, okay? Bye, Jess." You wave awkwardly before letting Jackie drag you away from Lottie's mansion. You suspected something. Jackie leads you by the hand in front, squeezing it almost painfully, and Shauna is right behind you, burning you with her brown eyes.

"Why are we leaving? It's still early! It's not even midnight, and I haven't had a drink yet." You asks sadly as you three walk to Shauna's car. The car door slams shut with a metallic clang that makes your teeth rattle. Jackie shoves you into the backseat with uncharacteristic roughness, her perfect manicure digging crescent moons into your wrist. Shauna revs the engine hard enough to make the entire car vibrate, her knuckles bone-white around the steering wheel.

"Midnight?" Jackie hisses, climbing in after you. Her lipstick smears slightly from how hard she's biting her lower lip. "You think this is about curfew, Y/N?"

Shauna peels out of Lottie's driveway, gravel spraying. The radio blasts Hole's Violet at max volume. You feel Shauna's eyes burning through the rearview mirror - not the warm caramel gaze that melts when you wear her flannels, but something feral. Jackie's fingers suddenly cup your jaw, forcing you to meet her eyes. Her thumb presses hard against your bottom lip. "That girl's tongue was practically down your throat!" she whispers, breath hot and uneven against your ear. "You gonna let anyone taste what's ours?"

You sigh, taken aback by Jackie's reaction. You already knew she was jealous - of course you did, but usually she just pouted and sulked until you made it up to her with pretty promises and kisses and more. But now she seemed more persistent than she'd ever been with you. "But that's not true, she didn't do anything..." you muttered, trying to protect the remnants of your pride that were seeping through your fingers.

The car swerves as Shauna takes a turn too fast, her voice cutting through the music's snarl: "Seatbelt her, Jax. Now."

Jackie's free hand snakes across your hips, yanking the frayed belt across your lap with a violent click. Her other hand remains clamped on your face, rubbing your cheek in a halting, rather sharp motion. "We're not mad," she lies through clenched teeth, pupils blown wide. "We just need to... remind you." You don't quite understand what this is all about. You're starting to fidget with the tension now, restrained by your seatbelt, and you're trying to avoid your girlfriends' eyes. "I... you think I was flirting with Jess? I didn't!" Some small realization finally dawns on you. "She just asked me what I was doing here, and she said my dress was nice, and we just talked for a while. That's all. Jackie, I would never..." you trail off, "You can't be serious."

The engine dies with a shudder that runs through the car's steel frame. Shauna's door flies open.

"Serious?" Jackie barks a laugh that cracks like thin ice, unbuckling your seatbelt with a violent yank. "You let her breathe on you. Smile at you. Take up space that's marked!"

Shauna's hands clamp around your waist from behind before your sneakers hit gravel. Her teeth find the juncture of your neck and shoulder - not a bite, but the threat of one. "Walk," she growls against your skin, steering you toward the darkened colonial house.

Jackie slams the front door so hard a framed soccer trophy crashes downstairs. "You think we don't see?" Her voice climbs octaves with each step up the staircase, nails digging into your arm. "How they look at you? How you blush when they-"

Shauna kicks her bedroom door open, moonlight slicing across the yellowjacket banners on her walls. Her hands spin you roughly, back hitting the wall hard enough to knock breath from your lungs. "Ouch," you sigh. Then Shauna's grip immediately loosens, and her eyes briefly flicker with worry before she hides it. She obviously overdid it a bit, but she'll apologize to you later.

"Lesson time," Shauna murmurs. The captain's hands frame your face with terrifying gentleness.

"You belong here," Jackie whispers, thumb pressing your lower lip. "Not in some skank's mouth at a party. You know we love you, right, baby? And Shauna and I hate it when that happens. If you don't get enough, we'll make it up to you double, but don't do that."

Shauna vibrates against your collarbone as her hands slide up your thighs. "Let's make sure you remember.» You breathe anxiously. You knew your girlfriends' ways - you knew they could be like this if they wanted to. It was important to them to let you know that the three of you belonged equally to each other. And that it couldn't be any other way, but you really didn't think you were being flirted with! Although it was obvious. She was constantly staring at your pretty breasts and trying to undress you with her eyes. You saw it, but chose to ignore it. You weren't exactly sure why, but you weren't that stupid, obviously. Jackie and Shauna wouldn't like you if you were a complete idiot.

So you just lean your back against the wall, as if it could save you, and look at the floor in shame instead of at your girlfriends. "I... I'm sorry about this. I really don't know why someone always tries to flirt with me," you admit, "But I love you both." "Oh sweetheart," Jackie's sweetness undercut by the way her hands untie the ties of your dress, "you don't get to play naive with us." Her thumb swipes roughly across your cheekbone, smearing the tear you didn't realize had fallen. "We've seen that look a hundred times - the way their eyes drop to your tits, that stupid little smirk they give when they think they've got a chance." Shawna’s eyes darken as her hands slide up your sides possessively. "Should've seen your face," she growls, calloused fingers finding the hem of your dress. "All wide eyes and bitten lips while that bitch mentally undressed you." The fabric tears slightly as she yanks it upward, cold air hitting your thighs. You feel uncomfortable in your clothes - they even bothered to take off your favorite party dress completely, although, knowing them, they probably did it on purpose. "Like you didn't fucking know."

Jackie’s teeth graze your jugular as Shauna's palm slaps your bare thigh, the sting making you jump.

Shauna's teeth replace Jackie's at your neck, biting hard enough to bruise as her hand snakes between your legs. "First lesson," she growls against your skin, fingers pressing insistently through damp cotton. "You don't stand there looking like fucking dessert unless you want to get eaten."

"I d-don't want to be eaten-" you mumble, stumbling, your breath almost catching from so many insistent touches. You find it hard to stand against the wall, wanting to move onto something soft, but you don't think you've earned it yet. "I don't want anyone but you, I'm so sorry..." you mumble, sighing and twitching as Shauna's fingers brush against your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear. Your hips jerk instinctively, wanting more. Jackie's lips brush your temple as she pins your wrists above your head, her voice honeyed poison. "Shhh, baby, we know," she murmurs, her hands sloppily running down your chest, groping at your hard nipples. “But your body is such a fucking liar.” She helps one of your thighs stay in the position Shauna wants.

Shauna's growl vibrates through your skirt as she rips your panties sideways. "Should've worn the ones we bought you," she snarls, calloused thumb spreading you open. "The black lace with our initials." Her finger trails up, stopping just above your clit. "This cotton shit's for strangers." “Look at me,” Jackie demands, tilting your chin up, "You're so cute right now. You're so loyal and good, aren't you? I never doubt you, baby..." "Don't praise her too soon," Shauna interrupts sharply, turning to you, "Do you think we like being this crazy?" Her finger circles your clit roughly, making you wetter. "You make us animals."

The bed creaks as Shauna suddenly yanks you down onto it, forcing your back to meet the softness of Shauna's mattress. Shauna's bed was always soft, and you took great pleasure in sleeping on it when the three of you had sleepovers, letting Jackie get in the middle. "Second lesson," she rasps, shoving two fingers deep without warning. Her other hand smacks your ass hard enough to leave a handprint. "You come when we say." Jackie straddles your face, trembling as she peels her lace aside. "Clean up your mess," she whimpers, nothing sweet left in her voice now. Her thighs clamp your ears as Shauna's palm muffles your moans, fingers curling cruel and perfect inside you.

You felt like you were being torn apart. Okay, it was intense - sex with your girlfriends was often like that, especially when they were both in a good mood, but you still weren't used to this tension in the room just because of you and what you did. You really loved the attention, yes. You were very attractive and it was just something you had to accept - girls loved you and looked at you.

But still, you always wanted attention only from Shauna and Jackie. And it was sincere. You just maybe sometimes didn't know how to ask for it. And then you began to unconsciously use the attraction of others to you as a crutch. True, you didn't know if you could do it, but... some ideas pay off.

You moan into Jackie's pussy as your hips tremble from Shauna's fingers inside you, filling all your wet space. You don't take your submissive and mistake-licking gaze off Jackie's eyes, confusedly watching how exactly she squirms on your face, using your tongue as a means of self-satisfaction and how hard she squeezes your head with her thighs. You want to cum so much, but Shauna has forbidden it: and you can't even utter a word, since your mouth will be busy until Jackie is completely sated with you. Jackie's moans pitch higher, her thighs trembling like violin strings against your temples. "That's it, Y/N," she gasps, fingers twisting in your hair as she grinds down harder. "Take your apology right from the s-source..." Her hips stutter, flooding your tongue as she comes with a shattered cry. But when she collapses back against the headboard, her touch turns tender—thumb brushing your spit-slick chin, voice syrupy with false sympathy. "Poor thing. All that work and you're still dripping."

Shauna's fingers curl upward, pressing that sweet spot that makes your vision blur. "Think she's learned yet?" she growls against the shell of your ear, palm smacking your ass again when you buck against her hand. The yellowjacket poster above the bed stares down judgmentally as she drags you upright by your throat. "Look at you," she sneers, forcing your gaze to the mirror across the room—to the mascara streaks, the bite marks blooming like ink stains, Jackie's lipstick smeared across your cheek like war paint. "Our dumb little attention whore." "I'm... I'm sorry." You mumble, whining as you feel the wetness between your legs. "I'm really sorry, I won't do this again. Just... just let me come, please? I love you so much." You slur, letting yourself squeeze your thighs together. How cheeky of you. Shauna's palm cracks across your inner thigh, the sting blooming hot as she pries your legs apart with brutal efficiency. "Squeeze again," she growls, calloused fingers digging into your quadriceps hard enough to bruise, "and I'll tie these ankles to the bedposts with your own fucking hair." Her other hand twists deeper, knuckles pressing mercilessly against your g-spot as she leans in to lick the tears from your cheek. "You come when your mouth remembers who owns it." Jackie’s hand slides over Shauna’s flannel-encased collarbone, her coral nails contrasting against the sweat-damp cotton of Shauna's tank top. "Now Shauna, maybe we should let her cum if she begs hard enough? I mean, I feel sorry for her already. She's our little girl, right?" Jackie pouts, trying to get to Shauna's heart, although it feels like a game. Usually you are the ones who fuck Jackie, you remember. But apparently, for this game, Jackie gave herself over to an experiment in behavior. You couldn't say you didn't like it. "Please, please, please-" You give in immediately, not even daring to resist. Not even hearing Shauna's response. You need it so much, oh god, you want this release, and only after this will you be able to rest forever. "I need it so much. I'm sorry, I'm guilty before you," your ears turn red from your own confessions. "Just let me cum-" Shauna smirks contentedly as she pulls her fingers out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing. "You want it?" she purrs, her free hand sliding up to clamp over your mouth. "Prove you're ours." Her teeth sink into the meat of your shoulder as she nods to Jackie—a silent command.

Jackie's lips curve into a saccharine smile as her hand lets go and pulls your hair, her fingers toying with the gold necklace she gave you last month. "Let's make it a prayer," she coos, "Beg properly this time. Tell us who you belong to while looking in the mirror. Every word wrong adds ten seconds before you come."

Shauna's fingers plunge back in with a wet slap, her rhythm brutal as she forces your gaze toward the reflection—toward Jackie's pristine perfection contrasted against Shauna's disheveled fury. "Start talking," Shauna growls, her palm muffling your first broken syllable as Jackie takes your chin, wanting to entice you to look in the mirror.

You groan loudly, your head resting so tiredly in Jackie's hands. You turn your head towards the mirror with a feeling of shame and unfulfilled duty. You fucking hated this mirror. "I..." You bit your lip, looking at yourself and hesitating. Fuck, you've never admitted this to yourself before. Shauna's fingers twist viciously inside you, the heel of her palm grinding against your clit with enough pressure to make your legs shake. "Eyes open," she snarls, using her free hand to wrench your face toward the mirror. The reflection mocks you—Jackie's lips pressed to your ear, Shauna's teeth buried in your shoulder, your own face flushed and tear-streaked like some debauched saint in a Renaissance painting.

Jackie's voice drips false compassion as she traces the bite marks on your collarbone as Shauna pulls away, apparently satisfied with her bite on your body, making you whine and squirm. "It's okay to say it, sweetheart," she murmurs, her breath hitching when Shauna's thrusts make you jolt against her. She kisses your cheeks haltingly, leaving marks on them. "We already know the truth. Just let it out so we can make you feel good."

The words clot in your throat like spoiled honey. Shauna's laugh is dark as she slows her fingers to a torturous crawl. "Think she needs more motivation." Her free hand snakes up to pinch your nipple hard through your dress, the fabric suddenly abrasive as sandpaper. "Count of three, or I stop completely. One—"

"Yours!" The confession rips from you like a splintered bullet, voice cracking as Jackie's nails dig crescent moons into your hips. "I'm yours, both of you, only ever—fuck—"

Shauna's fingers piston into you with renewed fury, her grin feral in the mirror's reflection. "Louder."

"YOURS!" you scream to the girl in the glass—to the trembling mess with Jackie's lipstick smeared across her cheekbones and Shauna's handprints blooming on her thighs. "I belong to Jackie and Shauna, I'm—oh god—I'm your dumb little—"

Jackie's mouth crashes onto yours, swallowing your sob as Shauna finally lets you break. The orgasm tears through you like a forest fire, your back arching so violently you nearly headbutt Jackie. Shauna rides you through it with brutal precision, her free hand clamping over your mouth when the pleasure borders on pain. "That's it," she growls against your sweat-slick temple. "Take what you earned."

The mirror fogs with your panting breaths as Jackie gently wipes tears from your cheeks, her voice syrup-sweet again. "Good girl." Her thumb brushes your swollen lower lip. "Now let's discuss your punishment for making us wait so long." You haven't had time to recover from your previous orgasm when you look at them in shock, feeling your heart drop into your heels. "W-What?" you ask, sounding like it's more of a squeak. Your eyes dart between Shauna, who is positioned between your legs, and Jackie, who is sitting next to your head.

You don't know what to do when they start giggling and quickly lose their old temper.

Jackie's laugh breaks first, her fingers immediately softening as they card through your sweat-damp hair. "Oh baby," she coos, pressing featherlight kisses along your trembling jaw, "you should see your face." Her hands flutter over you like nervous doves — brushing sticky strands of hair from your forehead.

Shauna's already across the room rummaging through her soccer duffel, broad shoulders blocking the lamp light. When she turns back, her calloused hands are surprisingly gentle wrapping her favourite red flannel around your shoulders. "Drink," she grunts, pressing a water bottle to your lips, her thumb wiping a stray droplet from your chin when you choke on the first sip.

"Shh, we've got you," Jackie murmurs, arranging herself behind you so your back rests against her chest. Her signature sweet perfume envelops you as she rocks gently, her lips moving against your ear. "We just... God, when we saw her touching you—" Her voice cracks. "We wanted to kill someone at that moment. You had to come back very, very quickly, and she literally stole you!"

Shauna's knee hits the mattress as she straddles your legs, her usual scowl softened at the edges. She presses her forehead to yours, "You're ours to protect," she growls low enough that only you can hear it. "Even from our own fucking selves."

Jackie's fingers interlace with Shauna's over your heartbeat, their shared warmth seeping into your bones. "No more parties for a week," she declares, nuzzling the crown of your head. "We're staying in. Making you watch 10 Things I Hate About You until you can recite the poem scene."

Shauna's snort ruffles your bangs as she tucks the blanket tighter around your hips. "And eating those shitty rainbow cookies you like," she adds gruffly, her calloused palm lingering on your cheek. "The ones that taste like Play-Doh."

The yellowjacket banner above the bed flutters in the sudden breeze from Shauna's window, moonlight painting silver stripes across your tangled limbs. Jackie hums the chorus of "Kiss Me" off-key into your hair while Shauna's thumb traces absentminded plays from last week's game on your thigh. Their synchronized breathing slowly steadies yours, the earlier frenzy dissolving into something warmer, softer—a shared language written in heartbeat rests and tangled ankles.

The three of you loved each other. But sometimes you really felt like your girlfriends liked to torture you a little. But at least the torture was sweet.

#jackie taylor x reader #shauna shipman x reader #x reader smut #x reader #yellowjackets #female reader #jackieshauna x reader

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