#neither of them can keep a straight face during it

[geminiwritten]

domestic fantasy ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

summary: your ex is coming back to collect some things he left behind and you accidentally tell him that you have a new boyfriend, so hangman accepts the role of your new (fake) boyfriend

notes: did i spent the last three days writing for 8-10 hours a day? yes... am i going slightly insane? also yes... but guys!!! fake dating!!! i don't know how i vomited this fic up so quick, jake is just so easy for me to write (i think it's because i love him but not in a soul-crushing way like the way i love rooster?) anyway, PLEASE enjoy and please, please let me know what you think!

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, reader is shorter than hangman (just want to mention it), allusions to sex, and it's pretty horny so 18+ ONLY please! let me know if i’ve missed anything!

word count: 10937

“This weekend?” Your voice is unsteady, but you hope the crackling from the poor phone reception is enough to mask it. “I’m not sure if I can do this weekend.” 

Spencer sighs, clearly frustrated by your repeated attempts to keep him away from San Diego. “Look, I know you don’t want to do this—and honestly, neither do I—but it has to be done. I’ll only be in town for a couple of days. I’ll grab some boxes, hire a van, and get them shipped straight to my condo. Don’t you want your spare room back?” 

You gnaw nervously on your bottom lip as you glance out at the open-plan office space, hoping none of your coworkers are listening too closely to your phone conversation. 

You broke up with Spencer six months ago, after dating for nearly four years, and he left in such a rush that almost an entire room of his stuff stayed behind. It isn't anything important—mostly old sports gear and college memorabilia—and it’s not like he’s needed any of it. The breakup hit him hard, and he spent the following four months backpacking around Europe to clear his head. He’s only been back at his condo in Upstate New York for two months, and during that time, he’s been relentlessly bugging you to let him come pick up his things. 

It’s not like you want to hold on to anything that reminds you of him, but you desperately do not want to see him again. You offered a few times to pack up his things and ship them to him, but he flat-out refused. He even called it a violation of privacy now that you’re no longer together. So, about a month ago, you told him you’d find a free weekend for him to come by and collect the rest of his stuff—and you’ve done everything you can to avoid it since. 

“Okay,” you mutter, turning away from the office to face the window overlooking North Island Naval Air Station. “But you can’t stay at the apartment.” 

“What?” Spencer snaps. “Why? It’ll be so much easier. I’ll be in an out in three days, tops.” 

“Three days?” you echo. “Spence, that’s my whole weekend gone.” 

“There’s a lot of stuff,” he argues. “I could bring Harry with me, if-” 

“You are not bringing your brother, Spencer.” You stomp your foot, despite the conversation being over the phone. “Look, if that’s how long it’ll take, then fine. But you are not staying at the apartment. You can’t. My boyfriend just moved in last week.” The last few words slip out before you can stop them. 

Fuck. 

There’s a beat of silence before Spencer speaks again, his voice wavering. “Boyfriend?” 

You tip your head back and take a deep breath. “Yes, boyfriend.” 

Another awkward stretch of silence. 

“Okay... I’ll stay at the motel around the corner,” he says. 

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “Good.” 

“See you Friday, then.” 

“See you Friday.” 

You pull the phone away from your ear and tap the red button, watching Spencer’s caller ID photo flicker out before the screen goes black. With a sigh, your arms drop to your sides, and you lean forward until your forehead rests against the windowpane with a soft, dull thud. 

What the fuck did you just do? 

- 

Gravel crunches beneath your tires as you swerve into the parking lot of The Hard Deck bar. You pull up beside a familiar Ford Bronco, yanking the parking brake just a little too hard before practically stumbling out of the car. Your feet carry you across the lot and through the front door before coming to a stop as you survey the room, searching for the familiar face you came here to find. Across the bar, tucked into the booth closest to the pool table, are your friends. They’re sipping beers and chatting happily, blissfully unaware that an electrical storm of stress and anxiety is headed right for them. 

You weave through the tables and other patrons with determination, your breath coming and going in quick, anxious bursts. Your feet only stop when you reach your friends’ table, and their conversation quickly dies as they each turn to look at you. 

Jake’s brows pinch. “Hey, are you okay?” 

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth and bite down nervously, unsure how to reply. 

Javy, who was sitting next to Jake, stands up and nods toward the bar. “I’m going to grab another drink. Want anything?” 

You nod. “Whatever you’re having.” 

He gives you a cheeky wink before striding off toward the bar. You watch him for a few seconds before turning back to the booth and sliding in beside Jake, leaning into him and letting your head fall on his shoulder. 

Natasha sits across from you, her head tilted and a curious glint in her narrowed eyes. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“Not yet, I haven’t,” you say, before letting out an exasperated sigh. “My ex is coming back this weekend.” 

She rears back and sits up straight, her brows raised. “Coming back to stay?” 

You lift your head from Jake’s shoulder and shake it softly. “Nah. He just wants to pick up everything he left behind.” 

Jake shifts beside you, his arm sliding around your lower back almost possessively—but you know he only means to comfort you. “Including you?” he asks, his tone playful but laced with a hint of uncertainty. 

You snort and turn to face him, a little startled by how close those piercing green eyes are. “Of course not. Or at least, I hope not. I mean, I think I made it pretty damn clear he wasn’t getting me back, even if he was planning to try.” You trail off, turning away, unsure how to bring up the real reason you came here tonight—the question that’s been gnawing at you since your phone conversation with Spencer. 

“Okay,” Nat says, “so, what’s the big deal?” 

You suck in a deep breath, filling your lungs as you gather every shred of dignity you still have left. “I told him he couldn’t stay at the apartment because… my boyfriend just moved in.” 

Natasha’s brows shoot up toward her hairline and her mouth pops open. Amusement dances behind her eyes, but she has the decency to hold it back as you drop your head into your hands and let out a groan. “I fucked up.” 

Beside Natasha, Mickey leans forward. “But you don’t have a boyfriend?” 

You look up at him and scowl. “No shit.” 

“Oh.” He nods slowly, fighting the grin that tugs at his lips. 

“So, what are you going to do?” Reuben pipes up from the other end of the table, looking just as amused as the rest of your friends. 

“Well...” You lean back, pressing your shoulder blades into the vinyl of the booth as you twist your neck to glance at the man beside you. “I was going to ask Jake if he could help me... pretend.” 

Jake’s smirk fades, and a flush creeps into his cheeks. His green eyes widen, the usual cocky confidence replaced by startled confusion. “What? Why me?” 

You shrug, trying to act nonchalant about asking the man you regularly fantasise about to be your fake boyfriend. “It just makes the most sense. I’ve known you the longest.” Your eyes flick toward the other boys at the table. “No offense, but Jake and I just have better chemistry—and Spencer knew it. He was always a little threatened by our friendship.” 

You shift your gaze back to Jake, who’s still looking stunned, his lips parted slightly. 

“Plus, I only broke up with Spencer six months ago. I couldn’t have met someone new and asked them to move in that fast. It has to be someone I already knew.” You widen your eyes and bat your lashes dramatically. “Please, Jake. I’ll do anything.” 

He blinks at you, cheeks still tinged pink. “Define anything,” he says, that cocky smirk slowly starting to return. 

“Whatever you want,” you reply, planting both hands on his thigh closest to you—oblivious to the fact that it makes his dick twitch in his jeans. “You know I’m good for it.” 

Jake coughs into his hand, shifting slightly, trying to hold onto his bravado while making sure your touch doesn’t creep any higher. “Alright,” he says, voice a little rougher than before. “I’ll do it.” 

You raise a brow. “That easy?” 

He lifts a finger. “On one condition.” 

You narrow your eyes, suspicious. “Which is?” 

He leans in, that cocky smirk curling at the edge of his lips. “I want a home-cooked dinner. Every night I’m there. Candles. Music. Maybe a little wine. You know... boyfriend perks.” 

Natasha snorts across the table. “You mean domestic fantasy perks.” 

Jake just shrugs, eyes still locked on yours. “Hey, if I’m going to play house, I want the full experience.” 

You swallow hard, but your mouth moves before your brain catches up. “Deal.” 

He grins wider, and this time you’re pretty sure it’s not just cockiness—it’s anticipation. 

- 

You pace in circles around your kitchen island, one arm tucked under your breasts, holding your opposite elbow as you anxiously gnaw on your thumbnail. Jake is supposed to be here any minute, and the cork in the bottle of nerves rattling around in your stomach just won’t stay put. 

You’ve known Jake for years. You met in college and, despite the distance with his deployments, have been metaphorically inseparable ever since. But physically? That was a little harder, obviously. 

You’ve always had a soft spot for Jake—a bit of a crush, but you were never foolish enough to think anything could come of it. You’ve been perfectly content being his friend, never pushing for more. But every single one of your boyfriends? They hated him. You can’t blame them, really—Jake has that effect on people. That cocky, irresistible charm that makes it impossible for anyone else to ignore him. 

Still, you can’t shake the guilt creeping in. Fooling Spencer into thinking you and Jake are together? After all those times you promised him there was nothing more than friendship between you and Jake? It feels wrong. Even if Spencer never really took your word for it. 

A knock at the door pulls you out of your spiralling thoughts, and you hurry to answer it. Jake is standing on the other side, looking even more irresistible than usual. There’s no uniform today, no flight suit or polished boots. Instead, he's wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, and somehow that makes him look even better. His hair is messy, not gelled like it usually is, and the scruff on his jaw—a day’s worth of stubble—only adds to the allure. He looks... delicious in a way that’s totally different from the polished, put-together fighter pilot you’re used to. 

“Hey, girlfriend,” he says with a smirk, “sorry I’m late.” 

Your brain and mouth have completely short-circuited, leaving you with no choice but to smile, nod, and step aside to let him in. He’s got a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a box of random belongings in his arms—little odds and ends that someone might have lying around their apartment. 

Jake drops the box onto the kitchen counter and turns back to you. “What time is Spencer the Snob getting here?” 

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “In about an hour. Do you think you can manage to be civilized?” 

“Yes,” he replies, his voice sharp as he props his hands on his hips. “Can he be civilised?” 

“Spencer is always civilized.” 

You walk over to the box and start pulling out items, mentally sorting them. But Jake isn’t done. 

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Spencer is not always civilized. He’s just really good at hiding what a complete dick he is.” 

You turn and lean your hip against the countertop, raising one eyebrow. “You only don’t like him because he didn’t like you first. And let’s be honest, that’s because you bought me lingerie for the first birthday that I was with him. He didn’t get the joke and thought it was way too suggestive.” 

Jake snorts, his jade eyes lighting up with mischief. “Yeah, that was a good one. I’ll never forget the look on his face.” 

You resist the urge to laugh and roll your eyes again, turning back to the box. “I’ll admit, Spence is a little snobby. But that’s just how he was raised. It’s not his fault he’s got money.” 

Jake’s expression darkens, and he narrows his eyes at the affectionate nickname. “Spence?” 

“Sorry,” you say, your cheeks flushing pink. “Force of habit.” 

The two of you move quietly around the apartment, slipping into an easy rhythm as you make space for Jake’s things. You tuck two framed photos of his family onto the bookshelf, nestled between your novels, and slide one of his official Navy portraits beside them—one you definitely wouldn’t mind keeping. 

He hangs a jacket and a couple of worn caps on the hooks by the door and drops two pairs of his boots beside your own lineup of shoes. You clear off a bedside table for him to clutter with his things, and listen to the soft clink of bottles as he unpacks his toiletries in the bathroom. 

Finally, you add a towel for him to the rack beside the shower. And for a moment, you let yourself imagine it: the two of you in there together. His hot, slick skin pressed to yours, the steam curling around your tangled limbs. His hands sliding soap across your body, rinsing you slow and thorough. He’d wash your hair too, fingers working into your scalp until your eyes fluttered closed—and then you’d return the favour, watching his mouth part in bliss beneath your touch. 

“Hello?” Jake waves a hand in front of your face. “Anyone home?” 

You blink rapidly and turn to face him, only to find him standing way too close with that maddening smirk tugging at his lips. Your eyes flick up to his, and the look he gives you is downright dangerous—curious, cocky, and just a little bit amused. 

“You good, sweetheart?” he asks, tilting his head. “You’re lookin’ a little hot under the collar.” 

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Instead, you let out a weird half-laugh, half-scoff and sidestep him like he’s radioactive. “I’m fine. It’s just warm in here. Is it warm in here?” 

Jake leans back against the bathroom doorframe, arms crossed and eyes glittering. “Could be. Or maybe you were just thinkin’ about something real steamy.” 

You choke on air. “Excuse me?” 

He shrugs, all faux innocence. “Just sayin’... you’ve got that look. Like your brain wandered somewhere it probably shouldn’t have.” 

You grab a towel—any towel—and smack him in the chest. “Shut up.” 

Jake laughs, catching the towel with one hand like he knew it was coming. “Whatever it was, must’ve been good.” 

When he finally steps aside, you scurry past like lingering too long might scorch your skin. Only once you’ve turned down the hall and reached the kitchen—putting a safe stretch of space between you and him—do you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

“Okay,” you say, planting both palms against the cool, marble countertop. “Spencer is going to be here in half an hour, so we have exactly thirty minutes to practice being a couple.” 

Jake smirks like this is nothing—like he’s been in this exact situation a hundred times before. “You tell me what you’re comfortable with, darlin’.” He steps up to the other side of the kitchen island and leans forward, mirroring your posture. 

You tilt your head slightly, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you narrow your eyes at him. “We need to look convincing. No weirdness, no pulling faces. Just... act natural.” 

Jake cocks an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “Natural, huh? So, no kissing? Not even a little peck?” 

You try to focus, but the way he’s leaning across the island—just far enough to make the space between you feel electrified—throws you off. “Uh, no. Nothing like that. We’ll start slow. Hold hands, sit close... you know, the easy stuff.” 

Jake’s grin widens, his gaze flickering down to your lips before locking onto your eyes. “Hold hands, sit close. Got it. But what if I make you want to kiss me? I’m really good at that.” 

You feel the heat spreading through your chest, but you refuse to let him see it. “You think you can make me want to kiss you?” You raise an eyebrow, trying to match his cockiness. 

He leans even further toward you and drops his voice low, the teasing edge still there but with a smouldering intensity you’re having a hard time ignoring. “Oh, sweetheart. I know I can. All I need is the right moment.” 

You can’t help but laugh nervously, your pulse quickening as he stays there, so close you can feel the heat of his presence even if the island bench is still separating you. “Well, we’ve got thirty minutes to see if you can keep your hands to yourself, Seresin,” you tease, but there’s an edge to it now—a hint of challenge. 

Jake leans in a little more, his gaze fixed on you, like he’s seconds away from crossing the line. “Trust me, darlin’. I can keep my hands to myself... but only if you can keep your hands off me.” 

Your chest rises and falls faster than usual, your head spinning slightly from all the extra oxygen surging through your blood. You part your lips, ready to fire back something just as cocky—something to keep the volley going—but the sharp chime of your phone slices through the tension, and both your gazes snap to where it buzzes on the countertop. 

You settle back onto your heels, and reach for your phone, huffing out a small, frustrated sigh before sliding the answer button and pressing it to your ear. “Hey, Spencer.” 

“Hey, how are you?” 

Your eyes slide toward Jake, who is looking almost as frustrated as you feel. “Fine. How far out are you?” 

Spencer chuckles, and something inside of you instinctively recoils, even though the sound itself isn’t particularly offensive. “I’m great, thanks for asking. The flight was fine, a little bumpy, but we made it. I’m just waiting at baggage claim, so I’ll be about twenty minutes.” 

“No worries,” you say, “see you soon.” 

You hang up before he even finishes saying goodbye, drop your phone face-down on the bench, and glance back at Jake. “Alright, let’s go over the details. We started dating three months after Spencer left. You asked me out, and I was a little surprised.” 

Jake frowns, already halfway to an objection, but you cut him off with a raised hand. “Just go with it, okay? It keeps my integrity intact. You have no idea how many times I had to convince him I wasn’t into you.” 

His frown fades fast, replaced by that maddeningly smug smirk. “Go on, then.” 

You roll your eyes, but continue. “I was surprised, but everything just... clicked. Being best friends made the relationship feel natural. That’s why things have moved fast. You were already here most nights, your rent went up, so you moved in two weeks ago.” 

Jake nods like he’s logging it all away. “Okay, but more importantly—how’s the sex?” 

You stare, deadpan. “Seriously?” 

He shrugs, hands raised like a saint. “What? It’s a legitimate question. Spencer might ask.” 

“I highly fucking doubt it.” 

Jake chuckles. “Yeah, fair. Still worth a shot.” 

With a long, theatrical exhale, you walk around the kitchen island and stop in front of him. “Alright, let’s talk touching.” 

His eyes light up, devilish. “Now you’re speaking my language.” 

You ignore him. “I’m ticklish, so don’t touch my ribs or ghost over my arms—I will flinch.” 

“I know.” 

You pause. “Okay…” You shake your head, ignoring the question trying to form. “I’m not huge on PDA, but I like lingering touches. Just small things, to remind each other we’re there.” 

“I know,” he says again, that smirk glued in place. 

The question in your head itches a little louder, but you push it aside. “And if we go out—which I really hope we don’t—make sure you’re always sitting next to me. I hate it when couples sit across from each other. I don’t want to gaze into your eyes, I want to feel your warmth.” 

Jake’s smirk splits into a wide, boyish grin. “I know.” 

The floodgates crack. “How the fuck do you know everything?” 

He leans in just slightly, voice soft but sure. “Because I know you. I’ve watched you with every guy you’ve dated. Just because I wasn’t the guy doesn’t mean I haven’t been paying attention.” 

You blink, reeling from the quiet truth in his tone. It hits you like a gust of wind—real, unshakable. You actually have to take a step back to steady yourself. There’s no teasing in his voice, no smug edge. Just Jake, earnest and open in a way that’s rare. 

And it almost wrecks you. 

Jake might be cocky and insufferable ninety percent of the time—but when he loves, he does it fiercely. Deeply. Fully. And you’ve always known you were lucky to be one of the people he loves. 

But for the first time, you let your mind wander somewhere dangerous. What would it be like to be loved by Jake Seresin—not just as a friend, but as his person? His everything? 

“So,” Jake says, cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter, “where should I touch you first?” 

You close your eyes for a beat, reminding yourself that this is still Jake—insufferable, irritating Jake. “You don’t have to be weird and over the top about it. When he gets here, you can just sit on the couch, then I’ll join you and sit close. You can put a hand on my thigh.” 

Jake’s brows furrow, his face contorting with mild disgust. “I know you’re trying not to make him uncomfortable, but that’s not going to work. Think about it—your ex is coming over, and your current boyfriend is just sitting casually on the couch? Not buying it.” 

You roll your eyes again, hoping to avoid yet another pointless argument. “Jake, this doesn’t need to be-” 

“You told him you’re dating me,” he interrupts, poking his chest with a finger. “And if this was real, I’d be making damn sure I had a hand on you at all times.” 

You raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore how your body reacts to his proximity and his words. Heat floods your chest and settles behind your hipbones, desire tightening in places you don’t want to think about right now. “You don’t need to stake your claim, Jake. Spencer isn’t here to win me back.” 

Jake steps closer, cutting the distance between you until there’s barely two feet separating you. “You don’t know that.” His voice lowers slightly, making the air between you feel thick and electric. “And yes, I do. If you want him to believe we’re dating, then you need to let me do exactly what I would do if this was real.” 

You’re not sure whether he’s just being cocky or trying to show off, but damn it, he’s making a good point. “Okay, fine. But don’t make him uncomfortable.” 

Jake’s smirk widens, taking on that familiar, smug edge. “No promises, darlin’.” 

You spend the next ten minutes pretending to clean—wiping already spotless counters, rearranging throw pillows, and dusting things that definitely don’t need dusting. All while Jake lounges on the couch like this is the easiest job he’s ever had. 

“It’s three days, sweetheart,” he says. “By Sunday, Spencer will be back in his overpriced New York apartment sipping single malt and Googling himself.” 

You snort but say nothing. Three days. Just two dinners and one brunch. You’ll keep the visits restricted to daylight hours, keep Jake close, keep your story straight—and by Sunday afternoon, Spencer will be out of your apartment and out of your life. 

That’s the plan, anyway. 

But as you glance over at Jake—sprawled out, so completely at ease in your space, looking infuriatingly good even in his most relaxed state—you start to question the rest of it. 

Because it’s not Spencer you’re worried about fooling anymore. It’s yourself. And when Jake turns his head and catches you staring, smirking like he knows exactly what you're thinking? 

Yeah. This might be harder than you thought. 

The intercom buzzes, loud and sudden, startling you from your task of rearranging the flowers on the dining table. Your heart launches into your throat, pounding like you’ve just jumped from a plane without a parachute. 

Jake chuckles and rises from the couch, strolling over to the intercom with infuriating confidence. He presses the button and leans in. “Come on up.” 

You force your feet to move, carrying you toward him and not stopping until you’re right beside him. You press yourself against him and the moment your body meets his, heat blooms under your skin. It’s not new—you've touched him before—but it feels different. More charged. More deliberate. Jake’s arm slides around your waist without hesitation, and his fingers curl into your hip, firm and possessive. There’s a subtle squeeze and the pad of his thumb grazes a sliver of skin just beneath the hem of your shirt. 

You feel it everywhere. 

He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “It’s showtime, sweetheart.” 

Your breath stutters. This is just pretend. 

Your heart pounds against your sternum, each beat like the tick of a countdown clock. The elevator dings. Footsteps echo down the hallway. Closer, closer. You draw in a deep breath and hold it, ignoring the sharp ache it sends through your chest. 

“Relax,” Jake murmurs, pulling you tighter against his side as he reaches for the doorknob. 

The second the footsteps stop, he yanks the door open—no chance for a knock. 

“Spence!” Jake beams, like they’re old frat brothers reunited. “Come in, buddy. How are you?” 

You nearly snort. The absurdity of his enthusiasm bubbles up in your throat, but you bite your lip hard enough to keep it down. 

Spencer looks good—but all it does is remind you how little you miss him. His perfectly coiffed blonde hair hasn’t changed one bit, but he’s tanner than you remember—courtesy of the European sun, no doubt. He’s not as tall as Jake, but he’s got that same overinflated ego. The difference? Jake’s cockiness comes from… well, let’s just say it’s probably anatomical. Spencer’s is inherited—passed down with a trust fund and a country club membership. 

He’s dressed exactly as you expected: a sky-blue Ralph Lauren polo, crisp white pants with a crease so sharp it could slice bread, and tan boat shoes—an ironic choice, considering he’s terrified of boats. 

But it’s his face that really seals the moment. Jaw unhinged, eyes wide, staring at Jake like he just opened the door to a ghost. Or maybe something worse: the ghost of his ex-girlfriend’s new sex life. 

“Jake?” Spencer finally says. “Your new boyfriend is Jake Seresin?” 

Jake’s grin is unbothered—like this is the moment he’s been waiting for his whole life. “The one and only.” 

You feel his hand press a little firmer into your waist, anchoring you there like you might suddenly run—and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t tempted. 

Spencer steps further into the apartment, his eyes glued to Jake’s smug face. “I thought you said there was nothing going on between you two.” 

Your stomach twists, but you keep your voice even. “There wasn’t. Not back then.” 

Spencer glances at you. “You told me I was being paranoid. That he was just your friend.” 

Jake chuckles. “I remember you telling me about that.” 

You shoot him a look that’s supposed to say “not helping,” but he just smiles innocently and shrugs. 

Spencer looks seconds away from spontaneously combusting. “I trusted you,” he says, starting to sound like the whiny, private-school rich kid you always tried to ignore. “You promised me nothing would ever happen with him.” 

“Yeah, that was then, and this is now. Things change, Spence—and this has nothing to do with you,” you say, tone sharpening. If he’s going to act like a child, then you're going to treat him like one. 

Jake’s hand slides from your waist to the small of your back, his thumb sweeping in a slow, easy circle like he’s soothing a spark before it ignites. “People change, bud. Timing is everything.” 

Spencer folds his arms, visibly rattled. “So, what—he swooped in the second I left?” 

Jake tilts his head, eyes full of mock offense. “Swooped? Come on. Give me a little credit. She came to me.” 

You snap your head toward him, about to object, but his grin is wicked and the mischief in his eyes dares you to play along. 

“Well...” You drag the word out, buying a few precious seconds to stitch your story together. “Technically, yes. I was upset after the breakup, so of course I turned to my best friend for comfort.” 

Spencer’s blue-grey eyes narrow. “You broke up with me.” 

“That she did, pal.” Jake tries for a sympathetic look, but you know better—he’s enjoying this a little too much. 

“Just because I ended things doesn’t mean it didn’t rattle me,” you shoot back, trying to shift the focus away from Jake. “We were together for four years, Spencer. That’s a long time. I just had the guts to do what you didn’t. So, forgive me if I’m not in the mood to explain myself to you. I don’t owe you anything—and my new relationship? It’s none of your business.” 

You see his expression twist into an offended scowl, and anger flickers in your chest. The nerve of him, acting like you still owe him something just because you pulled the plug first. 

“For the record,” you continue, voice cool and firm, “yeah, I leaned on Jake. And somewhere along the line, I found something a lot deeper.” 

Then, without missing a beat, you glance at Jake—who’s already wearing that cocky smirk—and let one of your own curve across your lips as you look back at Spencer. 

“Actually,” you say, eyes narrowing with satisfaction, “I think it was Jake who found something a little deeper… if you know what I mean.” 

Jake snorts, slapping his hand over his mouth, but he can’t suppress the gleeful chuckle bubbling from his lips. Spencer, on the other hand, looks utterly humbled—his cheeks are bright red and his jaw is hanging open like he’s just been slapped across the face. 

You step away from Jake, waiting for his hand to drop so you can grab it. The second your fingers slide into his, a rush of warmth zips up your arm, and you try to ignore how good it feels, but damn, it’s hard. 

“Get your boxes,” you say to Spencer, keeping your tone cool. “Jake will help you pack some stuff this afternoon, but it’s date night, so you’ve got exactly two hours. You can come back in the morning.” 

Spencer's lip twitches, like he's about to argue, but then he stops himself. He nods curtly and unties the fancy cashmere sweater draped around his shoulders, hanging it carefully on a hook by the door. He hesitates when he notices Jake’s clothes tossed haphazardly alongside yours. After a moment, he huffs, shakes his head, and stomps out of the apartment. 

You fight to suppress a grin as you turn to Jake, but he’s already beaming at you. “You’re amazing, you know that?” 

You pretend to flick your hair off your shoulder with theatrical flair. “Oh, I know.” 

He chuckles. “I can’t believe you just told your ex I’ve got a huge dick.” 

You shrug, one shoulder rising nonchalantly. “You’ve got the ego to match, so I figured I could make an educated guess. Besides, it’s not like Spencer will ever know for sure.” 

His brows shoot up. “Oh, so you were just guessing?” 

Heat floods your cheeks, and suddenly his eyes are too intense to meet. “Well, obviously.” 

He leans in, his hand tightening around yours, voice low and teasing—laced with a challenge that feels dangerously not like a joke. “Want to find out for real?” 

Your breath hitches. Words abandon you. All you can do is stare at his face—too handsome and too tempting. 

“Because I’d go a hell of a lot deeper than that weasel. So deep, you’d be screaming-” 

The intercom buzzer cuts him off, and you’re hit with a wave of relief and frustration all at once. Your pulse is racing, your chest tight, and the thrum of your heartbeat fills your ears. 

Jake chuckles, clearly amused by the timing, and leans back, releasing your hand to press the button on the intercom. He glances over at you, winks, and casually strides toward the lounge, sprawling out like he owns the place. Like he’s some modern-day Adonis—there to wind you up and then claim your couch like it’s his throne. 

You force your limbs to move, opening the door for Spencer and helping him carry in the flattened cardboard boxes tucked under his arms. You lead him to the spare room—where all his abandoned belongings have been gathering dust for the past six months—and leave him to it. 

You don’t have to ask Jake to help. The second you return to the living room, he stands, crosses the space without hesitation, and steps right up to you. His palm finds the back of your head as he pulls you in, pressing a warm, gentle kiss to the top of your hair. 

You know he’s just doing what you asked—pretending to be your boyfriend. But the tenderness of the gesture feels heartbreakingly sincere. It sinks into your skin, fills your chest like warm water, and when he pulls away, he takes the comfort with him. 

Your eyes trail after him as he walks toward the spare room, and you shamelessly ogle his ass on the way out. Then you collapse onto the lounge where he’d just been sitting, curling up in the lingering scent of his cologne. You tug a blanket from the wicker basket beside the couch and wrap it around yourself, clicking on a show you barely register—because all you can think about is the way Jake Seresin touches you. 

This might not have been such a brilliant idea after all. 

- 

Spencer uses up his two hours like he paid for them, waiting until exactly 5:59 PM to dust off his palms on those stupid white pants—as if he hadn’t made Jake do all the heavy lifting—and announce that he “better get going.” 

You give him a tight smile as you hold the door open, already half-relieved just watching him walk out. It's not that pretending to love Jake is hard—you do love him. It’s the reminder that all the lingering touches, the soft smiles, the stolen glances—they’re just an act. That’s what’s draining you. 

The second the door clicks shut, you let out a long, theatrical sigh, like you’ve been holding your breath for the full two hours. “Oh, thank God. I don’t know how I’m going to survive a whole day tomorrow.” 

Jake chuckles, but there’s something tight about it—like he’s forcing it out through gritted teeth. “Am I that hard to love?” he asks, and though his tone is teasing, something flickers behind his eyes that doesn’t feel like a joke. 

Your brows knit. “No, it’s not that. It’s just...” 

He steps closer, invading your space like he’s done all day—and you hate how much you don’t mind it anymore. In fact, you kind of want him to stay right there. 

“What is it?” he murmurs, voice low and rough enough to make your skin prickle. 

You swallow hard, suddenly aware of how close he is, how good he smells, and how charged the air between you feels. “It’s just Spencer, you know? Having him around is... exhausting.” 

Jake’s lip quirks, but his eyes are sharp, studying you. “Oh? So you’re not struggling with this fake relationship thing at all? Not even a little confused? Frustrated? Having trouble remembering it’s not real?” 

You blink, stunned silent. You’re not sure how, but you’re starting to believe Jake Seresin might actually be a mind reader. 

“I-” The words catch in your throat, strangled by the weight of his stare. His piercing green eyes pin you in place, make you forget how to speak, how to breathe. 

Then, just when it feels like you might combust, his smirk cracks into a grin and he takes a step back, letting the tension snap like a rubber band. “Alright then,” he says, clapping his hands together, “what’s for dinner, gorgeous?” 

You inhale like you’ve just broken the surface of the water. Your lungs burn. Your head spins. This man is giving you whiplash. 

It takes almost a full minute to regain control of your body, and when you finally do, you walk straight into the kitchen without giving Jake an answer. You can’t even look at him right now—but he has no trouble looking at you. 

He watches you like he’s starving and you’re the feast. It makes focusing on dinner nearly impossible. 

You busy yourself preparing the meal you planned yesterday—Italian sausage spaghetti with a pull-apart garlic loaf. You don’t usually go all out for dinner, but you’re using Jake’s presence as an excuse to cook something hearty and delicious. Maybe after eating, you’ll both be too full to maintain this unbearable sexual tension. He can crash on the couch, and you’ll curl up in bed. Or maybe you’ll take a long, steamy shower and do what you need to do to unknot the tension pulsing behind your hipbones. 

Dinner comes together quickly, and after a few casual questions from Jake about the food, he drifts back to the couch, half-watching whatever show has been playing in the background for past few hours. You set the dining table just the way he asked—candles, wine, and soft music humming from the speaker on your bookshelf. 

Finally, you place two full bowls of pasta on the table—opposite each other. Because you’re not really dating, so why would you sit beside him? To feel his warmth? Let him rest a hand on your thigh? 

The thought alone sends a shiver down your spine. 

You try to shake it off and glance at Jake—only to find him already watching you. 

You clear your throat. “Lieutenant Jake Seresin, your dinner is served.” 

He grins like a kid in a candy store, pushing off the couch and sniffing the air like a Loony Tunes character. “Damn, I think Phoenix might’ve been right. This is a full-on domestic fantasy.” 

You roll your eyes and duck your head, hoping he doesn’t see the heat rising in your cheeks. “Just sit down and eat, Hangman. I’m tired and hungry.” 

You flick off the kitchen lights, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of the candles. The atmosphere feels far more romantic than you intended. Is this what Jake wanted? 

You don’t give yourself time to overthink it—because the food smells amazing, and there’s a very attractive naval aviator sitting across from you, looking like he was plucked straight from a dream. 

You spend the first few minutes eating in silence, both too busy shovelling pasta into your mouths and tearing into buttery garlic bread to speak. Somehow, Jake even manages to make slurping spaghetti look hot—and you hate when people make noise while they eat. 

“So,” you say, slowing your pace and setting your fork down, “did you want to stay here tonight or head back to your place?” 

He keeps his eyes on his plate, as if avoiding yours will mask whatever he’s really thinking. “Up to you, darlin’. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

“Well, Spencer did seem pretty suspicious about the whole thing… so I think it’s safer if you stay.” 

His head snaps up, and that signature smirk spreads across his lips. “Is that so?” 

“Yeah,” you say, fighting the heat rising to your cheeks, “he might sniff around tomorrow. Like, literally. He might be a creep and notice your towel’s untouched, or that your side of the bed hasn’t been slept in, and-” 

“You want to share the bed?” he asks, looking far too pleased with the idea. 

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “We’ve shared a bed before.” 

“Yeah,” he says, a low chuckle slipping out, “blind drunk.” 

His eyes are too pretty, too intense, and your chest feels tight under their weight. You look away, eyes darting around the table until they land on the wine bottle. 

“Well then,” you say, picking it up and refilling his glass, “drink up, Seresin.” 

Two bottles of wine later, you’re both loose-limbed and laughing—less awkward about the day’s chaos, and a lot less anxious about sharing a bed tonight. 

You giggle at one of Jake’s ridiculous jokes while clearing the table, and when he insists on helping clean up, you swat him away, telling him it’s all part of his domestic fantasy. He rolls his eyes but still hovers, drying dishes and pretending not to notice the way you keep throwing him side-eye glances every time he guesses wrong about where something goes. 

“Do you want to shower?” you ask as you finish wiping down the stovetop. 

His green eyes go wide, that crooked grin slipping across his face like sin itself. “Is this you offering?” 

Your stomach flips, heat crawling up your chest. “I meant—do you want to shower first?” 

“Oh,” he chuckles, almost disappointed. “Yeah, sure. If you don’t mind?” 

“Wouldn’t have asked if I did,” you mutter, turning back toward the lounge. 

You listen to his footsteps fade toward the bathroom, then collapse onto the couch, burying your face in a pillow that smells maddeningly like him. 

What the fuck are you doing? 

Yes, you’ve always had a little crush on Jake, but you’re not delusional. He’s out of your league. You’ve made peace with that. You’ve always been happy just being his friend. So why does all of this feel so good? Why is it getting harder to remember that he doesn’t see you the same way? 

He’s thrown himself into this charade like it’s more than just pretending, and it’s messing with your head. Does he want something more? Something casual? A few nights, maybe? Or... does he want you—the whole messy package? 

The shower starts, and you groan into the pillow. You’re confused. You’re also so fucking horny. Red wine was a terrible idea. 

Ten minutes later, the bathroom door creaks open. “All yours,” Jake calls, his voice smooth and casual as he walks toward the bedroom where he left his duffel bag. 

You drag yourself upright, every step toward the bathroom a battle against the mental slideshow of naked, wet Jake. You shut the door, strip down, and step into the shower, letting the hot water calm your skin and chase away the ache blooming low in your belly. 

You don’t have the guts to do what you really need to make that ache go away—not with Jake just a paper-thin wall away. The thought creeps in, bold and reckless, whispering what if you just called him in here? But then you laugh softly under your breath and shake it off. As if. The idea of Jake rejecting you would be a level of humiliation you’re not prepared to face tonight. Or ever. 

You shut off the water, swipe a towel from the rack, and give yourself a quick dry before wrapping it snugly around your body. The bathroom is thick with steam, your skin flushed and dewy, your pulse still thudding from thoughts you shouldn't be entertaining. 

You open the door to let in some air—only to nearly collide with Jake. 

He’s right there. Shirtless. Grey sweatpants slung low, a towel around his neck, and an annoyingly cocky smirk on his lips. 

“Damn,” he says, leaning one arm against the doorframe, eyes roaming blatantly. “I was coming to see if you drowned, but now I’m thinking maybe I should’ve brought more wine.” 

You try to step back, but he follows, slipping inside like he belongs here. You grip your towel tighter. 

“Jake,” you warn, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing?” 

“Just enjoying the view,” he says casually, his eyes far too warm for comfort. “This your idea of torture? Walk out here looking like a damn dream and expect me to just keep pretending?” 

You’re not sure what’s pretending and what isn’t anymore, and you have no idea what his words mean. Is he just messing with you? He has to be. 

“I didn’t ask you to come in.” 

“And yet,” he says, grinning, “here I am.” 

The heat in the room is stifling—and it's not just the steam. Jake moves in closer, crowding your space, eyes flicking from your lips to your towel and back. His fingers reach up, slow and deliberate, and tug lightly at the edge of the fabric resting on your collarbone. 

“Think this is regulation towel length?” he teases. 

“Do you want me to report you to HR?” you ask, trying not to smile. Your voice wobbles on the last word when his fingers brush across the swell of your breast. 

“Only if HR gives out spankings,” he says with a wink. 

You laugh, then immediately regret it, because the movement loosens the towel just slightly—and his gaze drops. The air between you crackles. 

“Jake,” you murmur, breath hitching. 

He leans in, his lips brushing your temple like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. “Say the word,” he whispers, voice lower than a dare. 

You turn your face toward him, your lips just inches from his—and then: 

BZZZZZZZZZZZT. 

The intercom buzzes loudly from the living room, startling you both. You jump, and Jake curses under his breath. 

“Saved by the buzzer,” you mutter, half annoyed, half relieved. 

He takes a step back, eyes still dark with want, running a hand through his hair. “Or maybe cursed by it.” 

You give him a pointed look. “Shut the door on your way out, Hangman.” 

He backs out slowly, smirking the whole way. “You know I’m not going to forget this, right?” 

You roll your eyes and wait for him to close the door before locking it for good measure. After drying off, you go through your usual skincare and haircare routines, trying not to think about whatever the hell just happened between the two of you. But one glance down the hall as you exit the bathroom makes your heart plummet. 

Spencer is standing by the front door. And Jake—still very much shirtless—is looking smug as hell. 

“Hey, darlin’,” Jake drawls, turning to Spencer with a wink. “We just finished up in the shower, if you know what I mean.” 

You freeze like a deer in headlights, towel clutched to your chest. You feel like a naked model caught mid-pose in front of a life drawing class—except your ex is the one holding the sketchpad, and Jake is… well, Jake. 

“Spencer,” you bite out, “what the fuck are you doing here?” 

“I-I forgot my sweater.” He holds up the creamy cashmere one he’d left by the door, eyes darting anywhere but your body. 

You raise a brow. “And that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” 

He opens his mouth, then shuts it again—clearly trying not to ogle you while very aware of the broad, half-naked man beside him who is allegedly your boyfriend. Jake’s green eyes darken the longer Spencer’s gaze lingers. 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters. “I guess I didn’t think-” 

“Yeah, thinking’s never really been your thing, huh, pal?” Jake cuts in, clapping a firm hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Now if you don’t mind fucking off, I’d like to get back to round two with my very satisfied girlfriend. And just so we’re clear—if you show up before 9AM tomorrow, all you’re gonna hear is her screaming my name in ecstasy.” 

Your body lights up like a struck match. You don’t even look at Spencer as Jake all but escorts him out the door. Your focus is entirely on the shirtless man—the ridiculously hot, dangerously cocky, fake boyfriend who just made you feel completely and utterly claimed. 

You’re not sure if it’s the wine or the caveman behaviour, but suddenly, the idea of crossing that line doesn’t seem so dangerous anymore. In fact, it sounds like the best idea you’ve had in years. 

Jake shuts the door and flicks the deadbolt before turning those dark green eyes on you. “Keep lookin’ at me like that, darlin’, and you’re gonna make my dreams—and Spencer’s nightmares—come true.” 

His dreams? 

Your breath catches in your throat. Then, like a startled chicken, you turn and bolt to your bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you. Your head spins as you scramble to grab the pyjamas stashed under your pillow. Every inch of your skin feels hypersensitive, like Jake’s gaze alone has lit up your nerve endings one by one. 

Once you’re dressed and your face isn’t quite so scarlet red, you head for the bathroom. You hang up your towel—deliberately ignoring the sight of Jake’s hanging next to it—and start brushing your teeth. But the flutter in your stomach is relentless. 

Jake appears a moment later and joins you silently, his eyes finding yours in the mirror. You try to avoid them, but your gaze keeps drifting back, always checking, always wondering. And every time, he’s still watching. 

You rinse and spit, then flee the bathroom before your knees give out. You don’t bother with the rest of your night routine—you need sleep, or space, or maybe a total reset of your entire hormonal system. 

You crawl into bed and flick on the TV perched atop your dresser, the hum of background noise a small comfort. But it does nothing to quiet the static under your skin when Jake steps into the room. 

He flicks off the main light, shuts the door with a soft click, and then sits on the bed beside you. The mattress dips under his weight, and it feels like the whole room tilts with him. 

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just sits beside you in the dim glow of the TV, his body so close you can feel the heat radiating off his bare skin. 

You pretend to be engrossed in whatever’s on the screen, but your heart is thundering, and you can feel his gaze on you like a brand. 

Then his voice, low and rough, slices through the quiet. “You always wear shirts like that to bed, or is this part of the fantasy?” 

You try to scoff, but it comes out a little breathless. “You think everything’s about you.” 

Jake chuckles. “You’re sitting here braless in a tissue-thin shirt, biting your lip like you want me to devour you—and I’m the one with the ego?” 

You turn your head, ready to throw back some snark, but he’s already watching you with that look. That look that makes your insides clench and your breath catch. Like he’s starving. Like you’re the first real meal he’s had in days. 

“Jake…” 

His gaze drops to your lips, and his voice is rough around the edges when he says, “I’m not gonna make it through this night if you keep lookin’ at me like that.” 

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” you whisper, but even you don’t believe that. 

Jake leans closer. “No? Then why’s your chest rising like that? Why are your pupils blown wide? Why is every part of you screaming touch me?” 

You don’t answer. You can’t. 

He shifts toward you slowly, like a predator moving in, until his thigh brushes yours and his hand finds your jaw. His thumb drags lightly along your cheek, then down to your bottom lip, tugging at it just enough to make your breath stutter. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “Just say the word.” 

You stay frozen, heart galloping in your chest. 

“Because if you don’t…” he leans in, voice barely audible now, “…I’m gonna lose every ounce of self-control I have left.” 

Still, you say nothing. Can’t say anything. 

Jake’s eyes search yours for a second longer. Then— 

“Fuck it.” 

He crashes into you like a storm. His mouth slants over yours, hot and possessive and desperate, like he’s finally giving in to something he’s been denying for far too long. His hands cup your face, then slide down, over your neck, your shoulders, gripping your waist like he needs to ground himself. 

You gasp into his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping in to taste you. It’s not gentle. It’s fire and tension and not just one day, but years of pretending finally snapping all at once. 

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging, pulling him closer. He groans against your lips and pushes you back into the mattress just slightly, moving over you, his body caging yours in without touching more than he has to. 

You arch up into him, chasing his heat, his weight. And when his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, resting just above your waistband, your breath catches in your throat. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you—his pupils dark, his lips kiss-bruised. “Still pretending?” he breathes. 

You shake your head, dazed. “Not even a little bit.” 

- 

You wake up warm. Too warm. 

Jake Seresin is sprawled across half your bed, one leg tangled over yours and an arm wrapped around your waist like you’re his personal body pillow. His bare chest is pressed to your back and his breath ghosts hot across your neck with every slow, sleepy exhale. 

You’re painfully aware of two things: one, you’re very, very naked. And two, so is he. 

And then... you remember everything. 

The kissing. The touching. The downright Olympic-level sex. The way he looked at you like you were something he’d been starving for. 

Your body aches in the best way, but your brain is in full meltdown mode. You try to untangle yourself without waking him. Emphasis on try. Because the second you shift, Jake groans and tightens his arm around you. 

“Nuh-uh,” he mumbles, voice still rough with sleep. “You’re not goin’ anywhere.” 

You huff, trying to wriggle free. “I have to pee.” 

“Fine,” he says, releasing you with an exaggerated sigh. “But don’t even think about climbing out the window. You’re mine now.” 

You roll your eyes as you slip out of bed, grabbing the closest shirt—his shirt—and tossing it over your head. It hangs low on your thighs, smelling like him and sex and very bad decisions. 

By the time you return from the bathroom, Jake’s propped up on one elbow, watching you with the same hunger in his eyes as last night “Damn, you look better in my shirt than I do.” 

You scoff and head for your dresser. “Don’t you get tired of hearing yourself talk?” 

“Not when I’m this right.” 

You grab a pair of shorts, but before you can pull them on, Jake is already moving. He slides off the bed, all muscles and tan skin, and corners you against the dresser. 

“You know,” he murmurs, eyes dark and wicked as his fingers slip under the hem of his own shirt you're wearing, “you didn’t officially wake me up yet.” 

Your heart kicks up a notch. “Is that a thing now?” 

“Absolutely.” He leans in, brushing his nose along your jaw. “You gotta wake me up right, darlin’. Or I’m gonna be all cranky.” 

You arch a brow. “Define right.” 

He grins, lips brushing yours. “Tongue. Teeth optional.” 

You laugh into the kiss he gives you—hot, deep, and toe-curling. His hands roam down your back, tugging you flush against him. You can feel he’s already half hard again, the cocky bastard. 

But before things can spiral into round two, your phone buzzes loudly from the nightstand. 

Jake pulls back with a dramatic sigh. “If that’s Spencer again, I swear to God-” 

You smirk. “Jealous?” 

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Jealous? Sweetheart, I just spent the night making you scream my name.” 

You roll your eyes, fighting a smile, and he grins like he just won the damn lottery. 

To Jake’s great disappointment, it is Spencer. He’s on his way over, and the motel he’s staying at is only five minutes away. You both overslept—but can you really be blamed? No way. You were up most of the night tangled together, doing something that definitely didn’t feel pretend. 

“Come on, Romeo,” you say, tossing Jake his shirt. “Get dressed before Tybalt gets here.” 

Jake pauses, one brow arched as he tries not to stare at your naked chest. “Did you just imply that you used to date your cousin?” 

A light laugh bubbles out of you. “Not intentionally, but I’m surprised you know Shakespeare.” 

He grins, smug. “A little knowledge never hurt anyone. Helps win the ladies over, too.” 

He’s joking, you know he is—but the way he says ladies—plural—hits you like punch to the gut. That’s what Jake is: a ladies’ man. It was stupid to think this could be anything more than a bit of fun. Some stress relief between two friends who spent all day teasing each other until they snapped. 

If anyone can do casual sex, it’s Jake Seresin. It doesn’t matter how many pretty words he said last night—you can’t let yourself believe he actually meant them. 

“Hey,” he says gently, catching the shift in your energy. “You okay?” 

You nod a little too quickly, offering a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. Your nose starts to sting, and you blink fast, trying to will the emotion away. Who the hell cries after the best sex of their life? 

You gather your clothes and retreat to the bathroom, needing a buffer between you and Jake’s curious, overly perceptive eyes. You dress quickly, trying not to think about how good his shirt felt against your skin. 

It isn’t long before Spencer buzzes the intercom again, and you’re almost grateful. Jake doesn’t get the chance to press you, to ask about the look on your face that feels like it could crumble into a sob at any second. 

You’ve really fucked up now—because you let yourself believe it might’ve meant something. 

The two men spend the morning in the spare room, exchanging nothing more than grunts and sidelong glances while packing Spencer’s things into boxes. You don’t bother checking on them—you're not sure you can look at Jake right now anyway. So, you remain firmly planted on the couch, stuck in a spiral of your own damning thoughts. 

Around midday, you consider offering them lunch, but then you remember the mischievous glint in Jake’s eyes when he said that “it helps win the ladies over,” and you quickly decide against it. Instead, you grab your keys, tuck your phone into your back pocket, and head toward the door. 

“I’m heading out for a bit. Won’t be long,” you call out, not waiting for a reply before stepping out. 

“Wait,” Jake’s voice calls after you as the door swings shut. But you pretend not to hear. 

You stride toward the elevator, pressing the button more forcefully than necessary, but it doesn’t arrive fast enough. By the time the doors finally slide open, Jake is already in the hallway, his brows furrowed in concern. 

“Hang on a second,” he says, stopping right beside you, raising a hand to hold your jaw gently. 

When you step back, his face falls, confusion and dread flickering across his features. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” you answer, stepping into the elevator. 

But he follows you in, jaw ticking with tension. “Darlin’, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking I broke you.” 

You shake your head. “I’m not broken.” 

“Then what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, hm?” His voice softens, but the underlying concern is still very present. 

You take a deep breath, averting your eyes to the floor of the elevator as you try to carefully assemble your thoughts. You don’t want to hurt him, but you also can’t ignore how wrong everything feels in your gut. 

“I just... I can’t do this, Jake,” you say, your voice almost cracking. 

He looks absolutely gutted, like you’ve just sucker-punched him. 

“I know it shouldn’t be a big deal. Plenty of people do it without any consequences,” you ramble on. “But I think there could be some huge consequences if we keep doing this. There’s just too much on the line. And while the sex was—God, it was mind-blowing—I just don’t think I can handle you doing it with other people while I’m over here trying to... figure out what this is.” 

The hurt on his face quickly morphs into utter confusion. “What the hell are you talking about, sweetheart?” 

“This,” you gesture between the two of you. “Last night. Us having sex and the whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing.” 

Now, he looks genuinely offended. His eyes widen, green irises flashing with disbelief. “You think that’s what this is?” 

Your heart races, the pulse in your throat thrumming. “Isn’t that what you want?” 

Jake lets out a short, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair. He glances briefly at the elevator doors before locking his gaze on you, intense and unyielding. 

“Is that what you think?” he asks, his tone a low warning. 

Suddenly, you feel very small—not in a sad way, but in a vulnerable, exposed way. He steps closer, stalking toward you with predatory intent, and you instinctively back up against the elevator wall. His presence fills the small space, and the hunger in his eyes is unmistakable. 

You swallow thickly and nod. Just a small movement, but it’s enough to make him pounce. He presses his body to yours, trapping you between him and the wall, the metal rail digging into your lower back as he cages you in. 

“I thought I made it pretty fucking clear last night, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice low and almost dangerous. “But if I didn’t, then let me say it now.” 

He pauses, eyes burning into yours as you breathe in each other’s air, hearts racing in sync. 

“I want you. Only you. All of you,” he growls. “I’ve been waiting years to do what I did last night. And now that I’ve had a taste?” He lets out a deep, throaty chuckle. “I’m never letting you go. You’re mine.” 

Your mind goes blank. Your mouth is dry, and your heart’s thundering in your chest as his words hit you like a freight train. 

“Say it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours as he pulls you closer. “Tell me you understand.” 

“I’m yours.” The words fall from your mouth before you can stop them, but they feel right. Like they were meant to be said. 

Jake smirks, a wicked, cocky grin that makes his eyes sparkle with unspoken mischief. “Good.” 

And just like that, his lips crash into yours—urgent, fiery, and full of need. The kiss is wild and untamed, teeth clashing, tongues battling for dominance. His hands drop to the curve of your ass, lifting you effortlessly, forcing your legs around his waist as he presses you harder against the elevator wall. 

Every inch of your skin hums, the heat between you two scorching. You can’t get enough of him, his touch, the rawness of this moment. You claw at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours, and before you can even think, you're already lost in him, all logic and restraint flying out the window. 

But then, right on cue, your personal cockblock arrives. The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Spencer stands there, completely flustered, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Neither of you had pressed a button when you entered, but the look on Jake’s face suggests that it might have been intentional. 

“Sorry, pal,” Jake grins, his lips bruised and swollen. “I just can’t get enough, you know what it’s like.” 

Spencer’s mouth moves, but no words come out. 

Jake casually takes the box from Spencer’s arms. “Let me help you with that. Go grab another one. Let’s get you out of here before you see more than you’re willing to, hm?” 

Spencer nods woodenly, still staring in complete shock. 

You can’t help the giggles that escape you as you slip past Spencer and out of the elevator, back toward your apartment. 

There’s nothing fake about you and Jake anymore—not that there ever really was. And now, you can confidently say that Jake’s ego is as well-proportioned as the monster between his legs. 

END.

[moondustbaby]

Only You Could

Bsf!Rafe x Bsf!Reader

a/n: this was requested by the lovely @mariechristine00 💖

Summary: When Rafe loses control during an argument at a party, no one—not even his closest friends—can get through to him. But the moment you step in, everything shifts. You’re the only one who can calm him down… and maybe the only one who’s ever really known him.

⸻

Rafe was already yelling by the time Kelce found you in the kitchen, his face pale, his hand gripping the counter like it could anchor him.

“Where is she?” he asked, breathless.

You blinked at him, half-laughing. “What? Who?”

“You. You—Jesus, Rafe’s losing it. He’s two seconds from swinging at this guy and I don’t know what the fuck started it, but we can’t get through to him. He keeps looking around like he’s—he’s looking for you.”

Your stomach dropped.

You didn’t ask anything else. Just dropped your Solo cup on the counter and shouldered past him, weaving through the crowd until the shouting got louder, sharper, more Rafe.

And there he was.

On the front lawn, shoulders tense, eyes wild. Some guy you didn’t know was running his mouth, but it barely mattered. Rafe looked seconds from snapping, every muscle in his body coiled and ready to strike. Topper and Kelce were there, trying to hold him back, but he wasn’t really hearing them.

“Rafe,” you called, threading through the crowd.

He didn’t move.

“Rafe,” you said again, louder, pushing in until you were practically in front of him.

Still nothing—just the ticking jaw and the way his fists clenched at his sides like he was barely holding it together.

So you did what you always did: you stepped closer. One hand flat against his chest, the other reaching for his wrist. “Hey. Look at me.”

That got his attention.

His eyes snapped to yours like a lifeline, his breathing sharp and uneven.

“You need to come with me,” you said quietly. “Right now.”

“I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can. He’s not worth it, Rafe.”

You felt the way his chest rose under your hand, how tense he still was, the storm still churning behind his eyes.

“Please,” you added softly, barely above a whisper. “Just come with me.”

He still didn’t move, but he blinked hard, like your voice was finally starting to break through the noise in his head.

You took his hand.

It was only when you started pulling—slow but firm—that he let you.

You led him away from the crowd, around the side of the house, somewhere quieter. The music dulled, the voices disappeared. You didn’t say anything until the only sound was the rustling of trees and the way Rafe was still breathing hard beside you.

He didn’t let go of your hand.

You turned to him, watching him carefully. “You good?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stared at you, lips parted like he wasn’t sure what to say.

“I hate when people talk like they know me,” he said finally, voice low. “Like they know what matters to me.”

Your fingers flexed in his. “What did he say?”

Rafe looked down. “That I’m not even a real person unless you’re around. That you’re the only one who can calm me down. Like I’m some broken project you’re stuck with.”

You were quiet for a second. “And that pissed you off?”

“No,” he said, almost too fast. “The way he said it did. Like it was pathetic. Like caring about you that much makes me weak.”

Your throat felt tight.

“And maybe it does,” he added, softer now. “Because I couldn’t think straight without you. I didn’t even care about the fight—I just needed to find you.”

You swallowed. “You found me.”

His hand was still in yours, thumb tracing your knuckles now like it was second nature.

You looked at him—shirt rumpled, jaw tight but softening, eyes locked on yours like you were the only thing grounding him—and you felt it again. That unspoken thing. The one neither of you ever dared to name.

“I always find you,” you said.

Rafe didn’t speak right away. He just kept holding your hand, like letting go wasn’t even an option.

And maybe that was the answer. The quiet, careful way he looked at you. The way his grip never wavered.

Neither of you said what you were thinking.

But for now, the silence was enough.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: requests are open send ‘em my way 💌

♥️ lani

Send Me Requests 💌

Masterlist

[lady-luckk]

Can I get more magical girl content? I love magical girls so much :3

lights, glitter, action!!!

# pairings: yandere batfam x magical girl reader

# synopsis: you randomly fall out of the sky and into the arms of the batfamily. now you get to experience wacky adventures with them.

# warnings: this will contain dark themes such as obsession and possessiveness. if you are uncomfortable, please block me. viewer discretion is advised. minors DNI.

# notes: reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated!

thinking of a drabble about a magical girl (aka you) who crash-lands—quite literally—into gotham, face-first into a rooftop during a red hood stakeout. your transformation sequence sparks brighter than the bat-signal, and jason todd immediately points a gun at you before you finish your glittery intro pose. “i am celestia radiant, guardian of purity and—” click “you’ve got three seconds to explain the sparkles.”

“do not shoot that sparkly person,” dick grayson says through comms, voice full of older brother exhaustion. “that’s not a sentence i thought i’d say today, but here we are.”

you insist your wand only “dispels negativity,” which doesn’t go over well when you try to boop jason with it and his helmet actually falls off. “what the—kid, that thing costs more than your tiara.”

tim drake attempts to scan you with his tech. the scanner explodes in pink glitter. he blinks. “great. now my system’s infected with lisa frank malware.”

“i can sense your inner turmoil,” you tell him, solemnly. “do you even sleep?”

“define sleep.”

“when your soul regenerates through restful peace.”

“yeah, no. i run on coffee, spite, and childhood trauma.”

damian challenges you immediately and calls you “a delusional pastel distraction.” you politely deck him with a glitter beam. alfred bandages him while muttering, “perhaps don’t insult people with projectile sparkles next time.”

you enter the batcave and gasps, “so much repressed emotion... this place reeks of unhealed trauma!” bruce walks out of the shadows and deadpans, “welcome to gotham.”

dick pokes your wand, curious. it responds by turning into a cat. neither of them say anything. they just nod like this is normal.

bruce finally sits you down and says, “are you a threat?”

“only to sadness, injustice, and tight schedules.”

“...”

you’re officially listed in the batcomputer as “magical girl (?) – harmless (???) – very pink (confirmed).”

after months of you showing up to “aid gotham’s bravest hearts,” the batfam starts developing a crushing, all-consuming soft spot for you—like an airborne glitter virus of affection.

jason is furious about it.

“they’re weird, they’re loud, and they smells like vanilla cupcakes!”

“you mean the vanilla cupcakes you keep stealing from them?”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT.”

dick develops a habit of dramatically appearing next to you with his shirt slightly torn. “oops, must’ve gotten grazed again. guess i need magical healing?”

“you’ve got twelve band-aids on and none of them are real wounds,” tim whispers.

“don’t ruin this for me.”

tim claims he’s above it all. “we don’t even know what dimension they’re from.”

“your made them a custom batphone,” jason says.

“for tactical reasons.”

“it’s shaped like a heart.”

“tactical. heartline security.”

damian insists he feels nothing. "you’re a distraction." but when you calls him “gallant” after he saves a kitten, he literally freezes. the kitten escapes. he doesn’t notice. he’s still staring.

bruce has, very clearly, stated:

“i don’t care about you personally.” completely straight-faced. like he’s reading a grocery list. everyone heard it. everyone quotes it.

and yet… every time you so much as glance at something remotely out of budget, he’s already pulled out his black card.

“i’m just funding mission efficiency,” he says.

“that’s a limited-edition 40th anniversary magical cow figure from meow meow doki.”

“you seemed interested. we might need it.”

you mention wanting snacks once during patrol. the next day, the cave fridge is stocked with every brand you’ve ever casually mentioned.

“it’s for team morale,” bruce says, not making eye contact.

“you bought six flavors of celestial-themed ice cream.”

“they were on sale.”

you say it’s cold in your room once.

bruce upgrades the entire manor’s heating system by the end of the day.

“old wiring,” he says. “dangerous.”

over time it becomes apparent that they’ve grown an unhealthy attachment towards you.

whenever dick spots you, he clings to you like he can't bear to be apart. he’ll throw his arm around your shoulders with a grin, holding you a little too tightly. “did you miss me?” he’ll ask, leaning in just a little too close as he whispers in your ear. you can feel the weight of his gaze even when he’s not looking directly at you

jason has a habit of “accidentally” touching you. when you're walking together, his fingers will brush against yours, lingering just a second longer than necessary. he’ll give you a low, almost inaudible chuckle when you flinch. “i know you don’t mind,” he’ll say with a wicked grin, his hand remaining a little too close to yours.

tim loves to stand behind you when you’re busy, too close for comfort. you’ll feel his breath on your neck, his fingers lightly brushing against your back as he "casually" adjusts your chair. “just making sure you're comfortable,” he’ll say with a tone that feels like more than just a comment. when you turn around, he’s already walking away, as if he never meant to invade your space at all.

damian doesn’t shy away from showing his possessiveness. if you're out in public, he’ll stand a little too close to you, his presence always hovering just behind you like a shadow. sometimes, when you’re sitting, he’ll casually rest his hand on your knee, as if to remind you that you’re his responsibility. “stay close,” he’ll say, his voice unyielding.

bruce doesn't need to say much; his actions speak louder. he’ll touch your arm with a hand that's just firm enough to be a reminder. if you're sitting near him, he’ll make sure his leg brushes against yours, the slightest physical connection making it clear he's always aware of your presence. “are you comfortable?” he’ll ask, his gaze unreadable as if keeping you within his reach is the only thing that matters.

something that i've wondered was what people did during those long ass magical girl transformation.

imagine this: the city was in chaos. explosions echoed in the distance. the batboys were in the middle of a high-stakes battle against a villain whose name they still hadn’t quite figured out, but who was throwing around enough toxins and lasers to give gotham a new reason to be paranoid.

dick was leaping from wall to wall, trying to outmaneuver the villain’s henchmen. jason was head-butting a wall, making sure no one tried to flank them. tim was hacking into a control panel, eyes flicking between screens like a caffeinated squirrel. damian was already fighting the villain head-on, his sword clashing against their armor.

then, a voice crackled over the comms, interrupting the chaos:

“hey guys, be ready—i’m just finishing my transformation!”

everyone freezes. like someone hit pause on the action.

dick paused mid-flip, hanging from a ceiling beam. “wait—did they just say ‘transformation?’”

jason’s fist was raised, but he didn’t punch, staring at the comms like he’d been told the laws of physics were invalid. “they’re really doing this now?”

tim blinked. “are they seriously transforming? right in the middle of all this?”

damian, standing with his sword poised and looking perfectly ready to end the villain’s reign, sighed audibly. “this is… highly inefficient.”

but he didn’t move a muscle. not even to attack. he was waiting.

bruce, who had been silently observing the chaos and directing the others via comms, sighed too—his voice just low enough to avoid detection. “if we’re waiting, then wait. no need to rush this. hold positions. let’s see how long this takes.”

there was no mistaking it. he was as much a part of this ridiculous ritual as everyone else.

the villain, who had been watching the absurdity unfold, narrowed their eyes. “what are they doing? are they—waiting? are they—really pausing for a transformation?” the villain scoffed, clearly annoyed by the delay.

they pointed a glowing gauntlet at the group. “you’re all pathetic!”

but the batboys? completely unmoved. they were all still. all waiting. they were locked in place, every one of them silently enduring this ridiculous delay.

jason, gritting his teeth, turned to face the villain for the first time in a few minutes. “we’d love to keep fighting, but... you know. waiting on them.”

tim, flipping through some data on his wrist computer, half-checked out. “i’ll just optimize our schedule for the next one, but... they better have a good reason for this.”

dick was already making a list of things he could do during the wait. "i mean, it’s a whole process. at least we get a breather."

the villain, becoming increasingly frustrated, clenched their fists and began pacing. “no. i will not wait any longer!”

they leveled their weapon toward the batboys, preparing for an attack—but they didn’t move. everyone stood frozen—the batboys too disciplined to break formation, and you?

still getting ready.

there was another long pause. the villain shot a glare at bruce, who was calmly scanning the room, not even bothering to acknowledge the interruption. “are you all seriously letting this happen?” the villain snapped, voice rising. “i can’t believe i’m waiting on—”

and then it happened.

the unmistakable sound of sparkles filled the air. a soft chime echoed through the comms.

“magical girl transformation, initiate!”

dick’s eyes practically sparkled. “here it comes…”

jason let out a low groan, leaning back against a pillar. “this better be good.”

tim was frantically refreshing his mental list of everything he’d need to do to process this information later.

damian folded his arms and glared at the villain. “this delay better be worth it.”

there was a soft flash, a trail of glitter, and—there you were. in your full magical girl outfit, sparkling like a dream—the colors bright, the fabric catching the light, and your transformation complete in all its glory.

there was an awkward silence.

jason blinked, covered in what was still residual glitter from the earlier mishap. “okay, that... took a little longer than i thought.”

tim let out a long sigh. “i swear, the next time we’re scheduling this—everyone gets a 30-second limit.”

“done!” you announced, twirling dramatically. “let’s do this!”

bruce stared at you with a level of composure that barely hid his tiny sigh of approval.

“...now, we can continue.”

dick, ever the dramatic one, clapped. “absolutely worth it.”

jason just groaned and rolled his eyes, but the tiniest hint of a smile twitched on his lips.

“yeah, yeah, but next time, let’s maybe—i don’t know—not do this during a fight?”

the villain, now fuming, was clearly done. “this is your strategy?” they snapped. “you’ve got to be kidding me!”

they swung their weapon, clearly intending to take you down—but the batboys weren’t having it anymore.

in perfect sync, they moved, attacking from all angles.

you, of course, were already ready, using your powers to effortlessly counter their attacks.

the fight lasted all of five minutes after that.

once the villain was down, the batboys stepped back, eyes on you. jason let out a snort. “well, that was... something.”

tim raised an eyebrow. “maybe next time we make a better schedule for these things?”

damian just crossed his arms. “you’d think after all these months, we’d learn not to wait for their transformation.”

dick, flashed a smile. “what can i say? it’s worth it.”

bruce, just muttered, “next time, no delays.”

you, oblivious to their frustration and somehow enjoying the chaos, smiled brightly. “i’m glad you guys handled it without me!”

the villain, now completely defeated and embarrassed, could only mumble as they were carted off. “i cannot believe i lost to these people.”

and the batboys? they’d just endured yet another ridiculous chapter in their lives with you. but they all secretly agreed on one thing.

no matter how much it annoyed them… they’d always wait for your magical girl transformation.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Gun Park x Reader: Awkward Flirtations

G/N. Gun can't flirt but you catch the signals anyway. Masterlists

Gun doesn't flirt. Or at least, he has never tried.

Curse him and his stupidly good looks, he has never had to. He's a straight talking, cut the bullshit kind of guy, which may lead to people giving him funny looks if he was anyone else but this is Gun Park. There is no lack of confidence, no lack of handsomeness, and everyone that he has fallen into bed with, he has done so with very little effort.

The other thing is he has never liked anyone before. Goo declares he himself is falling in love with someone every other week. Of course you're a fool if you believe a single word that comes out of that blonde's mouth but Gun suspects Goo has never liked anyone before either.

There's never been any sort of romance in Gun's life; he doesn't have the time or the inclination for it. He has his needs fulfilled and then prefers not to see them ever again. Days are better off spent training or chasing money.

And yet-

Your eyes meet his across the store. You give him a curious look as your lips lift into a smile.

Blood immediately rushes to his face and he feels his heart rate creeping up. He holds two fingers to his neck, measuring his pulse at the same time as his stomach flutters.

Could he be getting sick? Strange. He never gets sick.

.

.

Gun engages in stalkerish behaviour. That isn't news.

After all, you can't turn up at the perfect moment during fights, in the rain, without some preparation. Neither can you seek out potential successors without some planning. Legal or otherwise.

But all you have shown him is a sweet smile and like a man possessed, he has found himself in your neighbourhood for three days straight hoping to catch a glimpse of you again.

He reasoned that it's his instinct. Subconsciously he must have realised he could train you to be his prodigy-

And miraculously at that moment, you appear into view and trip over the sidewalk, catch yourself then trip once more on what looks like, Gun squints and confirms that it is indeed thin air, and slip backwards.

With anyone else, he would have dismissed his previous thoughts on seeing this, and left, disappointed and annoyed for wasting his own time. All coherent thought vanishes, however, as he rushes over to catch you from falling over.

You gasp as a strong arm snakes around you. Instead of hitting your head with a thud, you find a stranger peering down and holding you firmly.

"Oof, thanks." Gun is rewarded with a lopsided grin and he feels his ears burn.

He helps you upright and slowly unwraps his arm from around your waist with a little reluctance.

You brush yourself off, asking. "Have we met?"

Gun pauses, feeling full force the gut punch of that question to his ego. He is anything but forgettable.

"The other day in that store," he nods to the 711 a little way down the street.

"I thought I recognised you."

The ego is soothed.

Awkwardness creeps in as Gun thinks of something to prolong this moment, keep you around. Small talk that he usually hates though in this instance he would actually like to find out how you are doing, how your day is going, what your plans are. If you've eaten yet, are you hungry, what foods you like, did you want to grab something-

Amidst his own rambling thoughts - which is another first - you give him an easy out.

"I owe you one but I gotta go." You smile like you genuinely regret cutting this short and the odd fluttering in Gun's stomach starts again. "Can I have your number?"

.

.

"Stop that."

"What?"

Goo's face comes unbearably close and Gun considers headbutting him.

"Stop smiling. It's creepy." Goo backs away, likely having sensed Gun's violent musings, and pulls a face, muttering about how he didn't even know Gun could smile.

"Fuck you."

.

.

Someone somewhere has made up a nonsense rule about not appearing too eager by messaging too soon.

Luckily for Gun, he doesn't pay attention to such ridiculousness. He works his way through seven cigarettes as he thinks of what to text you.

In the end, he settles for-

Gun: Hey

Eagle-eyed, he watches over the next half hour as the message turns from unread to read and-

And nothing. No further reply. He frowns. He rereads his 'hey' and follows up with-

Gun: This is Gun Park.

Gun: How are you?

That instantly changes to read and your status moves to typing.

Y/N: Heeeey!

Y/N: This is a cute surprise

Y/N: Happy to hear from you and thanks again for saving me earlier

Y/N: what about you?

Gun: I'm fine thanks.

He watches to see any more messages come through. Again, it changes to read then nothing. He reads his three word response, which is perfectly adequate, but notes he has effectively closed the conversation.

With another frown settling on his face, he types out a further message.

Gun: Are you doing anything today?

Y/N: Nope super boring stuff. Running errands then nothing so lots of free time :) you?

Gun: No.

As Gun's repertoire of small talk dries up, he figures that this will do, it's a start.  It's not perfect though he's left satisfied enough. Just as he's about to click his screen off-

Y/N: Fancy grabbing a coffee? On me :)

Gun's fingers move in a blur:

Gun: Ok. Tomorrow.

Y/N: Deal. It's a date!

If Gun was anyone else, he would be kicking his feet and giggling. But he's not.

He simply closes his eyes and exhales as a smile tugs at his lips.

What he does notice, is that this is the same feeling as a good, hard, vicious training session; like pushing his body past its limit to get stronger and better.

A wave of dopamine and euphoria crashes down.

[tpwk-formula1]

Figure It Out - Landoscar***

SUB! Lando Norris X SWITCH! Oscar Piastri X SWITCH! Reader

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! I write for all drivers on the grid!

Summary: After Monza tension is at an all-time high in their shared apartment.

Authors Note: I've been writing for Kinktober and have been loving it so I decided to write a kinky little piece. The urge to post my Kinktober fics early is strong but I'm holding off. THIS IS NOT PROOF READ

TW - MxM action (Hand jobs and blow jobs), face sitting, slight masturbation, squirting, slight degrading

WC - 1500+

Y/N POV

"Just shut up, Lando," Oscar finally snaps at his complaining teammate turned boyfriend.

"Don't fucking talk to me like that," Lando replied back clearly still pissed off at the whole situation.

"Lando, on the track we are drivers. The whole point is to race each other that's exactly what I did," Oscar continues to defend his bold actions.

"I get that, and I don't even care about the fucking overtake but you could have done it during one of the straights not the first fucking chicane," Lando continues ranting allowing his voice to raise more as he continues talking.

"Both of you shut the fuck up," I finally snap making both of my lovers fall silent. It was rare for me to yell especially when it came to getting in between them when they were arguing about a race.

"Lando, I understand why it's frustrating, you're fighting for a championship while also defending against Charles and Oscar I understand being frustrated over your race result but both of you guys need to work together to make sure to secure constructors. To be completely unbiased here, Oscar the overtake was risky and luckily both of you guys are amazing drivers and were able to survive but Lando is right, it might have cost you guys too much time ruining the chances of a 1-2. However, Lando that does not excuse your actions either. Both of you guys love each other and you need to remember at the end of the day you got points and a double podium," I tell them softly to fend up to keep listening to them yell at each other.

"But babe," Lando started to complain before I sent him a quick glare making him shut up without finishing his statement.

"Both of you strip and go lay on our bed," I tell them both without even looking up at them going back to the book I was reading before they started arguing. When I don't hear movement I look up to find them both staring at confusion.

"Did I stutter?" I ask again a little more firm than before. Both of them shook their head before slowly making their wait to our room where I could hear them starting to strip down. Neither of them are talking but I know for a fact they're staring at each other. Mad or not they love each other and if anyone can turn them on it's each other.

With the layout of our apartment, I can hear every little sound they're making even if they're talking in hushed whispers.

"Lando, how long is she gonna leave us here?" I hear Oscar ask making me smile softly. I knew it was only a matter of time before their anger turned into sexual frustrations. Whether they will ever admit it or not after a bad race weekend especially one pitting them against each other the only way to fix it is to fuck it out of their systems. Sometimes it involved using my body and other times it was them using each other. Those were always the best ones to watch.

"Osc, please stop touching my thigh," I can hear Lando whimper which tells me right away who will be taking the lead tonight.

"Lando, we're sitting on the edge of the bed it isn't intentional, stop being petty," Oscar snaps back slightly, clearly just as frustrated as his boyfriend.

"I need, Y/N," Lando finally whispers out. Oscar doesn't say anything in reply which has me slightly confused until I can hear the tell-tale signs of Lando being touched in some way.

"Fuck," Lando gasps out before I suddenly hear them start to make out quite aggressively.

"Osc, please," Lando begs slightly making my pussy start to throb.

"You're gonna wait to cum until our pretty girlfriend decides to stop playing games with us," Oscar whispers to Lando making me smile. In that moment I made the decision to listen to Lando continue to whine and beg.

I stand up quietly before stripping down and sitting back on the couch with my legs spread wide open. I bring my fingers down to my pussy before I start teasing myself.

"What if she doesn't come in for a while," Lando asks Oscar making me smile cause we all know damn well I'd be in there as soon as I couldn't handle the teasing anymore.

"I bet you anything, she's sitting on that couch with her hand in her panties right now listening to you beg and whine like a little whore," Oscar tells Lando making both of us gasp at his harsh words.

In all honesty, it was rare for Oscar to be the dominant one between the two but it was always a favorite of mine cause he was just a different kind of cruel than when Lando is being the dominant one.

I can hear some movement before the sound of one of them spitting.

"Please Osc," Lando whines out again which tells me Oscar has to be the one on his knees teasing Lando. I can hear the sound of Oscar's wet hand moving up and down Lando's hard cock, which has him whing and gasping at the sensation.

I know how impatient Lando can get, so I decided to put him out of his misery by getting up and making my way to our room. When I get in there I can Lando's head thrown back while Oscar is taking him down his throat.

I make my way over to Lando where I grab his face before placing my still wet fingers into his mouth making him moan at the taste of my pussy.

"Look, she's come to save you. Maybe you'll finally be allowed to cum, but of course, you're gonna have to earn it first," Oscar teased Lando, making him whine around my fingers that were still in his mouth. When I pull them out I lean down and start making out with Lando. I can taste a hint of my juices which just makes me moan into his mouth.

"How are you already soaked," I hear Oscar ask clearly having seen just how turned on I was.

"You know I like when you take control Osc," I whisper once I pull away from the heated makeout session. It doesn't take me long to feel Oscar's fingers plunge right into my dripping pussy making me let out a gasp before moaning loudly against Lando's lip.

It's not long before Lando becomes a whimpering mess which tells me that not only is Oscar fingering me he's also giving Lando a handy.

"Fuck," I whine dragging out the word clearly overwhelmed with everything around me.

It's not even two minutes later that Lando is begging Oscar again.

"Please, Oscar. I'll be good. Please," Lando is begging as much as possible while also trying to keep kissing me.

"Our pretty little slut gets to cum first," Oscar tells Lando making me whine. This has Lando reaching down just enough to start playing with my clit trying to bring me over the edge faster.

"Oscar, please," I moan out once I feel my orgasm getting close to the edge.

"Cum for us," Oscar tells me making me instantly squirt all over both of the boys. Once my orgasm has concluded I hear Oscar tell Lando to cum which has Lando instantly tensing before releasing a high pitched whine before cumming all over Oscar's hand.

"Here," Oscar says while presenting me his cum covered hand which has me instantly licking all of Lando's cum off of it. Once it is clean enough for Oscar he climbs into bed pulling me with him to sit on his face.

"Get to work," Oscar tells Lando which has him shuffling around to get on his knees and start talking Oscar into his mouth.

Once Lando has settled into a good pace Oscar starts eating me out like it's his last meal on Earth. With one hand gripped on the headboard for stability before I tangle my fingers into Oscar's freshly cut hair. I know I'm pulling at it just right when I hear Oscar gasp at the slight pain I'm causing to his scalp.

"Fuck," Oscar moans out shortly after I hear Lando gag slightly on Oscar's cock. I can tell just from the sounds Lando's making he has all of Oscar's cock down his throat right now.

"Close," Oscar gasps out before instantly going back to focusing on my clit which also brings me closer to my second orgasm.

I hear Oscar groan out against my pussy signifying that he's cumming which has me tumbling over the edge with him.

Still slightly shaking I feel Lando lightly lift me off of Oscar before bringing me into his chest for a cuddle. Something that was always a part of our aftercare routine.

"How'd you know that would work," Oscar asks chuckling a little before placing a soft kiss on my lips preventing me from answering right away.

"We've been together for over a year. I know how you guys get," I reply back making both of the boys laugh a little.

Once everything has calmed down around us we all get up before getting into the shower together which inevitably resulted in a round 2.

[taevescence]

yoongi fucking his girlfriend raw for the first time and her telling him to cum inside because she wants his babies

First time

a/n: as the request did not have many specifications I went straight to the point, hope you don't mind 😣. warnings: Breeding kink, a little bit soft, in fact there are not many warnings, it is quite soft. wc: 1.1k taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @zent9 @superbbananananana

"Shit" you moaned, squirming on your sheets as you felt Yoongi's fingers touch the exact spot that made the knot in your belly get tighter and tighter, although, come to think of it, it could also be due to Yoongi's tongue teasing your clit.

"I haven't done this in a long time" he whispered, straightening up as he pulled his fingers from inside you and licked them. During all that time he didn't take his eyes off you and your body. "Do you think you're lubed up enough to get my cock in?".

"Yes" you sighed, resting a hand on your chest in an attempt to calm your heartbeat. It wasn't very helpful, but at least you tried. You turned your head toward your nightstand, reaching your shaking arm toward the drawer to pull out a condom. You frowned as you felt Yoongi's hand stop you quickly, "What's wrong?" you turned to look at him, returning your arm to its place.

"It's just..." he scratched the back of his neck, grimacing with his mouth. His cheeks were barely tinged with a pastel pink color you'd seen once or twice when he felt too embarrassed, "could we, you know, do it without a condom? Only if you want to" he hastened to clarify, avoiding looking you in the eye.

"It's okay" you cupped his cheeks, caressing them gently, "we've been together for years, and I doubt that with one time anything will happen" you smiled at him as reassuringly as you could, hoping you could convey that feeling to him.

"God, I love you so much," he settled between your legs, moving down until he was face to face with you, "I don't think you can imagine how much I do," he kissed your jaw, leaving a trail of kisses running all the way from where he started to your bra.

"Then show me how much you love me" you whispered in his ear, hugging his neck and pulling him even closer to you. You shivered slightly as you felt his breath collide against your chest.

"Oh believe me, I will" he laughed softly, gently pushing the tip of his cock inside you. You both moaned before the skin to skin contact. It was your first time doing this, and although it felt strange, it was a sensation you definitely wouldn't regret feeling. "How is it possible that after all these years you're still so tight?" he growled over your collarbones, leaving a mark right in the center.

"Don't ask, just enjoy it" You tried to laugh, but were quickly interrupted by a lunge from Yoongi.

If there was one thing that characterized Yoongi in sex, it was that he would never start soft and gentle. He liked to go straight to his climax point, feel as much as possible in the shortest time and repeat it over and over again until he was satisfied. That was your Yoongi.

"Feels good" he murmured against your skin, pounding your pussy hard. A shit-eating grin appeared on his face as he heard you moan loudly the moment the tip of his cock hit your G-spot. He loved how you reacted every time he found that sensitive spot.

"Fuck" you brought your hands to his hair, pulling on it to keep yourself grounded. You let your head fall back, giving Yoongi the opportunity to lick, bite and mark your neck as he pleased. 

Yoongi moaned as he felt your walls clench around him tightly, clinging to your hips as if his life depended on it. It would probably leave marks, but he didn't care right now, neither you nor him.

"I love the feel of you squeezing my cock," he said as he closed his eyes and concentrated on increasing the speed of your onslaught. His hand gently caressed the marks he had left on your neck, causing a soft sigh to escape your lips.

"More" you moaned, moving your hands down from his hair to his shoulders, burying your deep red nails into his skin. 

"More?" he teased back, taking one of your legs and pulling it up his shoulder. You moaned loudly as you felt his cock go even deeper than it was before. "Shit, Y/N, you're so sensitive" he laughed, moving his hand down to your womanhood to take your clit between his fingers and play with it as he pleased.

You hunched your back to him, closing your eyes tightly. The knot in your stomach was becoming more and more unbearable and you weren't sure how much longer you could continue. "Yoonie" you whimpered between moans, looking up at him with misty eyes and dilated pupils.

"It's okay, it's okay, I've got you" he bent down a little, just enough to kiss your cheek, "do it as soon as you're ready."

You nodded awkwardly, starting to move your hips against his so you could get your long desired release. The moment you came your whole body trembled from the spasms, and you almost melted as you felt Yoongi embrace you as carefully as possible with the intention of regulating your body's movement. 

"That's it, fuck, you're squeezing me so good" Yoongi closed his eyes, concentrating on how good your tight, wet pussy felt. He was so immersed in the sensation that he almost forgot he wasn't wearing a condom. "Shit" he whispered, trying to get out of your pussy as quickly as possible. He moaned in surprise as he felt you imprison his hips with your legs. You still looked a little tired from your recent orgasm, but apparently you were determined not to let it out. "Honey, I'm going to come soon, I need-".

"Cum inside" you whispered, moving your hips against his, "I want you to come inside, I want to have your baby."

And that broke Yoongi for a few seconds. Only for a few seconds, because almost instantly he reacted and brought his mouth to yours in search of a desperate kiss. You gasped as you felt Yoongi's thrusts get deeper and stronger, and only moments later, you felt his cum spill inside you as you swallowed your boyfriend's moans with the kiss.

You both fell silent after finishing. You kept your eyes closed and your hand in his hair, he, for his part, had his head resting on your chest, caressing your waist with his fingertips. "Y/N?"

"Yes?" you whispered, giving a yawn. Fucking Yoongi always wore you out, even though he was the one doing most of it.

"We're going to need a lot more cum if you want a baby, you know that?" he chuckled above your ear, moving his hand down to your center, caressing your sensitive area.

You whimpered as you felt his intentions bump against your inner thigh, "We just finished."

"The night is still long" he nodded, kissing you passionately as he straightened back up on top of you.

He definitely wasn't going to let you sleep tonight.

Materlist.

[fluffylino]

Strawberry Cow ! Chan 🌸🍓🌸

he's not just any kind of hybrid...he's the first ever 'male' cow you've ever met. chan's a sweetheart, even more so when he's milked...

(i was suppozed to write this a year ago and finally here it is, enjoy lovelies <333)

reblogging > liking

part two

-contains mildly suggestive themes

Hybrids were pretty much accepted into this world of ours. they were treated like humans, with respect (most of the time) and accepted into society quite easily.

And somehow you found yourself accidently conversing with one particular male hybrid.

he was handsome.

so incredibly beautiful, it made you question if he was even real.

two horns on either side of his head and a pair of fluffy white ears twitched beneath them. it wasn't a white that hits the eye, it was a white that looked like freshly whipped cream. with soft fur that was slightly longer than usual.

you weren't quite sure what species he was. it was difficult to make out and honestly nervewracking to ask a hybrid that kind of question.

it was almost the same as asking a human if they were a person of colour, as if they were of ethnic descent.

he could be a gazelle? maybe a buck?

but his horns weren't so sleek and thin. they were neither black in colour.

instead his thicker horns were a complete contrast to his dark hair.

a bull, maybe? or did he dye his hair?

you were about to lose your mind.

"I'm actually a cow hybrid..." he let out so quietly, with a nervous smile. Damn, he was too beautiful for his own good.

"I've never seen a cow hybrid" you mutter without much thought.

instantly regretting your statement upon seeing his awkward stance.

"no no i meant i've never seen a cow hybrid as handsome as you" waving your hands dramatically to clear the tense air.

"as...handsome as..me?" he mumbles and you were sure your heart stopped beating.

"oh god it was wrong of me to assume what you are and how you'd prefer to be addressed-"

your voice dying down as you hear him laugh.

its such a soft laugh, it goes straight to your heart. neither mocking nor a loud one. soothing to the ears.

"i'm sorry if i'm so shaky...its been a long time since anyone has ever..complimented me..."

you sighed in relief, letting a smile creep up on your face. his cheeks dusted with a light shade of pink and you knew you looked as shy as him.

The small coffee joint was beginning to crowd and it seemed that neither of y'all liked crowded spaces.

the cow hybrid slowly stood up, straightening his posture and your eyes widened.

he was well built, a good height compared to yours and his muscles were defined enough to leave an imprint on the shirt he was wearing. loosely buttoned up and hanging low on his collar. Black really was his colour...

you mentioned his build, complimenting him to the point his ears were redder than ever. shy little giggles escaping his plush lips. gosh...

his lips made you want to kiss him senseless.

"could we..uhm...be friends or uh more...i mean-" he mumbles, stuttering so sweetly.

"of course, darling. but you never quite told me your name?" you coo.

"I'm chan or...you can..call me chris"

he smiled continously as you told him your name and how you come by here often.

his ear twitching excitedly when the two of y'all share phone numbers. promising to keep in touch in the days to come.

.

🌸

.

Chan was a lot different from your first meeting. considering the fact that nearly a month or more than a month had passed.

you happened to find out how much a hybrid like him had to go through. to you, he was an ordinary cow hybrid. but chan explained how the term 'ordinary' never existed in his vocabulary.

of course you knew he was a male but what did not strike you was the fact that he shouldve been called a bull.

Instead he was classified under cow, making him a proper cow hybrid.

Taking into consideration that he was also a male, made it difficult for him to lead his life as usual. bodily changes and phenomenon occurring during certain periods made the poor hybrid's life tougher.

Cases like him were rare, not exactly non existent.

.

.

His room was unimaginably aesthetic. changing colours that faded to pink and purple, sometimes gold.

one thing you realised was his love for the colour black. laughing when he opens his cupboard. it was a black hole in there with numerous clothes lined up.

making yourself comfortable on his bed, you noticed how on-edge he was. his behaviour much different, extra shy as he sheepishly sat beside you. your backs resting against the wooden headboard.

"why'd you call me here, channie?" you asked, smiling at the way his thin sleek tail swished around.

his eyes gaze at you with such pureness, you blurt out another statement.

"I mean, i'd spend my entire day or even week with you if you wanted! but i just got a bit worried because you called me here oit of the blue, baby"

reassuring him while patting his knee lovingly.

"I..I wanted to come c-clear about myself"

you nodded, urging him to go on. he pauses, looking at you for a few seconds. theres this nervousness in his energy and you scooch closer to him.

"I lactate...almost every four days, sometimes every two days depending on tge weather..." gazing at you sweetly.

"yes, im aware channie"

"you know about-" his eyes widen, surprise in his tone.

"of course I do, did you really think I wouldn't find ways to help you after you told me how hard your day to day life is"

you joked lightly.

"if i don't...milk myself every now and then, I feel full. like heavy.."

you squeeze his hand fondly, interlocking your fingers.

"do you do it manually? or do you use some kind of device?"

from his expression and body language, you could see him grow comfortable.

"manually...pumps are quite the price"

you gasp, wondering if you pried a little too deep. chan takes it as you being weirded out but you stop him before he starts overthinking.

"no no no sweerheart, i was just surprised that you did it manually for so many years"

"i've tried a pump once or twice...but i don't like the feeling...it made me feel like an object..." he pauses, cheeks turning pink as ever before he continues.

"whenever i...uhm my chest swells and gets really sensitive..."

well that was new info to you.

"like mine?" you let out, laughing as his ears twitch and he blinks furiously.

"w-what do you mean-"

"I meant like does your chest get to like my size? i'm pretty average but does yours get bigger?"

the strawberry cow hybrid blushed.

"it depends! on m-my mood and..uhm everything"

.

🍬

.

"Chris?! what's wrong?"

worry filling your mind. the hybrid looked distressed and out of his senses. sweating profusely.

"its n-nothing, I don't feel so good" he tried to reassure although it wasn't quite reassuring to you.

his fluffy ears were lopsided and his tail swished around desperately

you cupped his face gently. his reaction waw everything. nuzzling into your palm. it was obvious. it was happening.

"channie. baby look at me"

you urged, making him focus on you. and only you.

"do you want me to help you?"

"help...help with milking me? p-please?" his tone gentle and he uttered a small plea.

"just place your hand h-here and massage slowly"

his bigger hand held onto yours as he pressed your palm flat on his chest. he was right. his chest was swell and warmer than ever.

"do you mind, baby.."

obediently he held his shirt between his teeth. gnawing on the material. you let your hand run over his toned abdomen. feeling up his tense muscles.

"y-you're so fit, channie" he grunted softly.

his milk running down your fingers slowly. with every massage, more seeped out of his pretty nubs.

unconciously you stuck your tongue out, licking up the droplets that rolled down the expanse of his chest.

"ah don't let it g-go to waste p-please please"

begging you to drink more. his hands squeezing yours. whining so sweetly as you sucked his pumped up chest. his breathing quick and shaky.

god, you wanted to corrupt him...

.

.

.

.

.

.

fuck...part 2?

should i?!

this concept to me, is so hot!!!!!

i wrote a part two-

[bahablastplz]

Come Play: Chan x Reader

You and Chan are playing a dangerous game of who will break first... and it's not going to be you. CW: Teasing, spanking, choking, hair-pulling, dom! Chan, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation (use of words like whore and slut), safe words mentioned WC: 2200

You aren’t sure how you got yourself into this mess in the first place. You and your boyfriend were playing a dangerous game, one that neither of you were willing to admit. 

You had only been dating for a few months, sure, but you found yourself overrun with desire just about every time you saw Chan. He, apparently, felt the same way, always pressing searing kisses to your lips and neck. It never went further than that–he wanted to go slow with you, take the time to explore your relationship and all that. 

Gazes became more intense and touches started to linger… then he started smacking your ass. Playfully, of course, whenever you walked by. He giggled at the way your cheeks would flush and the way you wouldn’t look at him. Whenever you decided to return the favor, however, he was faster. He would always catch your hand before you landed a smack onto his perfect ass, much to your dismay. 

You found the perfect opportunity during movie night. He was walking toward you on the couch, his arms full of blankets and various snacks, no way to defend himself… He must have seen the mischievous glint in your eye. “Don’t,” he warned you, but you were already winding up to send a loud, playful smack right to his behind. You erupted into a fit of giggles until you saw the look in his eyes, straight-up predatory. Your blood ran cold and before you knew it you were up and running toward your room, unable to stop your laughter. Chan dropped everything in his hands and ran after you, grabbing you by the waist and slinging you over his shoulder. Perfect, you thought, as you now had direct access to his ass that you playfully smacked a hundred times as he hauled you into your bedroom. What you weren’t expecting was for him to throw you on the bed and drag you over his lap. 

“Chan, what–” 

“You think you’re so funny,” he mocked. You squirmed in his lap, unsure of his intentions but he was quick to splay one large palm on your back, effectively keeping you in place. He grabbed the bottoms of your shorts, hiking them up until your bare ass was on display for him. 

“Wait, Chan, I didn’t mean to–” 

THWACK. 

He landed one very harsh hit straight to the flesh of your cheek causing you to cry out. Well… okay. Maybe you moaned. Loudly. 

He kneads the flesh, soothing it with deft fingers. You don’t have to look at him to see that he’s smirking. You’re just as surprised when he lands a twin smack to the same impacted area. The third one comes just as quickly and before you know it, he’s adjusting your shorts for you and pulling you to your feet. 

“Movie time?” he asked nonchalantly as if that did not just happen. You nod weakly, face scorching hot. If this was a game he was definitely winning. 

*** 

Day 1 of trying to rile up Chan and win… whatever this was. You are much more obvious with your touches, trailing a finger down his muscled chest and blinking at him innocently. The real kicker, however, is when you kneel right in front of him and pull back your hair. He leans back on the couch and spreads his legs, a dangerous look in his eyes before you abruptly stand up. 

“Found it!” you exclaim, holding your phone up for him to see. His jaw clenches, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek as he smiles tightly. You felt smug and you weren’t afraid to show it, smiling back at him proudly. 

He makes it up to you later when he walks up behind you in the kitchen where you’re cooking dinner. He wraps his arms around your waist and presses up behind you impossibly close where you can feel his bulge pressing into you. You gasp, stilling as he pushes his hips against you; the friction is delicious and you can’t help the breathy sound that escapes your lips, wound up from the past few days. He reaches above you then, grabbing a pan from the cabinet before pulling apart and giving you a saccharine-sweet grin. “Found it,” he mocks. You roll your eyes at him and huff. You are not going to break first.

Over dinner, you moan unabashedly into your food. You’re obnoxious about it, closing your eyes and tilting your head back as you savor the food. Chan is stiff the whole meal, and it probably seals the deal when you reach over and grab his hand, pulling his fingers into your mouth as you suck the sauce from his fingertips. You make sure to let out a little groan around them, even going as far as to swirl your tongue around them and give him an intensely seductive look. 

He laughs nervously, his ears turning crimson. You had the upper hand. 

Next movie night, he pulls you close to his body, cradling you in his arms. His hands stroke up and down your arms, soothing you as you relax into him. You should’ve known it was a facade, however, when he reaches down to pull up your blanket and his thumb brushes over your nipple. He circles over it once, twice, before he finishes pulling the blanket up. “Oops,” he says. If you were relaxed before, you definitely aren’t now. 

The next day you find the most scandalous outfit you can pull from your closet. A thin tank top, no bra, and the shortest little skirt you own with a very pretty yet suggestive pair of panties. The second Chan sees you he tenses and you can already tell the outfit has the desired effect, but you decide to push it even further, dropping your wallet right in front of him and bending down to pick it up. You’re slow, deliberate, and you can feel his gaze on you. You give him a perfect view of your panties and you even wiggle your ass, taunting him. Then just as fast you pick up the dropped item as if nothing had happened. 

His hand stays on your thigh all night. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep up this act, every little touch making all of your nerves stand on end. He squeezes your thigh, rubbing circles against the flesh as his fingers trail up, up, up… He toys with the bottom of your panties, his fingers playing sensually with the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You barely breathe. 

God this game is progressing at an alarming rate… But you have an ace up your sleeve. 

Time for another movie night that is sure to go mostly unwatched, the tension palpable between you two. 

“Can we cuddle?” you ask. It’s innocent enough. He sees no wrong with your suggestion despite the way his brows furrow and he tries to read between the lines. And so he pulls you close to his chest and wraps an arm around your torso. You can feel the heat of his breath on your neck as he presses play on the film… you didn’t even catch the name of it. 

Because it takes all of five minutes for you to wiggle your ass against his front, intentional about the way you brush against the bulge in his pants. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice low. Your heart rate increases tenfold and you can’t help the giddy smile on your face. 

“Getting comfy,” you explain. You squirm even more and you feel his hand grasp even harder against your torso, trying to hold you in place. You can feel his length harden behind you and you grind against it, grind, grind, grind… 

“Fuck this,” he says abruptly, throwing the blanket off of you. He grabs your hair and drags you to the end of the couch, bending you over it. “Here I was, trying to be a gentleman… wanted to be nice and gentle for our first time… but you had to be a brat, play these mind games with me, yeah?” He grabs your shorts and panties and pulls them down your legs in one swift blow, leaving you exposed to him. 

“You started it,” you remind him. “Had to… bend me over and spank me like it was nothing.” 

“Was trying to show you what happens when you misbehave… Obviously you missed that memo.” He slides his fingers through your folds, not surprised to see you’re soaking wet. He reaches his hand around your front and pushes his fingers past your lips, making you taste yourself. He’s a little harsh, pushing his fingers back a little further than necessary. 

“You liked it,” you accuse. “You tried to one-up me every time.” He lands a harsh slap to your ass and you moan, burying your head into the couch. He grabs your neck, pulling you up until your back is pressed up against his chest. 

“I’ll make you regret it,” he whispers into your ear. “I’m not going to go easy on you, and when I pound into your tight little pussy you’ll wish we never played this game. Safeword is… uh, pineapple, yeah?” 

You nod at him and he lets go of your throat, allowing you to fall forward once again. You hear the sound of him unbuckling his belt and the notable thunk of fabric hitting the floor. He pushes forward until his length is sliding against your core, his thick tip teasing your clit with each thrust. It feels incredible… the days and weeks of tension more than worth it for this outcome. 

His tip catches at your entrance and he begins to push in, slamming his hips into yours. He bottoms out immediately, easy thanks to your dripping arousal, and god you swear you can feel him in your guts. 

“Big,” you mumble. 

“You can take it,” he snaps. “Don’t try to back out now when you’ve been teasing me like a little slut all week.” You moan at that, clenching around him at his words. One large hand spreads across your lower back, pushing you further into the couch. He pulls out slowly and you can feel inch by agonizing inch of his length as he drags his cock along your walls before he slams back into you just as hard, causing you to cry out. 

Before you know it his hands are on your hips, bruising tight as he uses you for leverage to snap his cock relentlessly into your hips. The pace he sets is absolutely brutal and mind-numbing, and you can’t help the spew of cries and nonsense that falls past your lips. You beg him, though you’re not sure for what. Reprieve? No, you certainly didn’t want that. 

He uses your body for his pleasure. You’re not even sure your feet are touching the floor with the speed and strength that he pounds into you with. You’re blabbering and you’ve never felt so good, his length reaching parts of you that have never been touched before. Your clit rubs deliciously on the arm of the couch and the sensations are almost overstimulating but a new level of pleasure you didn’t know existed. 

You arch your back and try to turn your head to look at him but his eyes grow so dark your breath catches in your throat. You aren’t expecting for him to lift one leg up, pinning your head down to the couch with a socked foot as he resumes the brutal pace. 

SMACK. 

One hit to your ass has you clenching around him as you let out a noise that is straight-up pornagraphic. “That’s for licking my fingers and moaning like a whore.” 

SMACK.

“That’s for that slutty little outfit you wore.” His pace quickens, and how is that even possible? He’s already breaking records for how fast his hips are pistoning into yours. 

SMACK. 

This one is the hardest yet and he follows it by grabbing the sensitive flesh hard. “And this, this is for that little display on the couch. Grinding your hips into me like you’re so desperate for my cock.” 

Your orgasm hits you like a freight-train. You all but scream as you come undone around him, spasming and pulsing around his cock and yelling his name like it's a mantra. He fucks you right through it past the point of sensitivity and he’s quiet now, thrusting into you only a handful of times before he slows, pushing himself as deep into you as he can go and grinding into your sopping core as he releases. You feel every pulse and twitch of his cock before you’re flooded with his hot cum and god it feels like he’s spilling buckets inside of you, his orgasm seeming to last a full minute. 

When he pulls out of you you both release a content sigh before he picks you up and carries you to the shower. 

“Was I too rough?” he asks, suddenly shy as his ears go red. It’s cute, the way he can spew utter filth into your ears and fuck you like it’s your last day alive before turning into a blushing, sheepish mess. 

“No,” you reassure him. “In all honesty that’s the exact outcome I wanted.” He laughs at that, turning on the stream of water as he helps you to your feet, washing your body for you. 

“I promise next time… geez, that’s really not how I expected our first time to go, you minx!” he interrupts himself with a fit of giggles. “Next time I’ll really do it right.” He kisses your neck and you hum into him. 

“Does this mean I won the game?” 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

a/n: yes i still plan on releasing that omegaverse fic but it's a long one and this inspiration hit me like a truck <3

masterlist

[axetivev]

— Summary: The heir for the Evergardens, an absolute nightmare since your childhood was filled by nothing but your parents' "love". But now they're gone, the citizens hoped at least, you're better than them and they asked you to capture a thief that had been a problem for years. But oh, how funny that fate made you fall in love with him.

— Warnings/Tags: Reader's last name is "Evergarden", Mentions of child abuse, Non-con Drugging, Use of Aphrodisiac, Masturbating, Mutual Masturbating, Age gap (Hector is 4 years older).

— Words: 3.2k

— A/N: tbh, the making of Hector is inspired by Cipher from HSR, yeah... since I revealed Ji-Yeong, I'll delay the opening request, since you guys interested in him... i hope you don't mind. i don't really have much to say, therefore; i hope you enjoyed this fic !!

— Pairing: Oc!Hector x Male!Reader

Being a king inside of a magical world, filled by fantasy where teenagers fantasize about being a mage, having royal blood, and romance. But this isn’t a novel book. This is what you had to face in full highest quality.

People fantasize having royal blood, but you’d do anything to not avoid it in your second life. Yes—you’re rich but in the other hand, your life meant nothing other then control. Magic was also a thing, obviously. Even if you can technically used magic, but you simply refused. Why use something weak when blades are useable? That alone made conflict in the palace.

Being the future heir for the kingdom was supposed to learn magic and not disappoint their family, that was what your parents would feed you every single day during dinner. But that never you put to ear, blades kept you entertained besides those lectures about how to be a good future ruler for the Kingdom had to learn magic. Still, it never interested you to learn such thing.

Rebellious to the palace’s eyes, but seen as interesting and a possible good ruler to the people in your kingdom. You where known to often run away from the palace during your supposed “training” to play with the kids of the citizens, punishment was what they would use on you, hitting, getting slapped and many more. But does it work? Never!

You remember being sat down as your father angrily lecture you about every action you made—it’s unacceptable especially for the crown prince. It’s boring… so you often gazed at the window inside of the study, your eyes always met with lighting—a zoom so fast it often caught you off guard. The screams of people saying one thing as they chase that lighting; “THEIF!”.

Your father paused mid lecture when you were completely distracted by the lighting. “Evergarden [Name].” Your father called coldly but you didn’t look at him. “Did you even listen to your father!? Are you seriously expecting the kingdom to have a ruler like you? A failure! Absolutely failure!”

“Better off you shut that mouth of yours before you died from old age, old man,” you spoke back, it’s normal for you to do so. You glanced at your father who’s face was red, boiled by anger. “I’m leaving.”

You didn’t even look back as you slammed the study room’s doors. The palace was gloomy as it usually be, you sighed. But that lighting kept replayed on your head, it was fast… and fascinating. You replayed it to keep that imagine on your head; the gold and orange lighting coming from that figure and with a blink, they were gone.

Thieves are bad people… but that scene was cool for your young naïve brain. You don’t know who they might be, but how bad can they be, right? You skipped around the corridors, as the moon shined bright. Even so, you failed to notice that a shadow of a boy creeping to the dark night looking at your figure.

“What a naïve cute little heir…”

Even after years of so called “punishments” that’s just straight up abuse, both of your parents—the king and queen was found assassinated. Honestly? You don’t know what to reach, neither to be happy, sad, or even don’t care at this point. Yes, they both wanted nothing but you to be a good king when they passed, but the things they do to achieve such goal is inhuman.

Everyone thought you’d cry the day they announced their deaths. Truthfully, you don’t feel anything. However, for the sake of reputation. You pulled out your fake tears just to satisfied the kingdom.

The morning of the kingdom was gloomy, sad and empty. That’s what people say, most of your family members mourn your parents’ death, the two coffin was placed closely to each other. You kept shifting on your sit uncomfortably, their faces was mourning. Mourning. Mourning to those two people who had left those marks that’s hard to go, you kept adjusting your black cloth hoping someone wouldn’t noticed quickly that you felt uncomfortable or whatever this is suffocates you.

When the ceremony was over, nobles gave you their sorries for your lost, now. With you sitting on the age of 23 and being the only child, of course you were seen as the next ruler. What else? Their voices haunts you even after you hold a stoic expression during the ceremony; “Don’t disappoint your mother, [Name]. What king cries when they can’t do something!?” “Tsk, what? Crying when I hit your arm? I’ve experience worst! I’m kind enough to go easy on you.” “Failure! You had potential. [Name]. Why did you throw it away just to play with blades!?”

“Hey,” a voice right beside you made you snapped to reality, you turned your head to find a man wearing a hood. “Something in your mind?”

You titled your head, someone asking you about what’s going on in your mind? “You can say… so.”

“Hah, being a heir for this kingdom? This? You serious wanted that?” He laughed, the people around you also doesn’t seemed to care, but his words stuck with you; do you even want to be a king? “Y’know, behind close doors… sooo many nobles are corrupt, and yet. They rather see a man who just wants coins to be executed.”

You just look at this man, absolutely dumbfounded under your stoic expression. He shook his head amusingly as he tossed a coin with his thumb, your eyes followed the gold until it lands on his second hand. He tapped your hand, fisted and on your lap. As if he asked you to open it, you did. And find that same coin on your hand.

“That’s called magic, handsome.” You almost wanted to laugh—but you pressed your lips as you look at the coin. The man stood up as he about to walk away.

“…May I ask your name?” You asked when he then turned at you, a grin spread on his face.

“Hector.”

Inside of your room, your mind lingers to that name. You don’t know what’s up with him, nor even you know how he looked like. But he entertained you, even enough to make you wanted to laugh. It felt nice to feel that after you had to bottle it to a stoic face. Just imagine where you and Hector being actual friends and not just for the kingdom… oh, imagine you two can be more then friends! Just imagine—

—You should stop daydreaming… it wouldn’t happened. That reality slapping you. Life sucks, being a noble sucks, just in a few days you’ll be a ruler for this kingdom. Filled by corrupt minds, who wanted nothing but money… who wanted nothing but power. But thanks to your own parents who’s corrupt, they ran away without consequences. You rubbed your temples, you’ve know this but you can’t do much about it back then, but now… you could. Well, the later you could.

[Hector’s P.O.V…]

“Hey, thief, what’s with you and that heir?” Hector’s friend, Albert sipped the glass of beer in hand. His face was slightly red from being somewhat drunk. “He might look capable, but he’s weak. Can’t learn magic… he—hiccup—he’s pathetic under that stupid face…”

Hector chuckled as he put his leg on top his knee, twirling his own beer. “That’s a bonus! Don’t you think?” He leaned his glass forward, admiring the golden color fizz. “Oh poor Evergarden [Name]… he really faced those shits alone, his parents are dead now. But, does he able to be a better king that stupid old man?”

Albert puts down his glass, Hector rolled his eyes when his friend continued to hiccup. He pulled his glass and practically drank everything in a single go, he pulled his glass up, the reflection of Albert came. But that wasn’t what he was looking for, Hector grumbled as he put his glass down. Maybe looking for the Evergarden heir would be a good idea, he thought as he stood up from his chair.

“The bill is on you.” Hector laughed to himself, he turned to Albert who’s drunken dumb before he speed up—trail of gold and orange soon gone when Hector wasn’t around.

What a poor end to get kicked out by the bar for not paying and getting drunk, and Hector ran away like he didn’t do anything… poor Albert.

“What’s with that face, your highness?” Your eyes flickered to the voice that came from entrance of the study, the same study your eyes met that gold lighting. A servant of yours, Oscar. Loyal to serve your father.

Everything during the ceremony of you becoming king went oddly enough, smoothly. Too smoothly. You remembered everyone—nobles, citizens, and the royal servants all clapped at you the moment the crown was placed on your head. Your face remain unchanged as you gave your speech and everything else you honestly wanted to forget since for the past few days stressed you out.

You sat on your seat, Oscar made his way beside you as he hold a glass of water in hand which bring you suspicion. But you kept your calm demeanor, keeping that unreadable face as he placed the water on your desk, which you barely gave attention to.

“Ah, focused aren’t you?” He teased, You gave Oscar a light glare before focusing back to your papers that’s mostly empty. “How about a glass of water to calm yourself from that cold—face?” Oscar took another glass seemed out of no where. But that’s his magic stuff... you sighed.

“I don’t need your bullshit.” Your words were harsh, but your hand was polite, slowly declining the fancy glass in Oscar’s hand. “Please, leave.”

Oscar looked at you, almost not amused. “Ah, but your father wanted me to make sure his “son” would be a good heir. And not a failure, your highness.” He said, your fingers twitched. Almost as if you ready to punch him in the face.

“Fine, I’ll drink your stupid water.” You took the glass out of Oscar’s hand, without thinking, you just drank the liquid without thinking of the consequences. It’s something that’s in your vein at this point. Your saw him smiling, but his smile didn’t reached his eyes.

After you finish, Oscar was nowhere in sight. You shifted from your seat and gaze to the papers in front of you and get to work. Paper after paper, is life this boring? You didn’t know either asked. What you knew, your father bottled his emotions and finally pour it to his son, you.

The candle across the room was the only thing company you as continued your endlessly amount of work, that. Until a knock came from the window of the study, a pigeon—possibly from someone or some sort. You rose from your seat and opened the window as the bird gave you an envelope, but it didn’t seem to disappear immediately. Strange, since it was a shadow and you expect I’d just go away. Instead, it leaned to your shoulder.

“I don’t have much,” you muttered quietly as you walked to your desk, opening a drawer to take a small amount of safflower seeds and gave it to the pigeon that eagerly ate them. “Is there something going on during my work hours?”

The pigeon looked at you, shaking it’s head as it continues to eat slowly. You chuckled to yourself as you opened the envelope, wrapped in brown paper and a crimson colored stamp. At first glance, you expect it might be a neighboured kingdom. Instead, it was a letter from a citizen. A women under the name “Silvana”.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

ㅤㅤ For our dear King [Name] Evergarden…

Your highness, you may have heard this from word and word… there’s a thief roaming around the kingdom! He had stole many… food, clothes, and many more that we citizens lost.

We hope you’re able to capture him, from the suspects who had saw him told that he had a dark brown hair… we don’t know his eyes but he had a super power. It’s popular to be known as super speed, but they suspected it could be more. Unfortunately, he don’t know his name... We’ll inform you again, your highness.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤFrom:

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSilvana Gunnhildr.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

You stare at the paper for longer then you’d thought you’d do. The pigeon was already gone, is it? You didn’t even care to noticed. You already pulled out an empty sheet of paper, trying to break the plans for capturing this thief you knew it’s probably the same one from your childhood. But you wrote the multiple ways you could possibly capture him, even if, he had powers you yourself cannot do.

Papers scattered around the room when you finally noticed the first tall candle was on its way before it died. Tired as fuck is what your body would say, you don’t know how long have you spend juggling both those stacks of paper work and your plan of hunting down this thief. You stood from your chair just to feel a weird feeling that twirling inside of your stomach.

You ignored it, well. That’s what you wanted to do. But you felt your body getting warmer, you clasped your hand to your mouth, your breath was slow but it was hot. A low whimper escaped your lips, it sounds… pathetic. Very pathetic. You don’t know what was in your mind, but you immediately touched your crotch.

Fuck it… you said to yourself as you sink at your chair once more, you shamelessly opened your pants. Your erect cock was already twitching—you felt your body getting hotter and hotter. It’s indeed shamelessly and unethical, but who cares at this point. You grabbed your now weeping cock and stroke it gently.

But no matter what you do, your cock just doesn’t want to cum. Frustration boiled you when you cried out, whining inside of the empty study, you gritted your teeth when you used your second hand to find your asshole almost like it was an instinct. You slowly inserted your digit, stroking your dick and playing with your hole both at once sure is difficult, but you can’t deny that the pleasure was good.

“Enjoying yourself aren’t you?”

You nodded. “Fuck, I can’t cum—” you paused whatever you’re going with the speed of light, you snapped your head to find the man just like the envelope describe; dark brown hair. However, you saw he had golden eyes that just straight up staring at your soul and his voice sounded… familiar too?

“Hello there, handsom—” You didn’t even think twice as you throw your sword at him then stabbed the wall, blood running from the man’s cheek, he stumbled back where the same cheek which bled was close to your blade.

With your right leg, you quickly pinned the man. You use your hands to held your sword, despite the heat still pooling inside of you, the fact that you can still act quick enough to someone disturbing you was scary. But hot—

“…Hector?” That name rolled off your tongue, your guard melted for a split second before your eyes set gaze harder.

Hector was that thief. That thief your people hate. Despised, you… actually liked him? No, stay focus. The thief looked at you, even if you’re the same height, he looked amused as he saw your chest raising slowly, your hot breath clasping with his own, a smirk played along his face. You raised and eyebrow and didn’t even tried to lower your guard.

“You’re red…” He commented, you bit your lip to held back a sound that made you pathetic when Hector’s palm moving down towards your crotch that’s already damped. “…And wet, guess that servant of yours really gave out a strong one. Huh~?”

“How about this,” Hector licked his upper lip the moment your stoic expression slowly melted after you unsuccessfully held back your sweet—sweet whiny voice. “You can’t cum, right? How about a hand, hmm?”

And now, what king wanted to agree to that? Unfortunately you did.

Well, there’s no choice really. You remembered that you had an event going later, and if you can’t cum now, how much of a mess would it be later? Definitely it’s not because you liked Hector.

Hector’s cock if compared to you sure is a difference, it’s scary that for something like Hector needed a cock that big. You bite in to the edge of your gown, Hector’s hand wrapped around your cock and his as he then carefully moved his hand, it was slow. Painfully slow. But you didn’t dare to complain, the whines and low moans was enough to made you sounded pathetic. Asking Hector, a literal wanted thief to go faster would absolutely be shameless.

You can’t see him in the face. Not like this, not with the fact your eyes were watery the moment his thumb rubbing against the slit of your glan. Hector was the one who kept his eyes on you, it was filled by mischief, when his hand was on the very bottom, he used his powers—his stupidly fast hand to go rougher on you.

It didn’t even take a second for you finally cummed—it was everywhere. White spilling to the sofa of your study as you continued to whine. Hector’s hand didn’t stop, even if you cummed. You saw it again; that lighting that mesmerized you even until this point on, even making you failed to realize that you already cummed the second time with a loud moan. That’s where Hector’s hand finally stopped, as his own cum sprout out.

Your legs trembled as you collapsed into Hector, your gown was covered by white so as the sofa. But hey, bonus points since you aren’t horny ask much. And maybe—the

“Your highness~? Hellooo?” Hector’s thumb circled around your cheek that’s still red, you wanted to slap him so much but you didn’t had much energy left. He chuckled at your weak form.

“Shut it…”

“Oh? What’s with that? I thought you’d be submissive longer~” Hector teased you, almost as if he wanted to grilled you so much.

You sighed as you straighten up, but the moment you about to slap him. A low creak came from the door and there it was, a female maid came to your study. Seeing your shocked face, she hesitant to even speak with you.

“You highness, the ball will be held in thirty more minutes. Some mages and other important people are on their way.” She explained, her tone was almost sounded deadpan. You were confused, Hector was with you… why doesn't she react?

Answer; Hector already ran out. The speed of light. You stood up, too fast that your legs trembled, you turned to your maid when you remembered again that you didn’t cleaned everything up.

“G–get… please, give me a moment!” You closed the door, fast. That was… embarrassing. You leaned to the door as you dropped to the floor. Hidding yourself on your knees. Hector… that asshole!!

“Don’t you think you’re a bit too much on him, thief?” Albert, somehow was beside Hector who sat on the grass hill where the Evergarden palace could be seen.

He laughed—a laugh that sounded rich as he stood up. “Noope, ah… such a shame I didn’t get to take anything in that palace,” Hector whined, Albert who didn’t look amused instead walked passed him. “Should I fuck him so—”

“HECTOR WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?”

[ur-dad-satan]

Obey Me! handy under the dinner table hc

This HC is inspired by my Mini Mammon Smut that I wrote a while ago, and I feel bad about the almost nothing I've given y'all since most of y'all follow me for OM content. Anygay, this is just the brothers, but I can do the adult undatables if this gets 30 notes. 17+ please, enjoy a snack while I write the meal (smutty one shot) <3

Luci

Would disapprove of MC's shenanigans but can't turn them down because of his soft spot for them

He'd make some general announcement to the table about proper dinner etiquette to try to deter MC

MC would literally give negative fucks though

He would keep a straight face the entire time despite wanting to moan

He'd have no physical reaction except his heart beat increasing, but no one would know

He'd struggle a little bit to not cum, but he would rather die than embarrass himself in front of his brothers and seem like a hypocrite

He'd make it through dinner and take care of any post dinner chores or responsibilities he had

Then he'd find or summon MC to wherever is most coinvent

And make them pay for what they did during dinner and trying to embarrass him in front of his brothers.

Rip MC's ability to walk

Mam

This was already written, but I'll give y'all the SparkNotes

This simp would be a blushing mess as soon as MC touches him

Once he realizes what MC is doing, he'd try to reason with the his human

Neither of them would need much convincing to keep it lowkey but Mammon would be the one struggling

He'd try his damndest, his pride was almost as big as Lucifer's and his brothers were more likely to bully him than they were to make fun of Lucifer

At least most of them

He would definitely cum in or on his pants but make it look like he just caught a chill (if demons can do that)

He'd find a way to make sure no one sees the aftermath on his clothes and even if he disappears after dinner

He'd reappear in MC's room and then... who knows

Rip Mammon and MC's abilities to walk

Levi

MC would be the most hesitant to do this to this fucking nerd because of how easy it is to make him flustered

Especially since this fucker is ALWAYS wearing sweatpants around the house

He wouldn't even be able to hide it with how fed his face would get

He wouldn't be able to hold a conversation (like he does that anyway)

All of his willpower would be going to trying his hardest (no pun intended) to not let anyone know

Yet, ironically, that'll be his downfall because he's red faced, starting to sweat, and looking really uncomfortable

He'd cum in his pants super hard too

I mean he'd soak the fabric to the point where some of the cum is just pooled on top of his pants

It'd be MC's quick thinking to the rescue when they "accidentally" spill a drink on Levi and help him get the "drink" off his clothes

Thank fuck for his big ass hoodie though, because that man would STILL be rock hard

And he'd be SO mad at MC for like 3 days

Tan

He'd actually be really good at keeping his composure for the most part

He'd let MC tease him without much thought or reaction to the human's dismay

MC however wouldn't stop without a fight and do something they know makes him go feral

Satan would only barely lose his composure and it'll remain unnoticed-

Even when MC starts trying to edge him

He'd also will himself to not cum but MC's opened up a can of worms

And Satan would just somehow know exactly where MC was after dinner

And they'd have to pay for their actions

RIP MC's ability to walk pt. 2

Asmo

He'd start it by flirting with MC H E A V I L Y and getting them wound up

They'd try to get him back by teasing him during dinner but... like...

It's Asmo; he's the fucking king of teasing

There would be absolutely no indicators of what was happening

Except for the way his pupils became bright pink and heart shaped because of his sin

He'd keep himself together perfectly, still laughing and joking with his brothers like nothing is different

Even if the more observant brothers like Luci, Tan, and Beel noticed his eyes, they wouldn't figure out what was going on unless they saw it

He'd steal away MC for the rest of the night into the early morning

When he fell asleep on them because he needs his beauty sleep

Beel

Seeing as he's more on the nonchalant side, he wouldn't be expecting when he felt MC's hand wandering awfully high up his thigh

He wouldn't think much of it until he realized what they were doing

He'd be more confused at first, but end up being so down

He wouldn't react much except a few stutters when MC does something particularly good and his face heating up just a bit

He wouldn't cum at the table, and the intrusion wouldn't stop him from enjoying his meal

I feel like Beel would lay low for a bit, but just so happen to wander into MC's room a little later

When questioned, he'd tell MC he's hungry for dessert

RIP MC's ability to walk pt. 3

Belphie

He'd be struggling to stay awake as per usual until he felt a tugging at his waistband

He subtly peeked up at the human with their hand on him, but they weren't looking back at him

MC's hand wouldn't stop and the ever-tired demon wouldn't ask them to

His head on the table in his arms would be nothing new, but he wouldn't be sleeping

He'd be too busy keeping his breath steady and not making any noise

He's peek at MC a few times and when he caught their eye and they looked over at him with an innocent smile, making him blush the slightest bit

Belphie would try his damndest to not cum in his pants, but eventually, he can't take it

The only indications would be the slight shiver that went down his spine and the warm liquid gliding down MC's hand

He wouldn't care much if the stain was visible or not

But somehow he'd end up in MC's room that night doing... who knows what

My bad y'all, Love y'all <3 smut soon (hopefully, no promises though)

[lucydixon]

Erik Campbell Headcanons

Alright, Besties, I just watched Final Destination - Bloodlines, and I have some thoughts.

This man 100% yaps the whole time during his tattoo appointments, regardless of whether or not the customer wants to hear it. Even if they throw on a pair of headphones or something, he’s still talking. I think he’d talk even more if people noticeably want peace and quiet, just to fuck with them. 

He’s got a playlist for everything, and I mean everything. Its raining outside? Erik’s rainy day playlist is softly playing through his Bluetooth speaker. Pissy mood? Angry walking music playlist is blaring through his headphones. Can’t sleep? Guess what, neither can anybody else in the house bc he’s cranking the volume on his if I must suffer, so will everyone else, playlist. 

BISEXUAL.

So unserious. He could not keep a straight face through a serious conversation to save his life, which I’m sure has landed him in hot water more times than he can count. I think it’s a combination of a coping mechanism and a lack of giving a shit. 

Rolls his eyes 24/7. 

Erik will argue just for the sake of arguing and double down if he realizes that he’s in the wrong. I think he’s great at playing it off, too. If the two of you were arguing and he’s insisting that he’s right about something, he’ll gaslight the shit out of you, even as you’re googling it and showing him your phone, he’s trying to convince you that you typed it in wrong. 

Will throw down for his family. His loyalty to them knows no bounds. He loves his siblings and parents more than anything and I can totally picture him beating the shit out of anyone who picked on Bobby as a kid and trying to scare the shit out of all of Julia’s boyfriends, all while acting aloof when he’s around them. 

Probably has a tattoo for everyone in the family, but like secretly. He wouldn’t put their names on him, he’d just pick something that reminds him of them and never tell anyone. 

[jiminrings]

four seven eight, phase 3 (3)

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: jungkook wants to fight with, for, and beside you.

alternatively, nothing will ever be the same again, and you and jungkook couldn’t be any happier.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale — complete series masterlist, from phase 1 to 3 ]

[ fluff, angst, the moral dilemma of keeping someone (read: yoongi) who was almost ur first, last, and everything in ur life despite having another person (read: jungkook) to be exactly that, yearning, full circle moments, The Vagueness n different kind of angst now that 478's a family n not jus a couple anymore, redemption :) ]

notes: thank you for locking in!!!! the og 478 fic aka phase 1 was released two years ago n now we're here can u believe . hee-hee thank u for all the love you've given and continue to have for them!! TRUSTTT that this won't be the last you'll see of them :-)

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

In a nightmare that Jungkook’s experiencing in real time, Hwayoung mistakes Yoongi as her dad.

Jungkook knows fully that there’s a knee-jerk reaction available for practically everything. He knows it well, because the impulse that occupies him kicks in during the most important events of his life.

Your husband’s impulse, which he often confuses for instinct, is too driven to the point that even for the briefest second, all that Jungkook could feel is himself. 

He tasted blood in the roof of his mouth when you left him the first time all those years ago. He had clenched his fists so hard, he almost drew blood over the realization that you had given up on him, even if it was for the time-being.

He felt his heartbeat in his eardrums when Hwayoung’s cries first pierced into the world (and straight to his ears), all to the point that the people surrounding you thought that he suddenly fell ill.

Jungkook could and should be able to feel himself right now; right now when his only child glazes past him and calls Yoongi as her dad, and right now when he hears his name called out for someone it doesn’t and should never belong to — except Jungkook can’t even feel his fingers.

He can’t taste blood in the roof of his mouth and he can’t feel his heartbeat in his eardrums. Jungkook can’t even claw himself out of a nightmare that’s built around him yet staged by his karma alone.

“That’s not appa, Hwayoung,” you cut into the thick air, your lips set in a straight line as it takes everything in you not to scoop up Jungkook into your arms because he looks like he’s about to collapse in shock. “Yoongi’s not your dad.”

Hwayoung understands, of course. She understands it like how she always does whenever her little mistakes get rectified. The concentrated pout on her face tells you that she’s listening, hearing you loud and clear as you reiterate a fact that she seems to have forgotten.

Jungkook genuinely tweaks within his own hold, the knot in his throat unbearable as he can’t even figure out how he’s standing beside you on his own to feet. He stands beside his wife and he stands before his daughter, yet he doesn’t even know if the weight he holds in between is enough for him to stay rooted.

Jungkook is as still as a rock while he watches you correct Hwayoung on the spot. He’s immoveable as he sees his daughter’s eyes flit to him in curiosity before finally coming to realization. He’s frozen, not by his own choosing, but because neither of his impulses nor instincts kick in.

Hwayoung nods easily, and Jungkook thinks that he’s about to lose his mind if it hadn’t already been muddled three seconds prior.

In a dream Jungkook doesn’t tell anyone, he’s not as easily interchangeable with Yoongi in the same way that Hwayoung thinks apples are pears sometimes, and that blue is somehow violet.

The mornings without Hwayoung have been too long for Jungkook.

They’ve been too long since her impromptu vacation from the both of you started, dragging out endlessly to the point that he had to ask you to hold his phone so he could withhold himself from hovering above Hwayoung by asking Yoongi for updates by the minute. Mornings were too bright; too normal to be spent by you and him without a playful toddler who tries to slip her finger in whenever someone yawns. 

Jungkook’s missed his mornings with Hwayoung in between the two of you.

He missed the mornings where it’s still dark out and he’s been asleep enough for long that he could make out Hwayoung twitching in the dark as she searches for a cold pillow, before later ending up next to your stomach or next to his head. 

He longed (read: still longs perpetually) for the mornings wherein he gets to sleep in and it’s you and Hwayoung who wake him up from dreams he’s always willing to part with, because he knows that he has something infinitely better to wake up to.

“Hiii, appa,” Hwayoung drawls out, hugging his leg as Jungkook automatically pats her head with a gentle hand, the smile on his face more or less forced as he chokes out a greeting. He gets snapped out of his trance immediately, even if he isn’t sure that the sight he woke up to this morning is even worth living alongside with.

“Hi, Young-ie,” he whispers, his eyes strikingly neutral even when Hwayoung grabs his hand and swings it around lightly.

Jungkook make the mistake of looking up and he doesn’t know which is worse; your husband, for once, can’t definitively tell if you looking at him empathically should placate him or unsettle him deep into his core.

What Jungkook can tell however, is that seeing Yoongi’s sly gaze on him with the ghost of a smirk on his lips plays into the rage that he can barely hold onto, if not for the little hand that’s already silently apologized to him.

Hwayoung may not know any better at the moment, but she knows well not to ask questions when Jungkook suddenly stands up out of nowhere when he’s just agreed to play on the floor with her two seconds ago, and she knows better not to stare when you immediately agree and not interrogate him at all.

“I’m gonna step out. Need to blow off steam because otherwise, I’ll take it out on him,” Jungkook whispers to your ear, hands grimly shoved into his pockets. “I know we both saw him do the same thing, Y/N,” he laughs humorlessly, clenching his jaw tightly before he leans down to speak again, enough for Yoongi to both see and hear just how angry he is. “Go put your friend on a leash.”

.

.

.

Yoongi likes to think that it’s spite that keeps him running.

The notion of doing things out of spite is not new at all to him; as a matter of fact, he actually thinks he’s the foundation of it.

Yoongi can’t keep track of the many times that it was spite that put food on the table and pushed him to his limits to arrive at the state that he’s in now. Yoongi yearns unlike no other to the point that it ails him because longing, without any bitterness in it at all, feels pointless.

Longing with only the ambition to surrender in the end is pointless; it doesn’t push Yoongi at all to be the best in anything. It doesn’t make him feel any better because without the regret in his stomach and the resentment in his chest, he wouldn’t be reminded of his dream. 

In a dream Yoongi wants to tell everyone, he doesn’t fall short to Jungkook.

It’s a ridiculous gag dream that feels like a poorly-made skit to him. Yoongi, with all his spite, can’t believe that he only comes second to the likes of Jungkook, who hadn’t worked as hard as he did nor attempted to fight tooth and nail to be even recognized (even under your light) in the first place.

In a well-rehearsed yet trite skit that appears in Yoongi’s mind whenever he goes to sleep after drinking a little too much or waking up with the sheets a little colder than usual, he doesn’t acknowledge Jungkook to be in the same orbit as him; in his dream that’s equivalent to Jungkook’s nightmare, you and Hwayoung are within arm’s reach.

It had been spite that made Yoongi smirk at Jungkook, right after the latter’s whole worldview shattered in front of him when Hwayoung mistook him for a stranger.

It’s everything but spite that makes Yoongi keep his head up high at you, refusing to bow even just a little out of shame. You’ve dragged him to the nearest empty room and while he would’ve teased you about it for any other context, he can’t seem to do it now when you look at him in disgust, even before he gets to open his mouth.

“What was that, Yoongi?!” you fume, standing by the door as you keep your voice hushed.

It’s almost poetic for Yoongi to see because even when you’re bound to curse him out, even when the both of you are at a turning point (or whatever is left of it to change before it perishes completely), you still put Hwayoung first above all else.

“What was what?” he smiles cheekily, even if it’s apparent that it’s just for show because if anything, it’s Yoongi who knows the most about his own fallacy.

“Don’t bullshit me.”

“I was playing around?” he offers weakly, shrugging his shoulders to make it seem that he doesn’t care at all about the anger you’ve reserved specifically for him; as if he’s not trying to buy time to prolong what could be the last time he’ll ever see you outside of work.

“That was nothing, Yoongi. What Hwayoung said meant nothing,” you grit, your fists balled to your sides as you try not to let your mind drift to the fact that you had confronted Yoongi first before comforting your own husband. “She’s a kid and she just got confused.”

There’s only silence between the two of you, and Yoongi wants to stay in it.

Yoongi wants to consume the dead air if it means that he won’t be backed into a corner and forced to take all the hits that Jungkook’s reality – which are his dreams— could throw to his face.

“You don’t have to tell me what I already know,” he murmurs lowly yet for some odd reason, Yoongi still refuses to bend his head.

The thing is, Yoongi doesn’t feel regret at all. Out of all the times he could ever feel it, he doesn’t feel it now, even when the supposed love of his life wants to banish him out forever.

“Then why do you look happy about it?” you seethe. “Why the hell did you look happy when Hwayoung called you her dad?”

“Because I was,” Yoongi smiles so tightly, his skin buckles under the pressure — come to think of it, his eyes almost feel like they’re stinging. “Do you want me to lie?”

“It would be better if you do,” you retort without even thinking, the tremble of your bottom lip only goading Yoongi further.

Yoongi stands before you, proud yet unwilling, as he serves as the largest and longest milestone of how far you’ve come in your career with his unrequited love for you as the barometer.

“Oh,” he reacts, his face falling before his throat tightens impossibly. Yoongi keeps nodding his head madly, the pricking of tears in his eyes making him frustrated even more. “Okay. Sure. Y-you know what, let me just lie andsay that I don’t constantly think about how it could’ve been me, o-or how I don’t usually hope that Jungkook completely fucks it up because I could show you that I’ll never do you wrong in the first place!”

“Friends don’t fucking do that, Yoongi!” you clench your teeth, the devastation on your face apparent yet never equivalent to that of Yoongi who’s already nearing his limit.

“I don’t want to be just your friend!” he whispers at you, because while he thinks about Hwayoung in the living room who’s just a few steps away, he also thinks of how scared he is to admit the fact to your face no matter how high he holds his head.

“I don’t think we can’t be friends either,” you sigh breathlessly, the finality to your tone making Yoongi freeze.

Finally, he lowers his head.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

In an overdone skit that plays in Yoongi’s head, somebody pulls out a slate and yells for the scene to be over, because not only did the whole thing play out in just his head, it was also just a silly dream that a married man with a kid could only have.

In a well-rehearsed, trite, and critically acclaimed skit that Yoongi writes himself but could never act in, you never have to be put in a position wherein you have to put a pause to your friendship with Yoongi. 

The dependency and entanglement the both of you have with each other, no matter in what degree, only proves to be a double-edged sword that hurts you more than it could ever hurt him, and Yoongi knows he can’t ever live with that.

There needs to be distance between you and Yoongi, and he’s never hated that fact more than now, no matter how much he knows it’s needed.

Yoongi knows he’s an intruder.

He’s an intruder who frequently gets to see you at work, he’s an intruder who always gets to loathe Jungkook no matter from what angle, and he’s an intruder who occasionally gets to hold Hwayoung who isn’t his.

( ♡ ) 

The truth is, Jungkook didn’t even really think of having kids until you came along. It had been a long withstanding truth in himself, even with Sora before you, that the thought of having someone of his own flesh and blood was too heavy for him — too much.

Jungkook didn’t entertain the thought of having children until you came into his life and he had decided then and there that there’d never be too much of you for him. 

You weren’t too much for Jungkook when you were still a new couple and had asked him if he’d be open to marrying you one day, even if you were barely a year into your relationship (and your first one at that) that he was yet to have a full grasp of. 

You weren’t too much for him when you had talked his ear off when you were still a rookie, promising him sincerely that you’ll make it big and that soon enough, the both of you would live a comfortable life — provided that you were still in each other’s by that time.

You weren’t too much for the Jungkook of then, your wide-eyed boyfriend who’s a man of few words, and you’re not too much for the Jungkook of now, your husband who feels like he has far too many feelings.

The truth is, Jungkook didn’t even really think that his heart could exist outside of his chest until Hwayoung came along.

There’s this dull, agonizing pain that always squeezes on Jungkook’s chest like clockwork whenever he feels he’s letting his daughter down. There’s bitterness in failure and there’s failure, even when Hwayoung’s tiny hands don’t seek his when they’re walking side by side, or when she’s not as enthusiastic about her meals like how he had been when preparing them–

Or even when Hwayoung mistakes Yoongi for her dad.

“This shirt?” Hwayoung asks, interrupting his inner turmoil as she points to a shirt of his from high school. She has a whole drawer filled with yours and Jungkook’s old clothes for sleep shirts, the giddy smile on her face as she awaits for approval making Jungkook almost forget everything. (Read: almost)

“You can choose any shirt you want, Young-ie,” he answers, his eyes only half-lidded and just a whisper close to stinging with tears. The exhaustion in his voice is practically inseparable from the gutting feeling of his full-time work as a dad for a little more than two years, being mistaken for Yoongi’s part-time favor as a godfather for barely two weeks and then some.

Jungkook’s hands immediately twitch at his sides when Hwayoung walks towards him and stumbles for the slightest second, the brief hiccup on his heart reminding him that he’ll be attuned to her no matter what — even if his daughter mistakes him for a stranger.

He knows the shit that the elders say about letting children fall. He has the script memorized by now and he knows the annoyance that blooms in him routinely when he gets unsolicited advice. 

Jungkook knows it all, and he knows that eventually, Hwayoung would get hurt and he won’t be able to do anything about it. Just like how she can hurt him, someway and somehow along the line (maybe she’ll call Yoongi appa again), and how he won’t know what to do with himself should that time come.

Tonight isn’t the time.

“Help, appa.”

“Okay,” he obliges. “I’m here,” Jungkook utters, ironically refusing to call himself the title that he wants Hwayoung to keep only for him; not for Yoongi, not for your manager, and not for the men that constantly pine after you even when they know fully that Jungkook’s in the picture.

Your husband knows greed and he hates it, because it had been in the form of Yoongi briefly smirking when Hwayoung called him appa that time.

Jungkook knows greed and is well-acquainted, because his fist is scuffed and Yoongi’s number is blocked. 

He knows greed and whatever indomitable power that puts a brake to his rage right when it’s about to pour over, because he had punched the brick wall in the patio instead of Yoongi to blow off steam, and because he has the mind to not taunt Yoongi with a complete family picture right after you distanced yourself away from him.

“I’m sorry, Young-ie. Mama and I are sorry to put you through that, okay?” he murmurs to her ear like it’s only their little secret for them to hear, the unbridled wonder that lingers in his daughter’s eyes enough to placate him that everything’s okay between them tonight.

( ♡ ) 

To wake up in the same bed as Jungkook and Hwayoung after so long makes your heart swell.

Your heart swells, not just with pride, but with a feeling you can’t ever put a name to. You’re more than content enough to see Hwayoung cuddled up to Jungkook and the mess of their hair tangled in between, but even more, you’re filled with a strange yearning that you don’t want them to stay that way.

You want more of them in a way that you’re overwhelmed, just by thinking that they’re the closest you could ever have to feeling immortal in this life. Not everything is completely back into place like they once were, but oddly enough, neither you and Jungkook are actively trying to replicate the old times. 

“You sure you’ll do the groceries alone this time?” you ask Jungkook for the third time, also receiving his third consecutive playful eye roll as he packs Hwayoung’s bag for you.

“Yes, ma’am. Just go with the princess and look at playschools,” he hums, ruffling your daughter’s hair that you spent a good ten minutes on. “If I come with, I fear I’ll already cry just by thinking Young-ie’s growing up.”

“She is growing-…”

“Can’t hear you!” he hollers as he backs out from the driveway, the smile on his face incomparable because he woke up with the thought that you did.

Jungkook wants more of you and Hwayoung, not because he just wants to return your unspoken sentiment, but because he figures that no amount of time or space will ever be enough if it’s the both of you that hold it.

It’s nice to be back to a somewhat normal routine. With your work finished (and all that is left is for the publicity to ramp up) after having spent so much time on it, you immediately resign yourself to the fixed routine you’ve been dying to get back on.

You’ve almost forgotten just how chaotic a supposedly mundane breakfast could be for a family of three, seeing to it that Jungkook’s packed lunches had grown on you to the point that even having your own plate on the dining table felt weird.

You’ve almost forgotten just how liberating it felt to walk outside with Hwayoung (despite having to put on masks and caps on for animosity) without having to worry how much time you have left before shooting starts again, considering that your daughter doesn’t even regard you for the actress that you are.

Hwayoung pulls your hand and walks ahead of you, and you let her. She’s small and unyielding, even if she pulls you with the equivalent of a mini Jungkook’s strength.

Your daughter walks ahead of you and you don’t mind because you rarely ever get to see her in the sunlight wearing the dresses that Jungkook buys even if there aren’t any sales going on (you’re trying to get him to curb his shopping addiction), as opposed to her being bundled up in pajamas, sitting on your lap in your trailer under studio lights.

Hwayoung has the strength that only a child of yours and Jungkook’s could ever possess, because while you freeze in your tracks upon seeing a familiar face as soon as you open the glass doors to the playschool you were about to scope out, Hwayoung only looks at you and the woman in front with a smile.

“Y/N, is that you?”

“Sora,” you exhale, the surprise probably evident on your face because it takes a solid second for you to register her presence. “Hi.”

Sora’s even prettier in person (not that she was ever ugly in the first place) than the beauty she was on the picture you’ve seen of her and Jungkook, her genuine smile unmistakeable because she looks like light itself.

You get why Jungkook had fallen for her, and while there’s nothing about now to blame him for, you can’t understand either why Sora’s absolutely ecstatic to see her ex-boyfriend’s wife.

“She’s my daughter,” you belatedly add after finally moving on from being starstruck, putting a reassuring hand on Hwayoung’s back (who doesn’t need it anyway because she’s more at ease right now than you are) as you smile. “Say hi, baby.”

Sora gasps in awe, and while you appreciate her politeness in not assuming anything about Hwayoung before you introduced her yourself, the curious, baser part of you wonders if she thinks about you and what she could’ve been–

If Sora thinks about you as much as you do with her whenever she fights with her partner, or if she ever thinks about the lingering insecurity that comes with being a lover in general. 

“She’s an absolute sweetheart! She looks so much like you.”

“She does?” you beam, completely surprised at her words. You’re already surprised about Sora in general along with her unexpected enthusiasm, but you’re even more shocked at her sincere interest. “A lot of family and friends say that she looks like Jungkook more.”

“I mean they do say that soulmates will look alike at one point,” she shrugs playfully, head tilting as she waves to Hwayoung while you digest her words.

You didn’t think Jungkook’s past would be this kind no matter how much it had hurt you before.

You feel guilty for having expected a confrontation of some sort, the slight paranoia that had creeped on you before completely dissipating the longer that you look at Sora. She looks at ease and it’s contagious, the soft smile on her face extending up to her eyes when she sees your gaze lingering at the hand on her belly.

“Oh, yeah. I’m expecting,” she announces excitedly, cheerfully, as if you’re childhood friends and go to brunch every Sunday — as if you’re close enough for her to spread her joy with.

“Congrats, Sora,” you grin, extending your hand to gently hold her arm in celebration.

You had insisted again and again to yourself that Sora’s no one to you; that she’s a blip in Jungkook’s radar that lasted for years and came before you. You had let the idea of her consume you fully to the point that her kindness takes you aback.

You can’t blame Sora, and she can’t blame you either. Somewhere along Jungkook’s mosaic he’s made for himself, she lingers in there as a stray piece that fits no matter the pattern. It’s irrevocable and only natural for your husband to be an accumulation of everything and everyone he’s ever loved, and while you know that you and your daughter occupy most of it, you can’t ever erase Sora from existence.

You want to ask who’s the dad with the most inconspicuous tone you could ever possess. 

You want to ask her how she’s been and how things went with her partner during the last time that she and Jungkook had celebrated their anniversary as exes. 

You want to ask Sora about her cousin and maybe even joke about how chaos must probably run in her bloodline.

You want to ask Sora about hundreds of things and hold her accountable for the sleepless nights she’s costed you and your family, but you hold yourself back — not only because it’s the right thing to do, but because everything had already worked out in the end. Sora’s already in the past and you want her to stay there, even if you have the opportunity to get the answers you’ve only used to pray for.

“For what it’s worth, Y/N, I’m sorry. I know it’s a little too late to say it, but I really am,” she murmurs after some time of only you and her silently watching Hwayoung talk to another kid, the sincerity in her eyes evident even if she holds her head low before you.

The closure you could only ever ask for whenever your heart hurt the most, comes to you when you feel that you’re at your lightest.

( ♡ ) 

True to your word, you don’t let Jungkook attend your press conference.

There’s no point in denying that you do need Jungkook here with you, but there’s no denying either that needing him and wanting him to be here are two different things.

You’re oddly reminiscent of the time that you had been in this position, and even if the memory’s bittersweet, the rational and realistic part of your brain could only think that it’s reasonable to miss Jungkook despite barring him from here. This is your highest peak after all, and it’s only normal for you to be nervous.

It’s normal for you to be nervous despite telling the staff that you’re going to keep the wedding ring on your finger throughout the entire thing. It’s entirely reasonable for you to be jittery at the possibility of being asked about your family, no matter how far-fetched the queries could be from the actual movie at hand.

It’s only okay for you to feel that trepidation in your stomach even if everything in your life, at the moment, is at your favor.

The room’s quiet with only you and Jimin in it, and without the buffer of Hwayoung that laughs through everything that he says, the one-on-one that you have with your manager reminds you of the talk you had to have when the rumors about you and Yoongi broke out.

Jimin has more years and experiences under his belt now, but with the way he talks to you, it feels as if it’s neither of you are experienced; that the both of you are complete beginners who’d like to think that the only way to go is up, and that a tiny irregularity could instantly make everything you’ve built to collapse.

The talk about Eunsu has been a long time coming, and Jimin wants to let you know now when there’s nobody else — when you’re reminded that you have everything to both gain and lose.

“I’ve managed to put a lid on it for the meantime,” he clears his throat, looking at your reflection in the mirror as he puts on your microphone delicately. “I don’t know for how long though.”

Your gaze looks blank, almost unreadable to the untrained eye, yet Jimin knows that there’s a weight to it. Unlike all the brush-ins you’ve ever had with issues before, this is the first time that it had ever hit home and everything that ever mattered to you.

He could only imagine the weight of what it must feel like to be you; of how heavy it must be to be the one to take everything in stride.

“It’s okay, Jimin. Thank you,” you murmur, looking down on your lap as you try to fight the frown that comes with the realization that you’ve been used to having Hwayoung on it.

“Y/N,” he tuts, his tone stern yet familiar.

“Hmm?” you ask while you’re in a daze, letting yourself stare at a spot on the wall that could only hold your attention for so long. You can’t erase it as much as you can’t avoid this conversation with Jimin, and even more, you can’t avoid the eventual turbulence you’ll be subjecting your family to once everything goes public.

There’s an innate guilt that comes with being a wife and a mother, you figure. It’s your first time being both and with it comes the sense of doom; it’s not the morbid type of ruination, but rather, it’s the anxiousness that comes with knowing you don’t only have yourself to look after.

“What Eunsu did to Jungkook— to your family, even-…”

“I know,” you interrupt, nodding fervently to cut the conversation short, except Jimin doesn’t fold.

“I know you’re protecting them. I know you’re thinking about Hwayoung the most,” Jimin sighs. “But you wanting to protect them also means that you’re protecting Eunsu even if it isn’t your intention,” he murmurs, squeezing your shoulder gently. “The news coming out about her won’t be the worst thing in the world.”

The same two people that you’re protecting, one of them more innocent and clueless than the other yet just as loving, give you complacency amidst your unease.

( ♡ )

You always insisted on having a big bed.

Jungkook remembers your insistence on having a big bed when the two of you moved in together and slowly started furnishing your home before your wedding. Your preferences didn’t exactly clash his because while you mostly took care of the budget and he took care of the aesthetics, there would almost always be common ground. Almost.

Additionally, you also remember Jungkook’s gratefulness for your stubbornness towards having a big bed because realistically, he can’t ever picture himself lying down on a deluxe standard bed with a toddler between the two of you.

The maintenance for the third-biggest variation of a king-sized bed that you had pleaded him for (and even made a whole presentation about defending your case) with Hwayoung in the picture now is even more troublesome. The quest for bedsheets that are hypoallergenic, extremely soft and comfortable, have a neutral, classic, yet easily-maintainable design, and toddler-proof simultaneously seems to be never-ending.

Jungkook can’t sleep at all sometimes. Even when the airconditioning in the room is at a perfect temperature, his comforter is on his person and not on the other side of the bed by your doing, his daughter’s hair isn’t in his mouth, and his cat’s humongous built isn’t blocking his passage of air, there’s days wherein Jungkook can’t put himself to sleep.

In one way or another, it’s always the ache and worry that manifests in his chest for the next day. He keeps wondering about tomorrow’s meals and the probability of Hwayoung throwing a tantrum. He keeps wondering if there’s going to be a wild curveball that somebody will throw at you tomorrow, and how fast he can get to you should that happen.

Jungkook’s no stranger to sleepless nights. He’s used to analyzing one unfavorable context after another to scare himself into being awake so he can’t get nightmares when he eventually goes to sleep.

To wake your husband up just because you couldn’t sleep yourself is a menial task that you finally talk yourself into doing, the little shake that you give Jungkook on his shoulders enough to make him jolt awake.

“Kook, wake up.”

“What, what-…? What is it?” he darts up groggily, eyes barely adjusted to the dim light you’ve set the room to. Jungkook’s lost to why you even woke him up when Hwayoung’s out like a log, but he doesn’t question you on it — instead, he gently carries his daughter to occupy his warm spot on the bed, just so he could crawl his way to the middle to listen to you.

“Jungkook.”

“Hmm,” he hums again, sleepily propping himself up with a pillow as he tries to blink the sleep away from his eyes. Jungkook doesn’t even dare to take a peek at the alarm clock because all he knows is that you’re awake and you also want him to be, so he doesn’t complain.

Four seconds. Breathe in through your nose.

Seven seconds. Hold it.

Eight seconds. Exhale through your mouth.

“Let’s fight,” you whisper, leaning your head on Jungkook’s shoulder.

Your husband could only rub his eyes tiredly, the yawn that escapes him making his entire body shake. “Huh? Right now?” he clarifies, the sleepy pout on his lips only highlighting how wide and docile his eyes are for you at the moment.

“Come on. Let’s fight,” you half-heartedly offer, bumping your head to his.

Your husband only stays silent, putting a hand up to your forehead to check for a fever. 

Jungkook only yawns once again, his sluggishness being infectious to the point that you suppress your own by burying your face to his neck.

“Can we like, fight in the morning or something?” he tries to compromise, fully serious about a half-baked joke you woke him up for.

Jungkook’s come a long way. He’s no longer your husband who didn’t want to fight you on things for the sake of self-preservation. He’s no longer the one who avoided confrontation in fear of setting you apart from him. He’s this now, so willing to go with your every whim that if you want to have a fight with him at two in the morning, he’ll rub the sleep out of his eyes and let you rest on his shoulder if ever you were being serious.

You kiss your husband on the lips, the love-drunk smile that he gives you afterward making you snort.

Your king-sized bed is a mess. Somewhere by the end of your foot, there’s Hwayoung’s pink crayon that she insists on holding to sleep. Somewhere by the tips of Jungkook’s hair, there’s Miso’s fur kept together with his daughter’s hair clip because she didn’t want to go to sleep without putting it on him.

Jungkook, your husband who’s clad in a shirt of yours with too many holes on it because of his daughter’s safety scissors and his cat’s claws, hugs you to his chest in silence.

You think about how you can’t tell when the news about Eunsu is going to release, while Jungkook sneakily tries to uncover your sock-covered foot with his own because he lost one of his socks while sleeping and wanted to be even.

You think about how the Academy nominees are going to be revealed in a week, while your husband says out loud his grocery list for the week while randomly staring off into space every ten seconds.

You think about Hwayoung attending playschool in a matter of months, while your husband internally plays rock, paper, scissors with himself as he waits for you to gather your thoughts.

You think about you and Jungkook and whatever comes with, for, and between you while he hugs you under the dim lights.

Four seconds. Breathe in through your nose.

Seven seconds. Hold it.

Eight seconds. Exhale through your mouth.

“What if it only gets brutal from here on out, Jungkook? What do I do?” you murmur, looking up at him.

“Who says it has to be brutal?” Jungkook laughs, his voice bouncing out into the space as if you’re in a newly-built house with barely any furniture. 

Jungkook’s laughter is still joyous and loud, because even if Jungkook’s heart is a newly-built house, his happiness still reverberates the more it settles into the ground and comes closer to its roots; closer to you.

“We’ll keep up.”

[junkpuppet225]

note: Part Two. Daryl needs your help.

The next morning you’re sitting at the kitchen table sipping on your guilty pleasure when Daryl jogs down the stairs and for the first time since all of this started your heart skips a beat at the sight of him.

Despite having been with the group since the quarry the two of you aren’t friends. Not really. He’s shared his food with you and made sure your fires burned hot during those long winter nights before Alexandria but that’s about as far as it goes between the two of you.

Until yesterday at least. Desperate times and all that.

You’ve never even been on his radar but after your friendly back massage yesterday he’s definitely on yours. You stay hidden in the shadow of the kitchen watching him from the rim of your coffee cup, those damn sweat pants still hanging off his hip bones. The worn shirt you helped him into last night clings to his broad back as he opens the refrigerator door flooding the kitchen in a harsh unnatural light.

“Mornin’.”

Your eyes go wide as you sit your cup down on the table and gape at him. He didn’t even look at you but somehow knows you’re there - lurking in the shadows. Maybe you aren’t that far off his radar after all.

“Good morning.” The phrase comes out more of a question than a statement. You wonder how he slept, if his shoulder is any better? “You want a cup of coffee?” You’re feeling awfully helpful towards him all of a sudden. Daryl Dixon can get his own damn cup of coffee but the thought of him having to do that brings you to your feet. He watches you cross the kitchen and set your cup in the sink before assuring you he doesn’t drink that shit with a simple. “Nah.”

“How are you feeling today?”

“Fine.” He lies, eyebrows pulling together hard as he lifts his arm to pull out the pitcher of tea Carol made a few days ago. “Did you take those pills?”

“Mmhm.” He takes a drink straight from the pitcher, making your eyes go wide. “Are you telling me the truth?”

You watch him set the pitcher back in the refrigerator and close the door leaving you both standing in darkness now. “I’m not a liar.” He snaps causing your eyes to roll at the thought. “I hope not. You need to take them like I said.”

“I took ‘em.” He assures and this time you force yourself to believe him. It’s too early to argue with a grown man. “Okay, good.”

The awkwardness from last night fills the room but neither of you make a move to leave. Daryl’s blue eyes have you locked in place, searching for any sign of pain in their depths. “How are you really feeling?” Your words are so soft he takes an idle step towards you - filling your lungs with menthol. “Like shit, but better than yesterday.” He assures you just as quietly.

“Okay good.” You sound like a broken record. To your utter surprise, and possible horror Daryl smiles at you - sending an ache through the center of your chest. A rush of heat comes to your cheeks as you turn away from him quickly and take in a quick breath. “You still gonna help me with the bike today?” As if his smile wasn’t enough Daryl slips his fingers around your wrist, pulling your attention back to him.

“Sure.”

“Alright. M’gonna go get dressed and I’ll meet ya over there.”

You swallow the lump that’s formed in your throat and nod - forcing the image of Daryl changing out of his clothes from your mind and biting your tongue to keep from asking if he needs your help with the task. He raises an eyebrow - searching your face for another long moment before turning back to the steps and disappearing upstairs. Only when he’s out of sight do you allow yourself to breathe again.

X

If you thought things between you and Daryl were awkward in the darkness of the quiet kitchen they’re down right tense on Aaron’s garage floor. The archer is on his back beside you - the heat of his body radiating into yours as he explains what nuts needs loosened, his deep voice vibrating in your chest as he mutters something about the rear wheel and chain slack. It’s hard to concentrate with him this close.

You’re suddenly hyper aware of everything about him as he tries to help you, lifting his arm mindlessly to grab the back wheel. You turn your face to Daryl’s as a slew of profanity falls from his lips - his eyebrows pulled together in pain as he grinds his molars. “F-fuck.”

“You need to go see Pete before you really fuck yourself up Daryl.”

The growl that follows assures you that’s not happening. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere near that dead eye’d prick.” Daryl mutters adjusting himself back to your side as he lifts his arm again - forcing the pain away as he rotates the wheel to loosen the chain. Once it’s where he wants it his eyes fall to yours, surprised to see you staring at him. “What?” He grunts adverting his gaze quickly.

“You’re really stubborn.” You assure him softly and he laughs without humor, nodding to the nut to assure you he’s ready for it to be tightened. “Daryl…” His name rushes from your chest in a tone that brings his eyes back to yours, making your heart hammer as his gaze falls to your lips. The words you want to say are to personal - it’s not your place to reprimand him but the worry filling your chest of him suffering with this injury is to great.

“M’alright Y/N.”

Your hand slows above you as he says your name sending a herd of butterflies into your lower stomach and making your fingers shake with nervous energy. “…okay.” You whisper just as the wrench falls from your grasp, smacking you right in the forehead.

“Ow.”

You lift your head as Daryl leans over you bringing your throbbing face closer to his with a groan. “Ya alright?” The pain from your clumsiness is nothing compared to how hard your heart is beating now that he’s hovering over you with concern in his eyes. “Y-yeah, shit.”

Just when you think cardiac arrest isn’t in your near future Daryl brushes his calloused fingers across your face with a feather light touch, pushing your hair from your eyes as he studies the spot where the wrench assulted you while all of the air rushes from your lungs.

“You’ll live.” He mutters with a grin bringing on yours as you place your fingers to the sore spot just above your eyebrow. “You a doctor now?” You ask repeating his question from yesterday as he smirks and pushes himself away from you with a groan.

Now that there’s some space between the two of you, you can breathe easier trying to ease your racing heart as Daryl offers you his left hand and pulls you to your feet. Just like that you’re back in his orbit and he holds on to your hand a moment too long before dropping it like it burnt him. “Thanks…, for the help.”

“Y-yeah. No problem. You aren’t going to ride with your arm messed up are you?”

“Nah.” Is all he says searching your eyes another moment before someone calls his name from the street. You both look up to Rick who’s standing just outside Aaron’s garage with an eyebrow raised in question.

“Daryl. Y/N. What’s going on?”

Daryl tenses at your side. He doesn’t want anyone to know he fucked his arm up. Especially Rick. “Oh, Daryl was just showing me his motorcycle. My dad was a bike guy.” It wasn’t a lie. “Right.” You don’t think you’ve fooled the fearless leader but he asks Daryl to walk with him as you all say your goodbyes. You turn back to the house to seek out Judith, missing Daryl glance behind himself to watch you leave.

X

[ickytreats]

A son and daughter tease their parents during a holiday until they just have to fuck their children together?

Mom and Dad are so happy to have their babies back for the holidays. They went the whole mile; the house looks like it is straight out of a Christmas movie. Mom planned some cute activities while Dad made sure everything was set up and the house would stay nice and cozy. Once they both get there, Mom and Dad smother them in hugs, their happiness is obvious. Both kids are excited to see their parents too, but hide what they really plan. They missed their Mommy and Daddy; adulting isn't easy. They didn't understand how being away from them only made them lust for their parents. Both of them are planning to see how they can get with the teasing; for Christmas, they wanted their firsts to be with them.

Mom and Dad send them to their rooms to settle down before they sit and talk. The kids quickly start their plan and let their hands linger on their parents a little longer than they should before walking off. The oldest son nuzzles his face into Mom's chest, and the youngest sways her hips as she walks and glances back at Dad. Both siblings smile as they watch their parents tense up and look at each other. Sharing a kiss and trying to redirect each other.

The oldest son is first, cornering Mom in the kitchen and wrapping his hands around her. Whining, saying how much he missed her, missed her love and kisses. Aw, my poor baby! Mom will always love you; you know you can come over whenever. Kisses his cheek, but he continues to pout. I don't want a kiss on their mommy. He keeps whining until Mom pecks his lips. He is so happy and excited. Pecks mom's lips again and again until she can't help but laugh and push him away. He continues to cling to her as she tries to work in the kitchen. Presses his bulge onto her bottom as she gasps, baby! You can't do that to mommy! Why not, mom? Please. He'd start to whine again until she let him keep grinding against her. She'd try her best to keep her moans to herself as she felt her son's cock.

Meanwhile, little Sis is in the living room with Dad, cuddled up to his side. Her hand is dangerously close to his inner thigh, right where his cock lays. She rubbed her hand up and down, a habit she always had, but where she had her hand placed, it was dangerous. Dad is tense as he tries his best to focus on the TV. Dad, can I have a kiss? She'd ask so cutely that Dad is more than willing to give it to his little girl. Leaning down and kissing her forehead. Not there, Daddy. She'd whine, then whine more when he kissed her cheek. Pushes her bottom lip out; no one ever wants to kiss me. Plays the sad card That's not true, baby. I give you all the kisses. Dad falls for her trick so quick as he leans in and kisses her lips. Her innocent card is gone as she climbs onto his lap, pushing for more. Dad tries to push her off, but when he does, she just "accidentally" grinds down on his cock.

Both parents sit at the dinner table flustered, looking at their plates. To try and create some appropriate distance, Mom sits next to her daughter while Dad is next to his son. That doesn't stop the siblings, as Little Sister is running her hands up and down Mom's thighs as Big Brother does the same to Dad. Both parents fidget in their seats, not being able to look up from their plates. The siblings smile at each other as both of them have their hands in their parent's pants by now. Big Bro is stroking Dad under the table while little sister is rubbing Mom's clit. Neither sibling lets their parents cum, pulling their hand away and getting up to do some chores. While they are gone, Mom quickly climbs into Dad's lap as they start to grind into each other, needing some relief from their babies' teasing.

Before movie night, the parents talk about how the siblings have been acting. Their innocent babies looking for trouble, they had let them have enough fun. Mom and Dad both knew the two siblings had too much on their plate. They knew they had never done anything like that, so maybe teaching them to listen and learn new things wouldn't be bad. So now both siblings are in the middle of their parents. All of them cuddled up and were just enjoying each other's presence. Until Dad lets his big hand trail into his little girl's panties and starts teasing her clit just like she did with Mom. She tensed up for a second but then whimpered, melting into Dad. Why did his hands feel so different from hers? She tries to spread her legs more, wanting more of that new pleasure.

Once Big Bro feels his mom's hand on his cock, he is throwing his head back. Just like Little Sis, he had never felt someone else's hand on it. Looks at his mommy with a whimper as she keeps looking at the TV like she isn't pumping his cock. Can't help but try and thrust into her hand, Her grip on it was driving him crazy, the way she ran her thumb over his messy tip. The siblings looked at each other, and even though Mom and Dad were doing it under the blanket, they both knew what was happening. Dad pulls his daughter in closer and starts to finger her, causing her to hide into his shoulder at the totally new feeling. Suddenly Mom is going under the blanket; big bro is going to question her but quickly chokes up when he feels her mouth on his cock. Both siblings try to keep quiet, but it's so hard for them with these new feelings. Their teasing is being turned on them because Mom and Dad don't let them cum! The movie ends right before they can, so Mom and Dad pack up for the night. Leaving the siblings whining and needy, almost in tears.

They try to get themselves off, but it's not the same as when Mom and Dad do it. It only makes it so much worse for them and for their parents. Because now the siblings will do anything to get more from them. Not noticing they are asking for trouble, little sister is grinding down on dad whenever she gets to sit on his lap, and big brother is cornering mom and making out with her, groping her. Sis insists she wants to shower with her mommy, and Big Brother does the same with dad. Until their parents have had enough and are calling them into their room. Mom and Dad waste no time to throw them onto the bed. Do you two think teasing Mom and Dad is funny? Do you two even know what you are doing? Asking for a lot for two little babies that don't even know how to give heads.

The siblings are stripped so quickly, poor babies can't even process what is happening. They didn't think they would get this far; Mom and Dad had plans for them. Both siblings are on their backs as their parents climb on to them. Okay, baby, this won't be easy, but since you want to be a tease, I think your cunt can handle it. Dad says as he sinks into his daughter, she squeals and cries. Big Bro watches but suddenly feels Mom climb on him. Gonna have fun milking my little boy, Sinks herself onto him, causing him to choke up and groan. She is so wet, tight, and warm. Both parents are fucking their kids, as neither knows how to react to the sudden new feeling. Poor babies are cumming so quick and repeatedly as their parents can't help but coo. This is what you two wanted, right? Have your first with us; that's why you couldn't stop the teasing. Just to babies that don't know how to ask, huh? Say it. Mommy grabs her son's neck, but all he can do is moan.

Too much babies? I should've thought about that sooner. Pounds into his daughter harder, causing her to let out a moaned cry. Mom and Dad don't stop fucking them until they have cummed. By then the two siblings are such a mess; they will be so sore. Their first time was filled with yummy torture as they had to come over and over.

[valentine-cafe]

HI!! Im a little nervous requesting for the first time. I dont really do this a lot, but i just have this fic idea about Alessio. He definitely caught my eye and interest with the concept of a mercenary figure.

It's not much, but it would be interesting if male reader was a rival mercenary that gets into "daily quarrels" with Alessio. They always end up in a tie with strength, but there would be something different about reader one day. They turned ruthless with their fights, and even defeated Alessio. Now that he's right underneath their control in every movement, wouldn't it be interesting to finally fuck the daylights out of the cocky bastard?

Sorry if it doesn't really make sense, i rarely write lololol. Thank you so much before :) !

˖⁺. ﹙ bttm enigmatic antihero mercenary x rival top male reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . pretty little fuckdoll you are, arias !! 🍒 :  antihero ˖ mercenary ˖ enigma character character﹙ verse 781 alessio. ﹚

Winning one of your's and Alessio's little "quarrels" you get on top of him during the fight and take your win with fucking the daylights out of him <3

𖹭. ps : thank you for the first time request!! was so fun<3 | cw: anal, rough fucking, lots of cum, nipple piercing tugging <3, slight degradation, handjob

A groan of frustration moves past Alessio’s lips as you buck your hips into his pretty ass. Splitting his tight walls while you hold him down against the floor.

“I’ll fuckin’ get back at you f’this.” He grunts, only for the sound to transition into a whiny gasp as the pace becomes rough and fast.

Your fingers rake through the black locks of hair, only to take a good grip on them all and force Alessio’s face back down into the ground to keep his mouth shut. The look of his eyes rolling back sending you straight to the stratosphere.

“We’ll — mghn fuck so tight— hahh- see about that. Arias.” You chuckle into his ear, breaths heavy, bating, as you near your orgasm. The feeling of him clenching all around you whenever you cum has you hooked on the feeling.

Yet you edge yourself a bit, wanting him to be able to see when you cum again. So with swift movements, you pull out of him and flip him over. Beautiful olive skin on display for you. It would be a crime to not run the tips of your fingers across it and do a pinch’n’tug on his nipple piercings.

His hips buck upwards, in the poorest of attempts to take over the little ‘wrestle’ session the two of you are having. You regain the control quickly, as you snap your cock back into his needy hole.

The loud whine that escapes him has you almost tipping over — fuck, what is this man doing to you?

Hot ropes of cum spurt out of his cock as you begin to fuck ferally, shallowing your thrusts while, guiding him back down on your dick everytime he seems to be squirming away.

Moving his hips with one hand, you move the other to press your thumb down against his penis slit and swirl the seed around the tip. Before, smoothly, your hand rushes down his throbbing dick and starts pumping out more of his delicious cum.

“Just look at you.” You laugh, swallowing one of your own moans while panting out the rest of your words: “strongest deemd mercenary turned into my personal pretty boy fucktoy, isn’t that adorable?”

That snapped any sort of self-control he had left, his eyes crossing while his mouth drops open for moans to come cascading out of it. Tears well at the corners of the emerald hues that gaze up at the ceiling. The pleasure is so intense he can’t keep up.

Neither can you.

It doesn’t take long for you to put him into a mating press, making him watch as you shoot your own hot load of cum into him over and over again. The squeezing of his walls so intense you feel lightheaded.

“That’s it— Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!!”

Your moans do not go unheard, the other joining the choir of the symphany your bodies make. The sounds of sloppy skin against skin continue as you fuck out the rest of your orgasm. Your balls tapping against the plush of his ass as his little hole leaves you spent.

[dudethatsmyundeaduncle]

DP x DC AU

Danny's gonna adopt all the Halfas in Gotham whether he wants to or not, and it's gonna start with the little dead girl he found after crawling out of that portal in the league base.

Pt 2 here. My Au Art

...........................

There's a dead little girl sitting on the rug in front of Danny's coffee table curiously eating Cheetos.

Well, she's not all the way dead, only half, could even be a little less then that, Danny would know he's sort of the leading expert on being half dead.

Her skins blue, like comic book mystique blue, vibrant and impossible to miss. Shes got these big black eyes and a nasty split going straight through her upper lip to just under her right eye.

She's also missing her nose, it's just gone, no cartilage left over just the gaping nasal cavity like skulls have.

The little girl looks dead, she is dead, or she's at least as dead as Danny is which is almost exclusively in name only.

Her name is Curaré, Danny only knows it because it's been branded into the skin of the little girls neck, just under the curve of her bald skull.

Curaré is terribly thin, the little toddler sized T-shirt she has on hangs loose around her torso where baby fat should fill it out.

She's horrible to look at, a tiny nightmare, her corpse like coloring doing nothing to mitigate the appearance.

Curaré was neither a healthy nor normal little girl, there was no way Danny could have left that league facility without her.

Oh and she almost exclusively spoke in Spanish which made finding her dinner hard.

Not that Cheetos are really dinner, little kids need to eat more then that Danny was pretty sure, like 89% sure. Although they did have a lot of calories...

Danny tilts his head absently as he looks at her, the little demon being illuminated red and green by the glow of the TV. She's enraptured by the Scooby doo rerun Gotham's only spanish language channel is playing tonight.

As if she can feel his eyes she turns to him and tilts her head the same way.

Danny blinks at her, Curaré blinks back.

" Uh- " Danny starts, trying to remember anything from his Spanish elective from sophomore year. God, his teacher had been right he had needed to study more. " The Cheetos, you like them? They're uh...bueno? Oh! Son Buenos?"

He points his finger down at the snack sized bag in her grasp, her fingers are tiny , they must be so fragile, looking at the desperate grasp they have on the bag makes Danny's chest hurt. How could anyone be so small? Had Danny ever been that small?

Curaré blinks again, long and slow, processing Danny's words. She looks down at her Cheetos and back up at Danny then she carefully holds the bag out to him.

" Oh no that's ok they're for you kiddo" Danny insists.

Curaré shakes the bag at him, like enticing a stray cat with treats but he only shakes his head again.

She gives up after that, shrugging and turning back to her cartoons.

Inside her chest Danny can feel her ghost core vibrate placidly as Scooby and Shaggy run across the TV in a panic.

Danny's own core can't help but try to match it's frequency, a low contented humming echoes between them, safe it seems to say.

Curaré can't be older then 4, which means she was resurrected young and that she died even younger. Danny doesn't know how any of it happened, halfas aren't created easily, the amount of energy needed...

She's so small.

He hopes it was fast, whatever it was that did this to her, made her like him.

Danny also hopes that her injuries aren't permanent. Some ghosts keep the carnage of their corpses well into the after life but as a Halfa Curaré should heal, even if she got those injuries during her ressurction. For her sake it'll be much easier to find some sense of normalcy if she isn't always actively bleeding, even if the blood itself is just an ecto-echo of real blood.

Danny curls his knees up to his chest and hides his face for a moment just trying to breathe. He's too young to be taking care of a toddler, he's still six months away from turning 18 and hes got school on Monday. His eyes burn and his throat constricts as he tries to swallow.

No one else but Danny would know how to take care of Curaré, and she's got no family to try and stumble their way through it. Danny can't take her back to the league and he sure as hell isn't going to search for whoever put that brand on her neck.

Even if he dropped her off at the fire station Gotham only has one Meta focused orphanage, it's state run and all the kids in it have to wear little prison style jump suits. And the food sucks, Danny can personally vouch for that.

She doesn't have a home, she's just as out of place here in Gotham as Danny is. Danny really wishes, not for the first time, that he had an adult here. Like Jazz or hell even Mr. Fuckin Lancer.

Just anyone. Anyone who could tell Danny what to do about this. Who could help him out with the child he's suddenly acquired.

He wishes anyone else was here so it wouldn't just be him and Curaré. Two dead kids sitting on the floor of a studio apartment in the Bowery watching cartoons.

What a pair the two of them will make, oh God. Danny laughs as a few tears stain his jeans.

Curaré makes a curious little noise that has Danny forcing his head up. She's reached the inevitable end of her snack sized bag and she looks absolutely devastated. She turns to look at him, tilting the empty bag towards him as if to say ' can you believe this shit!'

Danny can't help but give her a watery smile, no more crying Fenton, and wipes his nose on the back of his hand.

" Okay, one thing at a time." Danny tells himself. " You finished your Cheetos and now it's time for dinner, right? Stop me if I'm wrong."

Curaré just looks at him.

Danny's not worried, they're gonna have all the time in the world to teach her to appreciate humour and also English.

" I'm going to take that as a yes. " Danny hops up off the floor and goes to find his phone, nobody does dinner like the local Batburger.

Little foot steps follow him into the hallway, he'll have to get used to that sound he's going to be hearing it a lot.

Food first, everything would be better after they ate.

...............

For BG I imagine he's been living in Gotham for a few months and found Curaré while popping in and out of different portals in Gotham. (Who woulda guessed that some portal in Gotham leads right to the lazarus pit)

Note: if u wanna see cool art for this AU it's all in the Danny and the little dead girl au tag on my pg!