#something about that just gets me in my chest

[classyrbf]

Nerdy armin w a tongue piercing???? saw the animation and I'm obsessed.

you and your best friend, nerd!armin just chilling in his dorm room while he organizes his new pokemon cards that he had bought earlier, his fingers carefully sliding each card into the plastic sleeve like it was an ancient artifact he didn’t want to destroy. It has been about two months since you last really hung out with him, too busy with midterms and other shit.

You’re bopping your head to the music playing on his speaker, scrolling through Instagram when you peek over and see armin poking his tongue out in full concentration. That wasn’t anything new, but what was new was the piece of silver jewelry adorning his tongue. You sit up, questioning if you’re seeing things. “Armin?” You squint your eyes.

“Hm?” He slides his tongue back in his mouth, pushing his glasses up when he looks at you.

“What’s that…in your mouth?” You question, brows furrowing.

He looks just as confused as you do. “What…what do you mean?” You grip his jaw, his eyes going wide as he moves back a little. “Open your mouth.” And even though he’s still oddly confused, he hesitantly open his mouth and lo and behold, there you see it. A tongue piercing. “When the fuck did you get that?!” You screech, now you’re really in shock.

“Oh! This? That’s what you were talking about.” He fully stuck his tongue out, showing you a better view. “Ummm,” he trails off, “Eren told me to get it as a dare. I don’t know why I did it, but I kinda like it.” He shrugs.

“Armin, that still doesn’t answer my question.” You cock your head to the side. “Also, a dare? You never do dares. I know you’re keeping something from me.”

“It was like two months ago! Right after we stopped hanging out. And, I’m not hiding anything!” He quickly goes back to sorting his cards, flipping through the plastic pages to find an empty slot. He can feel you staring at him, your eyes burning into his skull. After just a few seconds, he breaks. “Ok, fine! We all got drunk at the frat party that they forced me to go to because I was cooped up in my dorm too long and then like I was having fun…yeah…and then one thing led to another and now I have it,” he spoke quickly, trying to get everything off his chest at once without having you interrupt him.

“You, nerdy little armin, got drunk and pierced your tongue as a dare?” You sat there with your arms folded across your chest. “Who have you become since I’ve been away?!” You laugh, still in shock.

“I’m still me, just with a piercing. My parents would kill me if they ever found out though.” He shook his head, slipping one last card into the plastic sleeve. “All done!” He slammed the binder shut, letting out a sigh of relief. “Why are you still staring at me? I told you everything.” He pushed up his glasses again.

“Mmm, did you try it out yet?” You playfully smirk at him.

“What do you mean ‘try it out’?” He blinked.

“On a girl…down there…eating her out?” You giggled.

His face automatically turned bright red, opening his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He couldn’t even look at you anymore, averting his gaze back to his closed binder. “Wh-what?! No! I don’t…I don’t even know how to do that.” He awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Wanna learn?”

[chamisulgrape]

give me tough love 𖤐 [s.jy]

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

☆ pairing → jake x afab reader

☆ word count → 12.9k

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

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

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

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

minors dni.

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

⁺‧₊˚ ���ི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

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

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

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

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

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

Jake was doomed from the start.

“Dibs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doesn’t look like it.”

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

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

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

Jake has a small problem: you hate him.

Saying you hate him is an understatement. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No—”

“Aw, really?”

“No!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get out of my way.”

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

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

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

You glower at him. “Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you’d never ask.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck are you looking at?”

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

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

“You’re an asshole.” You pout.

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

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

Jake’s brain lags. “Wait—”

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

“No, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get on with it already.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake flinches in surprise, “_____.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “_____?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not jealous.” You argue back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’d you say? Hm? Tell me.”

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

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

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

“That I what?” Jake repeats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Practice isn’t even over yet!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And who is Jake to ever deny you?

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

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

“You’re cute.”

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

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

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

Jake preens internally when your mouth drops open in shock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One thing about you is that you get jealous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then out of nowhere, you start taking it further.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Weed?”

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

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

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

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

“Who, ____?” Jake nods in affirmative.

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

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

Riki shrugs, “If you say so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake frowns, shaking his head. “No.”

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

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

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

“Yeah, she is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me, Yun. It’s for me.”

Jake has never looked up so fast in his life.

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

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

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

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

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

He voices it out loud, “Missed you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sunghoon what?” 

Jake jolts. “What?”

Sunghoon squints at him. “Are you high?”

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

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

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

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

“No, I don’t.” 

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

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

“So?” Sunghoon says, expectantly.

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

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

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

“Sunghoon. He’s doing it again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey! Jake, right?” 

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

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

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

“What? We’re—”

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

Jake nods. “Ah. But no, we’re not.”

“Is it like an open relationship thing then?”

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

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

Jake can’t stop the annoyed sigh he lets out. “You talk way too fucking much.”

She frowns. “You don’t have to be rude.”

“Honestly, you’re overstepping right now,” Jake says, hand dragging down his face. “You’re killing my mood.”

“You’re being an asshole.” She spits out, crossing her arms.

Jake snorts, finding the whole situation amusing and exhausting. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

He silently sends a thanks to you when the bathroom door opens. Jake is quick to turn around and hold onto you, pulling you out of the bathroom in a rush. “Thank fuck, I was about to lose my shit.”

“What’s wrong?” You make a confused noise.

“Are you guys together or not?” Yun says, bringing the attention back to her.

Jake rolls his eyes, letting out a frustrated groan. “Please.”

“He’s not gonna fuck you.” Jake watches as you narrow your eyes at her, your scent spiking.

Jake bites his lip to hold back a laugh. “It’s not like you guys are together. Don’t you think that he’d wanna try dating an omega, rather than an alpha?”

“It’s not like he’d wanna fuck you either way,” you say, arm wrapping around Jake’s waist protectively. “Did you need something else? Because I have no problem with you watching us fuck if that’s what you’re really curious about.”

Yun’s face twists in disgust. “You guys are gross. And your boyfriend is an asshole anyways.” “I know.” You reply, and you both watch her turn on her heels and walk away.

When Yun is out of their line of sight, Jake sighs, turning in your hold and hugging you against his chest. Jake’s chest puffs up with pride and his heart swells. “My knight in shining armor. You’re so cute, did I tell you that already?”

You roll your eyes but your face is fond, letting Jake press his face against your neck. You place a kiss on Jake’s neck in return. “Let’s just get out of here, I wanna fuck.”

Jake fakes a pout. “All you want me for is my body.”

“She’s right. You’re an asshole. Hurry up before the offer expires.” You kiss him quickly, before slipping out of his grip and running into the crowd.

Jake’s heart starts to race at the challenge. If you want him to chase you, he will. 

He counts a few seconds in his head before following after you, searching for a jacket with Jake Sim emblazoned on the back.

Jake slips out the door, finding you a few feet ahead of him. It’s already night, and goosebumps rise on his arms from the cold as he runs towards you, catching you in his arms. 

“Wanna fuck in the car?” “No.”

Like always, Jake gets what he wants.

Five minutes later, just as he planned, they’re seated in the back of your car.

The windows are fogged, and he feels thankful that your windows are conveniently tinted—although he wouldn’t mind fucking in the back even if they weren’t.

“Fuck, Jake,” you breathe heavily against him, and Jake has to hold your hips in place to keep you from bucking up against his mouth and hitting him in the nose. “Jakey, fuck, yes.”

If there’s one thing that Jake likes doing, it’s eating you out. 

Even since the first time you taught him, he still finds himself addicted to it. Maybe it’s the fact that you make the prettiest sounds when he does, but honestly, he just likes to make you feel good. Jake thinks he could eat you out for hours.

He’s ripped out of his thoughts when you place a hand into his hair, using the grip to hold him there so you can grind your hips against Jake’s tongue. 

“Hngh, Jake—fuck!” you cry when Jake hums against you, licking along your folds before sucking your clit softly. He uses the hands he has around your thighs to pull you even closer.

Jake relishes in the moans you let out, pulling back the slightest bit to lick circles against your clit. He looks up to drink in the sight of you with your head thrown back, eyes rolled to the back of your head. 

You shake in his hold, and Jake can practically feel the way you’re clenching around nothing. He moans, licking along your slit again before thrusting his tongue inside your hole.

“Oh,” it elicits a whimper out of you, one that breaks off into a long drawn out moan. “Jakey, do—do it again.”

He obeys, fucking his tongue inside of your hole a couple more times before coming back up to suck at your clit. The sounds they’re making are dirty, and Jake closes his eyes at the sound of the wet slurping noises filling up the car. 

You grind up against his mouth. “Fuck, fuck your tongue feels so good. Ah!”

Jake lifts his head, licking his lips before kissing your inner thigh. “You gotta be quiet, people are gonna hear you.”

It’s impossible. Especially because the music coming from the house is too loud and nobody would be able to hear them unless they come to the car, but he likes to entertain the thought anyways, and he knows it gets you off too. 

He smirks against your thigh when it brings a soft, breathy moan out of you. “Yeah? You’d probably like that, huh? You want them to hear you, want them to hear you whine like a fucking bitch with your alpha’s tongue inside of you.”

“Jake, Jakey, please,” your face contorts in frustration when Jake holds your hips down. “Keep going.”

“Say it. Tell me how much you want them to hear you,” Jake replies, moving a hand down to play with your clit. He rubs slowly, just to be a little shit. “Tell me, angel. C’mon.”

You shake your head, “I just—fuck, please.”

“You know what to say.” His breath ghosts over your pussy. 

“Want—want everyone to hear me, want them to hear how good you fuck me,” you pant, head thrown back against the window. “Fuck, want everyone to know how much of a slut I am for you, alpha.”

Jake delivers a harsh suck to your clit, fingers entering your hole at the same time. You sound absolutely wrecked, voice cracking every time you moan. “Gonna stretch you out, open you up so good. Get you ready for my cock.”

You nod erratically, “yeah, yeah. Stretch me open—shit!” Jake curls his fingers, scissoring them and pumping them inside of your hole. The noises are loud, wet squelching mixing with moans and bouncing off the inner walls of the car. 

“Jake, want you now. Can’t wait anymore. Wanna cum on your cock, please.” You get out between cries. 

“Shit, yeah? Fuck, c’mere,” the position is awkward, but he leans back onto his knees to bring their lips together. You pant into the kiss, hips bucking up against Jake’s thigh. “Turn around.”

It’s hard to make it work in the small vicinity of the car, but with Jake’s back pressed to his chest and you on your knees on the seats, you make it work.

He runs his hands along your body, squeezing appreciatively when you shiver. You whine, pushing back against his dick. “Jake, fuck me already, want you now.”

“I don’t have a condom,” he says, looking around the car.

You huff, “I don’t fucking care. We’re both clean and if you don’t fuck me now I’ll kick you out of the car.”

“Impatient.” Jake kisses your shoulder before pulling himself out of his pants. He strokes himself a few times before grabbing his cock to slap it against your cunt. He slides the length between your folds, coating himself in slick to get himself wet. Jake runs the head of his cock against your hole before entering the tip in slowly.

“Fuck,” he groans out when you clench around him. “How are you so fucking tight.”

You both moan simultaneously when Jake finally bottoms out, hips flush against your ass. “Fuck. Gonna fuck you until you’re fucking loose. Gonna have you on my cock all the time.”

You pant, “Like you don’t—fucking do already.”

Jake pulls out to thrust back in harshly, shoving his face into your neck and groaning at the feeling of you so wet and tight around him. “You’re so pretty baby, such a pretty fucking cocksleeve.”

“Shit, Jake!” Jake’s thrusts are fast, unrelenting. The only thought on his mind is to make you come, to make you come first.

The sounds of his hips and balls slapping against you has him groaning, biting into your shoulder. “Wanna fill you up, fill you up with my cum. Gonna knock you up, fuck.”

Jake can feel his dick throbbing inside of you, and his hips stutter at the thought of getting you pregnant. “Gonna—gonna get you pregnant, let everyone know you’re mine. That I’m the only one getting you fuck you like this.”

He pulls your hips flush against him as he thrusts in rapidly, throwing his head back at the feeling of you clenching around him again. “You like that? Wanna walk around full of my cum, knocked up like a dumb whore.”

Your body trembles beneath him as you whimper out pleas. “Yes, yes, fuck, wanna—want it so bad.”

Jake wraps his arms around your waist, hand finding purchase on the smooth expanse of your tummy. “Baby, can you feel that?”

You hold yourself up with one hand, the other feeling around to find Jake’s where it is on your belly. Jake places his hand over yours, pushing down on your tummy. “You’re so fucking tiny, I can feel my cock rubbing up right against your fucking stomach.”

This pulls a throaty moan out of you. Jake’s thrusts don’t let up, and he pulls out until the tip of his cock is against your hole before slamming inside in one go. 

“Baby, talk to me,” Jake says, his breath hot against your ear. He knows how you get, too fucked dumb to even speak. “Hm?”

Your mouth drops open, and Jake takes this chance to slip his fingers in your mouth. It’s wet, and he can feel the drool pooled up and dribbling down the side of your chin. 

He stills, cock still buried to the hilt. “I told you to do something.”

“Mmph!” It comes out muffled around his fingers. Just to be a little shit, he pushes down on your tongue, chuckling lowly when you gag.

“I’m not gonna move until you do what I asked.” Jake keeps his fingers in your mouth, repeating himself.

You shake your head, mewling when drool escapes from the corners of your mouth. “I—hmph.”

Jake presses down on your tongue again before thrusting his fingers deeper, barely hitting the back of your throat. “God, you’re fucking drooling everywhere like a whore.”

He takes mercy on you, finally pulling his fingers out of your mouth with little resistance. You gasp, head lolling and forehead coming into contact with the window. 

Your voice comes out broken, “Jake, fuck, please—need to come so bad, want your cock so bad, please, I’ll be so good.”

Jake decides to be nice, pulling out before thrusting inside roughly. He trails his spit slicked fingers down your jaw to circle around your nipple, smearing the spit there. You jolt, hips bucking back against Jake’s cock.

“You always get so dumb when you have a cock inside you, huh? That’s all it takes for you to shut up?” Jake pinches your nipple. “You’re so fucking easy.”

You clench sporadically around his dick, telltale signs that you’re getting close. Jake brings his hand lower to rub at your clit rapidly, hips never slowing. 

Jake growls against your neck, “Such a dumb bitch. You’re a dumb puppy. Right? Getting fucked by another alpha like a stupid omega.” 

You scream at this, voice high pitched when you cum around Jake’s cock. Jake groans at the feeling of your walls tightening around him, rolling his eyes when he feels wetness seeping down his balls and to his thighs. 

Jake doesn’t let up, fucking you through your climax. “Fuck, you fucking squirted? You really are a dumb fucking bitch.”

He hears you sob, and it only spurs him on further. Jake fucks into you at an animalistic pace, stomach tightening at the whines and whimpers you’re letting out. 

“Jakey, Jake, can’t—it’s too much, ah!” You cry, cheek pressing up against the window. 

Jake growls against your neck, “fucking take it.” 

His hips stutter when you choke on a sob, the band in his stomach finally snapping. He buries himself to the hilt, making sure to coat every inch of your insides with his cum. 

Your hole flutters around him, tightening and clenching at the feeling of Jake’s cum, warm and hot, filling you up to the brim. 

Jake manhandles them back against the seats, making sure to keep his cum plugged into you. He leans back, you now in his lap, back against his chest. At this angle, he feels even deeper, and he can’t stop himself from thrusting up into your heat once more.

You protest, scrambling until your hands are holding onto the back of the driver’s seat. “I’m, I’m too sensitive.” 

He spreads your legs, hand coming down between them to rub at your swollen, abused clit. Jake suppresses a smirk when you flinch, tightening around him in surprise. 

“Jake, I can’t—it’s too much, please,” you beg, squirming in Jake’s lap.

“Your alpha is still hard, baby. Be good for me, you’re gonna cum again, okay? I know you can.” Jake kisses your shoulder, nosing along your nape. 

You shake your head, panting heavily. “I can’t, Jake, please.”

Jake tuts, hand still rubbing circles against your clit. He brings his other hand to play with your nipples, knowing where you’re the most sensitive like the back of his hand.

“C’mon, I know you can. You wanna be good for me, yeah?” He places a wet kiss onto your neck when you nod. “Be a good omega and cum again, wanna feel you cum around my cock again.”

You gulp, exhaling through your nose. Your whole body shakes and quivers in Jake’s hold. Jake talks you through it, whispering about how good you are and how obedient you are. 

He brings the hand that was playing with your nipple up to wrap around your throat, applying the slightest pressure there. Jake thrusts his hips up at the same time as he squeezes your throat — and that’s all it takes to push you over the edge again.

You curl up, too fucked out to do anything other than cum and sob silently. Jake feels it when you cum, your walls tightening around his cock. He squeezes again before releasing his hold around your neck to turn your head and capture your lips in a kiss.

The angle makes it hard for them to kiss, but you take it all, opening your mouth obediently and letting Jake explore every inch of your mouth with his tongue. They kiss lazily for a few more minutes before you pull away with a wince.

“My seats are gonna be so gross,” you say, leaning your head back to rest against Jake’s.

He wraps his arms around your waist. “Who’s fault is that?” 

“Yours. You’re the one who always wants to fuck in the fucking car. In my car!” You shoot back. You make a sound of protest when Jake goes to pull out. “Don’t! It’s gonna make a bigger mess.”

“Liar, you just like the fact that my cum is inside of you right now.” Jake teases. 

You groan, “Shut up, no I don’t.” They both know it’s a lie.

“Kinky,” he strokes your stomach with a thumb. “Hey.”

You hum, still leaning against his chest. “Are we… Are we gonna keep acting like this?”

“Like what?” You question.

“Like we hate each other.” Jake replies. 

It’s silent for a few minutes before you speak again, “is that what you want?”

“Is that what you want?” Jake repeats. 

You swallow, the sound making an audible click inside the quiet car. “Let’s talk about this when you’re not literally balls deep inside of me.”

Jake makes a sound of agreement, but he can’t help the uneasy feeling that fills his chest. He listens, trusting that they’ll cross that bridge when they get there, because if there’s anything about Jake, it’s that he always wins and he always gets what he wants. 

And what Jake wants? It’s always been you.

[lovebugism]

Thunderbolts prompt: fake dating with them oh my lordy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe something a little stronger?” you quip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She figures she could get used to this.

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

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

The answer to that question was easy: everything.

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

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

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

It was nothing short of your own personal hell. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck do you care?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry for saving your life, you idiot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well…” John shrugs. “Now you do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. About… lying to everyone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was all Bob’s fault, really. 

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

[heavenlybodies333]

The Vest Stays On - S.R

Spencer Reid x coworker!reader | Secret Relationship |

The first time you saw Spencer Reid in the tactical vest, it short-circuited your entire nervous system.

It happened during a joint task force case with SWAT, just outside of Portland. You were half-caffeinated, bloodied from crawling through brambles to get a GPS fix on a suspect’s last drop point, and very much not expecting to be visually assaulted at seven-thirty in the morning. But then he stepped out of the SUV, FBI gear snug around his narrow chest, the black straps cinching in just right, the embroidered letters bright against the navy blue. Hair tousled. Glock holstered.

And you? Useless. Every neuron in your brain screamed: climb him.

You weren’t the only one who noticed. Morgan had laughed when you choked on your water. JJ had side-eyed you when you pretended to stare at the street signs just to avoid looking at Spencer’s chest. “That’s the fifth time you’ve looked,” Emily mutters under her breath beside you, handing over her report.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh please,” she snorts. “You’ve been ogling Reid like he’s the last glass of water in the desert.”

And Hotch—of course Hotch—was the only one oblivious, laser-focused on briefing SWAT while the rest of the team collectively ignored how suddenly, unfairly hot Dr. Spencer Reid looked in tactical gear.

Which brings you to now. Because apparently the BAU’s got a knack for hotel fuck-ups. There’s only one room left tonight, and surprise—it's yours and Spencer's. Two twin beds, one broken thermostat, and five days into a case that’s frayed both of your nerves to ribbons.

And Reid? He’s still wearing the damn vest.

It’s past midnight. You’re in a tank top and boyshorts, pacing in front of the single working AC unit like it’s your job. Spencer’s sitting stiffly on the edge of his bed, hands on his knees, posture impeccable—like he’s trying not to look at you. Like the thought of you in so little isn’t killing him. It’s mutual.

“I can take the floor if you want,” he offers.

You raise a brow. “Why? Scared I’ll kick in my sleep?”

“No,” he says quickly. “I just—I figured you’d be more comfortable. With space.”

You stop in front of him. Your eyes drift to the vest. It’s still zipped up, snug over his chest, the collar slightly popped against the base of his throat. “You gonna sleep in that thing?” you ask, stepping into his space. “Or is it permanently fused to your body now?”

He swallows. “I was—I didn’t want to—I didn’t think—”

“I don’t think I ever told you,” you interrupt, running your hand through his hair, “how unfairly hot this vest is.”

“I-I got that impression.”

You grin. “You know what I want?”

His breath hitches. “What?”

You lean in close, your mouth brushing his jaw as your fingers trail over the vest’s chest straps. “I want you to fuck me in it.”

With a firm hand, you shove him backward onto the mattress. He goes willingly, vest thudding softly against the cheap polyester sheets. You climb over him, knees straddling his hips, your fingers curling around the edge of the vest to anchor yourself. You roll your hips down, slow and deliberate, grinding against him. He groans.

“Tell me something, Doctor,” you murmur, tugging at one of the black buckles. “Statistically speaking, how many times can someone come in a single night?”

He chokes on a laugh—half arousal, half disbelief. “I—uh—five to six, depending on... variables.”

You smirk. “Let’s test that hypothesis, shall we?” He grips your hips tight. You grind against the hard line of him through his slacks and he groans—a soft, helpless sound that goes straight to your core.

Spencer kisses you again—slower this time, purposeful—then pulls your arms above your head. He grabs his belt from where it hangs on the bedpost and uses it to bind your wrists, leather tight but not painful.

“You move,” he murmurs, “and you don’t come.”

Your thighs squeeze together, aching. “What if I beg?”

“You can beg all you want.” He leans down, lips brushing your collarbone. “I like the sound of it.”

He trails kisses down your chest, nips at the waistband of your shorts. His hands skim your thighs, teasing, torturously slow. He drops his gaze to your boyshorts, now pushed aside, and hums softly under his breath like he’s filing away the image for later. You arch involuntarily when he strokes a thumb across your clit, featherlight. Just enough to make you crave more.

“You’re already so wet,” he murmurs. “Is it the vest?”

You whimper. “Spencer…”

He tilts his head, mock-serious. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes. God. Yes.”

“Noted.” He leans down and kisses the inside of your thigh, slow and indulgent. You twitch in his hold, desperate for friction, but he tuts. “I said don’t move.”

You nearly whine. “You’re torturing me.”

“I’m teasing you,” he corrects, licking another maddening stripe up your center. “Big difference. Trust me—I’ve done the research.”

You buck your hips before you can stop yourself. Spencer freezes. You feel his breath against your skin, just before he pulls away entirely. “No,” you plead, straining against the belt.

He raises a brow, expression cool behind the heat in his eyes. “I warned you.”

“Spencer, please—”

He slides back up your body until he’s straddling your hips and fuck, he’s so hard. The fabric catches on the outline of his cock as he pushes them down just enough to free himself. He doesn’t bother undressing further. The vest stays on, snug against his frame, and you can see his chest rising with each breath.

He fists himself once, twice—lining himself up with you—and then pauses, cock pressed at your entrance. Sliding it up and through your wet slick before slowly pushing in. You moan—loud, wrecked, your head tipping back against the pillow. He’s big and slow about it, pushing in deep and staying there, letting you feel every inch of him.

You whine under him, tugging instinctively at the belt binding your wrists. “Spence baby please—”

He groans deep in his chest and leans down, the hard ridge of his vest pressing tight against your nipples, the friction causing you to whimper.

“Yeah?” He thrusts harder. “You like the vest?”

You nod wildly. “God, yes.”

“I’ll wear it every day if you want.” You laugh—breathy, desperate—then cry out as he hits just the right spot.

The headboard slams into the wall. You both freeze. From the hallway, a door slams. Spencer presses his forehead to yours, panting. “We’re gonna get caught,” you whisper. He thrusts again. Hard. “Not if you stay quiet.”

You bite your lip. He watches, transfixed. “Be good for me,” he whispers. “Stay quiet. Let me fuck you like this.”

Your eyes roll back. You’re going to come, and he knows it—knows by the way your hips stutter, how your fingers curl into the Velcro on his chest.

“God, you feel good,” he groans against your jaw. Spencer doesn't stop—grinds you through it, cock buried deep, watching you like you're unraveling every scientific principle he’s ever believed in.

“Fuck,” he pants, low and harsh. “You’re so—God—”

You feel him start to lose rhythm, hips jerking erratically. “Inside,” you manage to gasp. “Come in me. Please.”

He groans your name, deep and broken, and spills into you, hips stuttering through the aftershocks as his head drops to your shoulder. You feel it—hot and thick and endless.

When he finally lifts his head, you’re still trying to catch your breath. He brushes damp hair from your forehead and presses a kiss there, soft and startlingly tender.

“You okay?” he asks, voice hoarse.

You tug weakly at your wrists. “Untie me before I find a way to punish you.”

Spencer grins—actually grins—as he reaches for the belt. “Promise?”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s a dangerous game, Doctor.”

He drops the belt to the floor and pulls you into his chest, arms winding around you, vest rough and warm against your cheek. You settle there, content and fucked-out, and sigh.

“You know,” he says, absently running a thumb over your thigh, “in the Victorian era, women were diagnosed with ‘hysteria’ when they experienced… symptoms like yours.”

You lift your head. “Symptoms like what? Being feral for their boyfriend in tactical gear?”

He nods earnestly. “Exactly. Increased heart rate, flushing, rapid breathing, erratic behavior. The prescription was often—well, manual stimulation. Administered by physicians. It’s where the invention of the vibrator comes from.”

You gape at him. “Spencer.”

He shrugs, still tracing nonsense patterns on your thigh. “Just a historical fun fact.”

“You are the weirdest, hottest person I’ve ever met.”

“That’s not mutually exclusive, you know,” he murmurs, bending down to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Intelligence and arousal activate adjacent neural circuits in the limbic system. That’s why people find brains sexy. It’s science.”

“You’re science,” you mumble, tilting your head. “So. Statistically, how long is the average refractory period for men your age?”

He flushes, then smiles like he’s being challenged. “Well, the median is about fifteen minutes. But there’s a huge variation depending on stimulation, emotional connection, hormone levels—”

“So we could test the upper limits of that, is what I’m hearing.”

He pauses, eyes darkening. “Do you want to?”

You lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth, your voice honey-sweet and dangerous. “Only if you keep the vest on.”

He practically groans. “God, you’re gonna kill me.”

And it’s only round two.

a/n: raw raw rawwww

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[leriexoxo]

Unknown Number

Idol! Chan x Stay! Reader

Tags: strangers to something more, voice kink, phone sex, anonymous sexting, slow reveal, idol!Chan is lurking, dirty talk, mystery man AU, smut 18+, blindfolds, unprotected sex, thigh riding, dom chan, praise kink, oral (f receiving) fingering

Word count: 5.4k

Summary: It starts with a text. A no-name number. A bold stranger in the dark. He saw your comment in a chaotic Stay group chat—“those fingers could ruin my life”—and now he won’t leave you alone. But maybe you don’t want him to. Because his texts are flirty, filthy, and just the right kind of fucked up. Because his voice notes make your thighs press together. Because he talks like he already knows what you sound like when you come. And the worst part? His voice sounds dangerously familiar.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The first text came at 12:43 AM.

Unknown Number:

hey. you awake?

You didn’t recognize it. No name. No contact photo. Just numbers. But something about the timing—and the boldness—had your curiosity flaring.

You hesitated, thumb hovering. Then answered.

You:

who’s this?

Unknown Number:

just a bored stranger. saw your number in that stay gc. figured you wouldn’t mind the company.

You blinked. That group had been pure chaos, a flood of usernames and selfies and people throwing their numbers around like confetti. You almost forgot you’d joined it in the first place.

You:

wow. bold of you to admit you’re creeping in there like that lol

also… which one were you? i don’t remember you posting anything

A pause.

Then—

Unknown Number:

i didn’t

i like watching more than talking

especially when the girls are that pretty

Your stomach dipped.

Flirty. Shameless. You should’ve blocked him.

Instead, your lips curled.

You:

so what—you just stalked and picked the first girl who looked like she’d be down to text a stranger?

Unknown Number:

no. i picked the one who made that comment about chan’s hands during that encore stage.

you said, “those fingers could ruin my life” and i haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

You froze.

Your heart stuttered. You remembered typing that. The GC had been flying, no way to know who’d even seen it. And now it was echoing back at you from some faceless man in the dark.

You:

you’re a menace.

admit it. you get off on lurking. Chan would be horrified.

Another pause.

Unknown Number:

maybe, but i think he’d understand

You:

oh yeah? why’s that?

Unknown Number:

because if i were him, i’d want to know exactly who says that kind of stuff about me.

especially if she meant it.

Your breath caught.

You:

…and do you?

mean it?

Unknown Number:

every word.

but you tell me—should i be worried you’re the type to flirt with strangers this easily?

You smirked at your screen, heartbeat kicking faster.

You:

maybe i just have a thing for mystery

or maybe i like the idea that some stranger out there is thinking about me when he should be sleeping

Unknown Number:

you should stop saying things like that

You:

why?

Unknown Number:

because now i’m wondering how you sound when you’re out of breath

You stared at the message a beat too long. It’s not even what he said—it’s the way he said it. Like he already knew he could be the one to pull that sound out of you.

You:

that’s a bold thing to say to someone you’ve never met. you don’t even know what i look like

Unknown Number:

don’t need to.

i like your brain first.

your mouth second.

the rest is just a bonus.

Your breath stuttered in your chest. Who was this guy?

You:

you talk like you’ve done this before

seducing strangers through a screen

Unknown Number:

i don’t.

just bored. and maybe a little curious.

You:

curious about what?

Unknown Number:

what kind of girl sends texts like that about chan’s fingers

and whether she texts even filthier things when she’s comfortable

You bit your lip, grinning.

You:

maybe you’ll find out if you don’t scare me off first

Unknown Number:

oh baby, if you scare easy… you wouldn’t have replied to me at all

The way he called you baby shouldn’t have made your stomach flip like it did. It wasn’t even a real person. You didn’t know who was on the other end. And yet—you couldn’t stop.

⸻

Day 3

Unknown Number:

still thinking about the way you said “ruin my life”

i wonder how far you’d really let someone take that

You:

depends on who it is

Unknown Number:

so if it were chan? you’d let him?

You:

you ask a lot of questions for someone hiding behind a fake number

Unknown Number:

maybe i’m just trying to find the perfect way to ruin you myself

Day 6

The texting hadn’t stopped.

It was not constant—but it was regular. Little things. Late-night provocations. Random check-ins. Sometimes he was sweet. Sometimes unhinged. But always flirtatious. Always suggestive. And always reading you too well.

Unknown Number:

you at work?

You:

yeah, bored af… why?

Unknown Number:

just picturing you trying to act normal after everything you said last night

like a good girl pretending she didn’t admit she wanted to be choked

Your fingers paused mid-typing.

You:

you’re twisted

i like it

Unknown Number:

i know you do

you’re just as fucked up as me and i haven’t even told you the worst parts yet

A few seconds of his typing bubble coming and going, before the next text dropped.

Unknown Number:

what’s the dirtiest thing you’ve ever imagined about him?

No warning. No easing into it. Just dropped into your messages like a match on gasoline.

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering. You could’ve played coy. Could’ve brushed it off. But it was late, your inhibitions were low, and this was him—your anonymous stranger, your chaos comfort. The one person who let you say anything without judgement.

So, you gave him the truth.

You:

i think about riding his thigh way too much, like full on grinding in his studio, late at night.

headphones on, shirt off, music playing like nothing’s wrong, but i’m coming on his leg while he pretends to mix tracks

There was silence after that. No typing bubble. Nothing.

For a minute, you wondered if you’d finally gone too far. Made it too real. But then your screen lit up again—except this time, not with a message.

A voice note.

You stared at it.

The little waveform pulsed quietly, like it was waiting. And before you could think twice, you pressed play.

It started with a low breath. Like someone trying to keep their cool and failing.

Then—

“Fuck… you’re gonna kill me.”

The voice was deep. Gravel and heat and something so raw it skated straight down your spine. Familiar. Not too familiar—but something about it made your skin prickle.

“I shouldn’t be imagining it, but now I am,” the voice continued. Rough. Lazy. Wrecked. “You bouncing on my thigh, making those soft little noises you don’t even know you make…”

A pause.

Then a quiet, throaty chuckle.

“…and you expect me to sit still and pretend nothing’s happening? Baby, if you ever climbed on me like that, you wouldn’t be leaving the studio for hours.”

The recording cut off with the sound of a sharp inhale, like he was about to say more—but stopped himself.

Your heart pounded.

It wasn’t just the filth. Wasn’t just the way he said baby like he already owned your body. It was the tone. Something in it that teased the edges of recognition, like a song you couldn’t quite place. Not a perfect match—but a ghost of one. You frowned, replayed the voice in your mind, again and again.

And failed to ignore the stupid, impossible thought that whispered— No. It couldn’t be.

Could it?

You:

that voice

have we met before?

The message stayed unread for a few minutes.

And then—

Unknown Number:

not yet

—

You shouldn’t have replayed the voice note.

But you did.

Over and over. Lying in bed with your knees pulled to your chest, phone pressed to your ear like it held answers. And maybe it did—just not the kind that made sense. Because that voice did something to you. Tugged on a thread you didn’t know was loose.

Low. Deep. That exact kind of rough that spilled into your dreams when you thought about Chan whispering filth behind your ear.

Except… this wasn’t a fantasy anymore.

You’d said his name in front of a stranger. Described yourself melting on Chan’s thigh. And he hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t pulled away.

He’d responded like he’d wanted it. Like he was the one holding your hips down.

And God—that voice.

You tapped open a random behind-the-scenes video. Just to compare. Just to check.

Your breath hitched.

No. No way. Not possible. You were being insane.

Still… your chest felt too tight.

You:

i’m spiraling, don’t mind me

just casually obsessing over that voice note. you sound so familiar it’s driving me crazy

No reply. For hours.

But what you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was that while you were busy unraveling, so was he.

Because you’d told him your name once. Offhanded. Way back on Day Two, when he called you baby girl in a text and you laughed, saying—

“you don’t even know me, my guy. it’s [Y/N], by the way.”

And that was all it took.

He went looking. Lurking. He searched through the GC again, found your profile. Clicked your socials.

And then he saw you.

Saw the face behind the dirty little texts. The smile that curled when you teased. The thighs you said you wanted to ride his with. The lips. The eyes. The one bikini pic you posted with zero shame and a caption that said “it’s too hot out” like you didn’t just set his whole body on fire.

He stared at your selfies so long he forgot to breathe.

And when he finally responded— It wasn’t with a text.

It was another voice note.

You saw the waveform and your stomach flipped.

Pressed play.

“Just saw your page.”

His voice came out lower this time. Slower. Like smoke and honey and trouble.

“You’re real pretty, y’know that?”

A pause. You could almost feel him grinning.

“Exactly my type. That mouth of yours would look even better wrapped around my fingers.”

You choked on air.

“If I had you in front of me right now, baby… I’d ruin you. You’d be soaked just from hearing the way I breathe your name.”

Your pulse skipped.

“Should I say it? Should I moan it for you next time?”

Click. It ended there.

You stared at your screen like it had slapped you. Your thighs pressed together on instinct, heat crawling up your neck. He knew now. He’d seen you. And suddenly, it wasn’t just a game anymore.

It felt like a trap.

And you were walking right into it.

You:

what else did you see?

Unknown Number:

enough to want more

every. single. night.

You didn’t respond right away.

You needed time to breathe, time to cool down—except, you didn’t. Not really.

You were already wet before the voice note ended.

Already playing it back in your head like it was your favorite late-night playlist. That voice, so low and thick in your ears. That cocky little pause before he asked if he should moan your name.

You almost said yes.

Almost begged for it.

But instead, you smiled—schemed.

You weren’t stupid. He’d seen your socials. He was definitely stalking now. You had no doubt he’d clocked your Chan obsession.

So you decided to play a little.

Test the limits.

You:

i keep wondering what you’d sound like really moaning my name

like… if i had my mouth on you

would you curse? or say something soft in… korean maybe?

Three dots. Then nothing.

A beat.

Then the voice note came in. You didn’t even hesitate this time.

Click.

“…you’d hear both,” he rasped, already sounding out of breath. “I’d be praising you in English and cursing in Korean. You’d earn every damn syllable.”

Your mouth went dry.

“But you’d have to beg for it,” he added. “On your knees. All needy, telling me exactly what you want. Exactly how deep.”

Click.

Your core throbbed.

Still—you had a goal tonight. And it wasn’t just soaking your panties.

So you pushed further.

You:

you’re so good at dirty talk

you sure you’re not some secret idol who’s had media training or something?

you kinda sound like you know how to use a mic

You smiled as you sent it. Waited.

Unknown Number:

haha! you’re cute

That’s it? No voice note this time. You narrowed your eyes, smirking.

You:

i’m serious though, i listened to one of chan’s old vlives today

he’s got a sexy ass voice, kinda deep like yours when you talk slow. you two could be twins

You watched the “read” receipt pop up instantly.

No response.

You:

wait…you’re not him, right?

imagine

Nothing.

Your phone stayed silent for almost ten whole minutes.

And then it buzzed again—another voice note.

You could already feel the grin spreading across your face as you hit play.

“I’m not him,” the voice crooned, low and slow like warm silk. “But if I was… you think I’d let you get away with saying shit like that without consequences?”

You bit your lip hard. The recording continued.

“You’d be bent over that couch before you finished the sentence, baby. Face down. Ass up. I’d remind you exactly what my voice sounds like when you’re full of me.”

Click.

You didn’t realize your thighs had clenched together until your muscles ached.

And still—you weren’t done.

You:

you’re really good at this

whoever you are

maybe too good, maybe i should be scared

Unknown Number:

then stop teasing or i’ll make you say my name while you come

Your pulse jumped.

And for the first time all night… you wondered if maybe, just maybe, you already had.

⸻

Your legs were already trembling.

You’d been edging yourself for the past ten minutes—hand under the sheets, replaying that voice note like it was a playlist you couldn’t live without. Every time he said baby in that ruined growl, your fingers slipped lower. Every time he whispered what he’d do to you, your breath hitched.

And then you got brave.

Your thumb hovered over the record icon. You didn’t think. You just pressed.

You let the silence hang for a second—just your breathing, soft and needy. You let him feel how real it was.

Then you whispered, voice hushed, drenched in heat:

“Wanna know how I sound when I imagine Chan fucking me?”

Another pause. Then a soft, teasing whimper. Just enough to make his imagination snap.

“I moan his name like it’s the only word I know,” you purred. “I picture him grabbing my throat, whispering dirty things in that deep voice and accent, and I can’t help it. I’m already dripping.”

You let your breath hitch again. Just once. Just enough.

“I imagine him pushing me up against the wall in his studio, whispering ‘good girl’ against my mouth, and I lose it. I come just from his voice.”

Click.

You stared at the screen, heartbeat in your throat. No regrets.

He didn’t answer immediately.

But when he did—oh, God.

It was instant.

Unknown Number:

baby.

Another voice note dropped in seconds later.

You didn’t even brace yourself this time. You wanted to hear him break.

Click.

“You really wanna play that game?” His voice was pure gravel now, thick with restraint. You could hear the tension, the crack in it.

“Do you have any idea what you just did to me?”

You bit your lip.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep saying shit like that. Fuck—you’re dangerous.”

Another pause. A breath. Something almost like a growl.

“You wanna take this further?”

Your breath caught.

“Take a chance on me. Meet me. Let me ruin you for real.”

You blinked, heart hammering now for a different reason.

Then the final blow—

“I’ll tell you my name in person,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “But you’ll be screaming it by the end of the night anyway.”

Click.

You stared at your phone, stunned. Soaked. Shaking.

Unknown Number:

yes or no

one word baby, and i’ll tell you where to find me

You didn’t text back. You couldn’t. Your hands were shaking too hard to type. So you hit the call button.

Just like that.

Your thumb hovered for half a second before it connected. And then it rang. Once. Twice.

He picked up.

“Fuck,” he breathed—just that.

And it hit you low.

His voice—real, not filtered through a voice note. It filled your ear like silk-wrapped sin, deep and slick and raw.

“You really called me,” he said, almost laughing under his breath, like he couldn’t believe it either. “God, you sound—”

“Wrecked,” you rasped. “I sound completely wrecked.”

His inhale was sharp. You could barely get words out.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” you whispered. “Your voice—your fucking voice—it’s like every fantasy I’ve ever had about Chan, but worse.”

He choked. “Worse?”

You whimpered softly, dragging your palm across your soaked core, no longer caring if he could hear.

“He ruins me,” you breathed. “In my head, he’s so mean. Doesn’t even give me time to adjust. Just whispers, ‘take it,’ and—”

“Jesus Christ,” he growled.

“—And I do. I take it like a good girl. Like I’m supposed to.”

He was silent. But you could hear his breathing—heavy, desperate. Like his hand was wrapped around himself already.

You swallowed, voice dipping lower. “I imagine riding his thigh and crying when he doesn’t let me come. You think I’m sick for that?”

“…No,” he rasped. “I think I wanna see it.”

You bit your lip hard. “You’d really watch me fuck myself stupid over your voice?”

“I’d hold your hips down,” he said. “Make you say please. Make you scream.”

And you moaned. Right into the speaker.

Soft. Real. Honest.

He gasped—just a little. That sound did something to him. You felt it.

“Say it again,” he whispered. “Say my name.”

“Chan—” It slipped. You didn’t even think.

And he shuddered.

“Fucking hell. Say it again.”

“Chan—” breathy, broken.

“Keep going.”

“Chan, please,” you whimpered. “Please, I need—fuck—I need you inside me, I can’t—”

His voice broke, cracked, fractured in your ear. You still didn’t hear it. You didn’t notice.

Because in your head, this wasn’t real. There was no way your ultimate fantasy, your favorite idol, the man who owned your soul with one smirk on stage—was the stranger breathing ragged into your phone right now.

There was no way Chan could be real. No way he’d call you baby in that exact voice. No way he’d whisper—

“Say yes.”

Your lashes fluttered.

“To what?” you asked, dizzy.

“Say yes,” he repeated. “To seeing me. Let me prove what I’ll do to you.”

You swallowed hard. You wanted it. All of it.

Still clueless. Still soaked. Still talking to the one man you thought was impossible.

“yes.”

⸻

The car ride felt longer than it was.

Your thighs stayed pressed together the whole time, hands fidgeting in your lap. You kept reapplying lip balm even though it was perfect. Kept checking your phone even though he hadn’t messaged again—not since you said yes.

Just one message. “Penthouse” One pin drop location.

No name still. No other clue.

But you went. You had to.

You reached the building—quiet street, upscale high-rise. Your heels clicked softly against polished marble floors as you made your way through the lobby, every step heavier than the last.

Penthouse suite.

Of course.

He had money. You knew that already. The voice, the confidence, the way he said he’d show you what your fantasies felt like in real life—he wasn’t bluffing.

You stopped in front of the door.

Stared.

And then, hand trembling, you raised your knuckles and knocked once.

Silence.

And then—

The door opened. Your heart stopped.

The man standing there was familiar.

Too familiar.

Too—

“…Chan?” you whispered, eyes wide, stomach lurching.

He leaned against the doorframe, black hoodie hanging off one shoulder, hair messy like he’d been running his fingers through it for hours. His chain glinted in the soft hallway light.

One corner of his mouth curved up.

And that voice—that voice that had ruined you all night—slid through your skull like molten sin.

“Surprise, baby.”

You froze.

Mouth parted. Eyes locked on his. Brain not catching up.

You were standing face to face with Bang Chan.

Your idol. Your obsession. Your late-night fantasy.

The man who whispered filth into your ear like it was made for you.

“You’re—” You choked. “No way. There’s no fucking way—”

Chan stepped closer. Just one slow, predatory step.

“You called me Chan when you moaned,” he said, dark eyes locked on your lips. “You knew.”

“I—I thought I was just—I didn’t think—”

He laughed softly, jaw flexing. “But it was always right there in front of you baby”

You backed up a step, but his hand shot out—gripped your waist. Firm. Steady. Possessive.

“I’ve been dying to touch you since the second I saw your profile, Y/N. You think I didn’t notice the way you talk about me online? You practically begged me to ruin you.”

Your knees buckled slightly.

“Now,” he murmured, dragging you inside and shutting the door behind you, “I’m gonna make good on every filthy thing we both said.”

Your back hit the wall.

“But this time,” he whispered, voice all gravel and heat, “you won’t be able to pretend it’s just a fantasy.”

His mouth hovered inches from yours. Pupils blown.

Close enough to feel the heat, to smell the faint trace of his cologne—clean, smoky, dark. Your pulse thudded in your ears, wild and loud. You still couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t breathe.

Chan’s hand slid from your waist to your jaw, slow and steady, like he was testing how much of you he was allowed to own. His thumb grazed your bottom lip, tugged it slightly, eyes never leaving yours.

“Still think this is a dream?”

You shook your head, barely.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I don’t want you waking up anytime soon.”

You leaned in, lips parted, waiting—begging—for his mouth.

But he smirked. Didn’t kiss you.

Instead, he leaned to your ear, breath hot against your skin, and whispered—

“You thought about me in this hoodie, didn’t you?

Your stomach dropped.

“Imagined me pulling it off, pressing you into my mattress—making you forget your own name.”

You whimpered, thighs clenching together.

“I heard every sound you made earlier,” he murmured. “You didn’t even try to hide how wet you were.”

“Chan—” you whispered, but it cracked.

“Mm. Just like that. Say it again.”

“Chan—”

He groaned.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he muttered, leaning back just enough to look you over. His gaze dragged down your body—slow, heavy, hungry. “Fuck, you’re exactly my type. Pretty little mouth, skin I wanna bite, and thighs begging to be spread.”

You shivered, hands gripping the front of his hoodie.

“Touch me,” you whispered.

“Not yet.”

You blinked. “W-What?”

His mouth was at your neck now, barely brushing your skin. Not kissing. Not biting. Just hovering.

“You already gave me everything over the phone, didn’t you? Your moans. Your voice. Every filthy thing you wanted me to do.”

His voice dropped to a sinful purr.

“So now I wanna watch you beg.”

You gasped.

“You gonna let me see how desperate you get for me? Right here, baby. Against this wall.”

You swallowed hard. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers trembling.

He grabbed your wrists—lightly, but enough to stop you.

“Mm-mm,” he hummed, lips brushing your cheek. “I said beg.”

“Chan, please,” you whimpered, arching your back just slightly, pushing your chest against his. “You don’t know how badly I need you.”

“No,” he said, low and lethal. “I do. And that’s why I’m not giving it to you yet.”

His hand slid up your thigh—almost. Almost.

Then it stopped.

“You think I’m cruel now?” he whispered. “Wait until I’m inside you and still not letting you come.”

You whined—loud.

And he laughed, dark and breathless. “There she is.”

Then finally—finally—he kissed you.

Not soft, Not sweet.

Claiming.

Tongue first. No warning. Hands gripping your hips like he owned them. You barely got a breath in before he pressed you harder into the wall, lips devouring yours like he’d been waiting a lifetime.

You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed it whole.

And then—he pulled back, chest heaving.

“One more chance to back out, baby,” he said, voice wrecked. “Because after tonight, things are gonna be different.”

“Please—”

He led you down the hallway with his hand on your lower back—no words, no teasing now, just heat radiating off his body like it was built to burn you.

The lights were low, but his room still felt rich. Sleek lines, black sheets, cool-toned walls. And you—blinking at your reflection in the floor-length mirror across from the bed—trying to remember how to breathe.

“Sit,” he said, and you did.

The bed dipped beneath your weight, silk beneath your fingers. He stood in front of you, hoodie still on, eyes dark and patient like a man who already knew how the night would end.

But then—you stilled when you saw what was in his hand.

A blindfold.

You looked up at him, breath catching.

“Trust me?” he asked softly.

You nodded. He stepped closer, brushing hair away from your face before tying the fabric around your eyes. Not too tight. Not uncomfortable. But enough to change everything.

“You don’t need to see me tonight,” he whispered against your cheek. “You’ve heard me. Felt me. Begged for me.”

He guided you backward, hands careful on your shoulders, until you were flat on the bed.

“Tonight,” he whispered, breath ghosting your throat, “you only get sound. And touch. And need.”

You whimpered, arching instinctively, trying to find his mouth, his hands, anything—

But he just laughed. Dark. Low. Almost cruel.

“Desperate already?” he murmured.

“Chan, please—”

“Mm. That’s the one.”

Then his hands—warm, wide—slid down your sides. Slowly. Reverently. But he still hadn’t really touched you.

Until— He moved.

Positioned you without a word. Straddled his thigh between your legs, gripped your waist, and pulled you flush against him.

You gasped—sharp, involuntary.

The muscle flexed beneath you. Solid. Hot. Right where you needed him.

“There,” he whispered. “Didn’t you say you thought about this?”

You nodded frantically, blindfolded and panting.

“Riding my thigh while I whisper all the things I’d do to you?”

“Fuck,” you whimpered, already grinding.

“That’s it, baby. Show me.”

He let you move. Just watched. Let you use him, breath heavy and dirty in your ear as he spoke.

“You’re soaked, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you cried.

“Messing up my pants like a good girl. Gonna leave a stain right there, huh?”

He flexed again.

You whined.

His lips brushed your ear.

“You want my cock already, but I’m making you come just like this. Wanna hear how greedy you sound.”

You moaned—loud, desperate.

“Shh,” he whispered. “Or I’ll stop. We don’t come until I say so.”

“Chan, please—please—”

But he stayed still, hand pressing lightly on your lower back.

“You’ll come when I let you. Not a second before.”

And that broke you.

Your body shook, thighs trembling as he slowed you down, holding you in place.

“You wanna be good for me, baby?” he breathed, lips against your neck. “Take the blindfold off and get on all fours.”

You froze.

He tugged the blindfold free.

You blinked, dazed, ruined.

“Turn around,” he said. “Now.”

And you did.

Hands on the sheets. Ass up. Back arched.

You looked over your shoulder—heart stuttering when you saw him standing there, hoodie off, black tank hugging his chest, chain catching the light.

“You’re gonna take me now,” he growled, stepping closer, voice low and possessive. “Every inch. Every word. Every fantasy.”

“And after that?” you whispered, eyes wide, skin burning.

His smile turned sinful.

“You’ll never think of me as your idol again.”

You felt his body behind you before you heard him move.

A warm palm smoothed over your back, from the dip of your spine to the curve of your ass. Gentle. Reverent. Worshipping. He breathed slow, like he was grounding himself. Like if he wasn’t careful, he’d devour you whole before he even got inside.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmured. “Fuck, baby. Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”

You tried to answer, but the words melted on your tongue when he leaned down—chest grazing your back, lips brushing your neck.

“You let me hear you. Let me tease you. Let me own your body before I ever saw your face.”

His fingers slid under the waistband of your underwear, dragging slow.

“And now that I have all of you…” He kissed your shoulder. “You’re not leaving my bed until I’ve ruined you.”

You whimpered.

He laughed, breath hot and low.

“Still so shy? After everything you said to me?”

You turned your head, lips parted. “I want it. All of it.”

That broke him.

The sound he made wasn’t human.

He tore your underwear down and off in one swift pull. Fingers gripped your thighs—tight. Spreading them wide. Exposing you completely.

“Fuck me…” he breathed. “So wet. And you haven’t even been touched yet.”

“Chan—”

He dropped to his knees behind you.

And licked a stripe up your center.

You screamed.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled against you. “Sing for me.”

He devoured like a man starved—tongue precise, relentless, cruel. Two fingers slipped inside, curling just right. Your moans turned messy, hips jerking, hands clawing the sheets.

“That spot?” he rasped. “Right there?”

“Yes—yes—please—”

He spanked your ass once, hard.

“Then take it.”

You shattered—body convulsing, legs trembling, gasping his name like a lifeline. But even through your orgasm, he didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Didn’t let you rest.

“One more,” he ordered. “I want you crying before I even fuck you.”

Your vision blurred. Your thighs trembled. You came again—harder, louder, incoherent.

And then— He pulled away.

You blinked back into the world to see him standing over you, eyes blown black, jaw clenched.

He grabbed your hips, dragged you up and back, and lined himself at your entrance.

“Last chance to run.”

You shook your head, tears on your lashes. “Want you.”

He thrusted in—slow, deep, unrelenting.

You both moaned—his hands squeezing your hips so tight you knew you’d bruise.

“So fucking tight,” he growled. “Like you were made for me.”

You whined, head dropping.

He started slow. Intentional. Torturous.

Then leaned over, mouth at your ear, one hand wrapping around your throat.

“Gonna fuck you so deep you’ll forget your name. Gonna fill you so full you’ll know who you belong to.”

Your moans spiraled into sobs. You were wrecked. Completely gone.

And still—he praised.

“Good girl. Taking me so well. Look at that pretty pussy swallowing me whole. Just for me.”

You lost track of time. Of the room. Of anything but the sound of your bodies slapping together and his voice dragging you through every layer of hell.

Then he flipped you. Straddled you.

Fucked you facing him. Eyes locked. One hand holding your face.

“I wanna see you come again,” he whispered. “Right here. Look at me while I ruin you.”

You nodded, tears spilling, body ready to shatter.

He slammed into you—hard, deep, ruthless.

“Now,” he ordered. “Now.”

And you screamed.

Came harder than you ever had. Back arched. Vision gone. World spinning.

He held you through it—kissed your forehead—whispered filth you couldn’t even process.

Then he followed you—coming with a groan so low and raw it vibrated through your bones.

He collapsed over you, breath tangled in your skin.

You lay there, chest heaving, both of you coated in sweat and bliss and something dangerous.

Then— A kiss to your temple.

—

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was dangerous.

Your bare skin still touched his, tangled in sheets that smelled like sex, sweat, and the kind of risk you weren’t supposed to crave. His fingers traced lazy lines down your spine, like he didn’t want to let go. Like he was still memorizing how you felt stretched around him.

Neither of you spoke.

Because what the fuck was there to say? He wasn’t your friend. He wasn’t just a stranger. He wasn’t even just some faceless number anymore.

He was him.

And he knew exactly who you were now too. You could feel it in the way he looked at you. Like you were something forbidden he couldn’t stop tasting.

You shifted, chest rising and falling against his, still breathless.

“I probably should go,” you murmured.

His hand flattened against your lower back.

“Should you?” he said.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t let go. Didn’t stop you either.

You pulled away slowly. Found your shirt in a messy heap on the floor, sliding it over your head without bothering to fix your hair. Your thighs still ached. The inside of them still sticky. You weren’t sure if you were shaking from pleasure or adrenaline or both.

“Is this the part where I pretend this didn’t happen?” you asked, voice light but not teasing.

He propped himself up on one elbow, eyes dragging across your figure.

“You don’t have to pretend.”

A beat passed.

Then another. And then—

“I probably should’ve stopped this,” he added, quieter this time.

“But you didn’t.”

You turned to face him fully now, shirt barely covering anything, mouth still swollen from the way he kissed you like he wanted to destroy you.

“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”

You stepped toward him, slow.

Deliberate.

He watched you like prey—like the only reason he hadn’t pounced again was because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop the second time.

“I’m not asking for anything,” you said, standing between his knees now. “I know what this is.”

His gaze flicked up.

“What is it?��

Your lips twitched.

“Stupid. Risky. Completely fucking insane.”

He smiled.

And fuck, that smile—you could feel it between your legs.

“But you want more,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

“I do,” you breathed.

“So do I.”

You swallowed hard.

The air between you practically buzzed.

No confessions. No declarations.

Just need.

And beneath it all, the low, simmering thrill of getting away with something you shouldn’t.

“So what happens now?” you whispered.

His hand slid up your thigh. Not possessive—familiar.

“You wait for me to text you,” he said. “Then you come back. Let me fuck that fantasy out of you again.”

Your breath hitched.

“And if I don’t?”

He smirked.

“Then I’ll send you a reminder.”

His fingers dipped between your legs through your shirt, slow and cruel, and you nearly collapsed right there.

“I’ll see you again,” he added, voice rough against your throat now. “You know I will.”

You kissed him. Hard. Brief. Addictive.

Then slipped from his grip like a storm cloud—messy, dark, full of promise.

You didn’t say goodbye. You didn’t need to.

The second the door shut behind you, your phone lit up.

Unknown Number:

Next time, I want you riding my face before you even say hi.

Your smile was sinful. And your reply came fast.

You:

Next time���s too far away.

-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: ‘Unknown number’ portrays one of my most vivid imaginations about how i wanna meet Chan 😩 we’re all delulu so dont look at me like that! But yeah, Chan is always lurking? Well i hope he lurks and finds this fic too 😏😏❤️❤️

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @universeyuto @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000

[fireinmoonshot]

plus one | joaquín torres x reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Reader Summary: You help Joaquín get ready for a gala that he and Sam are attending – though because of the 'no plus ones' rule, Joaquín would rather stay with you instead... and he intends to convince you to let him. Warnings: I don't think I use any pronouns or gender specific terms in this (please let me know if I do and I'll fix my warnings) but it is mentioned that reader has hair long enough for Joaquín to tangle his hands in. There are references to nudity. It's also slightly suggestive at times but nothing specific. Word Count: 3.2k A/N: Surprise! It's been a whole month since I last wrote for Joaquín, and then this morning I woke up to those photos of Danny at the Mission premiere and he is so Joaquín in them that I was inspired. I was literally plotting this out at work cause I couldn't stop thinking about how good he looked in that outfit and then I started working on this the second I got home. I'm actually so happy with how it turned out considering I haven't written for Joaquín in a month, but I have missed writing for him so much. I really hope all of you will love this! 💗

“Angel, I really don’t think that Sam would mind that much,” Joaquin calls from the bathroom, fresh out of the shower. He hooks a towel around his waist and moves to stand in the doorway so he can see you, sitting cross legged on the bed, staring down at your phone. “I seriously think he’d be cool with going alone.”

You look up from your phone, eyes falling on your half-naked boyfriend, and forget how to speak for a moment. His hair is still wet and so is his chest – he’d clearly forgotten to dry himself off properly, wanting to talk to you so badly and attempt to convince you to let him stay home again.

Ever since he’d found out that there were no plus ones allowed at the gala he and Sam had been invited to, he had decided that he didn’t want to go. Sam was going to be there too, so it wasn’t like he was going alone, but for some reason, the simple fact that you couldn’t go made it so that he didn’t want to go either.

“Are you listening to me, angel?”

You blink, tearing your eyes away from his chest where you’d apparently been staring, and nod. “I am, but you’re still going to the gala, Joaquin. You made a promise to Sam.”

Joaquin pouts a little and walks across the room towards you. You try not to focus on the fact that the towel around his waist is tied incredibly low and instead, look at the wet footprints he’s leaving as he walks.

“Baby, you’re gonna get the carpet wet!” You scold him, standing up from the bed just as he reaches you. You place your hands on his chest and start to push him backwards towards the bathroom. “Dry yourself off before you come out here. You know better.”

Joaquin’s pout turns into a grin as he’s pushed backwards by you. He finds it adorable when you get so frustrated over the small things like that, and the fact that your hands are on his bare chest is just a bonus. “Well, stay with me in the bathroom while I dry off, then, cause I don’t wanna have to yell at you just to talk to you,” he says, allowing himself to be pushed back to the bathroom. 

“Fine,” you sigh, moving to take a seat on the toilet lid. 

You try your best not to stare as Joaquin undoes the towel around his waist and gets to work drying himself off. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before – the man does have a habit of wearing nothing or very little around the house – but it still has the same effect on you every time. You make an effort to look at his face instead. 

“I can just text Sam and tell him I’m sick or something,” Joaquin suggests, trying to get back to the topic of the gala. “He wouldn’t know if I’m lying or not.”

You groan and lean back against the cistern. “Baby, you are not lying to Sam about being sick. It’s just a few hours. You’ll probably really enjoy yourself when you’re there. It’ll go so fast and then you’ll be home.”

Joaquin picks up his boxers and pulls them on, frowning to himself as he does. He’d really thought that maybe, you watching him dry off after his shower might give you a reason to finally relent and let him stay home… he’d clearly underestimated your ability to stay true to your word. “You won’t be there, though. It’s not going to be as fun if you’re not there with me.”

“So you never had fun before you met me?”

He turns to look at you, a cheeky smile on his face. “Never.”

You roll your eyes and pick up his dress pants, sitting beside you on the vanity, and throw them at him. “Just get dressed, silly.”

“I’m just saying,” Joaquin says, catching the pants and pulling them on. “I’d have so much more fun if I stayed home with you. I’m sure I could could come up with something we could do. There are so many options.” 

He does the button on the pants up and looks at you, eyebrows raised. You can tell by the look on his face exactly what he’s thinking and shake your head, trying not to laugh. 

“C’mon, angel. What do you say?” He hums, taking a few steps closer to you and reaching down to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear. This is definitely going to work. He knows that you’ve always been susceptible to his touch. 

Joaquin almost smiles as you stand up and place your hands on his chest. He places his own hands on your waist and tugs you a little closer to him. 

“Baby,” you start, and Joaquin nods at you, his eyes wide and full of hope. “I love you, but I swear if you don’t pick up that dress shirt right now, put it on and finish getting ready, I’m never touching you again. That means no hugs, no kisses, no–”

Joaquin groans and steps back away from you. “You’re killing me here, angel.”

“You’ll live,” you laugh, sitting back down on the toilet lid.

He picks up the dress shirt from the vanity and pulls it on, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time. The pout on his lips is so cute that you almost stand right back up and kiss him, but you know that if you do, there’s no way Joaquin is leaving the house.

“I might not,” Joaquin huffs, starting to do the buttons up on his shirt. “It’ll be hours without you. I’ll be all alone in a giant room full of strangers.”

You watch as he does the buttons up all the way to the top and can’t help yourself from standing up and taking a few steps towards him. The pout on his mouth stays in place. 

“You’re the most social person I know, Joaquin. Since when do you fear a room full of strangers?” You ask, reaching up to the top button of his shirt. “Anyway, I’ll be eagerly waiting for you to come home if that makes you feel any better.” 

Joaquin’s hands find your waist again as you unbutton the top button of the shirt. His breath hitches. Has he finally won you over just by being fully dressed and pouty? His grip tightens on your waist as you unbutton the next button. Then, you drop your hands.

“Angel.”

“There, all done,” you smile, leaning up to peck his lips. “Now, come on. I’ll dry your hair and style it for you and then you’ll be all ready to go. Sam will be here soon anyway.” 

You move to step away from him and walk out of the room but Joaquin is quick to pull you back to him. Before you have a chance to object, his lips are on yours. You moan a little at the contact which only spurs Joaquin on more. His hands slip underneath the fabric of your pyjama shirt as he manoeuvres you up and onto the vanity behind you. He uses one hand to push your legs apart so he can stand between them. The other hand moves to tangle in your hair.

It takes every ounce of control not to start unbuttoning the rest of Joaquin’s shirt as he kisses you. You can’t even fist the fabric in your hands, not wanting to crease it when he’s about to leave for a fancy gala. His hair, though, is open territory. Despite the fact that it’s still damp, one of your hands weaves its way into it and you can’t help but tug a little. The noise he makes into your mouth is one you wish you could hear over and over again.

Reluctantly, Joaquin has to pull away to breathe soon. His forehead falls against yours, his breathing heavy. One of his hands rests on your thigh, the other one that had been in your hair now gently holding the back of your neck. 

“You ready for me to dry your hair now?” You ask, voice a little teasing.

Joaquin rolls his eyes and stands up straight. “You can’t seriously expect me to still go to the gala after that, can you?” 

Smiling, you put your hands on his chest and push him back a little, just enough for you to stand up off of the vanity. His hands stay firmly on you, the one that had been on your thigh now resting on your hip instead. 

“You say that as if I’m the one who initiated that, baby.”

He can’t help but laugh a little at that. You were right – he had been the one to initiate the kiss. He just hadn’t expected you to get quite as into it as you had. “Okay, fair call.”

You reach down to take one of his hands. “C’mon, baby.”

Joaquin allows himself to be dragged out of the bathroom by you and smiles a little at the fact that only minutes ago, you’d been pushing him back into the bathroom and now you’re dragging him out of it. He allows you to dry his hair, enjoying the feeling of your fingers running through it and the warm air from the hairdryer. He especially enjoys the fact that you lean down once it’s all dry and kiss him just behind his ear. He almost turns around and tugs you down onto his lap then and there. He’s surprised he manages to stop himself.

It’s not too long later that you’re standing beside him just inside the front door of your house. There’s a limo outside waiting to pick up Joaquin to take him to the gala. Sam’s already waiting inside, probably very impatiently.

“You sure it’s too late to back out?” Joaquin asks, his arms wrapped around you, hands resting on the small of your back. “I could still pull the ‘hey, I’m feeling sick all of a sudden’ card.”

“No, Joaquin,” you shake your head. “You’re going.”

He groans and throws his head back. “Ugh, fine.”

You take advantage of the situation to stand up on your tip-toes and press a kiss to his neck, right above his Adam’s apple. You can feel him tense up at the sudden contact and feel satisfied that you’ve succeeded in your intentions as you see the look in his eyes.

“What was that for?” 

“I’m just giving you another memory to think of when you’re out tonight,” you shrug your shoulders. “You look so handsome that I couldn’t help myself. You should wear shirts like this more often.”

Joaquin chuckles. “Thank you, angel. I think I need another memory though.”

He leans in and kisses you again. It’s only a quick kiss, even though he’d like nothing more than to make it more than that, but it’s good enough for him.

As soon as you break away, there’s the sound of the car horn honking outside – Sam’s way of telling Joaquin to hurry the hell up.

“Now, you really have to go,” you laugh, pulling yourself out of his arms to open up the front door. You shiver a little at the cool evening air and it makes Joaquin want to wrap you up in his arms all over again. “Baby, come on.” You reach out and grab his hand, pulling him forward until he’s finally out on the doorstep. 

Joaquin smiles at you, just enjoying the feeling of holding your hand. 

“Okay, you go out and have a good night, okay? Text me when you’re on your way home. I’ll try and stay awake for you as long as I can,” you give his hand a squeeze and then let go.

“I won’t be late, I promise. I don’t wanna keep you up,” he says. Joaquin isn’t going that easily, though. He steps forward and gives you another quick kiss. “I love you, angel.” The words are murmured against your lips. “I want more kisses when I’m home, okay?”

Laughing, you gently push him away from you. “Hurry up, you’re keeping Sam waiting!”

“Only when you say you love me too!”

“I love you too. Now go!”

Joaquin grins and finally turns around, starting to walk down the path towards the car. He’s about half way there when he turns on his heel and starts running back to you. You watch him, amused, as he makes his way back towards the house. Unsurprisingly, he meets you with another kiss – this one a little longer and a little rougher than last time.

Instead of being interrupted by a car horn honking this time, it’s the sound of Sam’s voice that makes Joaquin pull away from you, his hand still resting on your back. 

“I swear if you don’t get into this car right now, Joaquin, I’m replacing you as Falcon!”

Joaquin’s eyes widen almost comically, but even though a part of him really believes that Sam would do it, it doesn’t stop him from leaning in to peck your lips again before he turns back around and starts running towards the limo.

“I love you, angel!” He yells as he’s running.

“Love you too,” you call back through your laughter.

You watch as he gets into the limo and then notice the window rolling down. He waves to you until the house is no longer visible and then finally looks at Sam for the first time since he’d gotten in. 

“Next time, we’re negotiating for plus ones.”

~~~

It’s late by the time Joaquin comes home – much later than you’d anticipated. You’d attempted to stay up as long as you could, but when you hear the key in the front door, you’re half asleep in your bed, the room only lit by a lamp on your bedside table. 

“Angel, are you sleeping?” Joaquin’s voice wakes you up a little.

Stifling a yawn, you push yourself into a seated position as the door to your bedroom opens and Joaquin walks inside, a smile on his face the second he sees you. His hair is a little messy, likely from a night of dancing or other tomfoolery, and his shirt is creased like you’d expected it to be when he came home. 

“Hey, baby. What time is it?” You ask, rubbing your eyes a little. You’re pretty sure you’d fallen asleep for at least a little bit there, but you have no idea when or for how long. “Did you have a good night?”

Joaquin crosses over towards the bed and is about to sit down on it when you stop him. 

“No outside clothes on the bed.”

He chuckles and starts to undo his belt. “You just trying to get me naked, angel?”

“If I wasn’t about to pass out, I’d say yes.”

He removes his dress shirt and pants, leaving them in a pile on the floor and leaving him in only his boxers before he climbs up onto the bed beside you, his phone in one of his hands. He slides underneath the covers and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him so he can lean in and press a kiss to your cheek.

“It’s like… one a.m., I think,” Joaquin starts, answering your earlier question. “And I had the best night. You were right, angel. I really enjoyed myself once I was actually there.” He pauses for a second, then his eyes light up as he remembers something. “Oh, they had a whole room full of ice sculptures! Have you seen them before? It was so cold in there, like a giant walk-in freezer. They even had a sculpture of me! Wait, I took a picture…”

You smile, leaning into his side as he unlocks his phone and opens up the camera roll. He swipes past about ten selfies of himself before he gets to the ones he wants to show you – the ice sculptures. You’re definitely gonna be asking for copies of the selfies tomorrow.

“I took photos of everything so I could show you,” he explains, stopping on one ice sculpture that is unmistakably Falcon. “How cool is that! I’m an ice sculpture. I mean, not anymore. I’m probably just a puddle of water now but still.”

It’s sweet, the way he’s so excited about how much he’d enjoyed his evening. Even though it’s one in the morning and you wish you were fast asleep, you’re glad to be experiencing the wonder in his eyes and the joy in his voice. How he can be so energetic so late at night though, you don’t understand. 

“That’s super cool, baby,” you hum, no longer looking at the photo but up at him.

Joaquin locks his phone and sits it on his bedside table. “Honestly, I think it might’ve been one of the best nights of my life,” he admits.

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh, that’s funny coming from the man who didn’t even want to go in the first place,” you chuckle, amused. You’re a little more awake now, simply from seeing how happy he is. “So, you don’t need those kisses you asked for anymore, then? I can just go back to sleep then.”

He looks down at you. “Okay, so I didn’t say that.” 

One of his hands moves to cup your jaw, his thumb gently swiping over your cheek, as he leans in to kiss you again. Despite the fact that he had had a really great night at the gala, it would’ve been made a million times better with you there. And after the kisses you’d shared while he was getting ready, he’s been waiting for this one all night.

The kiss is different to all the ones you’d had before. It’s slow, soft and gentle. It doesn’t last very long, though. Joaquin can tell how tired you are and the last thing he wants is to keep you up any later, especially when he’d been out later than he’d intended on. 

“That was nice,” you mutter after he pulls away from the kiss.

“It was,” he agrees, then tilts his head downwards to briefly capture your lips in his again. His teeth nip at your bottom lip, unable to help himself. “But you should get some sleep now, angel. It’s late and you were falling asleep when I came in, I could tell.”

You stifle another yawn and shake your head. “No, I wanna stay up with you longer. I missed you tonight.”

Joaquin’s heart clenches in his chest. You’d been so adamant for him to go, but all this time you’d been at home missing him. You’d even tried staying awake until he’d come home and had barely achieved it. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up, angel,” he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. “I missed you tonight, too. Every second that I was at that gala I wished you were with me.”

You smile sleepily as you shuffle down so you can lay down in the bed. Joaquin moves to lay beside you, putting his head on his own pillow, the hand that had been on your face moving to rest on your hip. 

“You looked really handsome tonight, baby,” you murmur. 

“Thank you, angel,” Joaquin replies softly. 

“Next time,” you yawn, unable to stop yourself this time, and shuffle closer to him, burying your head in his chest. “You should negotiate for a plus one.” 

Joaquin can’t help but chuckle as he wraps his arm around you. “One step ahead of you, angel.”

~~~

Joaquín Torres Tag List (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!)

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[moonstruckme]

oh my gosh ¹⁴⁾ trying to cope with a fever during a heatwave with poly wolfstar sounds like the ultimate summer comfort fic 💕 remus would be so good at taking care of u, and sirius would be soooo dramatic in solidarity 💖🌸

Thanks lovely <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 713 words

Remus comes home from work to find your flat a cave. There are signs of life in the living room, displaced pillows and a blanket looking cast aside, but your home is eerily silent. He discovers the cause in your bedroom: you and Sirius, looking like you never left bed in the first place. 

Every curtain is pulled shut, but some daylight prevails, casting the two of you in shades of grey where you lay in your pajamas atop the bedsheets. You’re spread out in every direction, clearly asleep, whereas Sirius seems to be occupying himself simply with looking at you. He glances up as Remus enters. 

“Hi,” Remus whispers. “When did you get home?” 

“Never left,” Sirius replies softly. He nods to you, taking a piece of your hair idly between his fingers. “She’s sick.” 

A quiet, doting, oh drops from Remus’ lips. He sets down his bag and comes to the edge of the bed. “With what? Since this morning?” 

Sirius nods as Remus eases himself onto the mattress beside you. There’s a flannel laid across your forehead. “She said she wasn’t feeling well when she woke up, just after you left. Seems like a cold or something. Wicked fever, though.” 

You shift a bit, their voices evidently causing you to rouse. Remus takes the opportunity to lift the flannel, lying the backs of his fingers across your brow. You are terribly warm. 

Your eyes open lazily. “Hey,” you mumble. 

Remus can’t help but smile. “Hi.” 

“Did you…” You stretch, groaning. “Is work done already? How was your day?” 

His chest aches with fondness. “It was good, sweetheart. What about you? You’re not feeling well?” 

Your lips pull down into a frown. Remus represses a cooish, pitying sound he knows you’ll hate. “My head hurts.” 

He tuts. “We’ll have to do something about that, then.” 

“We have,” Sirius chimes in. He sounds slightly offended. “Exhibit A: warm flannel.” 

“Right.” Remus leans over you to give him a kiss, conciliating. “Thank you, love. What about paracetamol?” 

Sirius hums proudly. “Had it.” 

“Perfect.” Remus takes the flannel from your head, smoothing away some damp baby hairs. “I think we’ll probably trade this out for a cooler one until our temperature comes down, alright?” 

Sirius frowns at this, but you sigh, shifting again like you’re trying to find a cool inch of bedspace. 

“I’m really hot,” you admit. 

“Aw, baby, we know.” Sirius takes your hand, kissing the back. “Good that you’re getting wise to it, though. We bemoan how hot you are all the time.” 

That coaxes a tired smile out of you. Remus has to imagine you really are sweltering. This time of day in the summer, your un-air-conditioned flat is usually at its warmest; it’ll take a few hours to cool off, and the effects are undoubtedly worse when you’re already suffering a fever. 

Remus feels along your face and the back of your neck contemplatively while Sirius coos at you. You seem in a strange enough mood to indulge him, the two of you going back and forth in low, murmuring tones. Remus knows his hands aren’t cold, but you act as though they are. You sigh quietly each time he moves his touch to a new place. 

“How would you feel about having a cold bath?” he asks after a while. 

You look up at him, your eyebrows raised slightly. “That actually sounds kind of nice.” 

Sirius hisses through his teeth. “Yikes, babe. That’s how you know it’s really bad.” 

Remus hides a smile. “Maybe Sirius will even get in there with you, yeah? Would that be nice?” 

“Oh.” You’re well aware of Remus’ game, but you play along, turning your eyes up to your other boyfriend sweetly. “That would be really nice. Would you, please?” 

Sirius’ eyes narrow. “You’re both terribly, undeservedly cruel to me,” he says, looking between you. “But if it’ll actually make you feel better, I’ll do it.” 

“Awe.” Your lips stretch into a syrupy smile as you roll over, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “That’s so sweet. Thank you, baby.” 

Sirius pats your back, a smug uptilt to his mouth. “Yeah, well, I’m a giver.” But after a moment his brows furrow, the smirk slipping. “Does this mean you do want me to?”

[reidmotif]

Off the Record

Summary: Reader is hellbent on not confessing while the BAU is interrogating her. Spencer Reid finds an.. unconventional tactic that'll break her.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: f!receiving oral, f!masturbation, mentions of typical CM violence, o-denial, slight dbcon, pinv sex, rough sex/make-out, semi-public sex.

Word Count: 3.4k

Masterlist

There's reward in going unnoticed. 

Some would obviously say otherwise. There’s an argument to be made that it’s better to make your presence known, to announce who you are to the world with no apology or shame. 

After all, if no one sees you, truly sees you, what separates your existence from those who live and those who were never here to begin with? 

And of course, this may be true for some, but what do you say to those who live an existence fated to stay under the cover of darkness? To seal the horrors in Pandora’s Box out of mercy for a world that was never ready for you in the first place? 

Despite your reasons for staying quiet, Spencer Reid seemed determined to break you. 

“You’re not making this any easier on yourself, you know?” Spencer muttered, sitting across from you in the dim light of the interrogation room. His exhaustion was evident, the prolonged questioning taking a toll on his psyche.

 “You’d save yourself a lot of trouble if you just confessed.” 

His voice was low and tired, the hours wearing him thin. 

“Where’s the fun in that, Agent Reid?” You respond, cocking an eyebrow, your hands crossed over your chest. You pause, before adding: “Besides. Nothing to confess.” 

“Dr Reid.” He firmly corrects.

You’re defiant, consistently repeating the same lines you’d flung at every agent that had approached you for the past sixteen hours, since the moment you’d been torn away from the safety of your apartment. 

It was too bad. Even on what seemed to be a hard day, Spencer Reid was dreadfully handsome. 

Spencer let a deep exhale exit his nose, a testament to his growing frustration, and a half-hearted attempt to ground himself. “Liam Brown, Noah Williams, Theodore Smith.” He says, pushing various crime scene pictures towards you over the table. “All victims of a prolific black widow we’ve been chasing for months.” 

The images are gruesome, meant to provoke you. You give a response, but perhaps not the one they intended. Disgust slips into your expression before you can stop yourself, but you look away in the end, unwilling to yield and give yourself away. Nobody needed to know that you felt no pity for the men on the table. 

“A connection isn’t the same as probable cause, and I know my rights.” You snap, your body language making it clear that you were nowhere near giving them the answers you wanted.  “You can’t hold me any longer than forty-eight hours.” 

Spencer rubs a hand over his face, clearly exasperated. With no further words exchanged between the two of you, he rises from his chair, allowing the metal furniture to scrape softly against the floor, before disappearing to the other side of the one-way mirror that stood in front of you.

 You didn’t need to see him to know that his gaze was trained on you, even then. 

 Waiting for the moment you’d snap. 

Too bad he’d never get what he wanted. 

Several minutes pass by whilst you’re alone in the room. The air wraps around you, tension making a home through every inch of you as your thoughts run wild in the silence. 

What was your endgame here? Could you really outsmart the FBI? They still had about thirty-one hours with you. What would they do? 

Before you can answer any of your own questions, Spencer re-enters, but something’s shifted this time. The previous fatigue that plagued him just minutes ago was no longer there, but rather replaced with a defiance and intensity that mirrored your own. You’re already getting ready to fight, to match the shift in his demeanor, but he doesn’t give you the  chance.  

“Get up,” He barks out, his voice sharp and full of command that wasn’t previously there.

You narrow your eyes, still trying to maintain your resistance in the face of the new persona he seemed to be sporting. “Am I free to go?” 

He laughs, but it’s a sound completely devoid of humor.

 “Did I say that? No.” He answers his own question, sharply. “Get up. I won’t repeat myself.” 

Despite your desire to resist on principle, his tone carries a threat you can’t quite name yet. An involuntary shiver that passes through your body, and suddenly it seems like you’re better off complying, rather than sticking to your old patterns. 

Your body reacts. You’re unsure if you’re being led by fear, instinct, or something darker, but regardless of what it is, you’re compelled to listen to him, slowly rising to your feet. 

He wastes absolutely no time, gripping your arm with a bruising force as he leads you out of the stale room, his movements swift and purposeful. 

The cold metal of the cuffs bite into your wrists, a physical and unignorable manifestation of his regulation over your current predicament.  No matter what kind of show you put on, you weren’t the one in control. 

The halls around you stretch endlessly. Sterile, blank walls stare back at you, as if mocking you for ever entering in the first place. Each corner looks like the last, every turn erasing the one before it. You’re led deeper and deeper within the bones of the building, further and further away from prying eyes and pesky cameras. 

He doesn’t want you found. These hallways would never allow you to leave. He had you trapped.

And then, after what feels like an eternity of movement with no end in sight, you’re met with an elevator. It’s unmarked, and immediately you can tell you’re not supposed to be here. It’s a service elevator, the type meant to carry cargo, not people. 

And yet here you are.

There’s a foreboding silence as Spencer presses the button with a decisive jab to call the machinery. The doors creak open ominously, and he shoves you into the claustrophobic space without ceremony.

He’s so close you can feel his hot breath against the bare skin of your neck, the firm press of his body anchoring you in place, serving as an oppressive weight that reminds you there’s no escape. 

The thick silence between the two of you stretches as the elevator shudders to life. It’s the type of quiet that makes your body buzz with uneasy anticipation for what’s to come.

This isn’t protocol. You knew that, at this point. Whatever he was leading to you, you knew it couldn’t fare well for you. As the doors open to your destination, the ultimate question lingers in your chest. 

What was he going to do to you? 

The elevator doors hiss open, and instead of another line of sterile corridors, you’re met with the warm night air, the type of heat that only summer could provide. You blink, momentarily disoriented by the sudden change in scenery and the darkness, until your eyes adjust and you process where you are. 

The roof? 

You barely have anytime to register what’s occurred before Spencer is pulling you forward. You hear the elevator doors close with a soft, final clink behind you, and know you’re well and truly stuck here now. 

“What are we doing here?” You ask, voice barely audible. 

Spencer doesn’t stop moving, dragging you towards the parapet. “Thought we could use some fresh air. You’ve been inside for a while now.” 

The words are sweet, falling from his mouth easily, but the tone is all wrong. While you might be persuaded to believe in his consideration for your well-being, the sincerity of the statement is voided by the controlled cadence he delivers with it. It almost sounds rehearsed, a calculated and careful manipulation in an attempt to gain your trust. 

You’re absolutely sure he’s not as truthful about his intentions as he’d like you to believe. 

The space he’s leading you on is wide and industrial, filled with empty crates and encircled by dark, thick forestry on all sides. The pale moonlight spills across the rooftop, giving you a clearer view of your surroundings. 

You wouldn’t say it, of course, but it also got you a better look at Spencer’s expression. It doesn’t help, though. His lips are set in a straight line, eyes fixed ahead, face unreadable within the low light. Damn it. 

“I come up here to think.” Spencer says quietly, almost to himself. “The quiet makes everything easier.” He murmurs. 

His grip loosens around you as you reach the guardrail, but you’re much too on guard to make any sudden movements. You don’t slip away, opting to stick right beside him, close enough that you can still feel the body heat emanating from his person. 

“Why am I here?” You ask, voice a bit quiet to match the serenity of your location. 

“I figured you might need to think too.” He says, voice deep, taking in the view.  “You’ve got a tough decision to make, you know.” He says, head turning so his eyes can lock onto yours.

You ignore the implications of his statement, opting to narrow your eyes instead.  “Are we even allowed to be up here?” 

That earns you a quiet laugh under his breath. “Now you care about the rules? You do realize why you’re here in the first place, right?” 

The irony isn’t lost on you, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of playing into his hand. “Not everyone plays by the same rules.” You retort, meeting his gaze with a steady look of your own.  

He pauses, licking his lips, whilst nodding in a noncommittal manner. “I agree to some extent.” 

He gives another long pause, before adding, “And yes, you’re right. We aren’t supposed to be here. But there aren’t any cameras up here, and I doubt anyone’s missing you.” 

His eyes focus on you, then. “I think you and I can agree that not everything worth doing isn’t always.. allowed.” 

That catches your attention. “What do you mean?”

He stalks closer to you, chuckling at your sudden piqued interest. “See.” He begins. “You want something. And I think I can give it to you.” 

The words strike something in you, and suddenly you feel too exposed. You don’t respond for a moment, before finding your voice again, in a mumbled, hoarse noise. 

“I want something?” 

He steps even closer, eyes fixed on you with a focus that borders on intimate. “Don’t play dumb. I saw it the second I walked in. Pupils blown out, your thighs pressing together under the table.” He gives an uncharacteristic smirk, as if he can’t help his pride at this moment.  

“You don’t do a very good job of hiding when you’re attracted to someone.” 

You blink, immediately flustered, feeling much more exposed than you did a moment ago. “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me. You’re attracted to me.” He repeats a hint of cockiness in his speech. 

“If you think I’m fucking you in exchange for a confession, you’re wrong.” You snark back, trying to build up some defense against the (very true) accusations he laid at your feet. 

“So you’re not attracted to me?” He replies, same, smug smile still gracing his features. 

“No.” You scoff, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well, I’m sure you won’t mind me checking then.” He says, his hubris overwhelmingly obvious. 

Again, as is custom with him, you’re given no time to figure out what he even means before he’s on his knees in record time, nimble fingers hovering over the metal button of your jeans. He looks up at you, and you lick your lips, giving him a small, imperceptible nod on impulse. 

He wastes no time quickly pulling the denim past your hips, before grinning wildly at the sight that faced him. 

“You’re wet.” He murmurs, knuckles trailing over the wet patch that had settled in between your thighs. 

His fingers find your clit through the fabric, and he rubs them against it, the lace of your panties creating the most delicious friction between your folds. You shudder, your cuffed hands darting out to grab the metal railing to steady yourself. 

“Mm. And you say you’re not attracted to me.” He says, arrogance radiating off him in waves, practically singing the words to you.

“Shut up.” You garble out, not wanting to admit just how good this felt, despite the overwhelming evidence against you at that moment. 

“What? Are you always this wet?” He chuckles, pulling his fingers away, depriving you of your growing orgasm. Your eyes snap open at the loss of pleasure. 

“Why…” You whine, looking down at him from where he was currently situated between your thighs. 

“Say you want this.” He says, voice firm.

“I..” You start, voice quiet. 

You don’t want to. You couldn’t fall for him. Couldn’t give up what you’d worked so hard to build. But then your eyes meet his, and you see it. The undeniable hunger. The promise of a pleasure deeper than anything you could ever give yourself. You sigh heavily, before surrendering to it, not wanting to deny yourself of what this man so clearly has to offer. 

“I want this.” 

“Good fucking girl.” He murmurs, voice full of praise. He moves to slide your underwear down your thighs, motioning for you to step out of your jeans and to spread your legs, your thighs and sex completely bared to him. 

And then his tongue is everywhere, lapping over your core, slowly, from your entrance to your clit. He starts gently, allowing the tip of the wet muscle to circle  around the throbbing bud, before sucking it into his mouth, the suction driving you delirious. 

“Ahh.” You moan, your head lolling backwards, your eyes rolling to the back into your head. This man’s mouth was heaven sent. 

He pulls back from you, a lopsided grin on his face. “That’s right. Let me hear you. Let everyone hear you.” 

Exhibitionist.

He guides your thigh to be hiked over his shoulder, and with no further words exchanged between the two of you, starts to eat you out with renewed vigor. He enthusiastically devours you from below, his face buried in your pussy as he drinks your arousal in like a man starved. 

You’re an absolute mess above him. As much as it infuriates you to admit it, he’s undeniably good at this, and your orgasm is fast approaching. Maybe it’s the sight of him, his wavy brown hair between your thighs, and how every so often you catch a glimpse of his expression, eyes closed as if he was experiencing the highest form of heaven simply by eating you out.

The warm, wet muscle thrusts into your entrance, wrapping around you and exploring every inch of you with a heartfelt desire to leave no part of your sex untouched. 

“Oh god. Oh god! Dr Reid. I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come.” You moan out, unashamed. Why would you be? Your words were lost to the night that surrounded you two, swallowed by the darkness that concealed all of his ministries. 

He doesn’t let up, and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer. You’re right there, and just before you find yourself falling into that endless pit of pleasure, he pulls back, leaving you on the precipice of a little death. 

Motherfucker. 

You pant, in shock and still relentlessly needy for your release. “You- you stopped.” You say, voice shaky. 

“I did. Ready to talk?” He asks, a grin on his face. His mouth is glistening with your arousal, and he licks it off his lips. The sight is erotic enough to make your legs shake again, the flame of desire in you rising higher and higher.

But you see through his game, and you feel that familiar pride rise hot within your chest. 

“Go fuck yourself.” Your voice sharp and hiss-like. 

“I’d rather just fuck you.” He says cheekily, and you believe he’s going to go behind you but instead, he hauls you up, and crashes your lips on his. 

You immediately melt into the kiss with no hesitation, the fight draining out of you in favor of your need for this man. You desperately wish your hands were unbound so you could pull him closer, but the cuffs remind you that it’s his mercy you’re at. 

 In the end, it doesn’t matter though, because Spencer is doing all the work for you, pressing his body towards yours, as his tongue manages to invade your mouth. You taste your heady release on him, and moan, your back arching in a desperate attempt for more.

“Sorry.” He mumbles lips brushing against yours as he pulls back, almost sheepishly. “Had to do that at least once.”

 It’s almost endearing, the way he’s acting. Eating you out was no trouble for him at all, but kissing you is what made him shy. The contrast has you giggling despite everything, and he flashes you a crooked smile in return. 

Then, you feel it. The press of his bulge, hard and insistent, straining the fabric of his slacks. His hands slide up your back, gentle and firm all in the same, while he bends you over against the parapet. He steps in close behind you, and the quiet sounds of his belt being undone reach your ears. 

You know exactly where this is leading. 

Your eyes are fixed ahead as you tense in anticipation for him, and then feel his cock, sliding and teasing you, collecting the wetness that had remained between your folds.

He’s big, and just the feeling of it makes you go weak in the knees. 

He slides into you with a smooth, singulair thrust, and immediately sets a steady rhythm, his hips snapping against yours. You can hear the sound of flesh on flesh, the sound creating the perfect background to the debauchery you two were indulging in. You can hear his grunts behind you, the way his breath goes heavy with every hump he deals into you. 

“God, so wet, so-” He moans, unable to form a coherent sentence. A rush of pride runs through you, knowing you’re the one able to make him feel this good, that it was you that was unraveling him and dragging those desperate, pretty sounds from his parted lips. 

You arch your back in an attempt to take him deeper, moans and whimpers escaping you with every drag of his thick cock inside of you. How was someone so hellbent on your downfall so fucking good at making you feel this way? You involuntarily clench around him when the head of his dick nudges against that spot deep inside of you, the action causing a throaty yelp to escape from you. 

“God, you like that? Can feel you getting close.” He says, his voice with a slight edge to it. 

“Yes. Fuck- love this.” You moan, unable to deny the truth of how wonderful he made you feel. 

He hears it. Smirks. “You wanna come?” 

You nod, moaning obscenely. “Yes, please. Let me come.” 

You push your hips back against his, encouraging him to go harder, faster, and to finally take you over that edge, and he obliges, reveling in your greed. 

“Tell me what I want to know.” He breathes, low and deep. “Come on. I know you can.” 

Your mind reels. You’ve managed to hold back for so long, to maintain the facade, and it was never your intention to give it up like this. But with every thrust, your resistance crumbles more and more. He was fucking you dumb.

“I- I arrange the kills.” You moan. “I don’t murder anyone- I just, oh god. I help!” 

You can practically feel his smirk, and his movements faltering as he nears his own release. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

You want to throw back an insult, something clever, but instead, all that comes out of your mouth is a long, wrecked moan, your cunt clenching rhythmically around him as you tremble around him. In a daze, you can feel him reaching his breaking point as well, a loud groan slipping from him as his hips hold you in place, his warmth filling your deepest point. 

His chest presses against your back, his breath ragged. 

“You should get a lawyer.” He mumbles, still trying to catch his breath. 

“Appreciate it.” You say, dazed, and oddly.. content? You should regret this, but the feeling of his cum dripping down your thighs makes you forget that instantly. 

“You should thank me.” He murmurs, lips brushing against your shoulder.

“Why?” You murmur, confused.

He chuckles slowly. "You're in our custody now. Which means I get to keep you close."

You can’t say you’re mad about that. 

would you believe me if i said this is the most unsure ive EVER been on a fic. even more than my first attempt at writing a whump. anyway. i hope you guys liked this fic... please interact if you did? ive said this before but reblogs are the lifeblood of Tumblr and if you want my work to reach more people.. that is the way <3 and omg if you didn't like it. please give me feedback. anyway. thank you so so much for reading!!!! i so appreciate it regardless!! okay also this was written for @imagining-in-the-margins "stuck together" challenge so. go check that out as well!! okay bye!!!

[elswhore]

۫ ꣑ৎ . kissing her mid argument and she thinks she proved her point getting all cocky.

heavy makeout sesh. sexual tension.

“you’re so wrong, paige, its not even funny.” you say, crossing your arms, voice sharp wavering with frustration.

“just admit it, im right, and we can move on.” you lean forward, eyes locked on hers expecting her to cave, but she just laughs, stepping closer until her sneakers brush yours.

“no way, babe, you’re dreaming.” she fires back her blue eyes glinting with that competitive spark.

“im right, and you know it why else you gettin’ so mad?” she tilts her head, smirking like shes already won, and its driving you up the wall, her confidence making you want to scream or… something else.

“mad? im not mad, im just right.” you snap pointing a finger at her chest, and she grabs it, holding your hand there, her grip warm and teasing.

“oh, you’re real confident for someone who is dead wrong,” she says and you’re about to fire back, your mouth opening with another retort, when you cant take it anymore—her smug face, her taunting tone, her everything.

mid-sentence, as shes saying, “you cant even prove—” you grab her face pulling her down and kissing her hard, lips crashing together to shut her up.

its impulsive, your fingers digging into her cheeks, and for a second, she freezes, her words cut off, breath hitching.

the kiss is all heat no finesse, your frustration pouring into it, and when you pull back, panting, her eyes are wide, lips parted, a flush creeping up her neck.

she recovers fast that cocky grin spreading as she leans back, one eyebrow raised. “you did that ‘cause you know im right.” she says voice low, and you groan, throwing your hands up, exasperation bubbling over.

“oh my god- i swear-” you start voice climbing with disbelief, but before you can finish, paige is on you kissing you back, harder, deeper, her tongue slipping into your mouth with a boldness that makes your knees weak.

her hands grip your waist pulling you flush against her, and she presses her knee between your legs, right against your core, the sudden pressure making you gasp into her mouth.

“paige- fuck- what are you-” you manage voice muffled between kisses, your hands fisting her hoodie torn between pushing her away and pulling her closer.

the pressure of her knee sends a jolt through you, your hips twitching involuntarily, and she smirks against your lips, clearly loving it.

“what? cant handle me now?” she teases pulling back just enough to speak, her voice husky, eyes locked on yours.

“thought you were right, huh?” her knee shifts pressing harder, and you moan, making her grin widen. “yeah, thats what i thought.” she says kissing you again, slower, her tongue tracing your lip like shes savoring the taste of her win.

“you’re- so annoying,” you pant trying to sound mad, but its weak, your body betraying you as you grind against her knee, chasing the friction.

she laughs, her hands sliding to your ass squeezing as she guides your hips.

“annoying? nah, you love it” she murmurs nipping your bottom lip, her voice dripping with that infuriating confidence.

۶ৎ — @addl0vee @mrsarnold @melpthatsme @bellaprintz25 @janaelalfysblunt @ellehoops @belsoulss @apbueckers @uwupaige @janaelalfysloml @azzisbueckers @paigeluvvr @giavonnii @jupitermoonbaby @shootingstarrrrr @dalilahissilly @luldejamleer @d7dream @gabbyygoo @bravemode @latenighttalkinqwp @avvwritesstufff @prettygirl-gabi @yailtsv @bebitts @heartsforari @usuallyshadowybasement @authentic-girl03 @private-but-not-a-secret @evanpeterstoe @destinybueckers44 @youmeandjennessey @starfulani @cherryswisherz @bueckersworld @paiges-1vur @lol-12n @bxchess @laceyxrenee

© written by kaizer | do not copy plagiarize or translate any.

[humanjarvis]

piece of you

synopsis: with his good looks, talent, and intellect, caleb is the aerospace academy’s golden boy. but he was yours first, and he’ll stay that way.

tags: possessive clingy spoiled reader manipulates caleb, college party, reader handles their jealousy in an unhinged way, crocodile tears, caleb is attentive and sweet and unsuspecting, inspired by “piece of you” by shawn mendes

word count: 1.3k

a/n: i’ve been holding onto this mental music video for years and now i finally get to bring it to life :3 was originally going to write this from his perspective but i was like wait a second. he's the "you" that everybody wants a piece of

Beer, music, and sweat. The typical college party.

To celebrate the end of the semester, one of the student groups at Skyhaven’s Aerospace Academy had rented out a club for the night. And Caleb, ever the giver, had thoughtfully invited you to tag along.

A chance to visit him, to have fun together, to make sure everyone around him kept their hands to themselves—who were you to refuse?

There was only one problem: he was running uncharacteristically late, held up by a final flight assessment that’d been postponed due to weather. Which meant that you were here alone.

His friends, Gideon and Patrick, had spotted you and called you over, but while they drone on about school and flit watchful eyes at you from time to time, it seems more like they’re babysitting. You’re sure he put them up to it.

“Professor docked me on the last turn. I nailed it over and over in practice, but I totally choked on the real thing—couldn’t get it tight enough.”

“Same, man. I honestly think there was something wrong with the test aircraft. It’s so old, all the controls seemed laggy.”

It’s nice that they like planes. So nice. But you get enough of that sort of talk from your star pilot already. Where is he? you sigh in frustration as you unlock your phone yet again. 

Lucky for him, it chimes just before you can send a stream of angry faces.

special agent apple: Just pulled up :D I’m on my way.

Moments later, a beam of moonlight flickers by as the doors slide open. And when Caleb steps through, nodding casually at the bouncers, everyone’s chatter fizzles out into a hush. 

All eyes are on him. Because Caleb, still in his flight uniform, looks good.

Like, even better than normal.

With his unzipped jacket, windswept hair, and the leftover adrenaline boosting his confidence, he’s a fantasy come to life. And as the guests watch him like he hung the stars in the sky, you realize you’re not the only one who’s daydreaming. 

Neutral violet eyes scan the crowd and light up when they meet yours. Brushing off the people clambering for his attention, including a disgruntled student body president, Caleb heads straight toward you.

“Sorry I’m late, pip-squeak,” he greets as he leans down to ruffle your hair. “Aced the flight after the storm passed, though. Everything alright here?” he asks, squinting at his gossiping friends behind you.

“Yes,” you huff, folding your arms over your chest. “You have some world-class babysitters. You should give them a raise.”

Caleb’s eyes twinkle. “I should, huh? Maybe it’s not that they did a good job, but that someone was on their best behavior while they were waitin’ for me.”

“You wish. I have a list of crimes to commit tonight. I was just saving them for when you got here so I could blame it all on you.”

“Oh? You tryin’ to get me banned, pip-squeak?” he chuckles. “I guess it would be my fault for inviting you. But if I’m guilty, then you’re my accomplice. We’ll get kicked out together.” 

“Whatever,” you sigh, rolling your eyes in pretend annoyance. The air feels lighter, now that he’s here. “How was the rest of your—”

“Hey, Caleb!” a deep voice interrupts. Trying to find its owner, your eyes land on Caleb’s basketball friends, all huddled at a table in the corner of the room. When he spots them, he waves briefly before turning back to you. “Just a sec,” he says, ruffling your hair again. “I’ll be right back. Keep yourself out of trouble, okay?”

***

Ten minutes. Ten whole minutes.

You could be obnoxious at times. Childish, demanding. Spoiled.

But at no point, under any circumstance, should Caleb spend ten minutes away from you when you’re in the same room. 

The guys on his team are talking his ear off, and he’s letting them! Joining! As if you didn’t fly all the way to Skyhaven just to see him. 

You’re already glaring at him so hard you’re surprised you haven’t gotten heat vision yet. But as some tall brunette—the sports writer for the student newspaper, you recall—saunters over to him, you decide those powers would really come in handy right now.

She enters the conversation with an ease that makes your jaw clench.

And as she rests a coy hand dangerously close to Caleb’s dog tag, laughing at some dumb joke he should be telling you, the intermittent twitch in your eye becomes constant.

This won’t do. 

Your bloodshot eyes are nearly unrecognizable in the chipped bathroom mirror.

You had to be thorough tonight. Since you were kids, Caleb had taken care of you when you were sick—meaning he’d seen your attempts to fake sickness and knew your tells like the back of his hand. One overdramatic sniffle, one exaggerated groan, and he’d know something was off. 

In the fifteen minutes since you’d been holed up in the club’s bathroom, you’d smudged your makeup, mussed your hair, coughed until your voice was hoarse, and disheveled your outfit. Now, only the finishing touch was left. Recalling the ending of a sad romance you’d watched last week—the husband never remembered his poor wife after the accident—you shut your eyes for several seconds, and the tears roll down your cheeks like raindrops.

Perfect.

Pressing one hand to your temple and the other to your stomach, you stumble out of the bathroom in feigned dizziness, a pout on your face as you search through the crowd. 

Caleb is still with his teammates, chatting casually with the sports writer, but the way his eyes frantically scan the room betrays his nerves. Once his panicked gaze finds you hobbling toward him, he immediately rushes forward, wrapping an arm around you and cradling your head. “What’s wrong? What happened? I was keepin’ an eye on you, but I looked away for one second and you were gone.”

“Hurts,” you mumble, slumping into his arms and clinging to his jacket. “Think I drank something bad.” If plain ice water counts.

Caleb’s face darkens for a split second before he masks it with a soft frown. Previous conversation—and conversation partner—forgotten, he lifts you effortlessly and carries you through the sea of students. 

They part for him with the urgency of subjects making way for their king. And as your body jostles from the force of his hurried steps, you know you made the right decision tonight.

Caleb didn’t need that kind of admiration. Not from anyone but you.

Thanks to the path cleared for him, Caleb reaches the exit in seconds. And as you lie there limp in his arms, about to get your way once again, a boldness overtakes you. Smugly, you raise your head to lock eyes with the pouting sports writer, throwing her a shameless wink that Caleb would never think you capable of. Not when you were in dire need of his care. 

Her mouth dropping open in outrage is the last thing you see before the doors slide closed behind you. 

Satisfied, you nuzzle into Caleb’s neck as he carries you to his car and buckles you into the passenger seat. 

“You did the right thing, findin’ me right away,” he murmurs. “Just a few more minutes, and I'll get some medicine for you. I'll take care of you, just like I did back then.”

“Thank you,” you mumble feebly. “I didn't mean to ruin your night. I just don’t know what happened,” you whimper, using his short trip to the driver’s side to force fresh tears into your eyes.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he says firmly, gaze fixed on yours as he switches on the ignition. “How could you have known you’d get sick? It’s not like you planned it.”

“I guess,” you sniffle, hiding your smile with your shirtsleeve. “Still, though, I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, pip-squeak. Now, let’s get you home.”

As his doting smile gives you butterflies, you can see why people like him so much. But unfortunately for them, you like him more.

[demidabblin]

"I wonder if we ever think of each other at the same time."

Here we go again.

The lantern light cast a glow up the side of Josephine’s face, saturating her in its tones of orange and umber. The letter in her hands was written so light and loopy Cadoc couldn’t make anything out despite sitting next to her on the step. Cadoc doesn’t say anything. Josephine got depressed every time she opened one of her mother’s letters, and he was starting to regret delivering them.

He picked up the lantern so he could move closer, catch a little warmth between their bodies where her hip sat flush to his. She allowed it, welcomed it even, and tugged her shawl of dandelion fluff over their laps together. 

“Mama, she…” Josephine began, then sighed deeply. Her head rested on Cadoc’s shoulder and, gladly, he took the initiative to rest his cheek upon her crown. Her brown hair was soft and smelled like tea with honey. “She wasn’t the same, after papa died.”

“It only makes sense. They were in love.” Cadoc said, trying to be reasonable, “‘May we meet again in the Place of Union’ and all that.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Josephine replied, as she rubbed the edges of her mother’s letter in her fingers. “Her letters have gotten so short.”

“She still sends money.” Cadoc pointed out, “You save every shell she sends you.”

Josephine fell silent, then she folded up the letter and simply held it in her hands, pinched between her thumbs and index fingers. She gave the paper one last little rub, then tucked it back away into its envelope. 

“I’d rather read about how she’s doing. Or even better, hear it for myself. She knows I’m a Sister, she brought me here herself before she left, I don’t need the money.” Josephine murmured, squeezing her eyes shut. 

“But you can’t just ask her to… what? Pay more attention to you?” Cadoc pointed out, “She’s your mother, it’s not within your right to do that.”

Josephine sat up, jostling the shawl across their laps and hitting Cadoc with a sharp stab of chill. “What does the Archipelago offer that she couldn’t find here?” 

“I don’t know, Jo, but you get sad every single time you open one of her letters.” Cadoc tossed up his hands, then gestured broadly to her, “What does she even say to you?”

“That’s just it. It’s like she hasn’t read any of my replies.” Jo crinkled the letter in her fingers, then with a huff of frustration, stuffed it into her satchel. “And it’s hard not to feel like… I’m just getting crossed off her to-do list.”

It was Cadoc’s turn to fall silent, at a loss for what to possibly say to console her. 

“...She’s your mother.” He pointed out again.

“I know! I–” Josephine bit herself off, then she’s up to her feet in a flick of her shawl. She yanked it over her shoulders with such vigor a few stray puffs flicked off the inside and whipped off away by the wind. “I know I don’t have a right to ask for more. But I still miss her, and I just wonder if she misses me too.”

“Well, why wouldn’t she miss you?” Cadoc got up to his feet too, snagging the lantern in his fingers on the way up. “You’re her daughter.”

“I… I don’t know!” She snapped, balling her fists to her chest, “But I know how I feel and it… It sucks!” 

Cadoc raised his hands, floundering for something to do. She wasn’t looking at him, not a word he said mattered. 

“She’s out there and I have a million questions for her but it feels like she just doesn’t–”

“Josephine,” Cadoc said sharply, “Don’t say things you know aren’t true.”

“But–But…” She turned on her heel, voice faltering. Her eyes were wet, forming slow beads at the corners until she rubbed them away with her sleeve. “I’m sorry. It’s just…”

Cadoc shook his head, “It’s fine. It’s late, you’re tired, and I shouldn’t have brought your mail so late.”

It was a flimsy dismissal, but he was never any good at dealing with irrational feelings. Especially when it drove people to say things they couldn’t possibly mean.

“Why don’t you let me walk you back to the church?” He offered, resting a hand on her upper arm. He needed to talk to Father Melvin anyway.

Josephine stepped away, then shook her head. “I’m alright. It’s not a far walk.”

“Come on,” He insisted, “you can never be too sure.” 

“I said I’m alright,” She insisted, “And I mean that. You’ve been working all day, so… go get some rest, okay?”

Cadoc fought down the flicker of frustration, then nodded. “Alright. Be safe, okay?”

Josephine nodded, her smile thin and her wave just a little too brief, “Goodnight, Cadoc.

And then she turns, stepping out of the light of his lantern and into the cool white moon. The sound of her steps faded away, muted by the mud, and Cadoc was left in her wake.

"i wonder if we ever think of each other at the same time."

[cameronsbabydoll]

plsssssss write something about puppy reader getting jealous pleeeeeeease

you’re all bouncy and giddy one second, curled into rafe’s side and tugging on his sleeve while he talks to someone else — but then a girl laughs a little too hard at his joke, touches his arm just a bit too long, and suddenly your little brain short-circuits.

you go quiet. your eyes get all glassy and your lip starts to wobble. and instead of saying anything, you just sort of… slip down to the floor like a dejected puppy. maybe crawl to your dog bed in the corner of rafe’s room (yes, he got you one — it’s pink and plush and covered in satin bows), and you lay there with your cheek on the edge, watching him like a kicked golden retriever.

and rafe’s mean about it. he doesn’t coddle right away.

“seriously? you’re pouting? over that?”

“you gonna cry every time someone talks to me, puppy? gotta toughen that mushy little heart up.”

but the thing is — you’re not throwing a tantrum. you’re not mad. you’re sad, and you’re trying so hard to be good about it, to stay curled up quiet and not bother him, even though your hands are twitching for him and your nose is already sniffly.

and that’s what gets him.

it always ends with him kneeling beside the dog bed, big hand cradling your cheek, thumbing away the tears before they fall.

“you know you’re my girl, right?”

“only one that gets my attention like this, baby. c’mere.”

“you want up on my lap? yeah? okay, sweet girl.”

he tugs you into his lap and you melt instantly — soft little sniffles, arms around his neck, face buried in his chest, letting him pet your hair and whisper that you’re his good girl. all forgiven. all forgotten

[keeryhours]

coming home to you - sam (warfare)

Sam (Warfare) x female! wife! reader

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Summary:

Sam is heartbroken to leave his pregnant wife home when he’s deployed - but he doesn’t expect things to go quite so wrong.

Warnings:

Smut (18+), unprotected p in v, creampie, oral (m receiving), movie spoilers, pregnancy, war, gore!, death, serious injuries

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N:

I’m really excited to write my first Sam fic! I hope you guys like it. If details are wrong, I’m so sorry, I know nothing about the navy but I did rewatch the movie and research as best as I could. His last name is O’Brien in this. Endless thanks to @glassbxttless and @peachyproserpina for answering a million questions, reading over this, and hyping me up, and @getaapologist for feeding us with screenshots!! Also ignore that I hit the image limit so the dividers stop :))

The night before Sam shipped out, he spent it in bed with you, holding you close. You couldn’t let go of him, scared it would be the last time you ever held him. He held you just as tightly, his hand stroking through your hair, rubbing your back, breathing in the smell of your soap and shampoo and committing it to memory.

As you drifted off to sleep, head rested on Sam’s shirtless chest, he lay awake. Thinking. He wanted to savor every moment he had with you, even if it meant he slept the whole flight tomorrow. His hand drifted down to press against your stomach, still as it always was. You were days from the positive pregnancy test, barely 6 weeks. Still so new, still made Sam’s heart beat wildly in his chest when he thought too hard about it. Especially when he thought about how he wouldn’t be there for the birth, or even the beginning of their life.

He knew that, god willing, he’d be coming home to a son or daughter, already a year old. A child who would be too young to understand, who he would be a stranger to. That scared the shit out of him, even more than going overseas. He didn’t know the first thing about being a father. His own father was fine, a little strict, but being a father himself was something else entirely. There was no preparing for it, and he would be thrown right into it when he returned.

You still hadn’t told anyone yet. When you came running to Sam, tears in your eyes and a positive pregnancy test in your hand, Tommy and Erik had been the first people Sam wanted to call. He was ecstatic, although terrified, and wanted to share the news with his brothers right away. But you stopped him, a huge smile on your face and your hand on his chest.

“Not yet,” you’d said, feeling his heartbeat thudding beneath your palm. “Let’s keep this our little secret just a little bit longer.”

It had been hard for Sam to keep his mouth shut, but he enjoyed having that private thing to share between you. When you were around the guys, he felt so giddy, like it could spill out at any moment. When you’d decline a beer, you’d meet eyes for only a moment, a huge smile on Sam’s face.

But now it was time to leave, and the reality was setting in. His stomach was in knots. He’d never been so nervous to ship off, not even his first time. He didn’t want to miss any of this. He wanted to see your belly grow, to go to doctors appointments, to hold your hand when your baby was born. He wouldn’t get any of that. He had always been sad to leave you for tours, but this was worse. Now he was leaving two people he loved more than anything.

He couldn’t remember when he finally fell asleep. But the next thing he knew, his alarm was going off, and he startled awake. The sun had barely risen, the sky barely turning blue through the bedroom window. You were still tangled up around him, sleeping soundly. He carefully, reluctantly, untangled your limbs from around his own and lifted himself from the bed, the springs creaking slightly. He turned back in time to see you snuggling into his pillow, holding it much like you’d held him.

He dressed in his uniform, grabbing his bag that had already been packed. He slung the heavy pack over his shoulders, looking back at you sleeping peacefully in your shared bed. He walked over, smoothing his hand over your hair. You stirred slightly but remained asleep. He bent down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Your eyes fluttered open, barely awake. “Leaving?” you asked, your voice still weak with sleep.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, baby. I’ve gotta go.”

You frowned, sitting up in the bed and wiping at your eyes. “Okay,” you croaked. You placed your hands on either side of his face, pulling him in for a long, passionate kiss. He returned it, the kiss stirring something in his chest that he had to push away for now. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said. “So much.” He rubbed a hand over your abdomen. “Both of you. Take care of yourselves. I’ll write you every week.”

“I know you will.” You kissed him again, shorter this time. “Bye, Sammy.”

He grinned at the nickname. “Bye, sweetheart.”

You laid back down, falling back into your slumber quickly. Sam stood, walking towards the bedroom door. He stopped by the dresser. He looked down at his hands, smoothing his thumb over his gold wedding band. Then he reluctantly slipped it off his finger, laying it gently on the table next to your jewelry. He knew it would be waiting right there for him when he got back.

He took one last look at you, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed and kiss you breathless. But instead he opened the door, heading out into the rest of the house before slipping out the front door and locking it behind him, leaving you alone.

You wrote to Sam every week. Every letter included a whole breakdown from your pregnancy books, the fruit size comparison and a breakdown of how you’d been feeling, what the doctor had said, ultrasound photos and bump pictures you took in the mirror. Sometimes a private photo just for Sam’s eyes, ones he’d hide in his belongings and pull out only when he was alone. It was what kept him going.

Waiting to go home to you felt like a lifetime, although he kept busy with OP1. He felt a lump in his throat every time he pulled out a photo to see you having grown bigger. He felt like he was missing the most important event of his life.

He was sitting in the barracks, laughing with Erik, Tommy, and Elliott, when the mail was brought in for the week. He sat up straighter, eyeing the bag of mail as it was distributed, impatiently waiting his turn.

“Excited to hear from your girl, O’Brien?” Elliott teased, sly grin on his face. “Let me know if she sent any good photos this time.”

Sam shoved his friend hard in the shoulder, but they both laughed. He knew those photos were for his eyes only, anyway, although the guys liked to tease him about his hot wife back home. He knew his wife was hot, but still.

When Sam was handed his mail, he found the one with your name on it and immediately tore into it. He pulled out the letter and watched as a couple photos fell out, landing facedown on the table. He would look at those after.

He immediately began reading the letter, his heart thudding faster when he saw the “20 weeks” scribbled at the top in your handwriting. He knew what that meant. You had been talking about how excited you were for this appointment in your letters for weeks. This was it.

He read your letter, talking about how things had been on the base with the other wives, how you’d been feeling, what you’d been up to. Baby the size of a mango. How your mom had come for a visit and drove you crazy for a week. He loved hearing all the mundane things happening back home, but his heart was thudding in anticipation for the news he was waiting for.

The letter ended with your usual - Hope you enjoy the pictures! All my love. - and your name signed in swirling script. His gaze dropped down to the photos. One was very clearly an ultrasound photo - he was familiar with them by now. He reached for the other first.

One of you in the mirror like you sent every week. You had really popped, he thought as his eyes widened. Your belly was perfectly rounded, your hand resting at the bottom as you posed for the photo in the mirror that hung on the back of your closet door. You had a bright smile on your face. You looked beautiful.

His eyes dropped down to the upside down ultrasound photo. He reached for it slowly, as if he were scared. He lifted it with a shaking hand, then finally, finally turned it over.

He had yet to see an ultrasound where the baby looked so much like a baby. It nearly took his breath away - and that was before he noticed the writing typed onto the photo.

It’s a girl!

“Holy fuck,” Sam muttered, in total disbelief. “Holy shit!”

“What?” Erik asked, looking over at Sam’s shocked yet elated expression.

Sam looked up, seeing the whole room of his brothers looking at him. “It’s a girl,” he said. “It’s a girl!”

The whole room erupted into cheers, patting him on the back and congratulating him, pushing him around playfully and making comments about how he’d have his work cut out for him as he smiled bigger than he had since he’d left home. He couldn’t believe it. He was having a daughter.

As your pregnancy progressed towards the end, Sam grew weary. He missed you. Seeing the photos you sent made him long for you like he never had before. He wanted to take care of you - something about seeing you pregnant made him extra protective, and here he was, overseas and only able to communicate with you through letters. He longed to feel the baby kick, to help you set up the nursery, to tell you to go sit down and rest while he took care of things.

As you reached the last couple weeks, his anxiety was at an all time high. He was on a mission from weeks 35-38, and every day he worried the baby would come and he wouldn’t know. So when they returned to the base and he caught up on your letters, seeing the babe was still safely growing, he felt immense relief.

It was a week after they had returned when he got a letter that was thicker than usual. His chest tightened - he knew before he even opened it. He stared at the unopened letter, frozen and face pale.

“What’s wrong, man?” Erik had asked, but then he looked at the letter the other man’s eyes were locked onto. His eyebrows raised. “Is that-?”

“I think so,” Sam muttered.

“Well, open it!” Elliott said, the guys all crowding around, waiting to see.

With the courage of his brothers surrounding him, he ripped open the letter. He pulled out the letter itself and a large stack of photos - the one on top featuring the most beautiful baby he had ever seen.

A birth announcement. A newborn baby girl laid wrapped in a blanket, her eyes closed, a head full of brown hair. She had your nose and lips, Sam’s hair and eye shape. He swore his heart stopped beating. At the bottom - Olivia Claire O’Brien. The name you had decided on after a long back and forth in letters, the name that somehow fit her so well.

Sam stared at the photo in shock, barely able to hear the cheers and commotion around him. He couldn’t believe it. He had a daughter waiting for him back home now - a real, living, breathing daughter. His daughter.

“She’s beautiful, man,” Tommy said, flashing a genuine smile as he clapped Sam on the shoulder. Sam somehow pulled himself together, muttering a bashful thank you to his brothers.

“Congrats dude,” Elliott contributed, rubbing the top of Sam’s bald head.

“You’re gonna be a great dad,” Erik said, and that made him feel better than anything he’d ever heard. Now, he just had to get through the rest of this tour so he could get home to his girls.

It was supposed to be a standard surveillance mission.

Things had never gone so horribly wrong.

Elliott had gotten hit by shrapnel from a grenade, and he needed a CASEVAC. They were supposed to just escort him out to the tank then get back into the house - but an IED had gone off.

Sam had woken up disoriented, his head pounding, ears ringing. He didn’t know what the fuck had happened. Then, the pain crept in. He looked down and saw his right leg twisted the wrong direction, small fires burning his pants and skin.

“Oh my god,” he said, his voice trembling. “Oh my god, fuck! Fuck! Oh my god!”

He didn’t know what the fuck had happened but the next thing he knew Erik was stumbling over, patting his leg to put out the flames. “Ow, ow, ow,” he said, still coming back to himself, nausea and fear roiling in his stomach.

He looked over to his left, seeing a body completely blown in half. Panic rose in his chest, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

Erik began dragging Sam back into the house - and that’s when the pain became the worst thing he could possibly imagine. He screamed, a loud, guttural scream of terror and pain and pure misery. He felt like his leg was still on fire, like it was going to rip right off.

Erik pulled him into the house, laying him on the ground. Sam was relieved to not be moving anymore, but once the pain had kicked in, it didn’t stop. He groaned loudly, moaning in pain, desperate for some kind of relief. He barely noticed Ray and Tommy pulling an unconscious Elliott into the house behind him.

“Two rooms deep!” somebody yelled, and then he was being dragged again, screaming. When he stopped moving he unbuckled his helmet and pulled it off, tossing it to the side. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Ray began checking him over. They rolled Sam onto his side as he gritted his teeth, still moaning in pain. It felt better being back on his back, but not by much. Ray grabbed a pack of gauze and stuffed it into the wound in Sam’s leg, and again - he screamed. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced in his life. He thought he was going to be sick.

Sam heard Ray speaking into the radio. “We have two severely wounded. We need another CASEVAC as soon as possible. Be advised an IED caused the injuries, over.”

Even more panic rose in Sam’s body. He wasn’t sure he heard Ray right, until he related it into the radio again “We have two severely wounded. We need another CASEVAC.”

“Who’s the severely wounded?” Sam asked, grabbing onto Ray’s arm. “Is it me?”

“No, it’s not you,” Ray lied, trying to calm his friend. “It’s not you.”

“Then who is it??” Sam asked, getting more worked up by the minute. “Who is it?? Who the fuck is it? Who is it?”

“You’re okay, calm down,” Ray said. “You just think about that beautiful baby girl, okay? And that hot wife of yours, remember? They’re waiting for you. They need you, okay? You’re gonna get home to them, okay?”

Sam took in his words, his mind flipping through images of you, of his daughter. “Okay,” he said, calming the slightest bit. “O-okay.”

Ray reached into the front pocket of Sam’s uniform. His brothers knew what he kept there. He pulled out the photo of you holding Olivia, and pressed it into Sam’s shaking, bloody hand. “You’re going to see them soon, okay? You focus on them. That’s what fucking matters.”

Sam nodded, taking the photo and holding it where he could see it. He had smeared blood onto it, dust now coated it and made it slightly harder to see, but it was you. It was you and it was Livvy and that’s what he focused on, trying to push the pain out of his mind with thoughts of coming home to you both.

You sat in Sam’s recliner in the living room, rocking a sleeping Olivia in your arms. She was 6 weeks old now and had been fussier than usual. It was hard to take care of her without any help, but you loved it. You loved her. And you knew Sam would, too. Hell, he hadn’t even met her yet and he was already obsessed with her.

You rocked gently as you watched TV with the volume on low. You were barely paying any attention, your eyes heavy. You’d been running on little sleep. Erik’s wife and your best friend, Viv, had been by nearly every day to help. She loved the baby time and you loved the cherished rest it afforded you.

The large framed wedding photo on the wall caught your eye. It had been the happiest day of your life - tied with the day Livvy had been born. Sam wore his dress uniform, looking handsome as ever. You wore a gorgeous white dress with long lace sleeves. In the photo you clutched onto his arm, a smile taking over your entire face. Sam looked equally elated. Surrounding the large portrait were smaller photos, the both of you with your families and your wedding party.

The sound of the phone ringing brought you out of your reminiscing. You grabbed it quickly, hitting the answer button before it had time to wake Olivia. She stirred, but remained asleep.

“Hello?” you answered, keeping your voice quiet.

“Mrs. O’Brien?”

You froze. Panic crept beneath your skin. “Yes?”

The man over the line introduced himself. “I’m a Casualty Assistance Calls Officer.”

Your blood ran cold. Casualty? Oh god. Oh god. You felt as if you might be sick. You tucked the phone between your ear and shoulder and stood, walking to the other side of the room and laying Olivia in a bassinet. “Is- is Sam-“

“Petty Officer O’Brien was injured in combat,” the man said. That’s when your knees gave out, your body dropping back down into the chair. “He was involved in an IED explosion. He sustained serious injuries to both legs. He’s currently receiving treatment on base, but will be shipping home in the next few weeks.”

Sam was hurt. But he was alive, you thought as relief rushed through you. He was alive and he was coming home. But how would this change his life?

The officer gave you little more information, but promised to be in touch with updates regularly. You asked if you could speak with him, but were told he was heavily medicated for the time being. When you hung up the phone, you felt as if your entire world had been tipped on its axis. Everything felt shifted, like nothing would be the same.

You wanted nothing more than to run to him, to be by his side. But you were helpless to do anything but sit and wait.

Sam was out of it for a while. He had life saving surgeries overseas before he was finally sent back home to continue care and rest in his own bed, his own house, with his family.

His family.

All he could think about on the flight home was seeing you again, and meeting Livvy. If he was honest with himself, he was terrified. Being a dad was a new kind of challenge, one he didn’t know if he was prepared for. What if he fucked it up? What if he couldn’t be a good dad because of his injuries? What if he couldn’t run and play with his daughter?

His legs ached as he sat through the hours long flight. He took some of his pain medication, which helped a bit and allowed him to get a little sleep. He rested his head against the window, watching the clouds pass by until the pain waned and he drifted off.

The plane touching down woke him from his slumber, jolting him awake. He looked around, recognizing the base. He was back home in Coronado. He felt a weight off his chest.

That anxiety came back when he was helped off the plane and into his wheelchair. He hated it. He always hated feeling weak, and now he physically was. He knew it wasn’t his fault, and the doctors promised he would regain the ability to walk eventually. It was just going to be a long journey.

He was pushed away from the plane and through the base, his stomach churning. This was it. He fidgeted with the material of his pants as he looked everywhere for you.

Then - there you were.

You spotted each other at the same time. Erik’s wife, Viv, stood next to you, and in your arms was the most beautiful little girl he’d ever seen. You held her at your side, your hand against her back for support. You handed her to Viv and then you were running.

As you got closer, Sam could see the massive smile on your face, the tears brimming in your eyes. He reached out for you, a matching smile on his own lips. You pulled him into an embrace as you reached him and he held you back just as tightly, laughing in relief that he was home, he was here, he was holding you.

You pulled back slightly before pressing your lips to his. God, it had been over a year since he’d kissed anyone, over a year since he’d even seen a pretty girl in person. He wanted so badly to pull you onto his lap and kiss you deeper.

You pulled back and held your hands on either side of his face, as if you weren’t convinced he was real. He felt the same way about you, his hands gripping onto your waist. You looked even more beautiful than when he’d left, if that was possible. There was a kind of motherly glow about you that made his heart beat wildly.

“You’re here,” you said, still smiling as a few tears escaped, and he laughed.

“I’m here, baby,” he said. He pulled you down for another quick kiss, and then his eyes were drawn behind you.

You turned to see Viv holding a fussing Olivia, then faced Sam again. “Want to meet your daughter?”

His mouth went dry - but yes, he wanted that more than anything. You stepped behind his wheelchair and pushed him over. As he got closer, he could see the little girl better. She looked like the perfect mix between the two of you. She was perfect.

“Hey, Sammy,” Viv greeted with a smile as you stopped his chair. Sam greeted her back, but he was barely paying attention. You were taking Livvy from her arms, and then you were gently setting the baby in Sam’s arms.

“Livvy,” you cooed to the baby. “This is your daddy.”

Olivia looked at him curiously. Seeing her so close, being able to hold her and touch her, took Sam’s breath away. “Hi, baby girl,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. He rubbed his thumb over the soft skin of her chubby cheek, then pulled her close and placed a kiss to the top of her head.

Livvy smiled at him, reaching for his nose. Sam laughed, pure joy coursing through his veins. He pulled her in for a hug, and she laid her head on his shoulder. He rubbed her back as she was content to just be held by her dad. Viv snapped pictures in the background, but he hardly noticed.

He had his family back.

—

Sam spent the day playing with Livvy as well as he could. She adored him already, clinging to him and laughing so hard every time he’d make a funny face or play peekaboo. Sam was overjoyed. He had never felt so content.

That night, you rocked Livvy to sleep in the recliner while Sam watched, a warm smile on his face. When she was out, you carried her gently to the nursery and laid her down. She didn’t wake, just rolled onto her side and settled.

You walked out into the living room. Sam sat on the couch, his wheelchair against the wall. The TV played some cable movie with the volume on low, but he wasn’t paying much attention.

He was watching you. You walked over with a playful smile, your little sleep shorts hanging low on your hips. Sam licked his lips - god, it had been so long since he’d seen you in person, so long since he’d been able to touch your body. He reached for you and you went to him.

His hands found purchase on your hips, thumbs rubbing the exposed skin between your shorts and shirt. His breath caught in his throat. All the blood in his body rushed down south, like he was a teenager and this was his first time touching a girl.

“Want you so bad,” he mumbled. He pulled you closer, and you leaned down and kissed him.

“I wanna take care of you,” you whispered. “Can I?”

Could you? Hell fucking yes.

Sam nodded, nipping at your bottom lip one more time before he watched you sink down to your knees in front of him. His cock was filling out his sweatpants, so eager for you to touch him he could hardly stand it.

You eyed the outline of his cock through his grey sweats, mouth watering, core aching as you thought about having him inside you again. It had been so long.

You reached for his waistband and gently pulled them down. His already hard cock sprung free, tip red and leaking in anticipation. “Baby…” he muttered, his pupils blown as he watched you between his legs.

You could see the scars on his thighs, making your heart ache, but you turned your attention back to where he needed you most. He threaded his fingers through your hair as you wrapped a hand around his shaft, making him hiss.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his cock throbbing in your grip.

You moved forward and wrapped your lips around his tip, tongue teasing over his slit. He groaned, head dropping back against the back of the couch.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned. “It’s been too fuckin’ long. Need you so bad…need your mouth.”

You couldn’t resist his pleads. You took more of him into your mouth, tongue tracing the vein on the underside as you took him down your throat. Sam’s grip tightened in your hair, another low groan spilling from his lips. You set a slow pace, letting him savor the feeling of your mouth.

“Fuck, fuck yeah,” he breathed. His free hand grabbed onto the couch cushion. “So good, baby. Feels so good.”

You hummed around his dick, which drove him crazy. He was panting above you, barely able to hold on. He’d been dreaming of this, especially when you’d send those photos that were for his eyes only. If only he could see more of you.

He watched the way your lips wrapped around his girth, the way you’d look up at him through your long eyelashes, looking so innocent despite what you were doing to him. He bucked his hips up as much as he could without hurting himself, wishing he could fuck your face like you sometimes let him do. Fuck, he loved that.

You gently cupped his balls, massaging them in your hand as his cock twitched in your mouth. He was breathing heavier now, his legs starting to shake. His hold on you was a little rougher, his moans a little more desperate. You knew he was close.

“G’na cum,” he groaned. “I’m so close.”

You lifted off of him, working his shaft with your hand instead. “Where do you wanna cum, baby?”

“On your face and tits,” he answered quickly, his voice strained. “Please. Please.”

You stopped long enough to pull your sleep shirt over your head, revealing your bare tits to him, the cold air making your nipples harden in the dim light of the living room. His cock twitched again and then he was moaning as you wrapped your mouth around him once more.

You sucked him off, taking him all the way to the back of your throat. He was losing his mind above you. When he started throbbing against your tongue, his moans getting a little higher, thighs and hands trembling, you knew he was right there. You pulled off of him once more, jerking him off quickly while you looked up at him.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh god, oh fuck,” he moaned. “Gonna…oh shit-“

He let out a choked moan as he came, his cum spurting onto your face and chest, covering you in his spend. He watched with wide eyes, thinking he had never seen anything hotter in his life. You looked perfect like this.

When he had finished, he sat there breathing heavily while you cleaned yourself up with some tissues. You smiled at him playfully - and he beckoned you over. He tucked himself back in his sweats and pulled you down to sit next to him, cuddled against his chest.

“I fucking love you,” he said, before leaning in and kissing you hard. You returned it, hand resting on his strong chest.

“I love you too,” you said, and god, did you.

—

Recovery was slow. Sam was still in a lot of pain. He had multiple more surgeries to go through, and a rigorous physical therapy schedule. But he was determined to keep his legs, and determined to regain the ability to walk. He felt useless as he was. He knew he would never be active duty again, but he wanted to do something.

The only bright spots in his life were you and Olivia. He loved playing with his daughter. She loved sitting on his lap, watching Sesame Street with her dad. He’d watch kids shows all day long if it meant he got to spend time with her.

It took Livvy no time at all to warm up to Sam. She adored him. It’s like she knew the second he held her that that was her dad. “Dada” was her first word, and any time anyone else held her, she reached for him. She hardly ever took her eyes off him.

Sam still had bad days. Some days the pain was significantly worse than others. Some days his mental state was what he struggled with.

This was one of those days where he struggled with both. He had been feeling down, although he wouldn’t admit it, it was obvious to you. You wanted to do something to make him feel better.

You left Sam in bed taking a nap after his physical therapy. You had called Viv and asked if she wanted to watch Livvy for the night - she said yes, of course, and was excited for a sleepover with her and Erik’s goddaughter. Viv came by during Sam’s nap and picked her up. You gave your daughter a million kisses before you allowed her to go, but you knew she would be safe.

When Sam awoke, it was already 7pm. He called for you, still unable to do much on his own. You walked into the room to find him there, still looking as if he hated himself.

“Do you need some help?” you asked him softly, brushing your hand over his hair that was slowly growing out.

“Bathroom,” he mumbled, not meeting your eyes.

You grabbed his crutches from against the wall and helped him stand. Once he was situated on them he was able to hobble into the bathroom while you waited for him. When he was done, you helped him lay back down.

You crawled into bed next to him, cuddling up to his side. He wrapped his arm around you, holding you close. “Where’s Livvy?”

“Sleepover with Auntie Viv,” you said. “Just us tonight.”

Sam smirked down at you. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you giggled. “What, you have something you want to do?”

“Maybe,” he teased. He shifted so he could face you better, then he tilted your head up, leaning down to kiss your soft lips.

His tongue traced your bottom lip and you happily let him in, your own meeting his as he pressed his body into yours. His hand rested on your waist and he pulled you closer, bringing you onto his lap.

“Are you sure?” you asked, gently straddling him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” Sam mumbled, kissing down your neck and nipping at the spot that always made you gasp. Your hands tightened on his broad shoulders. “I want this. I need it.”

You and Sam still hadn’t had sex since he’d been home. You were scared he was still in too much pain - and for a while, he was. But now he was healing, and he wanted more than anything to be inside of you.

You reached down between you and lowered his sweatpants, large cock springing free, already hard and needy. It throbbed between you, so desperate to get in your pussy he could hardly stand it. You lifted yourself up and pushed your shorts and panties down, Sam helping.

He grabbed the base of his cock and dragged it through your folds, already soaking wet just from the thought of fucking him again. He lined himself up at your entrance then gripped onto your waist as you held onto his shoulders and lowered yourself down onto him.

You did it slowly, both so you could adjust and so you could watch Sam’s face for any sign of pain. You saw none - in fact, his face contorted in pleasure, his head falling back against the headboard.

“Christ,” he groaned. “Just as fuckin’ tight as I remembered.”

You whined as his girth stretched you - it felt like your first time again. His hands were trembling where they held you. His eyes went wide when you landed flush against him, finally buried completely in your tight heat. 

You slowly, experimentally, rocked your hips against him. “Is this okay?”

“Oh yeah,” he grunted, using his hands to guide your hips a little faster. 

You were nervous, but you knew he’d let you know if something didn’t feel good. You let yourself bring your hips down against him harder, the curls at his base rubbing against your clit just right.

“Sammy,” you moaned, starting to carefully bounce on him. He kept his guiding hands on you, encouraging you to go a little harder, a little faster.

“You feel so good, baby,” he said, his voice low and laced with desire. “I needed this so fuckin’ bad. You have no idea.”

You thought you did have an idea, because you felt the same way. You were keening, head thrown back as you bounced on him, the curve of his cock pressing perfectly against that bundle of nerves at your front walls.

He began thrusting up into you, grunting with every movement of his hips. The bed frame creaked with your movements - it hadn’t seen any action in a good while. Sam ran his hands up your front to pull your shirt off then grab at your tits, his thumbs rubbing against your hardened nipples. In this position they were bouncing right in his face, just like he liked them.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. “I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you in my whole fucking life.”

You smiled, looking down at him. “You sure you’re not just saying that because I’m riding you right now?” you asked him, breathless.

“Doesn’t hurt,” he teased.

You grinned, bouncing a little faster. He hissed, fingers tightening on your waist. You stopped immediately. “Are you okay?”

“Just hurt a little,” he said, though you could tell he was downplaying it. “Don’t stop though. Maybe just a little slower.”

Hesitantly, you rocked your hips again, watching him carefully. When he seemed alright, you worked back into a steady rhythm. He was letting out quiet little moans, leaning forward to wrap his lips around your nipple and pull your body against his.

“Sammy,” you moaned. “I’m so close.”

“Cum for me,” he begged. “Please. Need to feel you squeezin’ around me. I want you to cum on my cock, baby, please.”

It only took a few more rolls of your hips before you were crying out, your head falling forward onto his shoulder as you rocked against him, pussy clenching around him and pushing him over the edge. He wrapped his arms around your waist and held you flush against him, groaning your name as he thrusted up with every release, filling you the way he liked.

You just held each other like that, breathing heavily. A sheen of sweat covered your skin. Sam kissed your shoulder affectionately. “I love you. More than anything.”

“I love you too, Sammy.” You kissed his lips one more time before carefully sliding off his lap. You cuddled up against him under the covers.

Things were different now. But you were happy.

part 2 soon

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@fandom-princess-forevermore

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

omg i need a dark bucky fic but one where accidentally reader without knowing utters one of the code/trigger words to activate the winter soldier. maybe some smut then angst then aftercare? idk

Don’t Say It Again » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Beefy/Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: You accidentally say one of the trigger words that activates the Winter Soldier without knowing it and Bucky makes it very clear to you that you should never speak of any of those words.

Warnings: Darkish, Smut (18+), Angst, Fluff ending, language, darkish!Bucky, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex, rough sex, praise kink, size kink, Sergeant kink, metal arm kink, choking, degradation, aftercare, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

A/N #2: This is my first time writing something dark. My apologies if it doesn’t meet the standards of dark fics. Just know I’m trying and please don’t judge the way I write dark fics.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckyys-babydoll / divider made by me

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

Bucky was in the living room, relaxing and reading a book while you were scrolling through your phone next to him. You had a blanket draped over your lap. You shivered a bit when you felt a chill in the apartment. You threw the blanket off of you and put your phone on the coffee table.

“I’m going to turn up the furnace a bit.” You say softly, walking over to the thermostat.

Bucky’s head shot up when you said furnace. He bookmarked the page he’s on in the book he’s reading and shut it, tossing it onto the coffee table. He stood up from the couch and made his way to you.

“What the hell did you just say?” Bucky asks, standing closely behind you.

You yelped at your boyfriend’s sudden presence. You turned around to see Bucky standing behind you. You looked up at him due to the height difference between you and him.

“I was just saying I was going to turn up the furnace a bit.” You say softly.

Bucky grabbed your arm, leading you to the bedroom. He closed and locked the door behind him. His right hand grasped your jaw, squishing your cheeks to get you to look him in his eyes. His blue eyes are now dark.

“You’re gonna learn why you shouldn’t be saying that word.” He says darkly.

You nodded, feeling submissive. His hand let go of your jaw. He brought his metal hand up to your neck, rubbing his fingers across your collarbones before wrapping his hand around your throat and squeezed it. Not enough to cut off your airway or hurt you. Just enough to choke you with a soft firm grip. Bucky yanked you towards him and kissed you roughly. You moaned against his lips.

You could sense Bucky was mad about something, but you couldn’t figure out was he was mad about. He gets rough and aggressive when he’s pissed off about something. Sometimes he gets rough and aggressive during sex, which you don’t mind, because Bucky takes very good care of you afterwards.

“Take your fucking clothes off before I rip them off.” Bucky mutters lowly.

You nodded as he took his metal hand away from your throat. Instead of risking angering your boyfriend even more, you stripped your clothes off as fast as you could and left yourself completely naked in front of him.

“Bed, now.” He demands.

You quickly got on the bed, laying on your back and propped yourself up on your elbows. Bucky didn’t waste any time stripping himself of his clothes. His cock is hard and leaking with precum. He forcefully spread your legs so he could settle himself in between them. Bucky put his right hand on the middle of your chest and pushed you back against the bed so you were propped up on your elbows anymore.

Bucky lewdly spit on your pussy before rubbing it in with his cock, smearing it with your slick and his precum. A soft moan fell from your lips. Without warning, Bucky slid his whole cock in your pussy. A small whimper fell from your lips at the stretch from his cock.

“Quit your fucking whining. You’re fine.” He says.

Bucky wrapped his metal hand around your throat again when he started thrusting. His thrusts are rough and fast. You wrapped your hand around his metal wrist for something to hold onto. He swatted your hand away with his right hand.

“Hands above your head.” He orders.

You rose your arms above your head, resting them on the pillow around your head. Bucky put his right hand around both of your wrists, holding them together. You glanced up and tried wiggling your wrists out of his grip just to see how tight his grip is.

“Stop fucking moving.” He says.

You stopped wiggling your wrists and listened to him. You stared up at Bucky, seeing that his blue eyes are now lust filled. You were too focused on Bucky fucking you that you didn’t realize he was talking. Please was quickly taking over you that you couldn’t tell if he was talking out loud to himself or talking to you.

“Out of all words, you had to say one of those words.” Bucky said, referring to the trigger words that turns him into the Winter Soldier. “Were you trying to turn me into him?” He asks.

You shook your head frantically, but that wasn’t enough for Bucky.

“Use your big girl words.” He almost growls, slight tightening his grip on your throat with his metal hand.

“I’m- I’m not trying to turn you in- into him!” You stuttered and moaned.

“Then why did you say it?” He asks, pulling your head up towards him so your face was close to his.

“I-I don’t know!” You whimpered.

Bucky scoffed like you were lying. You knew the word furnace was one of the words that turns him into the Winter Soldier, but you swear that wasn’t your intention. You just weren’t thinking about the trigger words when you said it.

“Are you gonna be a good girl and not say it again?” He asks.

“Yes!” You squeaked out.

Bucky looked in your eyes to make sure you weren’t lying. He then loosened his grip on your throat with his metal hand. His metal hand held your throat loosely as he fucked you.

His thrusts sped up, fucking you at a brutal pace. You were loving it. Even though you’re most likely going to be sore afterwards, it’s totally worth it. You could feel your orgasm building up the faster Bucky fucked you. You weren’t sure how much longer you were going to last at this pace.

“Bucky, I’m-” You were cut off when Bucky’s metal hand gave your throat a squeeze.

“You gonna cum, doll face?” Bucky asks.

You nodded your head yes.

“That’s too fucking bad.” He said in a mocking voice. “You’re not cumming till I do, understand?” He says.

You gave him a nod. That wasn’t good enough for Bucky. He gave your throat another squeeze.

“Use your big girl words.” He says.

“Yes.” You finally say.

“Yes, what?” He asks.

“Yes Sergeant.” You say submissively.

“Good girl.” He praises.

You whimpered softly, not sure how much longer you can hold on. It’s not as long as you thought, because Bucky’s orgasm was building up as well.

“Sarge, please!” You whined.

“Hold it.” Bucky pants.

Bucky came after a few more thrusts, fucking his cum in you.

“Cum.” He says.

Your orgasm was so intense that your legs began to tremble as you came, moaning his name loudly. Bucky fucked you through your orgasm. His thrusts came to a stop after a short moment. He collapsed on top of you, being careful to not accidentally crush you. Both of you were panting.

“Are you ok?” Bucky asks after a few minutes.

“Yes.” You answered.

Bucky sat upright and pulled out of you, his cum leaking out of your pussy. He went to the bathroom to run a bath for the both of you. He came back to the bedroom and picked you up bridal style and carried you to the bathroom, helping you get in the bathtub since your legs feel like jelly at the moment. He got in the bathtub and sat down behind you. You leaned into his touch.

“Are you mad at me for saying one of those words?” You asked.

“I was, but I’m not anymore.” Bucky answers.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized.

“You don’t have to apologize, babydoll. Just don’t say it again.” He says softly, kissing your lips softly.

-Bucky’s Doll

[biteyoubiteme]

You dont get how excited i was seeing that you posted this fic ive read it like three times and i realized i never reblogged it im sorry ;--;; but i LOVE this fic okay i love it sm you have no idea The engine roars in your ears as you bolt across the finish line, your car skidding and screeching to a halt. The cheers and claps of the crowd rise to an almost deafening crescendo, and you grip the steering wheel tight with furrowed brows, being able to feel how sweaty your forehead had become, adrenaline still surging through your veins as you pant heavily. A quick glance at the leaderboard tells you the result: Second. Fucking. Place. Like just from the start im so hooked- 

“Hardwork, my ass. His daddy got him connections and sponsorships, that’s why. He thinks he can just waltz in with that stupid smile and—oh my god, he’s winking at me. I’m going to fucking kill him.” Sure enough, Beomgyu catches your eye roll and winks your way before saying something to the reporters that makes them hysterically laugh. When i tell you i giggle and love love love love love rivals to lovers so much like the cockieness that can only be reached with rivals just heals something in me and this did just that i love it uuuuuggghhh

Taehyun shrugs, “He grows on you. I guess.” “Yeah, like a nasty mould.” im giggling and kicking my feet over this i love them ><

There is one thing you’ve never told anyone about. Not your teammates, not taehyun, and that is when you, of all people, made out with Choi Beomgyu one awfully unlucky night. Jumping around my room rn you cant see it but believe it- 

What you do remember though was looking at him, really looking at him, in the shifting, almost epileptic lights of the club. How big and brown his eyes were, how long and thick his eyelashes were and how they fluttered like a doll every time he blinked. How plump and pouty his lips were, especially now that he was drunk, he just kept on pouting his lips and his cheeks were flushed all rosy from all the alcohol he’d had. His long wolfcut was messy by now, bangs falling into his eyes. I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE ABOUT HOW PRETTY BEOMGYU IS 

The final lap is chaos, the audience on their feet now. You’re so incredibly angry, but you can’t let that get to you and hinder your focus, you clench your teeth, gripping your steering wheel so tight your knuckles are white, you’re even more determined to win than before. Okay but im on the edge of my seat over this race like its irl and i dont know whats going to happen like i love it sm

"You fucking cheated!" You shout, jabbing a finger at his chest. He blinks innocently, tilting his head in a puppy like way. "Me? Cheat? That’s a very serious accusation to make. I’d never." There’s a slight smugness to him, almost mocking, he’s not even pissed he didn’t win like you’d wanted him to be, just calm and collected and being a bitch. It makes you even more livid with him. THE RIVALS ARE BEING RIVALS AND I LOVE IT ITS MAKING MY BITE MY FIST AND KICK MY FEET BEHIND ME LIKE IM SO SAT AND OBSESSED WITH THEM- 

Something inside you just snaps. It infuriates you how you’re the one who won and yet, you feel small. Why is he the one sneering at you? That should be you! You want to have the upper hand over him, some semblance of control— just like that night again when he was putty in your hands. And so, before you can even register what you yourself are about to do, you grab him by his jacket, smashing your lips against his. He melts almost instantly, kissing you back so fervently and eagerly, as if he’d been waiting this whole time for this to happen. And you can’t lie, it felt almost euphoric to have his soft lips back on yours again. Almost like an addict getting their fix after a long withdrawal. EEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKK ><

but there’s a look of almost, somewhat hurt on his face. APOLOGIZE TO HIM AND ME FOR THIS ENDING EVIL!!! (i love this fic sm) 

☆ Drive you mad !

genre: racer au, smut, e2l, rivals , crack

Pairings: sub ! race car driver ! beomgyu x dom ! gn race car driver reader (afab when comes to smut)

Warnings: kinda public sex, bratty beomgyu, sub beomgyu, grinding/palming, edging, creampie, riding, hand job, degrading, sex in a car, clubbing, alcohol, hair pulling, tit sucking, use of names ‘good boy’, ‘whore’

Word count: 4.7k

The engine roars in your ears as you bolt across the finish line, your car skidding and screeching to a halt. The cheers and claps of the crowd rise to an almost deafening crescendo, and you grip the steering wheel tight with furrowed brows, being able to feel how sweaty your forehead had become, adrenaline still surging through your veins as you pant heavily. A quick glance at the leaderboard tells you the result:

Second. Fucking. Place.

You grit your teeth, rather aggressively slamming the door shut, and getting out of the car. Yanking off your helmet, you storm over to where Kang Taehyun, your ever-calm, teammate, was leaning casually against the pit wall, sipping on his water bottle from the last round he had just raced himself. You on the other hand, are seconds away from combusting.

“Fuck him.” You seethe and grumble, arms crossed as both of your gazes switch to focus on Choi Beomgyu in the centre, soaking up the spotlight a few metres away, gesturing animatedly for the cameras with sparkling eyes, a stupid smirk and very satisifed look on his face as he tucked his helmet under one arm. He’s surrounded and swarmed by reporters with god knows how many microphones shoved in his face who hang onto his every single word like he was some goddamn deity.

He basks in it, always loved the attention. You wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to win every race solely for the purpose of being met with cameras and praises at the end. It’s like he got off on that shit. Attention seeker.

“What a fucking nepo baby.” You scoff and taehyun laughs, always amused for your hate towards Choi Beomgyu. But it was true, he was only here because his father was a famous legendary racer back in the day, his racing career practically gift wrapped by him at a young age. Choi Beomgyu had everything handed to him on a silver platter whilst you had to claw your way through to get where you are now. But, it seems to be that you’re the only one who has a problem with him. Everyone else adores him, the 'golden boy'.

“Oh—hehe. Stop it. Thank you! Yeah, honestly it’s all about hard work.” You hear him gush and chuckle in faux shyness and humbleness, waving his hand dismissively, eyes shaped into little crescent moons and running a hand through his long soft brown hair. “But I don’t think I’m that good personally heh.”

You can’t help how hard your eyes roll at that, muttering more insults under your breath only taehyun can hear who's certainly more than entertained. “Hardwork, my ass. His daddy got him connections and sponsorships, that’s why. He thinks he can just waltz in with that stupid smile and—oh my god, he’s winking at me. I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Sure enough, Beomgyu catches your eye roll and winks your way before saying something to the reporters that makes them hysterically laugh. The audacity. You have half the mind of walking over there and strangling him right in front of the cameras. That surely wouldn’t end your career right? Or worse yet, put you in prison.

As the crowd around him finally disperses and fizzles out, Beomgyu confidently saunters over to you and taehyun, helmet still tucked under his arm and still grinning annoyingly.

“Oh no.” Taehyun chuckles, throwing a knowing look your way and nodding to the direction of beomgyu, “Incoming.”

“Fuck my life.” You mutter, taking a big breath in, bracing yourself for the worst.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favourite fan.” Beomgyu’s grin widens as he reaches you, snickering. He ignores your scoff in return, turning to taehyun instead with a smile and clapping his back. “Hey, Tae. Drinks after this? A bunch of us are going.”

“Yeah, I’m in. Congrats on first place today by the way.” Taehyun replies giving him a bro hug. To this day, you still can’t understand how taehyun can stand him. But Beomgyu has a lot of friends, and like you said, you really are the only one who dislikes him.

“How can you even hang out with him?” You make the most disgusted face you can muster towards Beomgyu to show the pure utter hatred you feel to him.

Beomgyu practically puffs out his chest, already expecting to be backed up and stood up against by taehyun.

Taehyun shrugs, “He grows on you. I guess.”

“Yeah, like a nasty mould.”

Beomgyu deflates, taking great offence, mouth hanging open and frowning, pouting at the both of you now laughing and high-fiving each other.

Beomgyu’s intense gaze then returns back to you. Taehyun, addressing the situation, and knowing how both your bantering can escalate, sees it’s best to leave, walking away to leave you alone with the cockroach. “Right, so as entertaining as this has been, I’m going to go now…preferably anywhere else...”

“What about you, y/n? No congratulations?” Beomgyu mocks and sighs boastfully once Taehyun has left. His voice dripping with that sickeningly playful lilt that always makes your blood boil. “No heartfelt speech on how I inspire you to be better? But hey, second place isn’t so bad.”

You narrow your eyes, standing up straight. “You won by, like,” you scoff, “a millisecond at best. Don’t get all cocky. It was just pure luck.”

He laughs, raising an eyebrow at you. “Oh, come on, I didn’t think you were such a sore loser. It’s called strategy.”

“Strategy?” you repeat incredulously, “The only strategy you have is relying on your last name to get you ahead.”

“God, you’re still on that? I feel like you’re just using that as an excuse to use still. Just admit I’m as good as you. Better, even. I’ve won one more race than you now~”

The two of you kept a tally of how many races you both have won, you’ve had the same exact score as him for ages now, obviously, not anymore. But you’ll win next time, just he waits.

He takes a step closer to you, waiting and expecting you to make a snarky comeback at him like you always do as you angrily stare him down and he does the same.

For a second, just one second, your eyes flicker down to his lips and suddenly, you’re brought back to an incident that occurred a few months ago. A memory you’ve tried—and failed—to forget.

There is one thing you’ve never told anyone about. Not your teammates, not taehyun, and that is when you, of all people, made out with Choi Beomgyu one awfully unlucky night.

⸝⸝

THE SAID AWFULLY UNLUCKY NIGHT YOU AND CHOI BEOMGYU MADE OUT:

The nightclub was packed with racers, sponsors, and fans celebrating the after party of a big end of season race, air heavy with the scent of alcohol and sweat. You nursed your drink, leaning against the bar.

Of course, Beomgyu was at the centre of the dance floor, surrounded by a group of admirers, his laughter ringing out over the music. He was never hard to spot, the centre of attention always.

"Ugh," you muttered under your breath, taking another sip of your drink.

“And you’re still staring?” Taehyun had teased, sitting beside you.

"I’m not staring.” You snapped, rolling your eyes. "I’m wondering how he manages to be so insufferable and stupid all the time."

“Sure,” Taehyun stifles a laugh, raising his glass to you. “Just don’t kill each other before the next race.”

You down the last of your drink, slamming it on the bar counter and ordering another, “Can’t promise that.”

The rest of the night is a blur to you. Too many drinks, too many spinning lights, and far too much proximity to Beomgyu.

You’re not one to get shitfaced drunk. You prefer the comfortable state of slight tipsiness and anything other than that is not fun for you, because why would someone want to be so drunk off their ass to the point of throwing up and not being aware of their surroundings? Usually, you’d chastise people like that, wondering how they can’t even manage how much they drink. But on that night, you’d had one too many to count, you were drunk, too drunk. Not the comfortable tipsiness that you’re used to.

You know that at one point, either you or Beomgyu had come up to the other and the normal bickering had ensued. You know he was just as drunk as you so whatever you both were arguing about probably made no sense at all.

What you do remember though was looking at him, really looking at him, in the shifting, almost epileptic lights of the club.

How big and brown his eyes were, how long and thick his eyelashes were and how they fluttered like a doll every time he blinked. How plump and pouty his lips were, especially now that he was drunk, he just kept on pouting his lips and his cheeks were flushed all rosy from all the alcohol he’d had. His long wolfcut was messy by now, bangs falling into his eyes.

He looked different that night, too. Not the usual racing suit and helmet, but a stylish black suit with his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a silver necklace glinting against his skin.

All in all, beomgyu was a pretty boy. You get why he had a lot of fans.

He was still going on about something to you, slurring his words, probably insulting you, and the only logical solution to shut him up in your inebriated state at that moment, was to kiss his pouty lips. Luckily, you both were at the very corner of the nightclub shrouded in darkness, everyone else too busy dancing and whatnot to see you both.

You remember him gasping when you grabbed the collar of his black shirt, yanking him down and pressing your lips aggressively against his, but he kissed you back almost instantly, without a second thought.

You weren’t very gentle with him, pushing him forcefully against the wall even further and tugging at his necklace. The way you were making out with him was just pouring out all your anger you’ve felt towards him for years. But, he just let you. He let you do anything to him and you were surprised, so different to the cocky and confident beomgyu you knew. And that sheer control he let you have over him for once felt so good, you didn’t want to stop.

That, and the fact Choi Beomgyu was also just really good at kissing, he made it so difficult to pull away at all, lips so soft and plump and addictive, making you want more and more and more.

But, you never spoke an utterance of it afterwards, he never brought it up, neither did you. And honestly, it felt so surreal, making out with the Choi Beomgyu, the one who you no doubtedly hate his guts and him kissing you back so pliantly? You’d believe it more if it was all just a hallucination. You were so drunk you wouldn’t be surprised if you made it all up, dreamt it even. Maybe it was someone else you made out with and you were so drunk you can’t remember. It’d make more sense than Choi Beomgyu.

Although, you do find yourself thinking about the makeout session often times than not, his lips on yours just felt so good. Too good. It was like, the best makeout you’ve had in your life and you curse it for being him. Why he had to be the one whose lips you still thought about? you don’t know. You’re certain he had forgotten and you wish you could have just like he seemed to.

But anyway, fuck that and fuck him.

⸝⸝

"What? Cat got your tongue?" Beomgyu is still sneering at you, awaiting your comeback but you can’t think well at the moment.

Your face heats, and you shove past him. “Go to hell, Choi.”

And his laughter follows behind you as you walk away. Oh, how he infuriates you.

You have one goal: beat Choi Beomgyu. Today is the day you finally get to race against him again. He’d held that last victory over your head, taunting you endlessly, with that invigorating, stupid smirk of his and you’d had more than enough. Today was your chance to shut him up and kick his ass. You’ll put him in his place and win. You’d been waiting for this.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to another thrilling showdown! All eyes are on the two front runners y/n and Choi Beomgyu. These rivals have been neck and neck all season. Beomgyu won the last race but will he win again? Will today decide who’s truly on top?” The commentator’s voices boom over the loudspeakers.

The flagman waves the green flag, you slam on the gas pedal and you’re off, surging forward.

It wasn’t an easy race, beomgyu seemed motivated to win too. He was always either just ahead or just behind, not far enough for it be satisfactory, but nail bitingly tense, as anything could happen any moment. And right now, ahead, just barely, was him, blocking every attempt you made to overtake him.

“Y/n’s looking for an opening,” the commentators shout. “But Beomgyu’s defensive driving is flawless so far. Look at that precision!”

Loud noises of the engines are all you can hear, filling your ears as you manoeuvre around sharp turns, tires screeching against the asphalt. The laps all blur together but you’re nearing the end now.

You managed to get alongside him on the straight, your cars almost touching, crowd going wild as you both enter the next corner side by side, dangerously close.

“Neither driving is moving an inch!”

Suddenly, beomgyu’s car swerves towards yours, bumping and hitting at yours with such force, a dirty, blatant attempt at running you off the track and then he overtakes you. You gasp, fighting to stabilise your car, narrowly avoiding a spin. That was a new low, even for Choi Beomgyu. He’d never cheated like that before and you’re absolutely enraged.

The final lap is chaos, the audience on their feet now. You’re so incredibly angry, but you can’t let that get to you and hinder your focus, you clench your teeth, gripping your steering wheel so tight your knuckles are white, you’re even more determined to win than before.

The last stretch looms ahead and he’s just razor thin ahead of you, in the last second, you see your opening. Beomgyu had oversteered slightly on the turn, just enough for you to slip past him, you speed ahead.

“AND Y/N TAKES THE WIN IN A SPECTACULAR FINISH! THEY’VE DONE IT! WHAT A RACE!”

You crossed the line first. By a hair.

Everyone erupts, but your satisfaction is short-lived. Beomgyu’s cheating had completely soured your victory. The fucking nerve of him.

You barely register the reporters swarming you, bombarding your face with microphones. “Y/n! how does it feel to take first place?!”

“An incredible performance today, what was going through your mind?!”

The post race interview is a haze of forced smiles and generic answers. You’re barely listening as the reporters barrage you with questions. You’re still so pissed off at Beomgyu.

When it’s finally over, you make your way to the garage and that’s where you spot him leaning casually against his car, arms crossed in a nonchalant way. You clench your fists, blood boiling as you storm over to him. He’d crossed the line, well, not literally this time, but definitely fucking figuratively.

"You fucking cheated!" You shout, jabbing a finger at his chest.

He blinks innocently, tilting his head in a puppy like way. "Me? Cheat? That’s a very serious accusation to make. I’d never." There’s a slight smugness to him, almost mocking, he’s not even pissed he didn’t win like you’d wanted him to be, just calm and collected and being a bitch. It makes you even more livid with him.

“You intentionally tried to cause a collision with me. You should have been penalised. I don’t know how you weren’t!”

“Yeah, and you still won. So why are you even mad?” He crosses his arms and shrugs, ridiculing you. “If you can’t handle that maybe you should switch to something lighter like go karting instead.”

"Can’t handle?!" You splutter, looking at him in pure disbelief, your voice rising. "You arrogant, nepotistic, spoilt brat!-” Each insult punctuated with a sharp poke to his chest and, yet he still finds it all funny, bursting out into laughter at you.

Something inside you just snaps. It infuriates you how you’re the one who won and yet, you feel small. Why is he the one sneering at you? That should be you! You want to have the upper hand over him, some semblance of control— just like that night again when he was putty in your hands.

And so, before you can even register what you yourself are about to do, you grab him by his jacket, smashing your lips against his. He melts almost instantly, kissing you back so fervently and eagerly, as if he’d been waiting this whole time for this to happen. And you can’t lie, it felt almost euphoric to have his soft lips back on yours again. Almost like an addict getting their fix after a long withdrawal.

The kissing becomes heated fast, sounds of your mouths smacking filling the echoing garage as he lets you take over his mouth completely, letting you bite and pull at his bottom lip, emitting soft little gasps at this.

Even for the second time, it was disorienting seeing Beomgyu like this, nothing like the beomgyu you knew on the track or in the spotlight, and now with no alcohol in your system, neither of you could even blame whatever was going on right now on that. It’s all too intoxicating. It takes everything in you to pull back for air.

You push him against his car with more force than necessary, and Beomgyu stumbles slightly before sitting down on the top of the hood. His eyes are blown wide, flustered as you stand between his splayed legs, cupping his cheek and kissing him again, him responding immediately. This is how you like him. Your kisses trail down his jaw and the column of his neck, when you suck on his adam’s apple, he lets out a sharp intake and gasp, tilting his head back to give you more access, he already seems worked up from just a few kisses. Was his neck really that sensitive?

When your hand slides down to palm him through his trousers, his breath hitches and his jaw goes slack. “Oh…b-but we’re in public…” his cheeks flush a deep red and he protests weakly, plump lips all swollen and glossy and wet from the intense making out.

You raise a brow. “So you want me to stop?” You keep grinding your palm against his very hard length now, sucking on his neck and he shudders and whines cutely, very clearly enjoying it.

“W-wait no….” So you continue, he’s panting as you palm him, rutting into your hand himself. You pull back just enough to look at him, so dumb and lost in pleasure, lips parted with soft breathy moans and gasps as he chases the small friction you give him, his brows knitting together.

You roll your eyes at the sight of him, “Trying to run me off the track? You’re pathetic, beomgyu.”

“Pathetic?” He scoffs, still having the nerve to act like a brat when it’s all crumbling. “h-hah, if anyone’s pathetic it’s you—s-shit y/n—please. I need more, please.” Completely contradicting himself, because if there was only one word to describe him exactly right now, it would be pathetic.

“Admit it. Say you’re nothing but a dirty cheater first.”

“You wish.”

“Okay. I’ll leave you like this. All hard and horny.”

He hesitates, scowling, debating whether or not to challenge you, but when you stop all contact of palming and kissing his neck, starting to step away, he caves in.

“Wait!” He blurts, grasping at your wrist, eyes wide and pleading. “I’m…fine. Fine! I’m nothing but a dirty a cheater...” His face burns, embarrassed, humiliated, his pride hurt. The admission sends a thrill through you, he’s always been so full of himself, but now he’s just a needy pathetic mess for you. You’re having so much fun.

You grin. “Aw. What a good boy.” You coo sarcastically. The words have an instant effect on him though, whole body tensing and cheeks blooming into an even more impossibly vivid red and he whines, hands clutching at your hips to bring you back as he still sits pliantly on the hood of his car.

You unzip his pants, flushed pretty cock already leaking, slapping at his tummy and you brush your thumb over his sensitive tip, spreading the bead of pre-cum that gathered there slowly, watching his reaction and he looks down at the action himself, drawing out a helpless shudder and whimper from him. He groans, eyes half lidded when you wrap your hand around his cock, moving up and down with a deliberate slowness that makes his breath hitch every few seconds and whine.

“God, you’re so easy, beomgyu. Are you this much of a whore all the time?” You murmur and tease, dragging your teeth over his cute earlobe, ears all red, feeling him shiver.

“Shut”, he whimpers cutely, “up. I-i could…ah…fuck you stupid right now.” He retaliates or attempts to, but his hands grip the edge of the hood like he’s barely holding himself upright.

You laugh. “Oh, really? Because you look pretty wrecked already.” He was so fucked out right now, you wonder if he’d even be able to take it when you actually fuck him.

He’s still trying to keep up the pretense of resistance. “I’m not wrecked. You’re—” You pump his cock at a ruthless pace, jerking him off fast, occasionally toying with the slit on the head of cock and his body goes limp under you touch, moaning out prettily and loudly, eyes squeezing shut and panting, chest heaving. He clings to you now, head buried in your neck, practically drooling, body jerking with every stroke. He still attempts to bite back at you but they come out as dumb babbles and mumbles of nonsense, mewling and gasping, completely at your mercy.

Beomgyu whines and moans deliriously. “F-fuck! Oh—need to cum. C-can’t.” He removes his head from your neck to look up at you with glossy doe eyes, so wrecked and hanging on by a thread. You move your hand up and down his dick unrelentingly and before he’s just about to cum, you pull your hand off him.

The pained, frustrated cry that escapes him is deliciously pathetic. His hips jerk into the air desperately to chase the sensation, but it’s long gone now. He looks at you in shock, eyes wide in utter betrayal and devastation, and now wet with tears of frustration. But then he frowns and scowls, annoyed he didn’t get to cum. “What the fuck was that for?” He pouts.

“I could think of a lot honestly. But, don’t you want to cum inside me?”

His jaw hangs open. “Please. Yes.” Beomgyu breathes out, nodding fervently and looking at you with puppy eyes, pupils dilating and dazed at the thought alone.

Sliding off the hood, beomgyu takes your hand like an obedient puppy, and you open the car door. He sits in his driver’s seat, his flushed face tilted up to watch you as you climb onto his lap. You rid yourself of your own clothes, watching as his gaze drops immediately to your bare tits, breath catching and lips parting as he stares, seemingly captivated. He’s so stupid.

You grab his dick and use the head to rub your clit, making him let out little stuttered gasps, sliding him over your entrance and folds a few times before you sink slowly down completely. The feeling of your warm tight pussy making him go cross eyed as he groans, sucking in air and throwing his head back, grasping at your waist, furrowing his brows and mouth in an ‘o’ shape, you beginning to ride him.

It’s so hot and cramped and sweaty in the car now as you bounce on his dick continuously, being able to hear the obscene slapping and sticky noises so loudly. Beomgyu looks in a state of absolute, pure bliss, moaning like a bitch, mind all fogged up and mushy at the feeling of your pussy, his messy damp bangs falling into his eyes so all you can see is his very glistening round lips, still in that sustained ‘o’ shape, just so dumbed and fucked out.

He’s a gorgeous wreck, thick doll-like lashes fluttering. If only everyone else could see Choi Beomgyu like this right now. It feels so empowering and satisfying after all these years of him being so infuriating. You love how, despite his attempts at being bratty, he’s so docile and such a simple whore.

You tangle your hands in his hair and tug and pull every so often, which he clearly very likes if the high and strained moans are anything to show for this. His hands squeeze at your tits when it feels too good for him. His lips latch onto one of your nipples, tongue flicking over it and sucking and kissing as he looks up at you with his big brown eyes. When you deliberately clamp your pussy tightly around him, he moans out your name in response, muffled from him still sucking your tits needily, body slightly jerking.

“You remember, don’t you?—at the club?” You ask, although it was probably obvious by now.

Beomgyu pauses for a moment, popping his wet droolly mouth off your boobs, eyes darting away for a moment before returning to look at you, nodding vigorously, “of course I remember…l-liked it.” You cup his cheek again, kissing beomgyu hard, hands still tangled in his hair, tugging, fucking him mercilessly as he moans softly against your lips. “Oh god, m’ sso close. Can I cum?”

You nod, kissing him some more, “Cum for me, beomie.”

“Holyy s-shitt—” Beomgyu’s eyes roll to the back of his head, squeezing one of your tits as if for support, his back arches, his tongue lolling out dumbly, whole body trembling and shaking. You bring one of your hands to your clit, rubbing and riding yourself on him harder. With a choked off scream, he spills so much of his cum inside you, and the gorgeous sight brings you over the edge too, cumming as well.

He doesn’t pull out though, burying his face in your neck, gasping for air, groaning and clinging to you tightly, he’s still shuddering and you can feel little spurts of his cum still dribbling in you, pussy completely milking him.

The two of you sat in the car still afterwards in a slightly awkward silence. Both of you panting, trying to come down from your highs, left to fully take in what had just happened and also how thoughtless it was. Fucking Choi beomgyu in the garage? You’re incredibly lucky no one walked in. It wasn’t even like both of you were trying to be quiet either, none of that running through your mind at that moment. What if someone had heard?

Beomgyu, for once, was quiet, his usual smirk replaced with a dazed expression, so far gone. He leans slowly towards you though, looking as if he was about to kiss you again.

“This…this doesn’t mean anything by the way.” You mutter, beginning to button up your shirt.

Beomgyu scoffs, running a hands through his hair. “Doesn’t feel like nothing.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t. At all.” You roll your eyes, trying not to freak out, you open the car door, wanting more than anything to just get out. You walk away, leaving him there, disheveled and barely clothed, still slumped in the driver’s seat. And you don’t see it, but there’s a look of almost, somewhat hurt on his face.

A/n: happy new year !!<3 please give this lots of love it was such a bitch to write idk why but I really struggled with this 😭 also I’m so sorry to all the racing fans if makes no sense, I just made up my own kind of racing competition thing. Also the cars do not look anything like f1 cars 😭 more kind of like the nascar ones so they can actually fuck in it 😭 idk bro. I know no nothing about cars or racing. Also I’m sorry if the smut seems rushed and messy, I haven’t edited it and I was lowkey rushing to get this out

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs ☹️👎🤨. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

[fic-girlie]

PLSSS a pedro x reader where they went clubbing for his bday!

Until the music fades

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader Summary: For Pedro’s 50th birthday, you celebrate with a night of dancing, laughter, and quiet affection. After a protective moment at the club, you end the night wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing soft words and tender love at home. Warnings: fluff, protective Pedro, clubbing, soft cuddling

The evening starts in that familiar way—a shared bathroom mirror, your playlists weaving between Pedro’s hums and jokes, warm light bouncing off glass bottles and soft cologne. The getting-ready part always feels like a secret ritual between the two of you, like a private show before the curtain lifts on the main event.

He watches you from the doorway at first, arms folded as you put on the finishing touches to your makeup. “You’re not even done yet, and I already need to sit down.”

You glance at him in the mirror, one brow lifting as you slide on your lipstick. “You better not fall asleep at the club.”

“I’m just saying,” he drawls, stepping further into the room, “this whole turning fifty thing comes with the right to complain about sore knees and bedtime.”

“But not about dancing,” you say, turning to face him with a playful smirk.

He stops. Actually stops.

And stares.

The look in his eyes is slow and deliberate, like he’s drinking in the sight of you all at once—your dress hugging your curves, the way your skin glows under the bathroom light, the glint of amusement behind your eyes. It’s not lust, exactly. It’s something softer, deeper. Something reverent.

“You look…” He swallows, then lets the corner of his mouth curve up. “I don’t have a word for it.”

You cock your head. “Is this you trying to flirt with me before your big birthday night out?”

He steps closer, one hand reaching for your hip, the other brushing lightly against the side of your arm. “This is me reminding myself that I get to walk into a club with the most beautiful woman there. And then dance with her like I own the place.”

You laugh, but there’s a warmth rising in your chest now, one of those small, quiet moments where love settles itself into your bones.

“You clean up alright too,” you tease, your hand smoothing the collar of his black jacket and patting a crease out on his t-shirt.

“Alright?” He pulls back just enough to dramatically look down at himself. “Excuse me, this t-shirt is tucked. I even ironed it.”

“You ironed it?” You squint at him, amused. “No wonder it smells like burnt hope in here.”

He gasps again—this time with even more theatrical flair—and drops his forehead dramatically onto your shoulder. “Wounding me. On my birthday.”

You laugh and wrap your arms around his neck. “You’ll recover.”

He doesn’t lift his head right away. Instead, he stays there a moment, nestled into your collarbone, his breath slow and steady against your skin. When he does finally speak, it’s softer—lower.

“I know we could’ve done something quieter tonight. Just the two of us. Dinner, a movie, couch cuddles with chocolate and wine. But… I don’t know. I wanted to feel alive tonight. Loud music. Dancing. Holding you close with sweat dripping down my back.”

You press a gentle kiss to the side of his head. “Then that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

He pulls back to look at you again, and this time there’s a smile tugging at the edge of his lips that’s pure gratitude.

“You’re always down for my weird ideas.”

“You danced in our kitchen with socks on and fell into the fridge, remember? After that, I’m pretty much in for anything.”

“Okay, that’s slander,” he says, grabbing his wallet and keys from the counter. “I gracefully slid.”

You grab your bag and give him a look. “Pedro, you took the magnet off the fridge with your ass.”

He shakes his head with mock solemnity. “I will never live that down.”

“Never,” you confirm, following him to the door.

Outside, the night air is warm and full of city life—traffic hums in the distance, voices float from nearby patios, and the sky is painted in the dusky glow of summer twilight. You both linger near the curb where the car service is supposed to arrive, his hand intertwined with yours, thumb gently stroking the edge of your palm.

Pedro glances sideways at you, his eyes twinkling. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

“You’re fifty,” you deadpan. “Not ninety-five.”

He scoffs. “Okay. But just so you know—I plan on grinding on you tonight like a man in his prime.”

You try not to laugh, but it comes out anyway—bright and warm, like he planned it just to hear the sound.

“Can’t wait to see you try, papi.”

His grin turns wolfish at the sound of that. “Say that again when I’ve got my hands all over you on the dance floor.”

You lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth. “Promise.”

The car pulls up just in time to save you both from descending into full flirty chaos. He opens the door for you like a gentleman—one hand pressed to your lower back as you slide in—and then joins you inside.

As the car begins to move, he laces your fingers together and lifts your hand to kiss the top of it, eyes never leaving yours.

“Tonight’s just for us,” he murmurs. “No press, no friends, no interviews. Just me, and you, and the music.”

You squeeze his hand. “Happy birthday, love.”

He smiles. “It already is.”

And as the lights of the city blur past the window, you know—tonight is going to be a memory you’ll come back to for the rest of your lives.

——

The club is already thumping with bass when you arrive, the low-pulsing beat vibrating beneath your heels as you and Pedro step out of the car and into the shimmering heat of the crowd outside. There’s a line wrapping around the building, voices raised in anticipation, camera flashes occasionally flickering—but you’re whisked right in, no questions asked.

Pedro gives the bouncer a casual nod, and the man claps him on the shoulder with an easy “Happy birthday, man.”

Inside, the lighting is dim and dreamy—blues and pinks sliding over bodies like paint strokes, catching the shimmer on sequined dresses and bouncing off cocktail glasses. It smells like citrusy perfume, velvet sweat, and neon dreams.

Pedro holds your hand tight as you weave through the crowd, his other arm protectively settling across your lower back. “Remind me to thank whoever set this up. I thought it would be all velvet ropes and awkward nodding at industry people.”

“You thought wrong,” you say, leaning in so he can hear you. “It’s perfect.”

You spot the DJ booth glowing in the far corner, surrounded by bodies in motion. The dance floor is alive—hips swaying, heads thrown back in laughter, strangers pressing in close without asking. Pedro’s eyes scan the scene with something close to mischief.

“Okay,” he says, tilting his head toward the bar. “One drink and then we’re dancing. Non-negotiable. I want at least one full-body grind before someone inevitably takes a photo of me sweating like a roasted pig.”

You laugh, fingers brushing against his chest. “Two drinks. I need to warm up.”

“You don’t need warming up,” he mutters, leaning in to kiss your temple. “You’re fire already.”

He guides you to the bar and flags down the bartender—a young woman who clocks him instantly, her eyes widening a fraction. “Two mezcal margaritas,” he calls over the music. “And maybe a water, too. Gotta hydrate like it’s a marathon.”

You rest one hip against the bar while he chats, letting the rhythm seep into your limbs, your eyes half-closed as the beat climbs and drops. You can feel your heart syncing to the tempo. The crowd is all motion and sparkle, chaos wrapped in sound.

Then you hear it.

A voice—close. Too close.

“Hey,” the man says beside you. Mid-thirties, probably. Confident in that calculated, too-smooth way. “I saw you dancing over here. You alone?”

You blink, slow to register him. “I’m not.”

He grins like you just challenged him. “Your boyfriend let you stand here all by yourself? Doesn’t sound very smart.”

Your smile tightens. “He’s right there. Just ordering drinks.”

The guy glances behind you. “Right, the old guy?”

You turn your head just slightly—enough to look him square in the eyes. “The birthday boy.”

The guy chuckles, bold now. “You sure you wouldn’t rather dance with someone who can keep up?”

And that’s when you feel it—a shift in the air behind you. Pedro’s presence, sudden and solid, settling like thunder.

He steps up beside you, places one of the margaritas gently into your hand, then turns to the guy without even pretending to smile.

“Everything alright here?”

The man straightens up, suddenly a lot less smirking. “Yeah. Yeah, I was just—uh, didn’t realize she was with someone.”

Pedro doesn’t look away. He’s not puffed up or shouting, but his body says everything—broad shoulders squared, one hand resting casually on the bar while the other hovers just slightly behind your waist. Not touching, not yet, but ready.

You glance at him, your chest warm with the way he doesn’t make a scene—just draws a quiet line.

“She’s very much with someone,” Pedro says, his voice low but steady. “So unless you wanna spend the rest of your night wondering how fast I can break a nose, I suggest you move along.”

The guy hesitates a beat too long. Then he’s gone, swallowed up by the crowd.

Pedro finally exhales, slow and quiet, and then turns to you. His hand settles fully on your lower back, pulling you a fraction closer.

“You okay?”

You nod. “I was fine. But that was—very hot.”

He raises an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Hot?”

“Yeah,” you say, sipping your drink. “Like… if we weren’t in public, I’d jump you right now hot.”

Pedro laughs—deep and low and unbothered now that you’re both back in your bubble. “You save that for later. Right now, you owe me a dance.”

You finish your drink, set it on the bar, and hold your hand out. “Lead the way, birthday boy.”

He takes it without hesitation, guiding you onto the dance floor with that quiet confidence that never fails to undo you. The music pulses, wrapping around your bodies as you find the rhythm together. His hands settle on your hips, his eyes locked on yours even in the chaos.

You move as one—slow at first, hips swaying lazily to the beat, your arms around his neck, his breath brushing against your cheek. His fingers tighten when you grind a little closer, and he leans in to whisper against your ear.

“See? Told you I could still dance.”

“I’ll give you that,” you say, pressing your forehead to his. “But if you throw your back out trying to impress me, I’m not carrying you home.”

He chuckles, lips brushing your cheek. “You’d carry me. You love me.”

You sigh dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

He grins and spins you, just enough to make you laugh before pulling you flush to his chest again. “Best birthday ever.”

And as the music surges and the lights spin around you, you know you’ll remember this moment forever—Pedro, the warmth of his arms around you, the safety of his presence, the thrill of the dance, and the simple truth of it all:

You’re wildly, stupidly, hopelessly in love with him.

——

You don’t even remember what song is playing when Pedro laces his fingers with yours and leans down, his nose brushing your temple as he says, “Alright, my birthday bones are starting to ache. You ready to head home, mi amor?”

You nod, your body pleasantly sore from dancing, your cheeks warm from the drinks and the way he kept pulling you close—protective, teasing, completely his. The noise of the club still thrums through your body as you slip outside, blinking into the cooler night. He throws an arm around your shoulder and tucks you in close, pressing a kiss to your temple as the two of you wait for the car.

You glance up at him, your eyes flicking over the slight sheen of sweat on his brow, the soft lines around his mouth from smiling all night. “You good?”

“I’m perfect,” he says, looking down at you like you’re the only person in the world. “I got to dance with the most beautiful woman in the room on my birthday. That’s hard to top.”

You squeeze his hand, biting back a grin. “You say that like you didn’t have a line of people trying to dance with you.”

He smirks. “I didn’t see anyone worth leaving you for.”

“You better not have,” you murmur, tugging his hand to your lips and kissing his knuckles. “Or I would’ve hexed them.”

“You’d hex them?” He laughs, eyes crinkling. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

“You’re too sweet,” you say. “I’d only hex you a little.”

He chuckles again and kisses the top of your head as the car pulls up. The drive home is quiet—not tired, just content. His hand rests on your thigh the entire way, thumb stroking gently against your skin, drawing tiny lazy circles that say I’m here, I’m yours without needing words.

You both kick your shoes off the second you walk through the door. Pedro shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over a chair with a sigh that’s almost comical in its relief. “Oh thank God,” he groans, rolling his shoulders dramatically. “I swear my knees just aged ten years in that club.”

You lean against the doorframe, arms folded, watching him. “You were dancing like you were twenty-five. I’m honestly impressed.”

“I’m gonna feel it in the morning,” he mutters, already tugging his t-shirt over his head.

You follow him into the bedroom, your fingers brushing over the exposed skin of his back as he heads to the bathroom to wash up. “You’re still hot as hell,” you call after him.

He leans back out of the doorway, grinning with toothpaste already on his toothbrush. “Say that louder for the record.”

You pad over and stand beside him at the sink, using a makeup wipe while he brushes his teeth, the two of you side-by-side in the mirror. You catch his eye in the reflection, and for a moment everything is still—the faint steam rising from the shower, the muted hum of city life outside your window, and the warmth that passes between you without needing to be said.

You finish up and trail back into the bedroom, changing into your softest oversized shirt—one of his old ones, naturally. When Pedro joins you, freshly showered and warm-smelling, he’s just in boxers, towel still draped over one shoulder. He pauses when he sees you curled up on the bed.

“Are you wearing my ‘Traumatized But Trying’ t-shirt?”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, flopping dramatically onto your back. “It’s part of my emotional support outfit.”

He chuckles and climbs into bed beside you, yanking the comforter up over both of you and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you in like you’re gravity. “Can’t argue with that.”

You settle into him easily, your cheek pressed to his chest, your leg tangled with his. He’s so warm—a slow, steady heat that lulls you into a half-doze immediately. His hand strokes up and down your back, lazy and slow.

“You know,” he murmurs after a beat, “I was kinda nervous tonight.”

You look up at him, surprised. “Why?”

He shrugs, his fingers still tracing shapes along your spine. “Fifty’s a weird number. It’s like… it sounds big. Like I’m supposed to suddenly be someone different.”

You tilt your head, watching him. “Do you feel different?”

“No,” he says, smiling softly. “Not really. Just older in the knees.”

You laugh gently, and he dips his head to kiss your forehead.

“I don’t know,” he continues, voice quieter now. “I guess I just kept thinking… what if this is the year things start to change? Like, I wake up and I’m suddenly out of touch, or I start wearing golf polos and caring about HOA fees.”

You grin. “I’d break up with you on the spot.”

He snorts. “Ruthless.”

“I’m just keeping you young,” you say, tapping his chest.

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then, “You do. More than you know.”

You look up at him, and his eyes are soft, serious now.

“I think I would’ve hated tonight if you weren’t there,” he says. “You made everything better. Like always.”

You reach up and cup his jaw, brushing your thumb along the slight salt-and-pepper scruff he’d kept neat for the party. “That’s because I love you. And because you are still very hot at fifty.”

He smiles and turns to kiss your palm, slow and warm. “Even after dancing like a dad at a wedding?”

“Especially after,” you whisper, and he groans playfully, pulling the covers over both of your heads.

“You’re a menace,” he mutters into your shoulder.

“You love it.”

“I really, really do,” he says, kissing along your collarbone.

For a while, the two of you just lie there, cocooned under the blankets, your limbs tangled, bodies relaxed into each other like puzzle pieces finally in place. His hand finds yours again and gives it a squeeze.

“Thank you for coming out with me tonight,” he murmurs.

“Pedro,” you say softly, “there’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

And when the silence settles, it’s not heavy—it’s safe. The kind of silence that’s full of knowing, of shared history and a future already blooming. He buries his face in your hair and hums something tuneless and sweet, and you feel his whole body exhale like he’s finally, truly home.

That’s how you fall asleep—wrapped around each other in the softest tangle of limbs, hearts steady, warmth shared, the quiet magic of knowing this isn’t just a night worth remembering.

It’s a life you’re building—and tonight, you got to dance in the middle of it.