#take a bob and sunglasses with you

[makolokgneh]

Some doodle of Radioapple

I love so much the "beach" trend XD

[burgojo]

27 CLUB. GETO / M!READER / GOJO

summary. satoru's crushing on suguru but finds out he's got a boyfriend! you are, however, equally dreamy, and if satoru was capable of such introspection, he might realise he has a type...

wc. 9.7k

tags. smut | dom top reader, switch bottom geto, sub bottom gojo; established geto/reader. non-sorcerer + rock/metal musician reader, reader is described as a big guy. skinny gojo supremacy, geto with piercings. somno, riding, doggystyle, exhibitionism, dub-con, degradation/praise, daddy kink (once; r. receiving), humiliation, gojo's a crybaby, edging, frotting, choking, overstimulation, gojo gets passed between reader + geto for a bit

"You brought me to a dive bar? Lame."

Suguru's brow twitches, but he says nothing – outwardly. "You were the one begging me to let you come with. Pick a side."

"I'm on the side of good music. I don't want to hear screeching kids out past their bedtimes."

"You think that's the sort of thing I listen to?"

"I mean," Satoru waves a hand in Suguru's general direction, eyeing his choice of clothes, "your outfit has so many holes in it. You could pass as a rebellious delinquent. Like one of them gyarus."

"I do not—" Suguru inhales, shaking his head; leave it to Satoru to think fishnets and cropped shirts count as clothes full of holes. His bangs sway over his eyes; for the first time in perhaps forever, his hair is loose. Satoru can't take his eyes off it when it shines blue-black under the street's neon lights. "I'm not falling for that again. Now, stop dragging your feet. We're here."

They halt in front of a big, dark block of cement. Its windows are blacked out with curtains, and years' worth of posters pasted to the walls overlap, flaking and peeling until only the fuzzy back sliver of the paper remains. The dates on the posters keep changing – the oldest one is from 1998. The ones on top are advertising weeks in the future, up to a month, and the shitty photo-editing reeks of their garage-band histories and amateurish natures.

One of the posters catches Satoru's attention. A young, attractive woman with dark hair and very few clothes on smoulders at him.

With a question on the tip of his tongue, Suguru approaches his side and follows his gaze questioningly. The eye-roll he gives is so quick it's almost pre-emptive. With a hand draped in black and silver jewellery, he grabs the back of Satoru's collar and hauls him away, almost lifting him clean off his feet. "Goodness, Satoru... Have some decency for once in your life."

"Hey! I thought you'd appreciate me taking an interest in your hobbies. And be gentle with that! It's designer!"

Suguru only lets go at the bottom of the stairs, where the evening light abruptly dims and every surface becomes twenty per cent stickier. Satoru grimaces at the palm of his hand, having caught himself against the wall when Suguru tossed him into the dingy basement like a sack of potatoes.

"This place is a real trash heap," he complains – or shouts, rather. The bass in the music rattles his bones like maracas. The place is less like a bar and more like a club. His sunglasses slip down his nose from the vibrations alone, and he pushes them up with a disapproving sniff. "Why couldn't we stay above ground? There seemed to be a perfectly okay bar up on the roof. Looked real nice and moody, too – good for dates."

"Because up there, they have to actually believe your ID," he says in a tone that adds the 'stupid' at the end for him. Without waiting for a response, Suguru pushes his hands into his pockets and leads the way into the bar. He waltzes up to the bartender, who seems to be between patrons. She dries a rocks glass in her hands. Her head bobs loosely to the beat of the live music.

He lifts two fingers. "Beer, please. Whatever's cheapest."

Satoru makes a noise at the back of his throat.

"It's not for you. Geez, Satoru, the world doesn't always revolve around you," he sighs exaggeratedly and flicks his bangs out of his eyes to meet Satoru's gaze. He smirks. "You want something to drink?" He points at the tiny backboard propped up beside him on the countertop, detailing a range of drinks and their prices. "Here are their non-alcoholics. If it won't make you sick, I recommend the raspberry float."

"Then I'll get that." Satoru leans against the bar in the space between Suguru's stool and the next. He shifts, trying to appear natural, and he places his other hand in the pocket of his jacket. He really doesn't need it in this cramped bar – not with the number of people crowding around, driving up the heat.

At the other end of the room, a large group stands at the base of a raised stage. The trio upon it complete sturdy rock covers of popular songs on the radio. They make for exciting listening, though their sound isn't what Satoru usually goes for.

Suguru flags down the bartender for Satoru's bright pink sugar abomination, and she drops off his two beers with a nod. Satoru doesn't have the time to wonder about them further before Suguru turns to him with a wry smirk.

"Sit down, greenie. You look like an idiot."

"And you don't?" he retorts, but hops up on a stool anyway. He prods the glistening mug of beer closest to him, inspecting the amber liquid within, and lifts his eyes.

What surprises him is that Suguru isn't looking at him – or at his drinks, either. Isn't one of the first rules of going to a bar ensuring one's drinks are always within sight?

He tilts his head, a light crease marring his brow. "Suguru? What're you looking at? Pay attention to me. I'm bored."

"I'm looking for someone," he replies coolly, scanning the crowds near the stage. With a sigh and a slump of the shoulders, he glances over at Satoru with a small smile, resting his elbow on the bar. "Sorry. I'm a little distracted. I haven't come here in a while, you see."

Satoru doesn't see – which is ironic – and wants to ask. But asking means he'll look his way, and that means Satoru won't be able to admire Suguru's pretty feline features for as long as he'd like. He'd get all embarrassed about it and growl at him.

Propping his chin on his knuckles, Satoru traces each curve and plane of Suguru's features with his eyes, committing every line to memory. Suguru won't always be this young, and the dim neon lighting is so nice on his skin, cutting deep shadows across the soft fantasy of his face.

Purple and green. Fitting, for a place called the Viper Lounge.

"Satoru. Your drink is here."

With a blink, he straightens up, and the pretty bartender lady shoots a knowing wink his way. The tall pink drink almost glows under the lights, and the float bobs with the tiny streams of fizzing soda bubbles that rise to the top.

Smiling to himself, Suguru glances back at the stage as Satoru's unyielding attention averts to the bartender, bothering her for a matching pink drink umbrella. The room is painted black, like a secret born to the night, and the stage matches the paint job. It makes its users seem to float several feet off the ground.

He taps his cheek with a soft sigh, fiddling with his brow piercing. His hair catches on it sometimes, but that's the price he must pay.

He watches Satoru absently. Where were you? Had your schedule changed in the weeks he'd been busy?

Then, with the faint echo of the microphone, an all-too familiar voice:

"One! Two! Three! Four!"

The leap from silence into rapid metal is violent. The drums beat lifeblood through veins. Steel shreds the guitar. Bass peels flesh from bone and snaps it back together.

Suguru's reverie shatters like glass.

There you are. Tall with confidence, clad in leather and denim. Your hair's shorter than he last remembers, but wilder, already-damp strands of hair sticking to your temples as if fresh from a romp in the sheets. Jewellery glints under the moody stage lights, and it's hypnotic, the way you charge up the crowd with your voice and your guitar. The amp by your feet is beat-up and worn, having played stepping stool to leather boots too many times, but it explodes with sound. Your sound.

You've got a quartet for a band, all faces made familiar through his connections with you. His heart flutters at the memory of your arm slung around his waist, pulling him into your side as you laugh at something your drummer said.

Satoru's head tilts as Suguru slides off the seat and grabs the two beers. "Suguru? Hey! Where are you going?"

It's too loud to hear him, what with the singing and the screaming and the heavy thump-thump-thump of drunken dancers jumping around. Suguru weaves through the crowd of crying fans – mostly girls; your bassist is your only female member – and it's easy to recognise him, his physical training and broad body letting him part the drunken gaggle just by walking forward and keeping balance.

He reaches the front of the crowd and lifts his face to you, a little smile playing at the corners of his lips. His dark eyes are endless in the shadowy room, and the way he raises the mug of beer feels like the hand of the devil. His tongue toys with his snakebite piercings, the soft pink of it peeking past his lips like a taunt.

During the lull of the song's vocals, you crouch down, avoiding the stares and grabbing hands of dozens of fans. You grip the beer – Suguru's smile widens – and rise to your feet. The rim's already at your lips, and rapid bob of your Adam's apple as you swallow invokes a wave of screams and a chant of "Chug! Chug! Chug!" that fills the bar.

Droplets run down your throat and soak into the collar of your shirt. Your skin glistens. Sweat dampens your throat and the furrow of your brow.

As the melody builds to a crescendo, you slam down the empty mug and launch into the song's chorus, the rough metal gravel of your voice sending more than one fan into hysterics.

Suguru watches the way your fingers fly over the guitar neck with impossible ease, smiling into his beer at the memories of those same fingers wrapped around his neck, his hips, his—

An arm falls over his shoulders. "Suguru! Don't run off like that again! Where you go, I go."

He glances over his shoulder. Satoru's almost shouting in his ear, and some ways behind him, he spots at the bar the empty glass with the pink umbrella balanced recklessly on the rim.

"Sorry," he shouts back, a sheepish, apologetic grin on his lips. "Got carried away. Did you like your drink?"

"Yeah," he says above the noise. "C'mon, hard to talk here! Let's find a booth."

Satoru slips in on one side, and Suguru takes the other. The deep red leather of the seats feels decadent in the low lighting, the same way velvet and jewels go together. Satoru peers over his glasses at Suguru with a shit-eating grin.

"Not gonna lie to you," he begins. "I'm pretty sure that normie over there was eyeing you up like a piece of candy."

There's a twang to his words, and Suguru smiles behind his glass of beer, leaning in and peering at Satoru closely. Nearly imperceptibly, Satoru leans away.

He straightens. "Are you jealous?" he says, almost in disbelief. "No way."

A pause.

"What?" he laughs, waving a hand as if to disperse the very thought from the air. "Jealous? Me? Of him? Don't make me laugh, Suguru. I'm way cooler! And better-looking."

"I'm not sure," Suguru hums, sparing a glance at the fans trying their damndest to touch the singer's steel-capped boots. "For starters, he drinks well."

"Don't say 'for starters' like you're about to dive into a list of compliments." Satoru pouts, crossing his arms. "Is he the person you were looking for earlier?"

"Mmh. He's got a good voice, doesn't he?"

"He sounds like he smokes three packs a day. But you don't care what I think, do you? You've already made up your mind."

Suguru chuckles, vanishing about half of his drink in two gulps. It's rather impressive. "That sound is raw talent and cultivated skill. You sound like you hate him."

"Nah, you're just trying too hard for a guy in some no-name garage band. Did you see his clothes?" He peers over his glasses at his friend. "They're western brands. Not cheap here. He's a total poser."

"But he looks good in them, right?"

"Eh. So-so."

"I bought them for him."

"I mean, they fit well on him. And they match the whole 'rockerboy' thing, but that's more because of you than him."

He hides his grin behind his beer, sipping on what remains to nurse it until your gig ends. Satoru's too predictable.

—

Later, Suguru ventures into the staff lounge with Satoru on his heels. Pleasantly warm with alcohol, he finds you alone by the couch, one boot kicked up on the footstool and an arm thrown over your eyes. Your chest rises and falls slowly with your breaths, and Suguru quietly slips around the furniture to take a seat next to you. He grasps your forearm and lowers it.

Satoru stares.

You're handsome. He gets it now.

One eye cracks open. Your hazy eyes pass over Satoru as if he's not even there – how annoying – and land on Suguru. Your gaze brightens and you sit up, lowering your boots to the ground.

"Oh, it's you!"

Your voice is surprisingly mellow, low and smooth like caramel. Despite your neutral affect – and the fact that you're not even addressing him – Satoru's cheeks warm.

"It's me." Suguru's voice is soft.

You gaze at him a while longer, the pause filled with your bright, contradicting smile. Then you grunt and sit forward with your elbows on your knees, your leather jacket creaking quietly. "My favourite man. What can I do you for?"

"You're too sweet, YN," he says, a flicker of shyness crossing his features. "Haven't seen you in a while."

Your brow furrows and you sigh, glancing aside. "I know, I'm sorry, doll. It's been difficult trying to adjust to my new job – just been dead tired all the time. Anyway – what is this, an interrogation? You gonna introduce me to your buddy or what?"

You cock your head up at Satoru, who stands in front of you with his hands in his pockets. With Suguru to your side and the corner of the room on the other, you have nowhere to go.

Suguru spares a glance at his friend. "Satoru, sit down." He turns back to you. "He wanted to come and I couldn't stop him. Just ignore him. I wanted to talk to you."

"Sure. What about?"

He places a hand on your knee. His nails are painted black. "I really wanna stay at your place."

If Satoru wasn't watching closely, he would've missed the way your eyes widened the slightest bit. He has to commend you – you smother it quickly.

"Tonight?"

"Mhm." He shuffles closer to you. His fingers twitch as he glances down at your hand, as if he has to suppress the urge to take it in his own. "Thought we could catch up a bit – braid each other's hair, do our nails, the whole nine yards."

You blink. "That's... awfully forward of you. You usually dance around these things until I finally figure it out."

His lips twitch up. "I can be direct when I want to be."

"Oh, so you just enjoy riling me up."

"I like what comes after."

Suguru's head tilts slightly, and your faces are an inch apart. His eyes flicker to your lips.

"Of course you can stay, Suguru," you murmur, your expression softening. "I'm glad you came here."

"Even though I'm breaking the rules?"

"My whole shtick is being counter-culture. That includes disobeying rules when they're stupid."

"When they're stupid," he echoes. He smiles, his dimples losing him his tough-guy persona. He bumps your shoulder with his, tucking his loose hair behind his ear. "Are you staying here for any reason?"

You shake your head. "Been paid and everything. I'm just abusing the couch for an air-conditioned nap. The others are going clubbing in a few hours if you want to meet up with 'em and say hi."

"Did you want to go?"

"Nah. I had a killer headache last night and don't want it coming back. Mostly, I planned to bake something."

Satoru can't hold it in any longer. "You bake?"

Two sets of eyes swivel to him where he stands by the fridge, checking out its contents.

"Uh, yeah." You turn to Suguru and stretch, resting an arm over the backrest behind his shoulders. A classic, almost dorky move, and one you do all the time, but Suguru's heart still flutters. "Who is this guy, by the way? Why's he wearing sunglasses inside? You're not cool, dude."

"I have sensitive eyes," he declares, pointing overhead at the bright, artificial white lights. "Name's Satoru."

You raise a brow. "I think you've been mentioned once. Last name?"

"Need-to-know basis."

You narrow your eyes at him.

Suguru interrupts the staring contest, shoving himself into your line of sight. "You said you had a headache. Are you okay?"

You drop the glare and smile at Suguru, squeezing his shoulder. "Mm, don't worry about it, baby. Nothing a few painkillers can't solve."

He lifts a hand to your face, tracing the shape of your cheek with his knuckles. His touch is so light it almost tickles. "If you say so. Don't forget to sleep more. It's not good for your skin."

You offer a fond smile. While swiping a few chocolates from the bowl on the table, Satoru notices how Suguru leans into your touch and how he presses his side into yours as much as he can, thighs and shoulders brushing. He didn't know he was... that sort of person.

Rather vacantly, Satoru thinks he should be more upset right now. After all, he's been pining after Suguru for the past year, and now he finds out that Suguru's got some normie with tight leather pants falling into his bed? He was planning on confessing after Suguru's birthday, but he supposes he should trash that plan.

Fuck. Awkward.

"Hey, Satoru." Suguru's soft voice draws him out of his thoughts. "YN wants to try a new recipe. Wanna come with?"

"You're gonna be my guinea pigs," you agree. Your heavy gaze rakes Satoru's body, and he suppresses a warm shiver. "Or my little white mouse."

Satoru tries to ignore his blush. He straightens, pocketing another chocolate. "You don't care about inviting a stranger to your house?"

"Any friend of Suguru's is a friend of mine." You stand and stretch with a pleased groan that feels far too intimate. "I don't have shit worth stealing, anyway, unless you count my banged-up guitar. It's, like, twenty years old."

"Not old enough to be vintage, too young to be seriously desirable." Suguru sighs, slumping against your side dramatically as you pass through the door together. "Story of my life."

"Ew. Don't joke about that." You glance past Suguru – Satoru's eyes, you notice past the glasses, are an unexpected shade of cornflower blue. "Hey, Baby Blues. How'd you two meet?"

"Hm? Oh, high school."

"Ah, you two are the same age?"

"Same class and everything," Suguru says as you wander towards your car, the keys jingling in your pocket as you try to find the correct one by touch alone. There's a shadow of a guitar case in the back of the car. "Can't get rid of him anymore."

"That just means you always have someone to shout you a drink or two." You pull open the door for Suguru and draw a vaguely round shape in the air with a finger. "Karma's a circle."

"Yeah? And where are you in that circle?"

Swiftly, you shut the door and turn to Satoru, nodding your head in the direction of the car. "Hop in, Blue! You'll be glad you came when you try my tiramisu."

—

Some time later, Satoru finds himself on your soft leather couch, nursing a very flushed Suguru on his left and a less-flushed you on his right. You cackle at his attempts to take the game controller off Suguru, and when Suguru gets touchier in order to body-block him, you can tell from his flustered expression that he doesn't really know how to deal with it when you're right there.

"I'm fine," Suguru sighs, batting Satoru's hands off. He leans in further, trying to push him back, when he persists. "Satoru, you're blocking my view with your big head! It's your fault if I die."

You own a PS2 with a pretty neat collection of games. Suguru is doing less than well with Metal Gear Solid 3.

"Let me have a turn," Satoru pleads, pouting when Suguru expertly weaves the controller away from him. He's had years of practice with it. "I'm so good at stealth games! Lemme try, I wanna go—"

"Just say you wanna impress YN. It's less desperate, man."

Satoru's jaw snaps shut with an audible click. His eyes are so blue that Suguru can see the shine of them behind his almost-opaque glasses.

Suguru smirks and shifts on the couch, tossing his legs over Satoru's lap victoriously. He settles comfortably among the pillows and returns his attention to the television.

"W-What?" he stutters. Did he hear that right? Was he drunk on the tiramisu's brandy?

"It's okay," Suguru says, sneaking past a guard successfully. He smiles victoriously, lip piercings glinting in the light. "I wouldn't mind sharing if it was you. Have you seen the size of him? I can't eat all that by myself."

You chuckle, one arm slung over the back of the couch. In your other hand is a brandy glass, the dark amber alcohol you used in the tiramisu sparkling under the light as you gesture with the glass. "Dunno 'bout that last bit. You try pretty hard to."

"I don't like leaving my meals half-finished. I'm also generous to those less fortunate – Satoru's never dated anyone, you know? I wouldn't want him getting hurt by some selfish asshole because he doesn't know any better. That's why I think you'd be good for him."

The colour of Satoru's face rivals Suguru's. He rubs his cheeks, sinking into the couch. "Stop telling him my life story! You're making me sound really uncool. You're so wasted, Suguru – is this what you're like outside of school?"

"I'm not that far gone," Suguru groans, controller going limp in his hand. He reaches around Satoru to give it to you, which you accept – you immediately start blitzing through the in-game building, attention now completely elsewhere. He levels him with an unimpressed stare. "I could probably take you right now."

"You want to fight me in your boyfriend's apartment?" Satoru squawks. "He made food for you! Control yourself. Gosh..."

"'Control thine emotions'," he mocks. "I'm perfectly in control. You need to admit that you like my boyfriend."

"I don't." Panic drips from his voice.

"You totally do. It's cute – I've never seen you with a crush on anyone. A rich boy liking an underground rockstar? Embarrassing. I've read that manga before."

"No, I don't – I'm not a manga protag—" He cuts himself off, jabbing a finger into Suguru's chest. "I just have eyes, okay? I can tell when someone's, like, visually appealing. You're visually appealing. Doesn't mean I'm going goo-goo over you."

With a roll of his neck, Suguru leans in, propping his elbow on his shoulder. He levels his gaze at him, blinking slowly.

He sucks in a breath. He can smell his honey-scented shampoo. He's holding on by the skin of his teeth.

"A-And," Satoru continues, shifting in his seat. How incredibly unfortunate it is that he's sitting between you and Suguru. Why is that, anyway? Weren't you the ones dating? "You're being weird. Who the fuck talks about this? Like, seriously."

"YN and I talk like this all the time. You're just a prude." He sticks out his tongue, and the flash of a silver piercing studded into his tongue leaves Satoru breathless and shocked. He scrambles forward, reaching towards him, and pinches Suguru's jaw with one hand.

"What the hell is that?" he exclaims, brows furrowing. Memories of the previous conversation are all but gone.

Suguru lifts an eyebrow, glancing aside. He'd almost forgotten how strong Satoru can be. "What's what?"

"That." He shifts his grip, forcing Suguru's lips to part. His tongue flicks against his front teeth, and the little silver ball catches the light.

"A pierthing," he replies, muffled. He lets Satoru, alarmed at their sudden closeness, pull away first with a scandalised blush. Suguru rubs his cheeks and lets his tongue loll out of his mouth, showing it off with a glint in his dark eyes.

Satoru stares. How is his tongue so long?

"Cool, right? I wanted to match YN's look. It makes us look ten times better than the next couple."

He blinks himself out of his daze. "Did it hurt?"

"Not as much as you'd think. I had to get used to talking with it, though – I was lisping like crazy while it healed. I was thinking of getting a septum piercing to balance it out – or just more on the ears."

"You never tell me anything." He pouts. "How'd I never notice it...?"

"You think I don't tell you things? Fine. How about this?" Suguru shuffles forward and drapes an arm over Satoru's shoulders. He offers a lazy smirk and cups a hand by Satoru's ear. "It makes guys feel great."

His heartbeat pounds in his skull. He swears Suguru glances down at his lips – but that could be his woozy double vision. His hair looks so soft...

"Done," you announce, setting the controller in Satoru's lap – he picks it up hastily before Suguru can nab it. He huffs and crosses his arms, empty-handed. "Your turn, Blue. I wanna see some slick action, or we both get to watch Suguru struggle with holding people up."

"I am not that bad!" he snaps. "The controller buttons are sticky."

"A bad workman blames his tools," Satoru says automatically.

He immediately begins to argue.

Hm. You can see why Suguru's so endeared with the white-haired man, especially when he takes off his glasses to blink his huge, glossy blue eyes up at him. He's pouting, Suguru's waving his arms around, and you're certain you've got enough room in your bed for three.

—

In the darkness of your bedroom, you're slowly dragged from the depths of sleep by a weight above you. Your brow furrows, a little grumble falling from your lips, as hands trail down the sides of your face and play with your hair.

"YN."

You release a soft breath.

"YN. Wake up."

Your eyes crack open, and you find yourself frowning up at Suguru's shadowy figure. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, but when they do, you notice that he's not wearing any pants.

He shifts on your lap, face inches from yours. His long hair is swept over his shoulder, slightly messy with sleep. His eyes, however, are perfectly awake, staring down at you with an animal hunger.

"Hey, you," he whispers fondly, barely a breath. He lowers his body over yours even further until your chests press together. You wrap a lazy arm around his waist. "Need you, baby."

"Suguru," you whisper back, only just now noticing the state of your boxers. They're slick and sticky, and you know for certain not all of it is because of you. "How long have you been at this?"

"Five, ten minutes. I don't know. I got impatient." He ghosts his lips over yours, tucking his hair over his ear before he cups your face. "Need you so bad. Need you right now."

"Fuck, seriously?" you huff, shifting slightly so you can rest back on an elbow. "Damn nymphomaniac..."

A body beside you rolls over. You freeze.

Shit. You'd forgotten he was here. Satoru had been insistent on taking the couch, but Suguru's large brown eyes and sweet words had worn him down. When you chimed in to express your agreement with your boyfriend, he'd broken fully, and accepted.

"I've already prepped myself," Suguru breathes, pressing his bare cock against the front of your boxers. He rolls his hips slowly, kissing you equally torturously. "Please, baby? Needa come so bad."

His words are slurring. Usually so put-together, Suguru grinds against your growing bulge with a soft whimper, eyes fluttering shut as his cockhead catches on the cloth.

He's going to be the death of you.

You place your hands on his waist, lifting him just enough to reach your waistband and free yourself from your boxers. Suguru sighs shakily and tucks the band below your balls, batting away your hand to be able to hold it himself. You roll your eyes at his attitude but allow him to admire your cock. He nibbles on his lower lip as he rakes its length with his heavy gaze.

"You're already hard," he teases under his breath, closing his fist around it and stroking it from tip to base and back again in one rough motion. You jump slightly, a hiss slipping out between your teeth. Suguru silences you with a hot kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth as he strokes you and swallows your sounds.

He shifts cautiously on his knees, mindful of Satoru's still body next to him, and opens his hand to slot his cock against yours. He purrs as he tugs them both, head falling against your shoulder as he rocks back and forth atop your lap.

"So good," he whispers into your skin, his hot breath fanning your neck. You can feel him tremble – with excitement, with exertion. His breaths are shaky as he quickens his fist, rutting against you.

He's dripping. Your shared arousal slicks up your cocks, and Suguru's wet palm squelches quietly with every stroke. He shudders out a soft moan, nails digging into the pillow beneath your head.

"Is this what you wanted?" you growl under your breath, hands pressing firmly against his waist and forcing him to grind harder into your cock. His hips stutter. "Fuckin' whore, doing this when your best friend's a foot away from you..."

He swallows a moan as you dig your thumb into his leaky slit. "Y-Yes – yes, I wanted this. 'M sorry for being such a slut," he whines softly, his thick thighs tensing atop yours. His cock jumps as Satoru shifts in his sleep. "Oh, fuuuck..."

You chuckle breathlessly as Suguru leans into you, his slick fist squelching louder as he grinds more desperately into you. You hold your hand in place, formed into a loose circle, and allow Suguru to fuck into it as his tip catches on the ridge of your glans with every thrust.

"G-Gonna come," he whispers against your jawline, free hand tangling in your hair. His little moans feel so much louder right by your ear, and your heart races whenever it pitches that much higher. "Ohh, god..."

"Yeah," you pant, wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him close. You press your palm against his shoulder – his heart pounds through his back. "That's right, dollface. Don't hold back. I wanna see my pretty slut come for me, alright? Wanna have your come all over me."

His rushed, shallow little humps rock the mattress dangerously. You grip the shelf of his hips in warning, slowing him down. He whimpers like an injured animal, pleading.

Swallowing roughly, you wrap one hand around his cock and use the other to grip his plush ass beneath his oversized t-shirt, your fingers digging into the soft skin. He gasps softly and presses into your touch, humming gratefully as you jerk him off, your thumb swiping over his swollen tip.

With an arch of his spine, his arms tightening around you, he comes, his pants and sighs soft and breathy against your skin. He presses his hips against yours, coating your cock and stomach with spurts of hot come.

Your head falls back against the pillow, an exhale escaping your lips as your eyes flutter shut. Suguru collapses on top of you, hips still jerking intermittently, and you can feel his sticky pleasure dripping down your sides in rivulets. Fuck.

Suguru tucks his head under your chin, dragging a thumb down your side and smearing his pearly release over your warm skin. Your stomach tenses under his touch and he smiles, tongue running over his piercings.

"I want yours inside me," he declares, leaving no room for argument. "Don't waste it."

"Waste it?" you breathe. "Waste it for what? You want kids or something?"

His lashes flutter as his gaze lifts to yours, dark and smoky. "Something like that."

He picks himself up and positions himself upright on your lap, shifting on his knees to better balance his weight. He glances at Satoru's curled body and mop of messy white hair, almost glowing in the darkness. Heat swirls in his stomach as he notices how tightly Satoru's gripping his pillow. A wicked grin tugs at his lips.

Suguru grinds his ass against your cock, one hand reaching back to rub the tip and press it against his fluttering hole. He lets the tip catch against his rim, throwing his head backwards and scattering long locks of hair in a cascade down his back. His hole clenches around nothing.

"Feels like you're about to burst," he teases softly, continuing to rub against the shaft. "Your balls are so heavy, too... Please let me have your come, daddy. I want it all inside me."

"Dirty little thing. If you can stay quiet, I'll let you have it," you mutter, bending one knee to give him some support. He grips it, lifting his hips, and slowly sinks down on your thick cock, hole clenching and fluttering around you at the stretch.

"I can, I promise." He exhales shakily, expression twisted with pleasure and pain. "Fuck."

"Take it easy," you murmur, eyes flashing with concern.

He chuckles, breathy. "What if I said I liked it?"

"I'd call you a whore."

"And I'll prove it." With a sharp inhale, his hole swallows the rest of your cock in a single gulp. His thighs quiver, his mouth falling open in a silent moan. His cock throbs, hot against his skin.

"Holy shit," you exhale, eyes wide as he trembles around your dick, his long hair flowing over his shoulders as he stares down at the join of your bodies, fascinated by his own capacity. You can feel every pulse of his heartbeat, every ripple of his silken insides. He's tight as a vice, gripping your cock, and he moans softly as a spurt of precome makes the fit a little easier.

He grins, eyes dazed but focussed solely on you. He moans when you wrap your fingers around his cock, wet and hot, and begins to rock his hips, fucking into your grasp.

"Hard already," you note in an almost condescending tone of voice, twisting your fist and making him suck in a sharp breath. "You're such a pervert, aren't you, Suguru? Touching your boyfriend when he's sleeping, riding him where your best friend could wake up and see how shameful you are... I bet you'd fuckin' come if he watched you like this."

A hand shoots up to muffle his cry. Your cock nudges his prostate and he presses into it, but you keep shifting your damn hips to avoid knocking into it directly.

He's helpless. Why did you know him so well? Why was he cursed to suffer at the hands of a sadist?

"Quiet," you whisper warningly, grip tightening on his hips and forcing him to keep moving. You experiment with a few upward thrusts, meeting his bounces halfway with meaty smacks that feel far too loud in the silence of the room.

"I can't keep quiet if you're fucking my brains out," he hisses, but his aggression melts away the moment you crush his prostate head-on. Briefly, his eyes roll back to show their whites, and he shudders out a broken, muffled moan.

You pat the side of his ass, making him flinch at the sound. "Relax," you huff offhandedly, "I'm not even doing all that much. You're just too much of a slut to notice the difference – a cock inside you, and all your thoughts fly right out the window. You're so pretty, doll. Stop thinking so hard."

"Asshole," he grunts, but doesn't stop bouncing. He throws his head back. "Ohh, fuck me, your cock is so damn good..."

"That's right, baby. Just like that," you groan, his tight slick hole dragging with every lift of his hips. His pace grows unsteady, messy, a creamy white ring forming around the base of your shaft. You quicken your strokes, matching Suguru's shallow bounces, and he gasps your name, cock spurting precome that you smear over his shaft to make the glide easier – filthier.

"Fuck me," he curses, his voice growing dangerously whiny. "Why are you holding back? Just come! Come inside, please, I-I'm so close, wanna come with you—"

You thrust into him roughly and squeeze his cock. He chokes out a sharp gasp, far too loud, as thick come paints his insides white. He spills into your hand, his creamy release running over your knuckles and down his swollen, pulsing shaft. He grips your shoulders, nails digging into your skin, and his sides tighten as his movements slow, each bounce long and slow as he grinds down as deep as possible.

His muscles loosen as he pants, slumping down on top of you as he dips his tongue between your lips. You groan lazily as his piercing bumps your teeth and rolls against your tongue. You squeeze his hip, smoothing your palm over the generous curve of his ass. Your lips smack softly and he shivers, his cock giving one more valiant throb.

In the corner of his vision – the peripherals of his senses – Satoru twitches.

Suguru sits up immediately, to your confusion.

"Baby?"

He hushes you, not sparing you a glance. His gaze bores into his friend's back.

"Satoru?" he whispers.

Like clockwork, he stiffens.

A grin tugs at Suguru's lips. You stare up at him, propped up on an elbow. You don't have his sorcery-enhanced sensitivities – you don't notice that the white-haired figure next to you is breathing harder than usual, or that he's shifting far too much for sleep.

"Satoru," he hums, soft and coaxing. "I know you're awake."

Your heart drops like a stone. Suguru, however, smiles wider.

"Not moving won't do anything, you know."

Then—

Slowly, he sits up. His hair is more of a mess than it usually is. His oversized white shirt has risen slightly and shows off a sliver of pale skin.

Suguru is going to kill him. He's sure of it. His voice is soft and dangerous.

"How long were you awake?"

His head feels foggy, still reeling from shock. "Uh..."

Suguru lifts a hand to his mouth, eyes crinkling with a little titter. He points down at Satoru. "Long enough, I'd wager."

He looks down. His face explodes with heat.

The hard-on strains at the front of his shorts. A dark spot mars the cloth where his tip would be.

Shit. Fuck. He'd borrowed your clothes – so had Suguru – and here he was, soiling them with his envy and desperation. He was such a freak.

"I-I can explain," he stammers, and you can't help admiring the way he seems to swim in your clothes. The elastic in the shorts had to be pulled as tight as possible for it to stay up without help, and even then, they sat teasingly low, showing off his delicate hipbones whenever he stretched.

Smirking, Suguru gradually lifts his hips, eyes fluttering as he pulls off of your cock. Satoru's ocean eyes widen at the sight of it resting on your stomach.

"No need," he says evenly. Satoru doesn't need his Six Eyes to catch the drop of pearly liquid rolling down the inside of his thigh as he leans over to turn on the lamp on the bedside table. It douses the room in a faint golden glow. He bites back a whine as Suguru continues, as if nothing's wrong. "Come here, Satoru."

When he extends his hand, it's like salvation. Satoru stares at his kind, open palm.

He takes it. Suguru's slender fingers wrap around his, tugging him closer. He coaxes him nearer, the way one would with a frightened animal.

You're looking at him. You're both looking at him. Something sick and twisted in him likes it.

"Do you want us?" Suguru says softly. "Or have I read you wrong?"

Satoru swallows around the dry lump in his throat. His lips part. "I... I thought you wouldn't like me that way."

"Oh, Satoru," Suguru croons, lifting a hand to brush his white bangs out of his eyes. "Always so perceptive about everything but yourself."

Satoru's eyes dart away and amongst his jittering nerves, he latches onto the steadiness of your gaze, trained on him. He flushes when you smirk, your bare upper body displayed like a piece of art beneath his stare.

"Who do you want first?" you ask, and Suguru presses himself into your side. You level your gazes at him, and he stutters out some nonsense before falling quiet, pinned beneath your attention. "Suguru's already prepped, if you swing that way."

Suguru rolls his eyes at your choice of words, though he smiles fondly. "Surely he wants you, rockerboy. You're new – a novelty."

"And you're something familiar in an unfamiliar situation. Why wouldn't he choose you?"

"Can't I have both?" Satoru says quietly, though he blanches when your shared attention turns to him. "U-Uh, I mean—"

Suguru turns to you thoughtfully. "Hm?"

Your eyes glitter. "Hm."

—

"That's it, sugar," you chuckle, sliding a warm palm up Satoru's side to wrap around his throat. He gasps as you grip his jaw, forcing his lips to part, and maybe you're stronger than he'd like to admit – one hand on his shoulder, one around his throat, and that's all you need to lift him plain off the bed. His fingers scrabble at the sheets, barely brushing, and in his desperation, he grips your waist. The position only has him arching even further, your cock slamming into his bruised and sensitive prostate.

"Ah, ah, ah," he moans, eyes fluttering and silvery hair sticking to his damp temples. "Ah – Suguru, d-don't watch...!"

You wrench his head up, forcing a cry from his throat. You click your tongue, shaking your head. "Tsk tsk tsk. Look at him. Look, Satoru."

He mewls and obeys despite the hot shame and arousal crawling around his guts. The way you say his name makes him dizzy – not soft and purring like Suguru, not reverential or tense like other sorcerers. To you, he's just a brat, and you're firm with him in a way that nobody else has ever been. Not cruel – just firm.

When Satoru lifts his watery gaze to Suguru, he finds him staring down at the length swinging between his legs. His hole clenches as his thighs attempt to close – to hide himself away. You hiss in pleasure, knocking his knees apart with your own.

"Fuck," you rasp, stroking his lean hip and admiring the way bruises bloom red on his pale skin. "Look him in the eye, Satoru. You wanna make him come, right? We're doing this for Suguru. Don't be so selfish that you forget who you're serving."

"S-Sorry," he hiccups, shakily arching his back and exposing his bare, leaking cock, deep red with want. His gasps and moans are loud, echoing off the walls, almost drowning out the sound of your thighs smacking his ass. "Ah—! S-Slow down, I – nngh!"

Satoru's cock throbs painfully. The cockring you'd placed on him strangles his base, and his heartbeat pulses in his dick. He wants to come really bad.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" Suguru's foot nudges his pulsating cock, pressing roughly against it. A teasing smile plays at his lips and he hums as Satoru chases the friction with a miserable, choked noise, whimpering when you drag him back towards you.

"I-I – it feels—" He can't think straight, head spinning like he's been slammed against concrete one too many times. His breath snags on the thick air as your fingers dig into his jaw. Your dick punches the breath from his lungs, dragging the painful pleasure up from deep in his belly. He sniffles softly, hazy eyes welling with crystal tears. "Ahn – Suguru," he sobs, so weak and pathetic even to his own ears that it makes his cock swell within its cage, its tip drooling incessantly.

How cute – begging his best friend for help. As if he'd listen.

"Don't slow down," whispers Suguru, voice like silk. "He can take it. He's the strongest."

That means nothing to you, but Satoru's gut clenches violently. Humiliation curls around his thoughts, burning the fringes of his mind with an electrifying shame.

Suguru slinks forward, sliding his thigh between yours in the mess of legs. His touch flutters over Satoru's warm cheeks and he presses close. You slow your pace to a snail's crawl, dragging against and kissing Satoru's swollen gummy prostate.

"I can't," Satoru whimpers, weak in your hold. He leans into Suguru's gentler touch. "I can't do it. I can't. It's too much."

"No, it's not. Don't be silly," Suguru hums, taking his cock in his hand and making Satoru sob and jerk. He aligns it with his, rutting against it lazily. God, he's got another fucking piercing right beneath the glans of his dick – it catches, smooth and hard, on the ridge of Satoru's tip. His bright eyes lose their focus and his hips twitch. "I'm not letting you go until I think you're done. Just try not to pass out, okay?"

"He won't. He's a good bitch – barely needs any training. He takes me like a fuckin' champ." Your cock punches into his guts and he squeals, his cries high and melodic even as he falls limp in your hands, his fingers scrabbling at your hips and thighs. Suguru moans at the contact, his fist wrapped around both his and Satoru's lengths. "F-Fuck – you're both so damn pretty like this."

Satoru gasps as Suguru smiles and leans over his shoulder to kiss you. Pressed between your bodies, Satoru can hear every wet smack and soft moan of your kisses right in his ear. His cock throbs violently, leaking a constant stream of pre.

Suguru's hands rest on his hips, gently guiding him back and forth between your cock and his. His cock is warm and velvety, and Satoru whimpers as Suguru presses further into him to kiss you deeper with a pleased sigh. Your grip tightens on Satoru's jaw, pulling him into your chest, and he mewls, squeaky little moans falling from his lips as your cock fills him up over and over again, fucking him like he made you angry.

"S-Suguru—!" He can't get the rest of his sentence out before two thick fingers shove into his mouth. His yelp melts into a moan as they press down on his tongue, silencing him.

"Hot," Suguru observes, parting from you to catch his breath and watch the way his friend sucks and drools on your fingers, his cerulean eyes dazed and glossy. "Kiss me again."

You oblige, twisting your hand in his long, loose hair and pulling him towards you. His lips are warm and plush, and his breath hitches as your tongue rolls across his, flicking the silver piercing there. You pull back for air but he doesn't let you, yanking you back in and tracing the length of your tongue with a debauched moan.

Satoru can hear it all. He can't watch – no, not with your firm grip on his jaw – but not being able to see makes everything ten times worse. He feels like a toy, his high withheld and his sight limited. For all his gifts, he still has to fucking turn to see things, and he wishes really, really badly that he knew what it looks like.

He can imagine it clearly. Your faces flushed, your hair mussed. Suguru's delicate features relaxed into a wanton expression, his piercings glinting in the low light as his tongue twists with yours. Your brow furrowed, your lips swollen, as you suck on his tongue.

Desperately, with tears in his eyes, he slobbers around your fingers, gripping your wrist in both hands. Saliva runs down your knuckles and Satoru chokes as you push your fingers deeper, sliding over his tongue possessively. He adapts quickly, muffled moans high and needy as your cock slams into his guts.

He swears you can't be a non-sorcerer. How else could you ruin him so easily? How else are you tracking every little twitch that gives away his most sensitive places? How else are you still going?

You've backed off now, instead staring at Satoru and the way his lips close around your fingers like they're a cock. Suguru, equally mesmerised, licks his lips.

As if you're one being, you remove your fingers from Satoru's slick mouth, and Suguru cups his face and kisses him.

Kisses him.

Kisses him.

He can't think. His body moves on instinct, his teeth clashing with Suguru's in a messy and uncoordinated manner, but he is kind, and he coaxes control from him to teach him how to kiss. Blue eyes made even bluer with the red ringing his lashline, Satoru moans and scratches at Suguru's shoulders, cock throbbing as the ring bites into his raw shaft. Suguru's fingers brush against his tight, aching balls and he blubbers like he's going to die.

"Please," he manages to choke out, gasping and jerking as Suguru scrapes his nails down his dark red length. "P-Please..."

He doesn't even know what he's begging for. More? Less? For Suguru to stop looking at him as if he'd hung the stars? He's a sinful, degenerate mess, he knows it – far from the perfect and powerful sorcerer the world expects. The Gojo clan heir, ruined on something so obscene and mortal as a big, thick cock.

You turn his face towards you, watching the tears fall over the flushed apples of his cheeks. He's so pale that every little touch burns him with lust, and his embarrassment spreads from his cheeks to his chest and down his shoulder blades.

You press your lips against his and he whimpers, a hand shooting up to grip your hair. He kisses back, moaning as you swipe your tongue over his lower lip, and the slick sounds of your lips smacking makes his walls flutter and clench around you.

He's clumsy, but eager. He whines like a puppy, bouncing on your cock, and leans into your touch when your hand smooths over his stomach, shiny and slick with his pre. He pants into your mouth. You swallow his moans.

Firm and swift, Suguru snatches Satoru's chin and pulls his face towards his. He makes an ugly sound as Suguru wraps his hand back around their cocks, forming a loose hole for them to fuck into – Suguru's release is thick and creamy, and it feels filthy when he smears it over both their cocks.

He came! He came, he realises joyfully, relief and arousal flooding his veins in equal parts – he came because of him! Satoru melts into the kiss, lips slick and parted as they pant and moan, sharing hot breaths between them. The air is muggy. Suguru licks into his mouth, hardly human, and tears stream down Satoru's cheeks, his brain so mushy he can't tell your limbs from Suguru's, or his own from the bedsheets.

Barely letting him breathe, you grab Satoru's face and stick your tongue down his throat. He hiccups, eyes rolling back as you grind into his ass and come with a grunt in hot, thick spurts. His toes curl and his lips pout pathetically, chasing yours when you pull back to check on Suguru. He whines and tugs your hair to make you turn those pretty eyes back to him again, your warmth spilling into him and making him yours. You allow it, your tongue running over the slick nubs of his teeth.

Suguru scrapes his canines over Satoru's pale throat, only marred by his blush. That won't do. He drags his pierced tongue down his jugular and across his Adam's apple, made more pronounced by the angle of his neck – Satoru sobs into your mouth, chest heaving as he grips Suguru's hair and feels the sting of hickeys bitten into his fair skin.

Through his tears and dizzy pleasure, he's given back to Suguru, who coos at him and kisses him sweetly – no tongue this time, just their swollen lips moulded together as if they belong right there and nowhere else. He twitches as your teeth sink into his shoulder, decorating his other side with love bites. He's never gonna be able to hide them all.

Passed around like a cigarette, like a whore, Satoru barely realises it when Suguru slips off the cockring – with some difficulty, as his cock, stomach, and thighs are so wet with pre that it makes everything feel like a damn waterslide. The moment it scrapes over his swollen tip, he's crying out and tensing, sobbing as heavy spurts of sticky come spray Suguru's stomach and thighs.

He tries to say their names – because they're so kind, so good to him, he has to say thank you and be grateful because they could've left him there all by himself – but the first syllables of their names devolve into relieved, babbling moans. Suguru strokes his hair, holding him close, as you help him ride out his bliss, your pace gradually slowing as he twitches and jolts in your hands.

As his high peters out, he slumps into Suguru's arms, whining shakily as you pull out with a slick pop. He clenches around nothing, his hole gaping and abused, and clutches Suguru like a lifeline.

You hum, pressing a thumb against Satoru's dark puffy hole and pulling gently. Feebly, it clamps around nothing, and a dribble of thick white come leaks out, joining the mess between his legs.

Man, those legs. He could be a model with a body like that. Despite being taller, Satoru's slimmer than Suguru, and he feels tiny and fragile in your palms, shuddering and trembling. You squeeze his slim thighs, watching his fair skin dimple under your touch like marble, and his muscles twitch, unsure whether to pull away or press into you. He decides on the latter, moaning softly when you grab his ass appreciatively.

"Such a darling," Suguru hums, voice light and adoring as he brushes the tears from Satoru's warm red cheeks with his thumb. "You did well, Satoru."

Giggling dreamily, he nibbles on his lower lip, pushing his cheek against Suguru's shoulder. He reaches blindly behind him, and when he finds your hand, he pulls you in behind him, forcing your arm to wrap around his little waist. He purrs, perfectly pleased now that he's squished between two big, warm bodies. "Yeah...?"

Suguru nods, his long hair falling over Satoru's shoulder too. "Yeah."

Eyelids half-closed and nose buried in Suguru's neck, Satoru follows easily as you lead them to lay down on the bed. When your arm loosens around his waist, however, his hand shoots out with startling speed and accuracy.

"W-Where are you going?"

If you didn't know any better, you'd think he sounded afraid.

"Bathroom. Gotta get you two cleaned up before it gets gross," you reply gently. He has Suguru to ground him. That doesn't seem like enough, though, because his large blue eyes well up again and his lower lip trembles. His grip tightens around your wrist and you're surprised when it almost begins to hurt.

"Stay," he whispers, slender pale neck craned to look you in the eye. It's covered in bruises and bite marks.

"I'm not leaving," you chuckle, stroking his inner wrist with your thumb. "You're in my bedroom. Nowhere else for me to go."

He shakes his head, stubborn – they're both like that. "Don't care," he whimpers, tugging insistently. "Come back. Clean later."

"But you're the messiest one here, Satoru," you point out, amused, and you don't miss the way he shivers when you say his name. "Surely you don't want to stay that way?"

"Don't care," he repeats in a mumble. He hums as you obey his iron grip and return to the bed, lying down in front of him. He snuggles into your chest, sighing soft and content as Suguru shuffles closer behind him. He feels your arm join Suguru's, resting over his waist. The heavy weight of them combined and the radiating warmth from your chests fade his thoughts into pleasant nothingness.

"Suguru?" you murmur.

"Hm?" His chest rumbles delightfully against Satoru's back.

"I've got him. You can get washed up if you like."

"It's alright. He'll pull me back down, just like you. It doesn't feel bad – I sorta like it. I've been covered in worse, anyway."

You curse under your breath, arm shifting around Satoru. "Do I wanna know?"

"No."

You chuckle lightly, and your next words are soft and teasing. Suguru responds in kind. Satoru's eyes flutter closed, the rest of your quiet conversation becoming hazy background noise as it lulls him to sleep.

Surrounded by warmth – a very human warmth that Satoru's been chasing for years – he can't help curling up like a cat, breathing soft and even as your rumbling voices pass over his head. Yours is deeper than Suguru's smooth, easy cadence, something of your musical talents emerging in the depths of your voice. It makes it easy for his subconscious to follow – at least for a while, before they blend into one lilting track.

Dreams come easy to him. How could they not when this pretty fantasy of his has just come true, tucked in the arms of Suguru and his dreamboat of a boyfriend?

Well, it's like Suguru said: can't get rid of him. He's yours, now – no takesies backsies.

[moon-fics]

Pool Day

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary: The team decided to request a pool, not thinking it would be made. Now, they have a pool.

A/n: Ugh! I love a good beach/pool episode! But this time, the relationship is established.

When Valentina asked if there was anything the team wanted in the tower, she meant like a training simulator or a chef. So, when Yelena spoke up, saying she wanted a pool, everyone backed her up. No one expected Valentina to actually go through with it because she didn't like them.

So, when Valentine announced the pool was done, everyone was flabbergasted. They were most astonished by the fact that she built it outside where the sun could be enjoyed. However, she said that was the last unnecessary request she'd be entertaining.

Of course, when the first day of summer rolled around, the pool was not forgotten.

---

You sit at the edge of the pool with your legs under the water. You're thankful you had time to buy a new swimsuit. It wasn't the best one you could find, but it'll do.

Yelena has found interest in sleeping on one of the floats. She's knocked out as the float hits one of the walls of the pool. Meanwhile, John is in the shallow area drinking a fruity smoothie. For the most part, everyone is relaxing for the first time in a while.

You sense a presence behind you and immediately turn. You're far too late, as two pairs of hands shove you into the chilly water. Your entire body is submerged, and water enters your nose. You pop out of the water, coughing and wiping your nose.

When you finally look up, you see Alexei and Bob standing where you were sitting. Alexei is hands on knees laughing and pointing at you as if he's pulled off a master prank.

"Is the water nice?" Bob asks. He holds out his hand for you to take. Even after shoving you into the pool, he's still kind enough to pull you back out. You should just take his hand and be thankful for the refreshing dunk. You aren't that type of person.

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" You grip his forearm and yank as hard as possible. He doesn't take a lot of effort to pull. The splash from his fall wakes up Yelena, who lifts her sunglasses as Bob pops up from the water.

"'Ey, I don't want any rough housing," She points at you and Bob with a raised eyebrow. "Don't wake me again," She warns and puts her sunglasses back on.

The moment Yelena is back to resting, Bob's arms wrap around your waist. His head rests on top of yours, and water drips from his chin to your nose. He creates a sort of shade over your face to block out the sun.

"I could get used to this," You keep your voice down. Bob hums in response. He sways both of you carefully while he enjoys the closeness. "Did you swim a lot in Florida?"

"Oh yeah, like, every day." He nods without hitting your head. He relinquishes his hold on you and spins you around to face him. "It was either the pool or the beach. I preferred the beach because when the wind is strong enough, the waves get super high."

"That sounds fun," You say. "We should have asked for a wave pool, too." You laugh. Maybe you can suggest it to Valentina as a way to train for water-based threats. Though you doubt she'd accept that answer.

"The last time I was in a wave pool, I got kicked in the head three times," Bob chuckles. His hands move to rest on your waist to keep you near him. "I'm pretty sure they should be banned for how dangerous they are." His face becomes serious as he thinks.

"Oh, you can't handle some waves?" You tease. You already have something in mind and begin floating away from him. His brows furrow, and he watches you get a few feet away. You wind up your arm and roughly glide it across the surface to create a small wave.

It drenches Bob once again, but once the splash clears, he's gone. Before you can react, his hands are on your legs. He efficiently drags you under, but cradles your head before it hits the floor.

You open your eyes, but the water makes everything blurry. All you can see is Bob's outline as it gets closer. His hands cup your face, and his lips press against yours as gently as possible. The kiss only lasts a few seconds due to a lack of air, but those seconds are like a treasure. His lips are all you can feel as your senses are blocked by the water.

When you emerge, you gasp for air, but he doesn't. You chalk it up to him having more experience in bodies of water than you.

Once you catch your breath, he calls your name. You look towards him only to be hit in the face by water. He forgets how strong he is and gets Yelena and John wet.

"Oh, come on!" John groans. He holds up his half drank smoothie that now has chlorine water in it.

"Ok, that's it! No more pool for you two!" Yelena shouts.

[megalony]

You Called My Wife?

This is a new Jake Seresin imagine, my first request for Jake and I hope you will all like it. Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro

Masterlist

Summary: The Dagger squad don't know much about Jake's personal life. And when he gets hurt during an exercise, they are surprised who comes to look after him.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reaching into his back pocket, Jake pulled out the pair of sunglasses he had been carrying around with him for the last few weeks. The sun here back at home was intense and he couldn't stand the migraines it gave him. Even when he was up in the air, he often had his sunglasses on. He didn't care about the way the glasses pinched his ears or gave him splitting pains in the sides of his neck.

If Bob could wear his prescription glasses to see, then Jake could wear his sunglasses to stop him squinting so much and relieve the headaches he got that were becoming chronic.

His hands fell to his hips once his visors were perched on the bridge of his nose and he looked around.

It hadn't taken Jake nearly as long as he thought to complete his physical. They were doing physical assessments and training every other day to get them ready for their next assignment. They were going to be going against gravity, travelling up to G9 range and it would cause problems with breathing, taking in oxygen and could starve their brains for a few seconds, if not longer.

They all needed to be at their best physically and mentally to prepare for this and up to now, Jake was ready and rearing to go.

Today was training exercises on the ground rather than in the air. They were all doing different activities and now that Jake was rejoining the rest of the squad after his physical, he was supposed to be doing safety and maintenance checks.

He took a look around the open air field. Bradley was over to one side, looking like he was trying to do some physical exercises, but he kept stopping to quietly argue with Maverick who was following him around like a dark, looming shadow. Jake wasn't going to be going over there. He noticed Phoenix and Bob were at their aircraft in the middle of their maintenance. While Coyote was off to one side doing pushups; he had messed up somewhere if that was his punishment. And Jake had already passed Fanboy who was on his way for his own physical.

He busied himself finding one of the clipboards and he jogged over to his aircraft, smiling and patting his hand against the bulk like it was an old friend he was meeting up with.

He circled the aircraft like a vulture, checking the wings, the engines- which had had a run in with a flock of birds two days ago which Jake had been lucky hadn't completely ruined his left engine. He checked the wheels and made sure they were all clipped and chained down so the craft wasn't going anywhere without him.

Once all the outside checks were done, he climbed up the ladder and hopped inside.

It always felt weird to sit in the plane without his proper flight suit or his signature red helmet, but he wasn't going anywhere today. He was only turning the engine on to check everything was working and making sure he got all the right responses to show he would be ready for whatever training exercise he had to go out on next.

He slouched back in the seat, spreading his knees apart with the clipboard in front of him and the pen twisting between his fingers.

After ticking a few boxes, Jake tilted his head back and poised the pen behind his ear while his hand shifted to undo the first button on his uniform. He slid his hand beneath his shirt until his fingers found the familiar silver chain hanging around his neck.

He imbedded the ring into his palm that hung on the end of the chain, always tapping and jostling against his chest whenever he moved.

It felt safer to have his wedding ring on his chain rather than his finger. If he had any accidents and needed to be taken for a scan or for surgery, they would cut his ring off. Rings got in the way, jewellery got in the way and got lost but a chain around his neck was private and secure and more importantly, Jake had that ring as close to his heart as possible.

A soft look crossed his face as he brought his hand to his mouth and kissed the ring that had created a halo indent in the centre of his hand.

"I'll be home soon." He murmured against the ring as a picture of (Y/n) flashed before his eyes.

The last deployment Jake had been on had almost killed him. Three and a half months away from home. Three and a half months where he couldn't see, touch or feel his wife in his arms or have her lips against his or her body pressed up against his own. All he got were a few brief phone calls or five minutes of faceTime every other day, if he wasn't being shipped straight out from dawn until dusk.

He was much happier here where he could spend each night in his own bed, safe in his home with his wife. He didn't have to sleep alone or feel like he was going insane from having absolutely no physical touch or contact with (Y/n). Never before had Jake thought or believed in having withdrawal symptoms for another human being until he got married and had to face the prospect of leaving (Y/n) behind.

When he was done with his checks, Jake heaved himself up to his feet and climbed down back to level ground again.

He waved his clipboard up and down in front of his face like a fan, relishing the slight breeze it created to his melting skin. If he were back home in this heat his shirt would already be off and he would be lounging around in a pair of shorts. Or be would be on the beach in this weather. Either of those thoughts sounded very appealing right now.

He stood still for a few moments, taking in his surroundings and wondering what the next task would be, but his mind kept wandering off to the girl waiting at home for him. Exactly where he wanted to be right now.

"Bob, are you almost done?" Phoenix tilted her head back with an exasperated sigh, one hand clamped around her hip as she the other held onto the ladder Bob was perched on top of.

He was filling up their aircraft with fuel, they had half a tank but it was better to be safe than sorry because they didn't know how long they would be out on their next flight exercise. The last thing they needed was to be marked down and sent to do two hundred push ups because they thought half a tank would be sufficient.

"Almost." His voice was as passive as ever while he swiped his arm across his temple, wiping away the beads of sweat glistening in the afternoon sun.

"Bob, come on we've got other stuff to do."

He didn't know what happened.

One moment Bob was pushing his glasses further up his nose, rolling his eyes at his impatient partner calling up the orders below him. But the next, a shockwave was rattling up the ladder he was perched on and set him off balance.

His hands scrambled to steady himself before he fell off and he subsequently dropped the fuel line that had been in his right hand just as he unclipped it from the air craft that was now fuelled up. Bob scrambled for balance, bashing his legs into the side of the plane and earning a cut down his left forearm that scraped along a jagged edge on the ladder.

But it was the fuel line he was concerned with. It wasn't like filling up a car at the fuel station. The air crafts were large with tanks high up at the back. They had to use large funnel lines that looked like double sized garden hoses with a large round metal clip on the end the size of Bob's hand. That metal created a sizzling sound that sliced through the air when he dropped it.

The line swooped through the air like a bird trying to land but Bob could of cried when he heard a sickening crunch below him. He didn't want to imagine what it collided with- who, it collided with. His eyes snapped closed and he clung to the ladder, trying to gain his balance back so he didn't fall and break an arm or a leg.

The resounding crack echoed around the base and shuddered through everyone within close range. It was a sound no one expected to echo through the open air like that, it travelled far and wide and had everyone coiling in on the spot.

The metal end of the fuel line pelted down, gaining strength and speed as it swung past the ladder, lifted slightly into the air and smacked straight into the right side of Jake's head. Upon impact, his sunglasses snapped and flung off his nose and took flight on a course of their own, six feet across the base.

An awful crack shuddered through Jake's ears and rattled through his head as his eyes automatically snapped closed and his shoulders hunched up. Both arms recoiled into his chest as his clipboard slipped through his fingers that twitched and spasmed, unsure what to do as his body seemed to shutdown and recalibrate all at once.

The force sent his head snapping backwards until his neck got whiplash and his body followed his head's sense of direction, thrusting backwards until he landed harshly on the concrete floor.

Shockwaves rattled through his body causing his legs to shake and spasm out against the floor as if he was kicking and throwing a tantrum and all the air left his lungs when his back hit the floor. It took a few seconds for his diaphragm to loosen and allow his lungs to take in a deep breath, but when he did, a choked moan escaped his lips.

It felt like he'd been shot in the head.

He could feel his pulse throbbing through his temple and circulating all around the circumference of his head like someone pelting round a relay race. He could feel his veins throbbing and the blood steadily trickling down the right side of his face. The feeling of blood oozing down the bridge of his nose and around his eye socket made his nose scrunch up in disgust.

His hands curled and twisted against his chest, desperate to move but the sudden onset of trembling in his bones made it impossible for Jake to coordinate his body properly.

The trembling continued even as Jake suddenly realised he couldn't hear anything around him. He couldn't open his eyes. No sounds broke through the static barrier building up in his ears. He had no control over moving a single part of his body. It felt like his head had been severed from the rest of his body.

"Jesus Bob, what the Hell?!" Bradley spun on his heels and made into a sprint towards the three of them, Maverick hot on his heels.

The sight of Jake, laid out on his back, body overwrought with trembles and blood pooling steadily down one side of his face was a sickening sight none of them ever wanted to witness.

"I wasn't- didn't you see the ladder?" Bob hissed like a snake as he shakily slid down the ladder onto unsteady feet.

His hands began to rake up and down his thighs, wiping the sweat onto his trousers as his glasses started to fall down the bridge of his nose. He hadn't done that on purpose. He didn't just let go of the fuel line; Phoenix bashed into the ladder and knocked him off course. He would have fallen if he didn't scramble for his balance. It could just as easily have been Bob's head split open if he fell the other way or completely lost his footing on the ladder.

"I'm sorry-"

A groan spluttered past Jake's lips and stopped all their ramblings. He managed to curl his fingers around the middle of his shirt and he scrunched it up in his fists as tightly as possible. His legs continued to thrash against the floor but when he tried to open his eyes, he couldn't seem to do it.

"Oh God." He tried his best to reach his hand up towards his head but he could barely lift either arm from trembling against his chest.

Without his glasses that had been broken and flung off somewhere on the base, the sun was beating down on him with unwavering strength. His right eye was blinking furiously to try and stop the blood from getting into his eyes that were rolling to the back of his head that was pounding like a drum.

"Everyone shut up." Maverick's voice snapped through the air like a whip and stopped all their ramblings at once.

He crouched down beside Jake with Bradley on his other side with Bob and Phoenix hovering anxiously in the background and Coyote running over at the sound of commotion.

The wound looked bad. Maverick tilted Jake's head back and tried to touch his hairline to get a proper look. A large slash line went from his hairline towards his eyebrow and the skin had been split apart so neatly it looked like it had been cut with a sharp knife. Blood oozed out in every direction and splattered across Jake's temple and down his nose towards both his eyes like a jam donut had been tossed at his head.

He couldn't see his skull or any bone which was a good sign, but the blunt force could have been enough to crack his skull and give him a fracture. He most definitely had a concussion which meant he could have side effects.

He could start throwing up, he could black out or go fully unconscious, he could have a seizure if the impact was bad enough.

"Get him down to the medbay now." With a click of his hand over to the left, Coyote hurried forward and knelt down behind Jake while Bradley shuffled forward.

The pair of them carefully took one of Jake's arms each and looped them around the back of their necks.

"Alright, up. Let's get you up Hangman." Bradley looped his right arm around Jake's waist while his left hand gripped Jake's wrist. He held his breath and slowly pushed up onto his feet, slowly pulling Jake with him who looked very worse for wear.

Jake's head flopped forward as soon as he was sitting up. He groaned again, spluttering through a moan, spit forming on his lips and blood still trickling down his face. He could feel the shock setting in because even his neck was shaking now and once he was on his feet, his knees wavered and his legs felt oddly heavy and useless. He could barely stay upright and when his knees gave way, he slumped down like he was trying to sit on an imaginary chair.

His hands scrunched down around Coyote and Bradley's shoulders as each of them held his waist and kept him up on his feet.

Both Jake's feet bent awkwardly and the toes of his shoes scraped against the floor as the pair of them dragged him slowly towards the open hanger doors. He tried to move his legs and he did somewhat help them, but he relied on them to drag him along because he felt like collapsing to the floor and curling up into a ball.

He managed to find the will to open his eyes once they were inside, but the sight of the tiled floor disappearing and all the lines blurring before his eyes made his head swoon.

He found his eyes rolling around in his skull before he jolted forward with a croaky "Gonna puke."

True to his word, Jake tossed up his lunch the moment the boys paused in their quick shuffle towards the medbay. He felt a little better after that and he managed to lift his head once the three of them began their awkward tandem walk together.

By the time they were near the medic bay, Jake managed to place one foot in front of the other. He did an awkward walk and started to help them so they didn't have to heave him the whole way there.

"We've had an accident. The fuel line cracked Hangman straight in the temple and knocked him out. He threw up on the way down here." Bradley looked between the two medics idling around and waited for one of them to point towards the bed in the left corner of the large bunker space.

They trotted to the left and turned around, carefully easing Jake down until he was sat in the middle of the bed.

He felt more alive and a bit better once he was sat down. His head flopped back until the base of his head was touching the back of his shoulders and his shaking hands gripped the edge of the bed with intensity to keep himself sitting upright. It took all his effort to stop himself trembling and he tried to take deep breaths to ward off the sickness and the wave of dizziness that overwhelmed him.

"Okay Seresin, let's take a look."

Coyote and Bradley backed up until they were stood to one side. Neither of them fancied going back outside to finish off their exercises when Jake didn't look in his best shape. They would rather wait here to make sure he was alright and then head back to the rest of the team and tell them how he was fairing up. It was clear that Jake would be going home early today, he was lucky not to have been killed with that force, there was no way he was carrying on with any work today after this.

Jake begrudgingly lifted his head when one of the doctors stood in front of him. He let the man hold his chin and tilt his head from side to side to assess the damage and when he shone a pen light across his eyes, Jake winced.

A frightful yelp left his lips when the man tried to touch the wound and he reeled back with a groan.

"Afraid I'm gonna need an X-ray before I can stitch it. I'll clean the wound and get you some painkillers first." They were lucky the wound was on his head as they had a small, portable X-ray scanner in the back room they could use just to double check they didn't have to send him to hospital for urgent treatment. But if it looked okay, he could get some pain relief, be stitched up and sent home for the day.

"Great." Jake winced, trying to form a lopsided smile, but he couldn't quite manage it.

At least he would get to go home earlier than he thought.

***

"Hey," Bob groaned as sweat dripped off his body and onto a small puddle forming on the stone beneath him. His arms trembled as he tried to continue his push ups now that he was well into the hundreds. "Who's that?"

He nudged his nose against his shoulder to push the glasses further up his nose while he indicated his head to the left, signalling Phoenix's attention towards the person advancing across the base.

Maverick had told Bob and Phoenix to finish off Jake's safety checks, prep his fuel tank too and then do a set of two hundred push ups. They both knew they should have been more careful and they shouldn't have started squabbling like children when Jake was hauled off to the medic bay.

Phoenix lifted her head and glanced her eyes around, trying to find out who Bob was referring to. When her eyes set on a woman walking their way, her brows furrowed and she watched where she was walking.

She wasn't in uniform, whoever she was. She had on a baby blue tank top and a pair of denim shorts that stopped just before her knees. Her bag was hung on her shoulder, the strap clutched tightly in her hand and there was a nervous look plastered across her face.

The woman seemed to spare them a glance, noting that they were both sweating through their uniforms, before her eyes set on Maverick and she made a beeline for him.

"Mav, where is he?" (Y/n) bit her lower lip nervously when she reached Maverick who greeted her with a warm smile and a hand on her elbow.

"He's with a doctor, come with me."

(Y/n) nodded and let Maverick lead her inside the base. She couldn't quite believe how high up the ceilings were or how large the bay doors were, it was like everything was amplified as if giants worked and lived here. It felt strange to be walking round here with Maverick when Jake always said he would give her a tour round one day. Plans changed.

She had been expecting much worse when Maverick rang her and said Jake had had a 'minor accident' at the base, but knowing it was nothing to do with a crash or him being in a plane at all made (Y/n) feel better. It stopped her from having a breakdown or a panic attack as she drove down here, but she couldn't fathom what had happened. What kind of accident would her husband have when he was supposed to be safe here on the ground?

She glanced over her shoulder, noticing that the two others who had been doing press ups were now following after her and Maverick, presumably so they could see Jake too. They must be part of his team.

"What happened?"

"Phoenix and Bob, behind you," Maverick tossed a look over his shoulder and pointed his thumb in their direction. "Had a mishap when they fueled their plane. The pipeline dropped and caught Jake in the temple. I think he's got a mild concussion, but he'll be fine."

(Y/n) brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, hearing her shoes clicking loudly against the tiled floor as she followed Maverick around three corners and down a long corridor until they were in front of a medical wing.

That didn't sound too bad. That wasn't nearly as bad as she had been expecting, but it still wasn't good.

Her husband shouldn't be getting into accidents like this at work. He shouldn't be getting smashed in the head with their equipment. He was a pilot, an aviator. He was training every day to be in top physical performance and here he was with a concussion because his team had clearly lacked concentration.

It took all the effort (Y/n) had not to run ahead once they walked into a large open unit almost the same size as the open field outside. There was only one patient in here and (Y/n) set her sights on him immediately.

Jake was sat on the side of a bed, his legs swinging back and forth like a child at a doctor's appointment. His hands were clutching either side of the bed, his lips were set in a firm line and he kept squinting and closing his eyes as a doctor was stood in front of him, cleaning his wound.

Once they were close enough, (Y/n) hurried past Maverick and dropped her bag down by the foot of the bed. She didn't want to get in the way when the doctor was clearly trying to assess Jake and sort him out, but the moment Jake glanced to the left, his eyes widened and he jerked out of the doctor's grip.

"Baby." The surprise was evident in his voice and he let go of the bed to reach an arm out in (Y/n)'s direction. As soon as he started curling his fingers in a grabbing motion, (Y/n) smiled and moved forward.

Jake immediately coiled his arm around (Y/n)'s waist and reeled her closer until she had to plant her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. His fingers squeezed her hip tightly and he kissed the top of her chest before he glanced over her shoulder towards Maverick.

"You called my wife?"

The shock was evident in Jake's voice, but it was the looks of the rest of the team that made him wince. He hadn't mentioned to any of them that he happened to be married, that knowledge was on a need to know basis and as his superior, Maverick was the only one who needed to know. For emergency situations like this if Jake ever got hurt or shot down or sent to hospital.

There was no way they could let him drive home and since he had been injured, Maverick knew it was best to call (Y/n) and let her know so she could come and pick him up.

"You got concussed and you won't be able to drive home. Yes, I called your missus. You're welcome."

Maverick placed his hand on his hip and tilted his head to one side. Once Jake was silenced with that one look, Maverick nodded to himself and turned to leave. He knew none of them would be doing any more exercises today and he was okay with that, they would call it a day and start again tomorrow.

"You're married?"

"You never mentioned you're married to such a stunning girl."

(Y/n) tilted her head to the right, figuring the man that said that must be Bradley, the one Jake said was close to Maverick. He had a raised brow and his lips quirked into a smile beneath his moustache while both arms folded tightly over his chest.

She could feel the glares Jake was sending towards Bradley, squinting and glaring over in his direction before he looked back up at his wife.

With a quiet groan, Jake moved his hands from (Y/n)'s hips so he could bind his arms tightly around her waist. His hands feathered up and down her back and he pushed forward until his lips attached to her exposed chest just beneath her collar bone.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"Why did you need to know?" He countered, smirking tiredly against (Y/n)'s chest and he twisted his head so the left side of his face could press down against her skin. His cheek nuzled into her chest and he looked over at the team, watching the blush that rose to Bob's face that tilted down to look at his shoes and the way Phoenix rubbed the back of her neck bashfully.

He hadn't told them because it wasn't their business, they didn't need to know. He was in love, he was head over heels in love with his wife and in Jake's eyes, she was his little secret.

He didn't want the team teasing him or asking about her or trying to make jokes that he was tied down. He had dealt with that in the past with other people he worked with and he didn't like it. He smiled when people flirted with him in bars, but he kindly turned every one of them down and didn't let them get too close. (Y/n) was the reason why.

Sometimes it felt safer to keep (Y/n) as his little secret. What they did was dangerous, they had all lost friends in this job and it was hard to bring friends and family into this life. Jake didn't know if introducing (Y/n) to his team would be too much.

For him, it felt better to keep work and home life separate.

With a sigh, Jake lifted his cheek from (Y/n)'s chest, his lips forming a thin line as he stared up at her despite the headache that was swirling around behind his eyes. He scanned his eyes around the team who were all watching on eagerly like this was their favourite tv soap.

"Darlin', this is the dagger squad," Jake waved his hand around, muttering their call signs to which (Y/n) nodded earnestly. "Guys, this is my wife, (Y/n)."

"Nice to meet you all, even under strange circumstances," (Y/n) quirked a brow when Bob tipped his head down with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Clearly he felt guilty for the accident and (Y/n) was sure she heard him mutter a soft 'sorry again' clearly directed towards Jake.

He wasn't going to hold a grudge. It had been an accident and a few stitches was much better than some of the injuries he'd gotten on this job. But he would be holding this over them in the future and he knew he had earned himself a few free beers down at the Hard Deck for this.

"How bad is it then?"

Jake felt shockwaves coursing through his blood when (Y/n)'s hands moved from his shoulders to gently cup his face in her hands.

He loved the feeling of her thumbs brushing across his cheekbones just beneath his eyes and the way her fingertips tapped behind the tip of his jaw near his ears. His lips curved into a smile, despite the aching in his temple that had gone down a little when he took the aspirin and painkillers he was given.

His eyes squinted up at his wife whose lips curved into a pouting smile while her head tilted to the side, inspecting the wound on his temple.

All the blood had been cleaned from Jake's face and neck and his head had been X-rayed and dabbed with anticeptic, all he needed now was stitches.

"What am I gonna do with you?" (Y/n) murmured softly while she tilted Jake's head down in her hands so she could pepper kisses against the middle of his temple which no doubt would be aching. She didn't want to touch or go too near the wound, she knew even a light touch was going to hurt and she didn't want to hurt him. But he leaned into her touch and groaned, tightening his arms around her waist while his hands slid further down her back.

"I can think of a few things."

"I don't think I wanna see that." Coyote ran a hand down his face and patted Bradley's chest before he began to walk. He would see what Maverick wanted them to do, whether they were all getting the afternoon off or just Jake. He murmured a soft "Nice to meet you, Mrs Seresin." And laid a hand on (Y/n)'s shoulder as he passed her.

"Yeah, us neither. Sorry again, Hangman, we'll owe you a few rounds when your back in action." Phoenix waved her hand towards Jake and dipped her head before she headed out with Bob following in her wake.

He uttered a soft "Nice to see you, sorry Hangman." before he followed Phoenix, silently praying they wouldn't have to finish the last twenty six push ups they had skipped when they followed Maverick and (Y/n) down here to the medic bay.

"Well, you look like your in good hands, so I'll catch up with you later. Maybe we'll see you soon, Mrs Hangman."

Once Bradley disappeared, (Y/n) managed to untangle herself from her husband's arms, causing him to grunt and pout dramatically. His hands reached out for her but she didn't move far. She stepped out from between his legs and moved to stand on his left side near the end of the bed he was perched on. Her arm looped around his back and her hand gave his shoulder a squeeze while she kissed the good side of his temple.

"When can I take him home?"

"I'll just do the stitches and then he's all yours."

Jake couldn't hide the grimace that flooded his face when he saw the needle and thread. He didn't like the inconvenience of stitches. His eyes briefly glanced up at (Y/n) before he shimmied round on the seat so his back was towards her. And he slowly reclined his head until the back of his head was settled down on (Y/n)'s shoulder.

He did his best to keep his head steady and his eyes fell closed when he saw an injection needle coming close. The numbing agent to make the stitches more bearable.

A low whistle passed his lips and when (Y/n)'s free hand curled over his thigh, Jake reached down and curled his hand over hers. He squeezed tight and tried to take slow, deep breaths when the needle finally started puncturing through his skin. It didn't exactly hurt, but he felt a sharp sting and each time the thread was pulled tight, Jake could feel his brow lifting as the skin was dragged back together.

Six stitches later and (Y/n) could barely feel her hand from how tightly Jake was squeezing it. She leaned her head down and kissed the top of his head, nudging her nose against his soft wavy hair as Jake finally opened his eyes.

"You're good to go with a mild concussion, Seresin. No flying for twenty-four hours, and if you go any higher than G7, I'll need to see you back here for a check over."

"Copy that."

"Thank you for patching him up."

When Jake hopped up from the bed, (Y/n) moved her arm lower to secure around his waist and she pressed a quick kiss to the side of his jaw which caused his lips to pull into a wide grin. He draped his arm over her shoulders, feeling much better than he did earlier.

The last thing he wanted to do was lean on (Y/n) and have her dragging him out of here like the guys had heaved him in earlier. He could walk on his own two feet again.

"That's going to leave a scar." (Y/n) murmured softly, reaching her left hand up to graze her fingers over his brow just beneath the row of navy blue stitches on his temple. It wasn't going to leave a dent or a prominent, deep line, but it would leave a faint streak of white like a dash of paint across his skin.

She pressed another kiss to Jake's jaw until he tilted his head down and captured her lips in a soft, burning kiss instead. "I know," He muttered softly against her lips, kissing her again and again as they walked as slow as possible out of the base.

"But I know you love my war wounds."

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Could’ve Had Anyone 

famous!actress!reader x bob floyd

The San Diego sun had the audacity to shine even brighter when she stepped out of the black SUV.

It wasn’t just that she was famous.

She was her.

The most photographed, most admired, most untouchably glamorous woman in the world. The kind of woman whose name alone could crash a website. Whose face hung in art museums and teenage boys’ lockers alike. She didn’t just walk onto the Top Gun tarmac—she graced it.

Sleek sunglasses. Designer boots. Wind-swept hair. A presence that made grown men stand straighter and forget their own names.

“Holy shit,” Hangman breathed. “It’s really her.”

“No kidding,” Rooster muttered. “Try not to pass out.”

“She’s even prettier in person,” Phoenix said, and she meant it.

And yet, when she reached Admiral Simpson, her smile was warm. Her handshake was polite, eyes steady, voice kind. She thanked everyone for the tour. She complimented the weather, said the jets looked incredible, asked real questions about the training program. For someone worth billions, she was shockingly… normal. Nice, even.

She took pictures with everyone—every pilot, every crew member, every starstruck staffer on the runway. She laughed with Fanboy. Complimented Halo’s braids. Teased Payback about trying to sneak in two photos.

And then she paused.

Eyes scanning the group again, like she was looking for someone.

Then, pointing just past the main huddle, she smiled.

“Who’s that cutie patootie over there?”

Every head turned.

Bob, who had been standing half-behind a jet wing, blinked in confusion.

“Me?” he squeaked, touching his chest like she couldn’t possibly mean him.

She nodded and beamed at him. “Mmhmm! Hi!”

She walked over like she had all the time in the world—no rush, no pressure—and when she stopped in front of him, she took off her sunglasses and stuck out her hand.

“Hi,” she said, sweet and sunny. “My name’s Y/N L/N. It’s so, so nice to meet you.”

Bob’s mouth opened and closed a few times.

“I—I’m Bob. Lieutenant Robert Floyd. It’s—um—it’s nice to meet you too, ma’am—I mean—not ma’am, I just—”

She laughed softly and shook his hand. “Bob. I love that. You’re adorable.”

He looked like his entire brain just shut off.

“I’ve been meeting so many people,” she said, still holding his gaze. “Would you mind taking a photo with me?”

His eyes went wide. “With—me?”

She leaned in slightly, teasing. “Well, you are the cutie patootie, aren’t you?”

Phoenix absolutely lost it behind him.

“Y-Yes,” Bob said quickly. “I mean, sure! Of course! Yes.”

She handed her phone off to someone nearby and stepped beside him, slipping her arm through his like they’d done this a hundred times. “Ready?”

Bob didn’t know how to be ready for any of this. But the camera flashed, and she smiled up at him again.

“Thank you,” she said softly, like he’d just made her whole day. “You were the highlight of my visit.”

And just like that, she let go, gave him one last smile, and turned to walk back toward the group.

Bob stood frozen in place, flushed from his neck to his ears, still holding his helmet like it might float away.

Hangman clapped him on the back. “The Y/N L/N just called you a cutie patootie and took a solo picture with you. You better laminate that memory, Floyd.”

“I think I blacked out,” Bob muttered.

Phoenix leaned in, grinning. “If you don’t ask her out the next time she visits, I will.”

Rooster snorted. “Like hell you will. I’m still recovering.”

Bob adjusted his glasses with trembling fingers. “Is this real life?”

Fanboy pulled out his phone. “Buddy, the whole thing’s on video. You’re gonna be a meme by tonight.”

———

“America’s Sweetheart & Her Navy Sweetheart”

“Are we sure you want this one?”

Delaney—assistant, social media manager, therapist in crisis—tilted her head at the phone screen.

The photo was perfect.

Y/N looked radiant, obviously. But it was the guy beside her—tall, glasses slightly crooked, blushing like a Victorian debutante—that made the shot so unexpectedly adorable.

The world had seen her with presidents. With Oscar winners. With the Met Gala’s best-dressed. But no one had ever seen her like this.

Smiling softly. Relaxed. Standing next to someone who clearly had no idea how famous she was—or didn’t care.

“He’s so cute,” Y/N murmured, sipping from her iced coffee, sunglasses perched atop her head. She was scrolling through the pictures again like she hadn’t already hearted every single one.

Delaney stared. “You really want to post it?”

“I really do,” Y/N said, brightening.

“Caption?”

Y/N grinned.

Delaney’s eyes narrowed. “You already thought of one, didn’t you?”

Y/N said nothing. Just passed her a post-it.

Delaney read it once. Blinked. Then grinned like a devil.

⸻

@yourusername

📍Top Gun Naval Program

✨found my wingman✨

📸: @delaneydoesit

⸻

It took six minutes for the photo to hit one million likes. Ten minutes before #cutiepatootie trended on Twitter. By lunch, “Bob from the Navy” had a dedicated fan account and trending TikTok audio.

Y/N pretended not to notice.

She was lounging in her dressing room, reading scripts, but her phone buzzed every few seconds with a new mention. Every gossip site was foaming at the mouth. Paparazzi were now camped outside the base—looking for him.

“America’s Sweetheart Gets Starry-Eyed Over Navy Boy.”

“Who is Bob from Top Gun??”

“She Can Have Anyone—and She Picked This Guy?!”

Delaney popped back in with a smoothie and the numbers. “We’ve got 47 million views across platforms and about sixteen thousand girls crying over Bob’s blush.”

Y/N looked pleased. “Good for them.”

“You planning on going back there?”

She didn’t answer right away.

But then, with a coy smile and a glance toward the corner of the room—where Bob’s photo now lived quietly on her vanity—she said:

“I might have left something behind.”

————

Bob didn’t even make it through the hangar doors before he got tackled by a wave of phones.

“BOB. BRO. BOB. YOU’RE FAMOUS.”

“Have you seen Twitter?! You’re a meme now!”

Phoenix shoved a phone into his face. On the screen was a screengrab of the photo—the photo—captioned in Comic Sans:

“me when my celebrity crush notices me and I forget how to speak English 😍”

Bob blinked. “Is that… me?”

“You’re on TMZ,” Rooster called from across the room. “Twice.”

Hangman was grinning like the cat that ate the golden retriever. “My guy. You broke the internet. You broke it.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Bob muttered, cheeks already burning. “She just asked for a photo—”

“SHE POSTED IT,” Fanboy yelled, pointing at the giant screen someone had wheeled in. “With the caption ‘found my wingman,’ Bob! Her wingman!”

Payback looked personally offended. “I’ve been trying to go viral for years. This man just blushed and now he’s the Navy’s newest sex symbol.”

Bob pinched the bridge of his nose. “I—I’m not—”

“Shh,” Phoenix said, holding up her hand dramatically. “Wingman of the Year is speaking.”

“Guys—”

“No, seriously,” Rooster said, laughing, “what does it feel like to be America’s Boyfriend?”

“I’m gonna throw up,” Bob said earnestly.

Just then, Cyclone’s voice boomed from the hallway.

“Lieutenant Floyd.”

Everyone froze.

Bob straightened like he was about to be court-martialed.

“Yes, sir?”

Cyclone appeared, holding up a tablet with the photo in question still open on screen. “Would you care to explain why the Department of Defense is getting press requests for your dating history?”

Bob blinked. “I… I wouldn’t?”

Cyclone sighed, muttered something about “celebrities and chaos,” and walked off. But not before he added, “Tell her thanks for the recruiting spike.”

Everyone erupted again.

“She made you the poster boy for patriotism!” Fanboy whooped. “They’re calling you ‘Top Gun’s golden retriever boyfriend’ on TikTok!”

Bob buried his face in his hands. “This is a nightmare.”

Phoenix patted his back. “It’s a fairytale, sweetie. And she picked you.”

Bob peeked through his fingers. “Do you think… she was serious? About me being the highlight of her visit?”

Hangman, for once, didn’t joke.

“She could’ve taken a picture with anyone,” he said, voice unusually soft. “And she chose you. That means something.”

Bob blinked.

Then his phone buzzed. Again.

And when he looked down, his heart stopped.

A DM. From her.

Y/N L/N:

Hey, cutie patootie. Any chance I can come back for that second photo? 😉

Bob let out a noise that could only be described as a strangled squeak.

“Everything okay?” Phoenix asked.

He looked up. “She wants to come back.”

And just like that—chaos erupted again.

————

Bob had checked his reflection eight times before she arrived.

Phoenix had to physically take his glasses off his face to clean them herself. “Bob,” she said, “you’re fogging these up with your panic.”

“I’m not panicking,” he said, panicking.

“You’re wearing cologne.”

“It’s just—I thought I’d try something new.”

Rooster smirked. “It’s giving: ‘I’m calm, cool, and collected while my celebrity crush returns to base to maybe fall in love with me.’”

Hangman leaned against the lockers. “It’s giving: ‘he practiced what he’d say in the mirror all morning and he’s gonna forget every word the second she smiles.’”

“Thanks, guys,” Bob muttered, already red.

Then the hangar doors opened.

And she stepped through.

Y/N L/N. The Y/N L/N. Actress. Icon. Billionaire. Dressed casually like the cameras weren’t following her every move online. But what hit Bob the hardest wasn’t the press or the way the whole hangar paused just to look at her—it was the way she beelined straight for him.

Like she was looking for him.

“There you are,” she said with a grin. “Hi, Bob.”

The way she said his name—sweet and familiar, like she’d been thinking about it—nearly sent him to the floor.

“Hi,” he croaked.

She smiled brighter. “I wasn’t sure if I’d get to see you today, but I’m really glad you’re here.”

“I—I work here.”

Y/N giggled, and Bob blinked like a deer in headlights.

“You’re so cute,” she whispered, like it wasn’t going to set off every alarm in his brain.

Phoenix watched it unfold with her arms crossed and a smug grin. “We’ve been saying.”

“Oh!” Y/N turned to the others. “You’re his squad, right? You all were so sweet last time.”

Rooster elbowed Bob. “We’ve got a good one here.”

“He’s our best guy,” Fanboy added. “Smartest in the air. Saved my ass twice.”

“Three times,” Payback corrected.

Hangman chimed in, half-teasing: “Don’t let the glasses fool you—guy’s got a heart of gold and he’s low-key the funniest one here.”

Bob, mortified, ducked his head. “They’re exaggerating.”

But Y/N wasn’t listening to them anymore. Her eyes were already locked back on Bob.

“You’re kind of a hero,” she said with a soft little shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal—but it was.

“I—I wouldn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to,” she smiled. “They already did.”

Then she caught sight of a jet behind him and gasped. “Is that yours?”

Her hand reached out instinctively—like she forgot about the cameras, the audience, all of it—and wrapped gently around his arm.

“Oh my God, is that the one you flew in? That’s so cool—can I see inside?”

Bob might’ve blacked out for a second.

“You wanna see my jet?” he said, dumbly.

“I mean, yeah,” she beamed. “I came back to visit you—and, okay, maybe the plane too.”

She was still holding his arm.

“Tell me everything,” she said, leaning in. “Like—what you do in there, how it works. Please. I’m so curious.”

Phoenix whispered, “Breathe, Bob.”

Rooster added, “This is the best day of my life.”

Bob swallowed hard. “I—I sit in the back. I’m the weapons systems officer. I help the pilot navigate, track targets, communicate with command. I—uh—I read a lot of maps.”

Y/N looked at him like he’d just recited Shakespeare.

“I love smart guys,” she said softly. “You’re just full of surprises, huh?”

Then she grinned. “Show me how it all works?”

Bob blinked. “I—y-yeah. Yeah, I can show you.”

And the second he helped her climb up the ladder into his jet, the rest of the squad turned around like we are NOT watching this man fall in love from five feet away.

She actually climbed in.

Like, willingly. With a bright-eyed smile and a soft little “Oop!” as Bob offered her a hand and helped her settle into his seat—his seat, the one no one but him ever sat in—and now she was swiveling her head around like this was the most exciting thing in the entire world.

“Oh my God,” Y/N whispered, running her fingers over the side console, wide-eyed and glowing. “This is insane. I don’t even know what I’m looking at but I love it.”

Bob climbed in behind her, carefully easing into the front seat. His hands shook a little as he adjusted the straps of his harness—not because he was nervous, but because she was in his jet. Y/N L/N was literally sitting in the space he spent most of his life in, looking like she belonged there, like she might never want to leave.

“You sit back here?” she asked, pointing to the panel of screens and buttons in front of her.

“Yeah,” Bob said. “I—I manage all the tech. Radar, targeting systems, communication. Kind of like the guy behind the guy.”

She looked up, clearly impressed. “That sounds like a lot.”

“It is,” he admitted. “But I like it. It’s… it feels like where I’m supposed to be.”

Y/N smiled, this kind of soft, private smile—like she liked that answer way more than he meant her to. “That’s really cool.”

She looked at the helmet tucked beside his seat. Gently, she reached for it. “Can I…?”

“Oh! Um—yeah, of course,” Bob said quickly. “It might be a little big—”

He didn’t even finish the sentence before she was pulling it over her head with both hands and giggling as it sank just a little too far down her face.

“How do I look?”

Bob’s voice died in his throat.

“Perfect,” he said quietly.

Y/N pushed the visor up and blinked at him, and Bob almost forgot how to breathe again.

“I don’t get it,” she said after a beat, setting the helmet in her lap. “How are you not married? Or dating someone? Or at the very least, mobbed every time you walk outside?”

Bob flushed so hard he felt it in his scalp. “I—I don’t think people really notice me.”

“I notice you,” she said plainly, like it was a fact. “You’re thoughtful. Sweet. You have kind eyes. And you saved your friend’s life. You don’t think people notice, but I think you just don’t realize how worth noticing you are.”

Bob blinked. Stared. Tried not to pass out.

She smiled. “You’re blushing.”

“I—I’m always blushing,” he said faintly.

Y/N reached out, brushing her fingers gently against the sleeve of his flight suit. “I like it.”

And then—God—she just… rested her hand there. Like it was natural. Like it belonged. Like she wasn’t the most famous woman on Earth holding onto a guy who’d spent his whole life learning how to stay small.

Bob didn’t say anything.

He couldn’t.

Because her thumb was gently brushing across the patch on his arm.

And she was looking at him—really looking. Like he was someone she’d been waiting to find.

“Is it okay,” she asked gently, “if I take a picture in here?”

Bob blinked, startled. “Of course—I mean, yeah. Yeah, that’s totally fine.”

Y/N gave him a grateful smile and pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. “I won’t post anything classified. Promise.”

He laughed under his breath. “You’re probably more careful than half the people who actually work here.”

She leaned back against the seat and angled the camera just right, catching her reflection in the canopy glass with all the panels glowing softly around her. A quick click. Then another. She turned slightly toward him.

“Do you mind getting one with me?”

Bob froze.

“In here, I mean,” she added quickly. “We don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable—”

“No!” he said a little too fast. “I mean—no, I don’t mind. Not at all.”

Y/N smiled like he just handed her the moon. “Okay, come here.”

He leaned back slightly, trying to get into the frame behind her without knocking anything important. The proximity alone nearly did him in—her shoulder brushing his chest, her phone held high between them, her perfume subtly filling the small space of the cockpit.

She angled the phone, checked the lighting, then whispered, “Smile.”

He did.

God help him, he did.

Click.

She glanced down at the picture and beamed. “This one’s my favorite.”

Bob didn’t even ask to see it. Just knowing he was her favorite anythingmade his head spin.

The rest of the visit flew by in a haze. She climbed down from the jet with his help—thanked him again, touched his arm again, asked the others about the air show schedule, then got whisked away to meet with the base commander for a quick tour. She hugged Phoenix on her way out. Promised she’d be back soon.

But just before she disappeared around the corner, she glanced back at Bob—gave him a little wave. Just for him.

And smiled.

Bob stood there long after she was gone, helmet still tucked under his arm, lips parted like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

Phoenix came to stand beside him, arms crossed.

“Hey, loverboy,” she said. “You might wanna check your phone.”

He blinked down, startled—and saw that he already had seven missed messages. Three missed calls. Two voicemails.

Because Y/N’s assistant had posted.

⸻

📸 @delaneydoesit

✈️💋 “backseat beauty and the brains that fly it”

#TopGun #YNLN #BobNation #betterthanmaverick #callmeMrsFloyd

The post featured three pictures:

1. Y/N alone in the cockpit, head tilted playfully, sunglasses on, the helmet in her lap.

2. A shot of her and Bob together in the plane, his glasses slightly crooked, both of them smiling like they’d won the lottery.

3. A blurry candid of him helping her down from the ladder, one hand holding hers, the other steady at her waist.

The comments were already blowing up:

@selenagomez: oh she’s in love.

@pilotwivesunite: WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE WENT BACK FOR HIM

@aviationfan69: bob is all of us. we are bob. bob is america.

@ynlnupdates: can confirm she did say “he’s the cutest” out loud in front of everyone

@roosterdaddy: as a pilot and a man, I salute you, Bob.

⸻

Bob didn’t say anything.

Didn’t even look up from the screen.

Phoenix patted his back, amused. “You’re a national treasure now, baby. You better start practicing your red carpet smile.”

He was already blushing.

And somewhere across the base, Y/N was laughing as her assistant read the comments out loud, heart full, cheeks warm, and only one name echoing in her head:

Bob.

———

The hangar was quiet. Late afternoon light spilled through the high windows, casting golden stripes across the floor. Most of the squad had cleared out, letting the adrenaline of the day wear off in the locker rooms or the parking lot.

But Bob was still here. Still trying to breathe normally.

Because she was still here too.

Y/N lingered by the nose of the plane, running her fingers along the cool metal with a curious little smile, her assistant off somewhere taking calls. Her hair was up now, sunglasses on her head, and she looked impossibly cool even while doing absolutely nothing.

Bob didn’t realize he was staring until she turned.

And walked straight up to him.

“Hey,” she said softly, smiling like they were old friends. “I was hoping I’d catch you before I left.”

He blinked, managing a nod. “Y-Yeah. Still here.”

She tilted her head. “I was wondering if… it would be okay if I got your number?”

Bob stared.

Not because he didn’t hear her—but because every nerve in his body just lit up.

“My number?” he repeated, voice slightly cracked.

She nodded with a soft laugh. “You don’t have to say yes. I just— I’d like to talk again. If that’s okay.”

“Y-Yeah,” he said quickly, fumbling for his phone. “I mean—yes. Please. Of course.”

She handed him hers without hesitation.

He typed it in carefully, checking it twice. Then handed it back.

Y/N looked at the screen. “Bob Floyd,” she read aloud, smiling softly. “I’ll text you.”

He tried not to look as stunned as he felt. “Okay.”

She lingered for half a beat longer, then gave him the gentlest touch on the arm.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For everything today.”

And just like that—she was gone.

⸻

Two weeks passed.

No text.

No call.

No new post with his name anywhere.

At first, Bob kept checking. A dozen times a day. Every buzz in his pocket made his chest jump. But as days turned to a week—and then another—he stopped.

He just… stopped hoping.

She’s a billionaire, he reminded himself. She travels constantly. She probably forgot. Or changed her mind. Or—

Or it was just a sweet moment to her. Not… not something real.

He never said anything out loud. Just kept his head down, flew his drills, smiled politely when Hangman joked about his “Hollywood girlfriend.”

But inside?

He felt like he’d dreamed the whole thing up.

⸻

Until one night.

Bob was lying on his couch, glasses slipping down his nose, a rerun humming softly on the TV, when his phone lit up.

Unknown Number:

Hi Bob. It’s Y/N. I’m so, so sorry it took me this long to text you. Please don’t think I forgot. I’ve been to five countries in two weeks—Australia, Japan, Glasgow, New York, and now finally San Diego again.

I’ve been thinking about you this whole time.

Can I take you to dinner?

He read it twice.

Three times.

Then let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

His fingers hovered above the screen.

Then, finally—

Bob:

You had me worried.

A minute passed.

Then:

Y/N:

I know. I’m sorry.

Let me make it up to you?

And just like that��

Hope came roaring back.

———

Bob had never gotten dressed so slowly and so nervously in his life.

He changed shirts three times.

Debated cologne.

Put on a jacket, took it off. Put it on again.

He even cleaned his glasses twice, just in case. Because Y/N L/N—the most famous woman on the planet—texted him and said, Can I take you to dinner? Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

It wasn’t.

And it definitely wasn’t normal when she sent the location with a simple:

“Come hungry :)”

When he pulled up, Bob did a double take.

It was Joe’s Diner. A little 24-hour joint he knew well. Kind of rundown, all-day breakfast, the kind of place you could get pancakes and a cheeseburger at the same time. Local favorite.

But tonight?

The neon sign was glowing—and every booth was empty.

Except one.

Right in the corner.

With her.

She was already seated, sipping a milkshake with a red-and-white straw, grinning when she saw him through the glass.

Bob walked in slowly, trying not to trip over his own feet. “Hey…”

“Hi!” she said brightly, standing to greet him. She looked insane. Like she just stepped off a magazine cover—jeans, heels, a tight black top and diamonds like they were casual. Hair loose. Smile soft.

And still—somehow—completely down to earth.

“I hope this isn’t too much,” she said, biting her lip. “I tried to pick somewhere low-key. But when I got here it was packed and I got nervous and I kind of… rented the whole place out.”

“You what?”

She cringed playfully. “It was just a little panic move. I didn’t want people filming or asking for pictures while we were catching up, and I—I tipped!” she added quickly. “A lot! And I gave everyone working tonight $500 each. Just as a thank-you for letting me be a drama queen.”

Bob blinked.

“You rented out a diner… to get pancakes with me?”

She smiled. “Yeah. I missed you.”

He swallowed. “That’s… really nice.”

“You’re really nice.”

She sat back down, gesturing for him to slide in across from her. “I hope you like breakfast for dinner.”

“I do,” he said as he sat, heart pounding in his ears.

“Good,” she grinned. “I already ordered. I got waffles, pancakes, eggs, bacon, hashbrowns… and a milkshake.”

He blinked. “All that for you?”

“No,” she laughed, nudging his foot under the table. “For us.”

⸻

The food came fast—heaping plates of breakfast heaven—and Bob couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to her. Like nothing had changed. Like the weeks apart hadn’t happened. Like he wasn’t sitting across from the most beautiful, famous woman in the world while she poured syrup like a child and kicked her heel against his under the table.

She asked about his flights. His callsign. His favorite movie. If he liked dogs or cats. If he’d ever been to France.

And when he turned the questions on her, she answered just as openly.

Her eyes sparkled when she laughed. And Bob couldn’t stop smiling. Not once.

By the time they were finishing their second milkshake—sharing it this time—Bob didn’t want the night to end.

Neither did she.

Outside the diner, the night air was cool and quiet—except for the low murmur of four very serious-looking bodyguards stationed at every possible entrance and exit.

They stood at full attention, one by the curb, two by the diner’s double doors, and one tailing discreetly behind as she walked with Bob to his car.

Bob had never felt so… important. Or awkward. Mostly awkward.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying not to look like he was floating on air.

“I had a really, really great time tonight,” she said softly, slowing her steps as they reached his car.

Bob nodded quickly. “Me too. I… yeah. It was amazing. The waffles, and the shake, and you—uh, not that you’re—no, I mean—you’re amazing, I just meant the diner—the night was amazing, with you, and—”

Y/N giggled, cutting off his ramble with a gentle touch to his forearm. “Bob,” she said, and he shut up immediately. “Can I…?”

Before he could ask what she meant, she leaned up and pressed the softest kiss to his cheek.

Bob went rigid.

She pulled back just a few inches and blinked at him, shy for the first time tonight. “Was that okay?” she asked, suddenly unsure. “I—I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. That might’ve been—”

“That was more than fine,” Bob blurted out.

Her smile bloomed slow and warm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She paused. Tilted her head.

“…What if I actually kissed you?”

Bob blinked. Then swallowed. “Like… kiss kissed?”

She nodded.

“Oh my God please.”

She laughed—full and sweet—and before he could process it, she leaned in again, this time meeting his lips with hers.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t too much. It was… perfect. A little hesitant at first, then deeper when Bob finally remembered how to move. His hands hovered at her waist, not quite touching, until she pulled him just a little closer by the lapel of his jacket.

One of the bodyguards cleared his throat.

They pulled back, breathless.

She looked up at him through her lashes, smile dizzy and sure. “Now that’smore than fine.”

Bob was red. Like full-blown scarlet. But he was smiling, too.

“Should I… text you again?” she asked.

Bob nodded quickly. “Please.”

“I’ll try not to wait another two weeks.”

“I’ll survive,” he promised, and meant it a little too much.

She kissed him once more on the cheek for good measure before her security detail politely reminded her it was time to go.

But Bob stood by his car, lips tingling, heart thrumming, eyes locked on her retreating figure like he’d just watched a miracle walk into the night.

Because maybe he had.

———

Bob walked into the hangar the next morning like he’d just discovered heaven. Or touched it. Or made out with it behind a classic 1950s diner while four bodyguards pretended not to look.

He had that kind of dazed, floaty, not quite all the way here look about him. Hair tousled. Coffee half-sipped. Smiling to himself like an idiot.

And the squad? Oh, they noticed.

Phoenix clocked it the second he walked in. “No. No way.”

Payback leaned over. “Bro. What is that face?”

Bob blinked, snapped halfway back to earth. “What? What face?”

“You’re grinning,” Fanboy said, pointing. “You never grin. You… barely smile. You smirk at best.”

Rooster walked by with a protein bar and raised a brow. “Did you get laid?”

“Bradley!” Phoenix hissed.

Bob choked on air. “No! I—God, no! I mean—not no, I just—wow, what?!”

Phoenix crossed her arms and smirked. “Okay, so not laid. But something happened.”

Bob’s ears were already going pink. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, it’s a huge deal,” Payback grinned. “You haven’t even taken your backpack off. You’ve just been standing there smiling at the floor like a golden retriever in love.”

Fanboy leaned in. “Tell us.”

Bob hesitated. Bit the inside of his cheek. Then—

“She kissed me.”

“OH—”

It was like a bomb went off.

“NO. NO WAY.” Rooster shouted.

Phoenix straight-up slapped his arm. “You’re lying!”

Bob held up his hands. “Swear to God. At the diner.”

“She kissed you?” Payback repeated.

Bob’s smile got a little dreamy again. “Yeah.”

Fanboy let out a slow whistle. “On the cheek or…?”

Bob didn’t answer.

“Oh my god,” Phoenix whispered. “You got kissed kissed.”

He nodded.

“You got kissed,” Rooster said, pointing dramatically. “You got full-on superstar, movie-premiere, Hollywood-kiss kissed.”

Phoenix looked ready to explode. “Okay, so when’s the wedding?”

Fanboy gasped. “Did she post again?!”

Everyone immediately whipped their phones out, and sure enough—

@ynln

📍San Diego

🎬 had to see my pilot again before flying out to shoot the next movie 🤭💋

[photo of her in the cockpit next to Bob, hand on his shoulder, both of them beaming — and Bob? Blushing like hell]

And then the caption below the pic:

@ynln:

also, someone tell lieutenant floyd that i’m gonna marry him if he keeps being this cute

Rooster screamed. Phoenix looked like she was going to pass out. Fanboy started pacing in a circle with his hands on his head. Even Payback was speechless.

Bob stood there, stunned silent, staring at the screen.

Phoenix grabbed his arm. “She posted that? About you?!”

Bob nodded faintly, barely breathing.

Fanboy turned to him, deadly serious. “Do you know what this means?”

Bob blinked. “That… she likes me?”

“That you’re America’s Boyfriend now,” Fanboy said. “And also maybe her future husband.”

Payback grinned. “How’s it feel to be the luckiest man alive?”

Bob, still dazed, just whispered: “Unreal.”

———

Bob was pretty sure he was dreaming when the email showed up in his inbox.

Subject: 🎬 You’re Cordially Invited

From: Y/N’s personal assistant

Ms. Y/N L/N formally invites Lieutenant Robert Floyd and members of the Top Gun program to attend the official U.S. premiere of her upcoming film “Starlight Syndrome” in Los Angeles, California. Transportation will be arranged. Tuxedos required. Press will be present. Photos encouraged. Please RSVP within 48 hours.

Phoenix screamed when she found out. Literally screamed. Rooster nearly choked on his gum. Hangman tried to act unfazed, but even he ended up checking the mirror twice after hearing what the dress code was.

But Bob?

Bob just stared at the invite like it was written in gold. Like it might disappear if he blinked.

It had been two weeks since their diner night. Two weeks of silence. Two weeks of maybe she forgot or maybe it didn’t mean as much to her. He’d told himself not to get his hopes up. He tried not to check his phone. Tried not to look at the diner pic she left in his messages. Tried not to imagine her red carpet photos with someone else.

And then—this.

“You okay, Bob?” Fanboy asked, glancing at him.

Bob looked up slowly, blinking back into reality. “…She remembered.”

⸻

Cut to:

Red Carpet Night

She’s in some GOWN that looks like it cost six months of rent. Diamond earrings. Hair curled like old Hollywood. Makeup perfect, but not tooperfect—still the soft-eyed, sweet-talking girl who once whispered, “sorry, was that fine?” before kissing him behind a diner.

Bob steps out of the black SUV in a fitted tuxedo he nearly passed out putting on. Everyone looks great, but the second the press cameras see him—

“Lieutenant Floyd!”

“Bob Floyd, over here!”

“Are you the pilot she mentioned in her caption last week?!”

“Are you dating Y/N?!”

Bob freezes. Phoenix leans in. “Don’t lock up, just smile and wave like a politician.”

And then—she’s there.

Coming down the carpet in heels that cost more than his car, glowing,smiling, her eyes scanning through the crowd until they land right on him.

She walks right up to him and grins. “Hey, Lieutenant Floyd.”

Bob clears his throat. “Hey, Ms. L/N.”

She laughs softly, slipping her arm through his like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “So glad you made it.”

“You invited me,” he says dumbly.

“And you came,” she says, then pauses. “Sorry I didn’t text sooner. Press tour had me all over the globe. again. I didn’t forget you. Not for a second.”

Bob blinks. “You didn’t?”

She leans in, brushing her lips against his cheek again, soft and familiar. “Of course not. I’ve been thinking about you the whole time.”

And the flashbulbs? They explode.

——

As soon as she spots the squad getting out of the black SUV, she beams.Instantly waves them over, not caring that half of Hollywood is watching.

“There they are!” she says to the press with a laugh, her earrings glittering as she turns. “These are my guys!”

She doesn’t wait for them to approach—she walks toward them in her heels like she’s floating. Her team freaks out behind her. “Wait, Y/N! Stay in your mark!”

But she just waves them off. She’s on a mission.

“Rooster, Fanboy, Phoenix, Coyote, Payback, Hangman…” she’s pointing at each of them, remembering all their names. “Come take pictures with me—please. I need at least a hundred.”

They’re all caught off guard, not used to being the ones asked for photos, but they rush in, adjusting ties, smoothing hair, suddenly aware this moment will be everywhere.

They take group shots, laughing, hyping each other up. She makes them laugh for the wide angles, does one where they’re all pointing at the camera like a boy band. And then:

“Okay. Solo shots. Come on.”

She poses with each one—smiling with Phoenix, pulling Hangman into a fake headlock, matching sunglasses with Rooster—but when it’s Bob’s turn?

She turns fully toward him, voice dropping just slightly. “Hi again.”

He’s already red. “Hi.”

She wraps her arms around him, warm and confident. “This okay?”

He nods quickly. “Y-Yeah.”

“Good,” she whispers, and leans her head on his shoulder for the photo.

The cameras go insane.

Click. Flash. She’s giggling in another. Click. Flash. She’s turned toward him, both hands holding his now. Click. Flash. One more, and she hugs him again, resting her cheek briefly against his chest.

“You’re gonna break the internet,” Phoenix mutters behind them.

Bob’s eyes are wide. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Hangman says, actually impressed. “You look like the lead in a romance movie.”

⸻

And when the photos hit Instagram that night?

Her official account posts a carousel.

📸🎞️ Premiere night magic

🎬: #StarlightSyndrome

💫: Thank you to the real-life heroes who showed up tonight—your support means the world to me.

(Also yes, Bob gives the best hugs.)

swipe ➡️

First photo: her and the whole squad, all grinning.

Second: her arm-in-arm with Bob, her cheek against his shoulder.

Third: them mid-laugh, eyes only on each other.

Fourth: just Bob, caught off guard in a tux, smiling small but real.

———

The venue is glowing—low golden lights, deep velvet couches, a live band in the corner playing sultry jazz that occasionally slides into pop covers. The crowd is dressed to the nines, champagne everywhere. But she’s not interested in Hollywood small talk. Not tonight.

Because when she walks in and sees them—the squad huddled around a table near the back, already laughing with drinks in hand—her smile lights up the whole room.

“There’s my table,” she says to her assistant, ignoring every producer who tries to pull her away. “Don’t let anyone drag me off. I’m going there.”

And she does.

She walks right over, hugs Phoenix from behind, taps Rooster’s glass with her own. Bob stands when she gets there—of course he does—and she gives him a grin before leaning in and kissing his cheek.

“Hi, Bob.”

He’s already red. “Hi. You—you look stunning.”

“So do you.” She sits right next to him. Doesn’t even hesitate.

⸻

She makes the rounds from there—laughing with Coyote over bad pick-up lines, cheers-ing Payback when he dares her to take a shot. She dances with everybody.

At one point, she pulls Fanboy into a spin. At another, she drags Phoenix out for a full choreographed moment when the band switches to Beyoncé. She even twirls Rooster like he’s the belle of the ball and he goes with it.

“Where’d you learn to dance like this?” Hangman asks.

“On set. You think I’m gonna waste those choreography lessons?” she quips, grabbing his hand and flipping it to lead him into a swing move before pointing dramatically to Bob.

“Okay—my turn. Come on, Bob.”

He freezes. “What?”

“Dance with me.”

“I—uh, I don’t really dance—”

“Lucky for you, I do,” she teases, grabbing his hand. “Let me lead?”

He can’t say no. So he lets her pull him in. It’s awkward at first—Bob trying not to step on her toes, her laughing gently when he almost trips—but she never lets go.

“You’re doing great.”

“You’re lying,” he mutters.

She laughs and leans closer, her forehead brushing his. “I don’t lie to you.”

⸻

Eventually they all collapse back at the table, flushed from dancing, laughing too loud, sipping drinks with messy garnishes and half-melted ice.

She looks around at all of them—grinning, bickering, teasing each other—and then looks at Bob beside her.

“This is my favorite table in the room.”

His chest tightens a little. “Yeah?”

She nods, resting her head briefly on his shoulder. “And you’re my favorite part of it.”

He doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure he could, not with his throat tightening and his heart thudding like that. But he doesn’t need to.

Because she’s still holding his hand under the table.

———

The after party was in full swing—music pulsing, people dancing, drinks flowing—but Bob had somehow ended up on the balcony. He wasn’t avoiding anyone. He just… needed air. Or maybe he needed to think. About the night. About her.

And speak of the devil—there she was.

She stepped out, her gown glimmering under the soft patio lights, her heels clicking gently on the tiles. She was holding two champagne flutes and passed one to him like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“You disappeared,” she said, smiling like she already knew where he’d gone.

Bob cleared his throat. “Just wanted some quiet.”

“Good. I needed a break too.” She leaned on the railing beside him, shoulder just brushing his. “This was nice. All of this.”

He smiled. “It really was.”

Then she turned slightly toward him, something playful in her voice.

“Do you think your friends like me?”

Bob blinked. “Like you? Are you kidding? They’re obsessed with you.”

She laughed, tipping her head back slightly. “What about you?”

And that was when it happened.

He looked right at her, soft-eyed, serious as ever, and—

“I was obsessed before I even met you.”

There was a beat of silence. A pause. Then his entire face turned red.

“Wait—I didn’t mean— I mean, I did, but not like—I just meant—”

She was smiling, watching him unravel, clearly trying not to laugh.

“I mean, I’ve always admired you. A lot. Not just how you look—God, not just that—I mean you’re obviously—you know—but you’re really… you’re so kind. And smart. And I just—okay. Yeah. I’m gonna stop talking now.”

She took a small step closer.

“Bob?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you said it.”

He blinked. “Wait—what?”

“I’ve been obsessed with you since you stuttered out your name that first day.”

And then she clinked her glass gently against his.

“To quiet balconies and flustered pilots.”

Bob leaned against the balcony railing of her rented house in San Diego, one hand wrapped around a sweating glass of water, the other loosely tucked into his pocket. She stood beside him, the hem of her dress fluttering in the warm breeze, her elbow barely brushing his. They’d been talking about nothing and everything for the past hour. He had never felt more at ease.

Then his phone buzzed in his back pocket.

He glanced at the screen. Mom.

“Give me one sec,” he murmured, stepping away a little, pressing the phone to his ear. “Hey, Mom—”

Her eyes were on him immediately. She didn’t even try to hide it. She could see the way his body stiffened before she could hear anything, see the way his free hand shot to his mouth, pressing against it hard like he could physically hold the sound inside.

His knees nearly buckled. He leaned hard against the balcony wall, his face dropping out of sight.

“Bob?” she asked softly, already moving.

He didn’t answer. The phone slipped from his hand and hit the wood with a dull thud.

She was there instantly, no hesitation, both hands coming to his shoulders. “Bob—hey. Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart, look at me.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “What happened?”

He turned to her, eyes already glassy, and in a choked whisper, he finally got it out.

“It’s my grandpa.”

A beat.

“He’s gone.”

The silence that followed was still—but not empty. She pulled him into her arms without a second thought, his face buried into the curve of her neck as his shoulders began to shake. Not a full sob at first—just breathless, body-wracking grief that broke through the careful calm he always carried.

“I’m here,” she whispered, over and over, her hands running up and down his back, her heart splintering for him. “I’m right here. I’ve got you. Shhh… I’m not leaving. I’ve got you.”

Minutes passed like that. She didn’t rush him. Didn’t speak unless he needed it. Just held him, solid and unwavering, while the sky dimmed behind them.

When his breathing finally slowed, he still hadn’t let go. His cheek was pressed against her shoulder, and his voice was barely audible.

“C-Can you come with me?”

She didn’t hesitate.

“Of course I will,” she said, tightening her arms around him. “Just tell me when we’re leaving.”

⸻

The next morning, her team was already mobilized before sunrise.

Flights were canceled. Meetings postponed. Her stylist sent condolences. Her assistant was on the phone coordinating with security.

They boarded her private jet just after noon—Bob sitting quietly by the window, hands clasped in his lap, while she curled into the seat next to him, fingers laced gently through his.

The six security guards kept a respectful distance. No press knew what was going on. She made sure of it.

The funeral was quiet and heartbreaking. Bob’s family welcomed her immediately, touched by her presence and her grace. She stayed two full weeks—meeting cousins, helping his mom with errands, holding his hand through every difficult moment. She was dressed simply, spoke softly, and never once made it about her.

She was just his—the girl who didn’t blink when he fell apart, who flew across the country to sit beside him at the hardest table he’d ever faced.

And every night, when the house fell quiet, she sat next to him on the porch swing with two mugs of tea. She never said too much.

Just enough.

———

It was late. Almost midnight. The crickets had taken over the soundtrack of the sleepy Texas town, and the porch swing creaked every so often with the rhythm of the night.

Bob had gone inside to help his mom with something in the kitchen, leaving her sitting alone with a cup of tea she’d made herself at this point. Familiar now. Natural.

The screen door opened behind her, and she turned to see a woman—older, warm-eyed, and sharp in that matriarchal way. Bob’s Aunt Carol.

“Mind if I sit?” she asked.

“Please,” Y/N said instantly, scooting to make room. “Of course.”

Carol sat down with a sigh, her hands folded over her lap. She looked at the actress—the actress—the same one Bob had had posters of on his bedroom wall since he was sixteen—and gave her a long, thoughtful once-over.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said gently.

Y/N smiled, not offended in the slightest. “I get that a lot.”

Carol nodded, still watching her. “You’re sweet. Not just in a polite kind of way. I can tell. You see people. You saw him.”

She swallowed, caught off guard. “I… I hope so.”

“He’s always been our quiet one,” Carol continued, glancing toward the house. “Shy. Gentle. Loves deeper than he lets on. Lost his dad young. Took it hard. Carried more than he ever should’ve.”

Y/N blinked back sudden emotion, nodding slowly.

“You holding him like that?” Carol said softly. “Out there when that call came? I saw it. I know what that meant.”

Y/N pressed her lips together, heart tight in her chest.

Carol leaned in slightly. “So I just have one question for you.”

“Okay,” Y/N said, barely above a whisper.

“Are you gonna break my nephew’s heart?”

The question didn’t sting. It settled heavy. Honest.

Y/N looked her dead in the eyes, shoulders square, voice unwavering. “No, ma’am. I’d rather someone break mine first.”

Carol sat back, studying her for one long moment.

Then she smiled. “Good. Then you’re welcome here. Anytime.”

Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

From inside, Bob’s laugh echoed faintly through the walls. She turned toward the sound, like gravity had shifted just slightly in his direction.

Carol watched her for another beat and said, “You love him already, don’t you?”

She didn’t deny it.

Didn’t even look away.

“…Yeah,” Y/N murmured, lips curling just barely. “I think I do.”

———

The house had quieted, humming low with the sounds of settling: dishwasher running, floorboards groaning under the weight of memories. The kind of silence that only came after a long day filled with too many emotions.

Bob stopped just outside the guest room, like he always did. He never let her walk alone, not even down the hall in his childhood home.

She turned and faced him at the door, her hand still on the knob. Her expression was unreadable—soft, but serious.

“Can you come in for a second?” she asked.

His heart stuttered.

He hesitated for half a breath too long.

“…Yeah. Sure.”

He stepped inside, standing awkwardly near the dresser while she sat on the edge of the bed. She motioned for him to sit next to her, and when he did, the mattress dipped with the weight of what he thought was coming.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, trying to keep it neutral, but his voice betrayed him.

She folded her hands in her lap, took a breath. “There’s something I need to say. And I’m a little nervous, so please don’t interrupt, okay?”

Bob nodded immediately. Scared stiff.

She met his eyes. Really met them.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she started. “I didn’t expect to come to a Navy base and meet someone like you. And I definitely didn’t expect that you’d be the one person I couldn’t get out of my head.”

His brows furrowed slightly, unsure. Guarded.

She went on.

“And when I asked for your number, I meant to text you the next day. But things snowballed. Press junkets, red-eyes, interviews… I didn’t even have time to breathe. And I thought about you every single day.”

Bob’s throat moved with a quiet swallow.

She scooted a little closer on the bed, her knee brushing his. “I know this isn’t normal. None of this is. I have six bodyguards and a schedule that’s insane, and you fly jets for a living and barely look at your phone.”

That made him smile, just a little.

“But I want to try,” she said. “I want you. I don’t care about the noise or the press or how different our lives look on paper. I care about the way you treat me. The way you look at me like I’m just a person. The way you make me feel safe without trying.”

He was frozen. Wide-eyed. She reached for his hand, gently easing it into hers.

“I don’t know how this will work,” she said, voice softer now. “But if you want to try, too… I’m in. No matter what.”

Bob blinked fast, then looked down at their joined hands like he couldn’t quite believe they were real. “I thought… I thought you were about to say this wasn’t gonna work,” he admitted.

She smiled. “I kind of figured you’d panic.”

“I was preparing myself for the worst,” he laughed nervously. “Like full breakup speech.”

She shook her head and leaned in, pressing her forehead gently to his. “No breakup. Just… beginning.”

He pulled back slightly so he could look at her, really look. And then, voice barely a whisper:

“I’ve wanted this since the moment you called me a cutie patootie in front of everyone.”

She laughed, breathless. “So… you’re in?”

Bob nodded, cheeks flushed, heart racing.

“I’m in,” he said. “Completely.”

[pucksandpower]

So Good to Me

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc is the perfect man for you … getting stopped on the street for a random TikTok challenge just serves to prove that even further

The warm Monaco sun beats down on you as you stroll leisurely along the bustling sidewalk, a canvas tote bag filled with fresh produce and flowers from the local farmer’s market hanging from your shoulder. The salty sea breeze wafts across your face, carrying with it the excited chatter and laughter of tourists admiring the luxurious yachts bobbing in Port Hercules.

You smile to yourself, relishing this perfect Mediterranean afternoon. Just a quick stop at home to drop off your purchases, and then maybe you’ll take a dip in the infinity pool on the terrace to cool off before Charles is done with-

“Excusez-moi, mademoiselle!” A young man’s voice breaks through your daydreaming. You glance over to see a twenty-something guy with a neatly trimmed beard, expensive-looking sunglasses, and a black t-shirt emblazoned with HUSTLE in white block letters. He’s holding a mini microphone and has his iPhone pointed at you, clearly filming.

A TikToker.

You sigh internally but force a polite smile.

“Oui, puis-je vous aider?” You reply in French.

“Ah sorry, I don’t speak much French! Do you speak English?” The TikToker asks eagerly in a British accent.

“Yes, I do. Can I help you with something?” You say, switching to English yourself. You just want to get home but you know these influencer types can be annoyingly persistent.

The TikToker grins. “Brilliant! I’m doing a social experiment for my followers. I was wondering — do you have a significant other? A boyfriend or husband perhaps?”

You raise an eyebrow questioningly but decide to humor him. “Um, yes, I have a boyfriend,” you answer simply.

His eyes light up. “Fantastic! And would you say your boyfriend loves you very much?”

You can’t help but chuckle at the boldness of this stranger’s line of questioning. “Yes, I would definitely say that. He loves me a lot,” you confirm, a soft smile playing on your lips as you think of Charles.

“Perfect! Okay, here’s the challenge,” the TikToker announces dramatically, staring intensely into his camera. “I want you to call up your boyfriend right now and ask him to send you some money. Doesn’t matter how much. But for every €100 he sends, I’ll give you €20 to keep for yourself. Let’s see how much he really loves you, shall we?”

You stare at this guy incredulously for a moment before bursting out laughing. Is he serious? He clearly has no idea who your boyfriend is. An amused smirk spreads across your face as you fish your iPhone out of your designer purse.

“Alright, you’re on,” you say confidently, already unlocking your phone and tapping on Charles’ contact. The TikToker looks surprised but excited that you actually agreed to his silly challenge.

“Put it on speaker phone,” he instructs, zooming his camera in on your phone screen which is now dialing Charles.

After a few rings, the warm, honey-smooth voice you adore comes through. “Allô mon amour, what’s up?” Charles greets you sweetly. “I’m just finishing up some simulator runs but I should be done soon to help with dinner.”

“Hey baby,” you reply, your voice automatically softening. “Sorry to bother you, I know you’re busy. But I’m out right now and I just passed by that little boutique near the casino, you know the one? And I saw the most incredible pair of shoes in the window. I swear they were calling my name.”

Charles laughs affectionately, the sound like music to your ears even through the cell phone speaker. “Oh yeah? The ones that were calling your name last week turned out to be, what was it, €900?” He teases.

You roll your eyes playfully even though he can’t see. “Okay, fair, but you know I hardly ever splurge on myself. I’m usually so frugal!”

“Mmhmm, whatever you need to tell yourself, chérie,” Charles says wryly and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Let me guess, you need to go get these dream shoes right now? Or else they’ll haunt you forever?”

“You know me so well,” you gush dramatically. “I promise I’ll pay you back though! I get paid next week and-”

“Hey, hey, stop,” Charles cuts you off gently. “Mon cœur, you never have to pay me back, you know that. I love being able to treat you and spoil you. You deserve the world. Never forget that.”

You feel yourself melt at his earnest words, momentarily forgetting you have an audience. “I love you so much,” you murmur. “Thank you for always being so good to me.”

“Right back at you, ma belle. Je t’aime,” Charles says tenderly. “There, check your banking app. Let me know if you need any more. And have fun shopping! I’ll see you at home in a bit, okay? À bientôt!”

You glance down at your phone as a notification from your bank pops up on the screen. Your eyes widen slightly when you see the amount Charles sent over, but you recover quickly.

“Thank you, baby. See you soon!” You reply before hanging up. You turn back to the TikToker who is gaping at you in disbelief. Casually, you turn your phone screen towards him and his camera so he can clearly see the notification that €10,000 has just been deposited into your account.

The poor guy looks like he’s about to pass out from shock. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, rendered speechless. You just laugh good-naturedly.

“Well, guess I won your little challenge, huh?” You remark, slipping your phone back into your purse. “Tell you what, why don’t you donate whatever money you were going to give me to a local animal shelter instead? I think it’ll be put to much better use there.”

The TikToker finally manages to pick his jaw up off the floor. He laughs shakily and nods. “Yeah ... yeah I can do that. Wow. Um, thanks for being such a good sport about this. And congrats on, uh, winning, I guess?”

You give him a friendly wink. “Anytime. Have a nice rest of your day!” With that, you turn gracefully on your heel and continue on your way back home, feeling rather smug and deeply appreciative of your wonderfully generous boyfriend.

“Wait!” The TikToker calls out after you. You glance back over your shoulder curiously. He hesitates before asking in an awed voice, “If you don’t mind me asking ... who the hell is your boyfriend?”

An enigmatic smile plays on your lips. “No one special really,” you reply breezily. “Just a guy who loves driving fast cars.”

You leave the gaping TikToker in your wake as you saunter off, already daydreaming about showing your appreciation to Charles later for being the most incredible boyfriend imaginable.

Maybe you really will splurge on those designer shoes after all … and pick up a little something special from the lingerie boutique next door while you’re at it.

Your smile widens. Just as a little thank you to your man, of course. Life is good when you’re in love with Charles Leclerc.

[megumiluvv]

Strongest Sorcerer Virgin

Includes: established relationship, Satoru Gojo x fem!reader, oral (m!receiving), unprotected sex (pls use protection!!), Gojo is cocky until he actually has to do it (lolll), kissing, pet names (baby, princess, babycakes), praise (always), creampie I suppose, mentions of satosugu?? (His first kiss), overstimulation (only two orgasms)

Word Count: 1,421

Masterlist

A/n: I have been thinking about virgin gojo for months. It's not funny. I’m so obsessed with him. The voices said “write Satoru Gojo as a virgin” and I will indeed listen.

〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎ ❀ 〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎

You didn’t know when you started dating him, but Satoru Gojo is a virgin. Absolutely no experience, despite his claims.

Oh, according to him, he’s made every girl he’s dated cum at least ten times before putting it in. Little do you know, you’re his first girlfriend. And unfortunately for him, you’re about to find out he’s still a virgin.

He got off easy with convincing you he could kiss fine, having jokingly practiced with Suguru in the past. But he didn’t want to get that far with his best friend, that’s embarrassing!

You’re making out on his couch, the soft pillows sinking under your combined weight, sappy romance movie forgotten in the background. Your hands move to push his sunglasses off his face and he holds your cheeks. You laugh into the kiss when his hips press against yours and you feel just how hard he has become.

“Is tonight finally the night we fuck, Satoru?” You tease and kiss his nose.

“Wanna see what I’m all about, princess?” He chuckles, cocky til’ the end.

“Mhmm, show me that talented dick you claim to have, Satoru.”

His smirk falters. It’s barely noticeable, but you still notice.

“Satoru? Are you okay?”

“Pshhh, whatttt? Of course I am!” There’s that lying voice.

“Satoru…” You have that warning tone to tell the truth.

“What, babycakes? I’m fiiiine.”

“Gojo.” Now he’s done it. He gulps as you refer to him with his last name

“…Okay, okayyy, I miiight’ve lied…”

“About…?”

“I, uhhh, I’ve neverhadsex.” He mumbles super fast.

“What?”

“I’m a virgin! Okay?! I said it!” He pouts and looks away in embarrassment. You almost want to laugh.

“…say something?” He mumbles shyly.

You do laugh. The strongest sorcerer, the most talented man in the world, is a virgin?! That’s absurd! It’s insane! You can’t help but laugh.

“Heyyy, stop laughing!” He whines, face red from embarrassment.

“Sorry! Sorry! I just can't help it! It’s crazy that you were so confident! I never knew!” You giggle. “Don’t be embarrassed, Satoru, I can help you out!”

“That’s even more embarrassing…”

“Oh, come onnnn, it’s just me! I’d be honored to pop the strongest sorcerer’s cherry.” You giggle at your own words and he keeps pouting.

“You’re so mean. And don’t say it like that!”

“Please?”

“…Fine, but only because you caused this problem.”

You look at his bulging pants and grin. “Mkay!”

His porcelain skin is so warm. The two of you had moved to his room and he’s on his back, your plush thighs straddling his lap. You’re both nude and he’s staring up at your body as if it’s sculpted by those sculptors that worshiped the gods. Hands rubbing your thighs nervously as you kiss down his body, stopping at his happy trail.

“You ready?”

“…mhm.” He swallows hard as you kiss his tip.

His body jolts, nails lightly digging small crescent shapes into your thighs. You grin and kiss down his shaft, lightly licking his balls before taking him down your throat.

He gasps from the sudden warmth and bucks his hips. “Shit, that feels good, so much better than I imagined…”

His whimpers fill the air as you fondle his balls and bob your head. You swirl your tongue around his shaft and pull back when you feel his cock throb in your throat and lightly blow on the tip, the cool air making him jolt.

“Fuck, you’re really edging me, princess?” He whines and rubs your hips.

“Come on, can’t have you blow your load so soon.” You giggle.

“I’m not blowing my load…” he mumbles shyly.

“Mhm, sure. Now, since it’s your first time, do you want to do it all or do you want me to just ride?”

His face is beet red. “Wh- I- uh- I can do it myself!!”

You can’t help but giggle. You lay on your back and spread your legs, showcasing just how aroused you are. He rubs your thighs gently and looks into your eyes for approval. You nod and guide his hips.

“Move your hips and slip it in.”

It takes him a while to actually react, shy from your bluntness. He shifts over you, lining his hips up with your body and looking at you for reassurance.

“Like this…?”

“Yep, you can go slowly or quickly, but push in.”

Satoru swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He slowly presses himself into you, gasping at the warmth, better than your mouth. His hands grip the sheets on either side of your head, struggling to keep from busting right away.

“I-is this okay so far…?”

You smile. “Just like that, you’re no longer a virgin.”

He lets out a huff of air, laughing slightly at your words. He swallows again, unsure of what to do. You intertwine your fingers with his.

“Move, set your own pace. I’ll let you know if it’s not enough or too much.” You speak gently, encouraging him.

He swallows again and nods, slowly drawing his hips back and hissing at the way you squeeze him.

“So tight, you feel so good, baby… Does this feel good?”

You nod when he thrusts slowly back in, gradually building up in tempo and in turn moving deeper. He hits particularly deep into you and his tip kisses your g-spot.

“Right there! Do that again!” You gasp and hold his hands tighter.

He looks at you with wide blue eyes, pupils blown as he moves harder, eliciting a moan from your lips.

“Th-that good? Does it feel good for you too?” He manages to say through gasps and grunts.

“Yes, Satoru, so so good…”

He clearly likes the praise, moving faster and now at a constant pace, hips barely stuttering from how close he really is. He has to see you cum first. He needs it, needs you to feel good because of him.

“Satoru, my clit, rub my clit.” You whine, guiding his hand to the sensitive nub.

“Do I just-”

“Just rub it!” You buck up into him as he keeps his pace and finally moves his hand too.

His calloused thumb rubs circles into your sensitive clit, and he catches how your folds seem to flutter around him. He bites his lip and watches your face contort into the cutest expression.

“C-close, ‘toru, please…”

“…T-tell me what to do…”

“Just keep up like that, please…”

He nods and fights back every urge to cum, not wanting to miss when you reach your orgasm. You finally cum with a cry of his name, gripping him impossibly tighter and he finally releases as well. Spurts of his seed fill into you as he keeps fucking it deeper.

“C-can’t stop, it’s too much, I can’t stop!” He borderline cries into your shoulder as he keeps overstimulating the both of you, refusing to slow down or stop.

His sloppy thrusts won’t relent on your poor weeping cunt, white forming at the base of his shaft. You dig your nails into his hands, holding impossibly tighter at the overwhelming sensation.

“Satoruuuu! Too much! G-gonna cum againnnn!!” You cry out and clench tighter around him.

He moans and gasps in your ear, too out of it to hear your cries, only focusing on how you’re sucking him in and won’t let go. Not that he plans to ever leave. You reach another orgasm and thrash against the sheets at how intense it was, and again, he soon follows, this time stilling his hips as he whines out your name and so many praises.

“Thank you, thank you, baby, feels sooo good, princess, I love you, I love you…”

He collapses onto you and buries into your neck. You slowly come down from the overstimulated high and play with his hair.

“Satoru, get off…”

“Nuh uh.”

“Come on, Satoru, we gotta shower.”

“Tomorrow, we can do it tomorrow. Can’t move, if I pull out, I’ll just make us cum again.”

You giggle a little and let him cuddle into you. “You’re such a big baby, ‘toru.”

After a moment of silence, you speak up again.

“Was your first time good?”

“So good, you have the best pussy in the world, babycakes.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname and kiss his forehead. “Thanks, idiot.”

“Your idiot.”

“Mhm, my idiot.”

You both fall asleep, not a care in the world. As the moonlight shines through his window, the only thing that matters is that he’s with you, and you’re with him. Satoru Gojo is no longer a virgin. All thanks to one gorgeous girl: you.

[smutmind]

No Wallet, No Words

Ningning x Male OC

She patted her back pocket again, then her jacket, then the front of her jeans. Empty. A cold sweat broke under her cap despite the heat.

“No... no, no...” Ningning whispered. She turned her phone around—screen cracked, signal dead. The cab line ahead shifted, her moment to stall was gone.

She stepped into the next taxi, fingers clenching her bag like a shield.

The driver glanced back. Mid-forties. Hair thinning under a baseball cap. His sunglasses were crooked, one lens reflecting her panicked expression.

“Where to?”

She held up the hotel’s name on her phone screen.

He nodded, shifted into gear. “You got cash?”

She hesitated. “I… I forgot wallet. Maybe… pay later? At hotel?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stared at her through the mirror. Slowly, his expression shifted—confusion, then recognition.

“You're that singer girl. From the Korean group.”

Ningning flinched, shoulders tightening. “Uh… yes. But… just me now. Alone trip.”

He whistled low. “No manager?”

She shook her head. “Lost. I was with friends. I… I messed up.”

Silence fell thick and awkward as they pulled out onto the road. Ningning stared out the window, tank top clinging to her body, black sports bra visible in the backlight.

Fifteen minutes in, the cab veered off the main road.

Her heart kicked. “Where we go?”

“Shortcut,” he said.

But they were alone. No cars. Trees pressed close on both sides of the road. The engine idled slower. He pulled over.

“You really got nothing?”

She blinked. “I… I have phone. No signal. I call when—”

He cut her off. “Nah. That won’t work.” He shifted in his seat, turning toward her now. “But there’s another way.”

She didn’t understand at first. Her brows pulled together. “Another… way?”

“You’re a big girl. You know what I mean.”

Her breath hitched. “No. I… I can’t…”

“Then get out,” he said, reaching for the gear.

She stared at him. At the empty road. At the shadowy trees and the sky beginning to darken. Her throat tightened.

Then she whispered, “Just… quick.”

The passenger door clicked. She moved between the seats slowly, cheeks flushed. His zipper came down with a sharp rasp.

He leaned back. “Goddamn. You’re really gonna do it.”

She ignored the way his voice curled with disbelief. Instead, she dropped to her knees in the footwell, hands trembling as she reached into his jeans.

It was already stiff. She paused, heart racing, then leaned in.

Her lips closed around the head, warm and slick. He groaned immediately, one hand gripping the steering wheel. The other found the back of her head.

“Shit. You suck dick like a fucking pro.”

She gagged once as he pushed deeper. Saliva spilled from the corners of her mouth, sliding down her chin. She pulled back, gasping, then went again—faster this time.

Her cap hit the floor. Sweat glistened on her collarbone.

“Mmm…这样对吗…” she mumbled around him, eyes watering. (“Like this…?”)

He groaned. “Don’t stop.”

She didn’t. She bobbed her head, lips tight, tongue working the underside. His hand moved rhythmically at her scalp, guiding the pace.

When he bucked, she almost lost control—but steadied, letting him use her. Her mascara smudged. She moaned faintly, the sound vibrating through his cock.

“Fuck—I’m close—”

She pulled back slightly, letting the head rest against her tongue. Then deeper again, nose pressed to his belly, throat working hard.

He came with a choked grunt, hips twitching, spilling hot and sudden. She coughed, swallowed what she could, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

The cab filled with silence. His breathing slowed.

She sat back on her heels, wiping her chin, face flushed and unreadable.

He finally exhaled. “You’re full of surprises.”

She didn’t look at him. Just reached for the door handle. “Take me hotel now… please.”

His hand clamped over her thigh, firm. “Not yet.”

Her breath caught.

“I want to feel that little pussy,” he said, unzipping. “You already started—might as well finish.”

She didn’t move.

“你疯了吗...” she whispered under her breath. (“Are you insane…”)

But she knew the road outside—empty, silent, no lights for miles.

“Fast only,” she said, not looking at him. “Then go.”

He pushed his seat back. His cock was already hard, flushed and thick.

She climbed over, knees on either side of him, the cracked leather digging into her shins. Her cap fell off somewhere behind her. Her body trembled—but she reached between them, lined him up.

His hands gripped her waist. “Fuck, that’s tight—”

She sank down slowly, biting back a sound as he stretched her open.

The cab smelled like sweat and vinyl. Her hands pressed against his chest as she began to move, mechanical, small rolls of her hips.

“Ride me proper,” he muttered, slapping her ass once. “Come on—fuck me like you mean it.”

She ground harder, teeth clenched, her body reacting despite her head. Sweat pooled at her lower back, soaking into her waistband.

“Goddamn,” he hissed, mouth dragging along her collarbone, his hand yanking up her tank and sports bra. Her breasts bounced free.

He took one into his mouth, sucking hard. She stiffened but didn’t stop riding.

“Say something,” he groaned. “Tell me you feel it.”

She panted, barely above a whisper. “So big. Can’t breathe.”

He bucked harder. Her body slapped down against his, wet and fast.

Then he gasped. “Coming—fuck, take it—”

She felt it hit deep—thick spurts, hot and undeniable. He moaned through clenched teeth, arms tightening around her back.

She held still, breathing through her nose, counting to ten.

Then she slid off. Slickness dripped down her thigh. She didn’t wipe it. Just reached for her cap, pulled it back on.

“Now. Hotel.”

He didn’t argue. Just drove.

She leaned against the door, arms crossed, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

“再也不要这样了。” (“Never again.”)

[ijustwannabecool]

Just Like Papa

Dad!Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary... Charles is the loudest dad at your son’s karting competition. You’re mostly amused, occasionally mortified, and completely in love. Flashbacks remind Charles just how far he's come—from a boy in a helmet too big for his head to the dad screaming strategies from the sidelines.

Warnings: excessive dad energy, mild heckling, emotional whiplash, and overwhelming love

A/N: I had way too much fun writing this! I hope this little story captures the chaotic, warm, soft, and competitive soul that Charles would bring into being a dad. There's something really full circle about imagining him getting heckled by umpires while coaching his mini-me and still getting emotional over podiums years later 😭❤️

If you loved this story and want to support more F1 fics and soft chaos like this, feel free to buy me a matcha🍵 or reblog/comment to share the love!

As always—happy reading, and have a beautiful day today 💌🏁

✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩

You should’ve known.

The moment Charles insisted on being the one to pack the gear bag and label the water bottles with lap-time stickers “just for fun,” you should’ve known.

Now, standing at the edge of the mini paddock with a coffee in hand and your sunglasses doing little to hide the smirk tugging at your lips, you’re watching the father of your child have a full-blown meltdown over a karting strategy like he’s on the Ferrari pit wall.

“GO! GO, TAKE HIM ON THE OUTSIDE! INSIDE LINE—YES, THAT’S IT! MON CHAMPION!”

Your six-year-old is out there in a kart that’s almost the same size as him, helmet bobbing slightly with every bump in the track, while Charles is clenching the chain-link fence like it owes him money.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, watching as other parents flinch. “Charles.”

He doesn’t hear you. Too busy yelling across the track to no one in particular.

“That was a block! Did you see that? That was ILLEGAL. Does this league have stewards?!”

The umpire walks over, visibly exasperated. “Sir. This is your second warning. If you yell at another coach, I will have to ask you to leave.”

Charles blinks like a kicked puppy. “I was just—he’s six. I’m supporting him.”

You chime in, trying not to laugh. “He’s supporting him loudly. Very loudly.”

The umpire sighs and walks away. You tug Charles’s hoodie.

“You’re gonna get us banned from all regional karting events,” you say, amused.

“Good. They don’t deserve him.”

You snort into your coffee.

And then—like a scene from Charles’s own childhood—your son zips across the finish line.

Second place.

It’s like watching a firework explode. Charles jumps up, throws his arms in the air, and literally climbs halfway onto the fence before you grab his hoodie and yank him back down.

“Charles! He’s six. Get down.”

“He’s a prodigy, Y/N! A genius! That move in the last corner? He braked later than the other kid! That’s pure instinct. He gets that from—”

“—you, I know, I know,” you finish, grinning.

-----

Flashback – Monaco, 2004

A little boy in a red and black helmet sits in a worn kart, hands shaking, eyes peeking through the visor. Lorenzo leans over and tightens the strap on his neck guard.

“Papa says you’re ready.”

Charles swallows. “But what if I mess up?”

His brother kneels beside him. “Then you try again next time. But I think you’re gonna win.”

Charles doesn’t win that race. He finishes second.

And when he climbs out, sweaty and tired, he sees his papa waiting with a proud smile and watery eyes.

“Bravo, Charles. You were incredible.”

-----

Back to Now

Your son barrels toward you in the paddock, helmet tucked under one arm, grinning ear to ear.

“Maman! Papa! Did you see me? I almost caught him!”

You crouch to hug him, smoothing a hand over his sweaty curls. “You were amazing, baby.”

Charles swoops him up before you can even finish the sentence.

“Second place! Not bad for race number three, mon champion. We’ll go over the telemetry later and see where you can gain next time, okay?”

Your son blinks. “I just didn’t want to crash.”

You burst out laughing. Charles nods seriously.

“That’s good too.”

You walk back to the car as a unit—Charles carrying your son like a trophy, you trailing behind, already dreading the debrief session that’s about to happen in the living room with a mini whiteboard and color-coded lap charts.

“Oh—and I may or may not have emailed the umpire,” Charles says casually.

You groan. “Charles.”

“He accused me of being intimidating!”

“You heckled the other team’s coach.”

“He deserved it.”

Your son giggles. “Papa got in trouble again?”

Charles kisses the top of his head. “Always.”

-----

Flashback – 2019

Charles sits alone in the Ferrari motorhome, staring at his hands. Race day nerves.

He pulls out a folded photo from his wallet—him at six, in a too-big helmet, holding a tiny trophy. His father’s arm around his shoulders.

One day, he thinks. I’ll do this for someone else.

-----

Now

That night, Charles lays beside you in bed, watching your son’s karting trophy on the dresser.

“You think I was too much today?” he asks softly.

You smile and tuck yourself closer to his side. “Oh, absolutely. The umpire is one heckle away from a restraining order.”

He laughs, but his voice turns quieter. “I just… I see him out there, and I remember being that small. And wishing I had more time with Papa.”

You kiss his shoulder. “You’re doing everything right, Charles.”

“He’s just like me, isn’t he?”

You smile against his skin. “No, love. He’s better.”

Charles nods, emotion clinging to his lashes as he whispers, “That’s the point.”

-----

Leclerc Family Debrief

Time: 7:42 PM, That Same Evening Location: Living room, now also known as Papa’s Mini Strategy Center™

Your son sits cross-legged on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in his lap and a blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape. Charles is kneeling in front of the whiteboard he dragged out of storage (with your reluctant approval), uncapping a red marker with the flair of a Ferrari race engineer.

“Okay,” Charles says seriously, drawing a crude outline of the karting track. “Let’s review Turn Four.”

You lean against the doorframe, arms folded, watching the scene unfold like a live Netflix docuseries.

Your son squints at the board. “That’s where Luca passed me, right?”

Charles points the marker at him like he’s just been promoted to chief strategist. “Yes. He went wide. You followed him instead of defending. But that’s okay—we learn!”

He quickly draws two stick figures labeled YOU and LUCA with little helmets.

Your son munches popcorn. “So next time I go… tighter?”

“Tighter,” Charles confirms. “Cut the angle. Like this.” He demonstrates with exaggerated swooping motions. “Think of it like dancing. The inside line is your secret move.”

“Papa,” your son says, staring blankly, “I don’t know how to dance.”

You can’t help it—you laugh.

Charles groans dramatically, flopping onto the couch beside your son. “Maman will teach you. She’s got rhythm. I just have passion.”

“That’s one word for it,” you mutter, walking over to sit on the armrest, ruffling your son’s hair.

Charles reaches up and takes your hand, squeezing it as he softens. “You know, when I was your age, I was scared of corners too.”

Your son looks at him wide-eyed. “Really?”

Charles nods. “But then my papa told me something that helped. He said, ‘Don’t be afraid of the turn. That’s where you learn how fast you can go.’”

There’s a beat of silence. Your son slowly smiles.

“Okay,” he says, curling into Charles’s side. “Then next time I’ll go even faster.”

Charles kisses the top of his head. “That’s my boy.”

You lean into both of them, warmth spreading through your chest.

On the whiteboard, Charles has unknowingly drawn a little heart next to the word turn.

-----

Three Years Later – Junior Karting Nationals, Barcelona Circuit

You don’t know who’s shaking more—your son on the top step of the podium or Charles standing below it, visibly crying behind his sunglasses.

The moment the checkered flag waved and your son's name flashed on the leaderboard—P1. First. Place.—Charles gasped like he couldn’t breathe. He'd gone dead silent for once in his life, clutching your hand so tightly it hurt.

Now?

He’s standing front row at the podium ceremony, clapping so hard you’re sure he’ll dislocate a shoulder, tears running freely even though he’s pretending they aren’t.

Your son—now nine, with legs a little too long for his suit and confidence stitched into every movement—holds up his trophy with both hands. It’s not a small one this time. This one matters.

He scans the crowd until he finds Charles. Points straight at him.

“That’s for you, Papa!” he yells, no mic needed.

Charles’s hand flies to his chest.

You lean in and whisper, “Don’t you dare ugly cry on Spanish television.”

Too late. He sniffles, grinning wide.

“He’s so much better than I ever was,” he says, eyes never leaving the podium.

You smile. “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s true. He’s fast. Smart. Brave.”

“And dramatic. Definitely your son.”

Charles laughs wetly. “And mine to coach until F1 steals him.”

-----

Later, when the crowd dies down and medals have been handed out, your son runs to you, sweaty and beaming, throwing his arms around your waist.

You kiss his head. “You did it, baby.”

He looks up. “Did Papa cry again?”

You grin. “Like a waterfall.”

Charles walks over with the trophy in hand, crouching to meet his son eye-to-eye.

“First place, huh?”

“Just like you, Papa.”

Charles shakes his head, eyes glassy again. “No, no. You? You’re better.”

Your son tilts his head. “You always say that.”

Charles smiles. “And I always will.”

-----

That night, back at the hotel, the trophy sits on the nightstand between your son’s bed and Charles’s laptop—where he’s already analyzing lap times “for fun.”

Your son falls asleep holding a tiny Polaroid Charles slipped into his race bag earlier: it’s a photo of Charles at age nine, standing on his first karting podium, wearing a helmet too big for his head.

-

Scrawled on the back: Don’t be afraid of the turn. That’s where you learn how fast you can go. —Papa

And beside it, a newer note in messier handwriting:

I went faster today. Did you see me? —I did, mon champion. I always will.

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fanfiction #dad charles leclerc #f1 imagines #charles leclerc fluff #dad au #f1 x reader #karting au #charles leclerc one shot #soft charles leclerc #leclerc family chaos #fanfic recs #charles leclerc emotional #charles leclerc fanfiction #chaotic dad energy

[muckleberryjam]

Even Bobert Cakepans deserves a 'lil drip, just for a treat.

I wanted to give him his iconic robe look, but it wasn't working so he gets some slutty little shorts instead.

Also yes, that is Eliza's handbag. They went to a wedding together and she made him hold it and now he is consigned to an awkward eternity of holding his wife's purse until she comes back.

bob wears • hair @/simomo • casio watch @aladdin-the-simmer

colourblocking • sweatshirt @/nucrests • joggers @sforzcc • socks @/ea outdoor retreat • trainers @jius-sims

they call him mellow yellow • shirt @iko-sims • undershirt @serenity-cc • sunglasses @arethabee • bag @jwofles-sims

i <3 milfs • tee @xiuminuwu • shorts & belt @sforzcc • headphones @simgirlz • socks n sandals @dallasgirl79

excuse me have you seen my wife • suit @rustys-cc • glasses @gorillax3-cc • buttonhole @/ea my wedding stories • purse @theslyd • trainers @jius-sims

welcome to good burger home of the good burger can i take your order? • shirt & apron @plumbobteasociety • visor @serenity-cc • earpiece @/ea get famous • employee card @gorillax3-cc • food gloves @/ea home chef hustle • foodstains @stamsim

thick thighs save lives • sweatshirt @woosteru • undershirt @madameriasims4 • boxers @scandisim • earphones @/liliili-sims • chain with ring @iko-sims • socks n sandals @ceeproductions

[leyavo]

How do you think the tf141 guys would react to saving a civilian? Like doing a rescue mission for a freaked out torture survivor?

[Masterlist]

I created different scenarios for each one:

Gaz is probably the most vocal one, taking the time to talk you through everything’s he’s doing as he goes.

“I’m just going cut the bindings around your wrists, okay?” He waits for a subtle nod, blade slipping underneath the rope. He’s quick to free you, catching your slumped body as you fall forwards in the chair.

You’ve been left in the darkness for days, throat burning and limbs aching as you waited. Waited for them to come back in, to listen for the echoes of their footsteps and try to gage how far away they were before you took another hit.

But Gaz, that’s how he introduced himself, he spoke into that void. The small ball of light bobbing on his cap and the sliver of light entering with the open door, the first scrap of life, in you don’t know how long.

Part of you thinks it’s a a sick dream, that you’ve passed out on the cold concrete floor. But his gentle touch grounds you, tells you that he’s right there. That this is real.

His gloved hands framed your face as he pulled back from you. “Now we’re not completely out of the woods yet, I’m going to need you to listen and react as soon as say.”

You nod, your tongue heavy and jaw throbbing. He removes the cap from his head and puts it on top of yours, dark sunglasses shielding your eyes from the daylight as you step outside for the first time since…

Gaz lifts your hand and places it on his arm, “You’re doing great, just little bit further and you’ll be safe.” His rifle sweeping the area as you follow after him, he’s talking to his team and reassuring you that you’re almost there.

He makes sure you’re seen to, hovering about as the medic checks you over.

Even in your darkest days, your memories, you think of Gaz and the light he let in.

Price is all action first and talk later when it’s safe. His number one priority is no casualties.

John rips the passenger door open, dragging the man out beside you by the scruff of his neck. You’re kicking at the hands trying to grasp your ankles, boot slamming into your captors face.

Blood trails down your nose, tongue swiping the coppery tang as you traced your split lip. The car door slams shut again and the bearded man rounds the armoured truck, climbing into the drivers seat.

You’re running on adrenaline, blood pumping in your ears.

Bullets drum against the windows, faint cracks denting the shielded glass. The car swerves and you slide across to the other side of the seat, your fingers curling around the headrest in front of you.

His gaze connects to yours in the rear view mirror, “I’m John, stick with me and we might just make it out of this hell hole alive.” A body rolls over the bonnet, John cursing and stepping on the pedal. Your back hits the seat and you duck as another round of bullets hit the side.

“Climb in the front,” he snaps, gesturing to the glove box. “Check for weapons.” You fumble with the clasp, trembling hands lifting the pistol from the compartment. “Check under ya seat.” You don’t question him, anything not to hear the firing of guns or the raised voices at your back.

You twist, reaching underneath for the case and pulled it out. Some sort of gun in multiple pieces, John talks you through putting it together. Makes you take the steering wheel as he leans out the window, gun fires echoing down dirt track. A car swerving off the path and into the cluster of trees.

It’s not till you’re out of danger do you sit back in the seat, realising your hands are still cuffed. The pounding in your head amplified as you settled in silence.

“You did good, you’re safe now.” He lets you sleep off the headache, not once stopping on the way.

You’re jolted awake, John offering his hand to help you down from the armoured truck. Your body trembles, knees buckling as he catches you before you fall. He helps you through the safe house, sticking around whilst you get the wound stitched on your shoulder and the blood cleaned up on your face.

It takes you days even weeks to process what happened to you, but John is that one piece of hope you hold onto.

Ghost is careful, given the opportunity to take his time now that your captors are all put down. He’s the first to barrel through the locked door and he pauses over the threshold, palms raised as he shushes your trembling form.

His mask adding to your fear, he doesn’t think taking it off will comfort you much either. The men he’d stepped over in the hall wearing the same red demons mask, a scare tactic that no doubt would taint your dreams and your reality.

You’re pressed up into the furthest corner of the room, as if you could increase the distance between him and you. Wrist cuffed to the radiator. Your knees tucked under your chin, but your gaze doesn’t leave his as he creeps forwards.

“I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” He drops to his knees, trying to make himself smaller as he gets closer. He pats the flag patch sewn to his vest, your head lifting from atop your grazed knees.

He removes his vest, pulling his hoody over his head and throws it to the side, you glance at the heaped fabric too distracted to realise he’s breaking the chain of the handcuffs and freeing you.

You’re frozen in fear, no fight left as you do the one thing you haven’t in ages.

You trust him. Trust the eyes behind the skull mask as they soften beneath the dark fabric.

There’s still a metal cuff circling your wrist, but you don’t care as you cradle it to your chest. The tears blurring your vision sting your eyes as you sob. You don’t know why, but you can’t stop and he slips his hoody over your head, wiping your tear stricken face with his rough gloved hand.

“It’s alright, you’re safe now.” You lean into his touch, the only way you can give your thanks. No voice, you don’t know if you’ll be able to speak again. You open your mouth, shutting it when nothing comes out.

Everything else is a blur, but you remember him. The way he asked you to close your eyes as he carried you through the hallway, all so you couldn’t see the destruction laid at his boots.

You still look at his hoody tucked away in the back of drawer, a reminder that someone found you. That someone didn’t you hurt you.

Soap is the calmest one to approach you, his thick brows furrowed.

His steps calculated as his eyes flit to the tiled floor and the four walls keeping you in. The b0mb strapped to your vest ticking away. You’ve been waiting for them to find your position in the building, watching the clouds skim past the large windows in the conference room. Wondering if time would take you before they did.

Hours upon hours, tied to the chair. And one wrong move would be your end. You hate the repetitive tick, it’s all you can hear.

“Just breathe, I got ya,” he says, kneeling down and ducking under the cable as he inspects the leads on your back. Asks you random questions as he assesses the situation, little things to make you think of anything else.

Doesn’t want you to panic. Finds a common interest and talks about it nonstop. He doesn’t even mention the timer or how he’s trying to figure out the tangled wires.

An explosion rocks the foundations, his hand squeezing your shoulder. “Just a distraction, you’re walking out of this. We both are I’m not going anywhere.”

You exchange names, talk about your childhoods and how you both miss your family homes. A glimmer of hope in the tone of his voice when he says “you’ll get to see it.” And you believe him.

You hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut, clippers cutting through the wire. Soap exhales, his gloved hands helping you slip out of the vest. “Told ya, we’d make it out lass.”

He walks you through the building, finger still hovering close to the trigger of his gun. His team have already apprehended the men who’d kitted you up, the muffled sound of them in his earpiece.

Soap, talks and talks. You’re thankful for the distraction, anything to keep you going as you make it out of the building.

You think of him every time you hear the ticking of a clock, each time a lound noise draws a flinch out of you. How even in the midst of chaos someone was there to help.

✨ Thanks for reading I hope you liked it :) there might be some errors/mistakes as I'm dyslexic, I do check my work a couple times, but I do miss bits and pieces - Leya

[rootedinrevisions]

All I Want for Christmas is a Cowboy

SUMMARY: When a night of playful banter and teasing turns into something far more intimate, you find yourself crossing every line you swore you wouldn't with Jake Seresin - the cocky, infuriatingly charming pilot who's always had a way of getting under your skin. Between stolen kisses, soft confessions, and moments that blur the line between lust and something deeper, it becomes clear that this isn't just a one-time thing. But as Jake's Stetson wearing, sweet talking side leaves you breathless, you'll have to decide if you're ready to risk your heart for the man who's never been one to play it safe.

A/N: This is a combination of my love for Megan Moroney and her song "All I Want for Christmas is a Cowboy" as well as a request that I received in November for the prompt "One kiss won't ruin the friendship, right?" and "Can I sleep with you tonight?" Hopefully whoever requested the prompts enjoys this! Thank you all for your patience with me as I write and get through the requests that I have.

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. Smut (PinV. Mentions of biting/marking. Fingering.)

WORD COUNT: 12.4k (I'm ovulating and rewatched TGM a few days ago and fell back in love with Jake. Please don't judge me.)

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

The Hard Deck was alive with the hum of Christmas cheer. Twinkling string lights wrapped around wooden beams, and a small but charmingly crooked Christmas tree stood in the corner, decorated with red ornaments and what looked suspiciously like aviator sunglasses. The jukebox was cycling through a mix of classic rock and Christmas hits, creating an oddly festive but fitting soundtrack for the evening.

You sat at a table near the back, surrounded by familiar faces—your chosen family. Natasha sat to your left, nursing a whiskey sour and laughing at something Bob had just said. Reuben and Mickey were on your right, engaged in a heated debate about the best holiday movies. Bradley leaned back in his chair across from you, his mustache twitching with amusement as he chimed in occasionally, and Javy was at the bar grabbing the next round.

It had been months—maybe a year—since you’d met the Dagger Squad through a mutual friend, but somehow, they had adopted you like one of their own. Now, invites to their gatherings were automatic, and evenings like this one were the norm.

Phoenix nudged your arm, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Alright, enough sitting on the sidelines. We’ve decided it’s time for a little holiday intervention.”

You raised a brow, taking a sip of your drink. “Holiday intervention?”

“You’ve been single for far too long,” she declared, gesturing dramatically with her drink. “It’s time we find you someone.”

Reuben snorted. “This again?”

“Yes, this again,” Phoenix shot back. “I mean, look at her.” She motioned to you with a flourish. “She's smart, funny, gorgeous—”

“Don’t forget stubborn,” Bob added with a grin.

“Exactly,” Phoenix said, unbothered. “We’re not letting you ring in another New Year without at least some action.”

You rolled your eyes, a laugh slipping out despite yourself. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m good, really.”

“Uh-huh,” Natasha said, unconvinced. “You know, we could always ask Jake—”

“Ask me what?” The smooth, teasing drawl interrupted her, and you didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin strolled up to the table, pool cue slung over one shoulder, that infuriatingly perfect smirk already in place.

Natasha didn’t miss a beat. “We’re trying to set her up with someone. Know any decent guys who are single?”

A flicker of something—surprise, maybe?—passed over Jake’s face before he quickly masked it with an exaggerated scoff.

“Decent guys? Here? Good luck.” He leaned on the back of an empty chair, his green eyes flicking to yours for just a moment before he addressed Natasha again. “Besides, she doesn’t need a setup. She’s clearly too good for anyone in this dump.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, taking a sip of your drink. “Seriously. I don’t need a relationship right now.”

Natasha’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t need or don’t want?”

“Both.” The lie rolled off your tongue easily, but the weight of the unspoken truth settled in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t want a relationship. You just didn’t want one with anyone who wasn’t Jake Seresin. Not that you’d ever admit that out loud.

“Sure,” Natasha drawled, clearly unconvinced. 

“What about that guy over there?” Payback’s girlfriend suggested, nodding toward a tall man leaning against the bar. He was handsome, you supposed, but his eager smile didn’t stir anything in you.

“No, I don’t think so,” you said quickly.

“Okay fine, let’s figure out what you’re looking for. What is your type?” Natasha pressed, leaning in with a grin that told you she wasn’t going to drop this anytime soon.

“I don’t have a type.”

“Everyone has a type,” Mickey chimed in, his tone far too amused for your liking. “Dark hair? Light hair?”

“Light hair,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.

“Tall or short?” Natasha asked, clearly enjoying herself.

“Tall.”

“How tall?”

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice rising slightly in exasperation. “Six feet? Six-one, maybe?”

Natasha grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Anything else? Beard? No beard? Tattoos? Come on, give us something!”

You hesitated, suddenly very aware of Jake still leaning casually nearby, listening to every word. “I don’t know. Tall. Hot. In a Stetson?”

The table burst into laughter, but Jake rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Yeah, good luck finding a cowboy here. Closest you’ll get is someone in boots and a flannel at line-dancing night.”

His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, something you couldn’t quite place. Before you could overthink it, Natasha leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, he’s not wrong, but maybe you should branch out. Broaden your horizons a little.”

You shook your head, brushing her off with a laugh. “I’m fine, really. No setups needed.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Phoenix said, clearly not convinced. “We’ll see.”

Jake’s smirk returned as he straightened up, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual before he turned to head back to the pool table.

“Good luck, ladies,” he called over his shoulder.

You watched him go, trying not to let your eyes linger too long. If only they knew the cowboy you wanted wasn’t some hypothetical stranger—it was the one person you couldn’t have. Not that it mattered, you reminded yourself. Jake Seresin didn’t do relationships. And you? You didn’t do casual. It was better this way. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

The night carried on, the crowd at The Hard Deck growing as more people trickled in, filling the space with laughter and music. You were mid-conversation with Phoenix and one of the guys' girlfriends, your drink in hand, when the first guy approached.

He wasn’t bad-looking—dark hair, decent smile—but you could tell right away he wasn’t your type. And the way he glanced over at Natasha before walking up only confirmed your suspicions.

“Hey,” he started, a little too confident. “Can I buy you another drink?”

You smiled politely, shaking your head. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

He lingered for a second longer than necessary, clearly waiting for you to change your mind. When you didn’t, he shrugged, muttered something under his breath, and walked away.

The moment he was out of earshot, Phoenix grinned. “What was wrong with that one?”

You gave her a look. “He wasn’t my type.”

“You’ve got to stop using that excuse,” she teased. “We’re just trying to help you out.”

“I don’t need help,” you said firmly, though your tone stayed light. “I’m not looking for anything right now.”

The other woman smirked knowingly. “Sure you’re not.”

Over the next hour, two more guys approached you. Each time, you managed to slip away gracefully, making it clear you weren’t interested without causing a scene. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Natasha—or maybe one of the other girlfriends—was behind it.

By the third attempt, you shot Phoenix a pointed look. “Seriously?”

“What?” she said innocently, but her smile gave her away.

You sighed, shaking your head. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“It’s because I care,” she said sweetly, raising her glass in mock toast.

Jake chose that moment to stroll over, his timing impeccable as always. “Everything okay over here?”

Phoenix grinned. “Oh, everything’s great. Just trying to find her the perfect man.”

Jake raised a brow, glancing between the two of you. “Perfect man, huh? Sounds like a tall order. I thought we were just going for someone to take her home tonight.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, he nodded toward your now-empty glass. “Need a refill?”

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Yeah. Just my usual, thanks.”

Jake gave a quick two-finger salute before heading toward the bar.

Phoenix watched him go, her expression unreadable for a moment before she turned back to you, her grin returning. “Wow. Hangman buying you a drink? That’s new.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s not like that. He’s just being nice.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly unconvinced.

One of the guys at the table chimed in, smirking. “Yeah, he’s real nice, isn’t he? You know he’s from Texas. Could probably pull off that cowboy look you’ve been fantasizing about.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, rolling your eyes again. “It’s Jake. He’s not trying to get in my pants.”

“That’s what they all say,” Bob joked, earning a round of laughter from the group.

Jake returned a moment later, handing you your drink with a small, knowing smile. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” you said, brushing off the teasing from the others as you took a sip.

You couldn’t help but notice the way Jake’s gaze lingered on you for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before he turned back toward the pool table. And despite everything, you couldn’t stop your heart from skipping a beat.

The hours slipped by, the bar gradually thinning out as the night wore on. You’d lost count of how many rounds of pool Jake had won or how many times Phoenix had tried to steer a random guy in your direction. 

Despite it all, you’d actually had fun, laughing and teasing the squad like always. But now, your head felt a little too light, and your body a little too warm from the alcohol.

You glanced at your phone, noting the time. “Alright, I think I’m calling it,” you announced, sliding off your barstool.

Most of the group groaned in protest, but you waved them off. “Some of us have to be functioning humans tomorrow.”

“You sure you’re good?” Natasha asked, her sharp gaze flicking over you like she was scanning for cracks.

“Yeah, yeah,” you assured her, pulling on your jacket. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

But as you turned toward the door, your balance wavered slightly, the ground tilting just enough to make you grab the back of your stool for support. No one else seemed to notice, but Jake did.

You didn’t even realize he’d followed you outside until you felt the cool night air and heard his voice behind you. “You sure you’re good to get home?”

Startled, you turned to face him, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m getting an Uber.”

Jake’s expression darkened slightly, his hands settling on his hips. “An Uber? You’re telling me you’re gonna get into a car with some random guy you don’t know and let him take you home?”

You raised a brow, amused by his sudden concern. “Yes, Jake. That’s how Uber works.”

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he studied you for a moment, his jaw working like he was turning over a decision in his head. 

“I don’t like it,” he said finally. “Come on, let me drive you home.”

You crossed your arms, giving him a skeptical look. “Please tell me they didn’t convince you to try and ask me out too.”

Jake let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “No. This isn’t a setup. I’m just being your friend.”

You squinted at him, trying to gauge his sincerity. “You sure about that?”

“Promise,” he said, holding up his hands like he was swearing an oath. “Scout’s honor.”

You hesitated, the stubborn part of you tempted to insist you didn’t need help. But the truth was, the idea of being in a car with Jake felt a hell of a lot safer—and less awkward—than riding home with a stranger.

“Alright,” you relented, sighing. “But if this is some elaborate scheme to get me to admit I like you or something, I’m going to be really annoyed.”

Jake grinned, gesturing toward the parking lot. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you home before you overthink this to death.”

The drive home was quiet at first, Jake’s truck rumbling softly as it cut through the stillness of the night. You leaned back in the passenger seat, the cool air from the open window doing wonders to clear your head. Jake glanced at you occasionally, his hands loose on the wheel but his focus unwavering.

“You gonna tell me what that was all about back there?” he asked finally, breaking the silence.

You turned to him, your brows furrowing. “What what was all about?”

“Natasha and the girls,” he clarified. “Trying to set you up like it’s a speed dating event.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back against the seat. “Oh, that. Yeah, I don’t know what got into them. They’re convinced I’ve been single for too long.”

Jake smirked. “And what? You just let them keep at it?”

“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” you said with a laugh. “Trust me, I tried shutting it down, but Nat can be very persuasive. Plus, I think she roped in some of the girlfriends for backup.”

He nodded, his gaze flicking between you and the road. “So... are you looking?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the question. “Looking?”

“For someone,” he said casually, though there was a hint of something else in his tone—curiosity, maybe.

You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “Not really,” you admitted. “I mean, it’s not that I’m against the idea, but I’m not actively looking for anyone either. And definitely not the way they’re going about it.”

Jake chuckled, his smile pulling up on one side. “Fair enough.”

He was quiet for a moment, the hum of the truck filling the space between you. Then, almost hesitantly, he said, “You know, I think Coyote might know a guy on one of the boats—he’s from Kansas or something. Probably got that farmer-cowboy look you’re into.”

You couldn’t help but smile, his attempt at helpfulness both endearing and a little amusing. “That’s sweet, Jake, but I really don’t think I’m looking for a farmer or a cowboy—or anyone, for that matter.”

Jake glanced at you briefly, his lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah, I figured as much.”

“Why’d you bring it up, then?” you asked, tilting your head to study him.

He shrugged, his eyes on the road. “Just thought you might like to know your options.”

“Thanks,” you said softly, your smile lingering. “But I think I’m okay with where I am right now. I'll find someone eventually.”

Jake nodded, the conversation settling into a comfortable lull as he turned onto your street.

The glow of the streetlights flickered against the windows of Jake’s truck as he slowed to a stop in front of your apartment building. You unbuckled your seatbelt, your phone buzzing against your thigh just as you reached for the door handle.

Pulling it out, you glanced at the screen. A message from your roommate lit up the display: Just a heads-up—I’ve got company tonight. Might want to keep the earbuds handy 😉

You groaned audibly, letting your head fall back against the seat with a dramatic thud.

Jake shot you a curious glance, his brow lifting. “What’s wrong?”

You waved your phone in his direction with a weary sigh. “Roommate’s got a guy over. And from the sound of it, I’m going to need noise-canceling headphones or a place to sleep that isn’t directly next to her room.”

Jake chuckled, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “Sounds like it’s going to be a rough night for you, huh?”

“You have no idea,” you muttered, reaching for the door again.

Before you could hop out, Jake’s voice stopped you. “You don’t have to go in, you know.”

You turned to him, your hand frozen on the handle. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, his gaze soft but steady as it met yours. “I mean, if you don’t feel like dealing with... that,” he gestured vaguely toward your phone, “you can come crash at my place. It’s quiet, and I’ve got a couch you can take over if you’re not ready to head home yet.”

You hesitated, your fingers idly tracing the edge of your phone. Spending more time with Jake wasn’t exactly going to help your unspoken crush, but the alternative—trying to sleep through your roommate’s extracurricular activities—was far less appealing.

“Are you sure?” you asked, your voice laced with doubt. “I don’t want to impose or anything.”

Jake rolled his eyes, a crooked smile pulling at his lips. “You wouldn’t be. Besides, what kind of friend would I be if I let you suffer through that?”

The word friend grounded you, loosening the knot of uncertainty in your chest. You smiled softly, nodding your agreement. “Alright, Seresin. But if you don’t have coffee in the morning, I’m going to rethink our so-called friendship.”

Jake laughed, the sound warm and low as he shifted the truck back into drive. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll even make you breakfast if you’re lucky.”

Jake unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped aside to let you in first. The place was clean but lived-in—soft lighting, a comfortable couch, a TV mounted on the wall, and just a few hints of his personality scattered throughout: a Navy ball cap tossed on the entryway table, framed photos of his family, and what looked like a pair of cowboy boots sitting by the door.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, flicking on the lights and heading toward the kitchen. “Want a beer?”

You nodded, shrugging off your jacket and folding it over the back of a chair before settling onto the couch. “Thanks, Jake.”

He returned a moment later, two beers in hand. Passing one to you, he dropped onto the couch beside you, his long legs stretched out in front of him. You took a sip, the cold drink soothing against the warmth still lingering on your cheeks from the night’s events.

Jake leaned back, his arm casually draping over the back of the couch. “So,” he started, his tone playful, “what was that whole ‘tall, hot, in a Stetson’ thing earlier really about? Got a cowboy crush I don’t know about?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s just a preference.”

He tilted his head, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Uh-huh. You sure about that? Because it kind of sounded like you were describing someone I know.”

Your brow furrowed as you turned to look at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Jake’s grin widened. “Tall? Blonde? Hot? I mean, you might as well have just said my name.”

You rolled your eyes, but you could feel the heat creeping up your neck. “Oh, please. You’re so full of yourself, Seresin.”

Jake’s gaze flicked to your face, his sharp eyes catching the faint blush blooming across your cheeks. His grin softened into something more thoughtful. “Wait a second,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not,” you said quickly, shaking your head and avoiding his gaze.

“Oh, you definitely are,” he teased, his voice low and amused. “Tell me—do you have a little crush on me?”

You scoffed, your heart racing as you tried to deflect. “What are we, in middle school?”

Jake chuckled, but his expression didn’t shift. He studied you for a moment, the playful glint in his eyes fading into something quieter, more serious. “You didn’t answer the question.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could come up with a denial, Jake leaned in closer, the space between you narrowing. His lips hovered close to yours, close enough that you could feel his breath ghosting against your skin.

“Jake,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your chest, “what are you doing?”

His eyes locked with yours, intense and unwavering. “I’m kissing you,” he said, his voice low and steady, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Unless you tell me to stop.”

“Jake…we…we can’t.”

“You know,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm, “one kiss probably won’t ruin the friendship, right?”

Your breath caught, but you didn’t move away. Instead, you sat there, frozen as the space between you vanished. When his lips finally touched yours, it was soft at first—almost tentative, like he was giving you the chance to change your mind.

But you didn’t.

Jake’s hand came up, his fingers brushing along your jaw before cupping your face. His touch was firm yet gentle, anchoring you in place as the kiss deepened. His lips moved against yours, confident and unhurried, like he’d been waiting for this moment and was determined to savor every second of it.

Your hand found its way to his chest, the firm muscle beneath his shirt making your pulse race even faster. You felt him exhale, a soft, pleased sound escaping him as your fingers curled into the fabric. Without even thinking, you shifted closer, your body leaning into his as the kiss grew more heated.

Jake pulled back for the briefest moment, just enough to catch his breath, his thumb brushing across your cheek as he looked at you. His eyes were darker now, filled with something that made your stomach flip. 

“You’re killing me, darlin’,” he murmured, his Texas drawl thicker than usual.

You didn’t give yourself time to overthink it. Fueled by a mixture of nerves and adrenaline, you swung a leg over his, settling yourself onto his lap. Jake froze for half a heartbeat before his hands found your waist, his grip firm and grounding.

You reached up, your fingers threading your fingers into the hair at the back of his head, your nails grazing lightly against his scalp as you leaned in and kissed him again. Jake groaned softly, the sound rumbling through his chest as his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer.

The kiss turned fervent, all soft restraint melting away as your bodies pressed together. Jake’s lips were hot and insistent, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before he tilted his head, deepening the kiss further. Your fingers fisted in his hair, his skin warm beneath your touch as his hands began to roam, sliding from your waist to your hips, holding you securely in his lap.

Your heart was racing, your senses overwhelmed by the feel of him, the way he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough. Every brush of his lips, every press of his hands against you, made you feel like you were burning from the inside out.

When you finally pulled back, gasping for air, Jake’s forehead rested against yours, his breathing uneven. His hands stayed on your hips, his thumbs brushing idly against the fabric of your shirt. 

You then reached down and started to tug at the hem of your shirt, but he reach out and caught your wrists, halting you.

“Whoa, hold up,” he said, his voice low but firm.

You pulled back slightly, confused, your gaze searching his. His hands stayed on your wrists, gentle but unyielding. 

“What?” you asked, blinking at him as your pulse raced.

Jake’s lips twitched into a small smile, but his expression was serious. “I’m not doing this. Not yet.”

You frowned, sitting back on his lap, your legs still straddling him. “You’re not doing what?”

“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “I want to buy you dinner first.”

You stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “Dinner? Like a date?”

Jake nodded, his hands resting lightly on your hips now.

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when they did, you couldn’t stop the incredulous laugh that escaped you. “Jake, you don’t do dates. Or dinners. Or follow any kind of rules when it comes to sleeping with women. What’s changed.”

Jake chuckled, but there was a sincerity in his gaze that made your stomach flutter. “You’re not just some hookup for me,” he admitted, his voice soft. “I want to do this right with you.”

Your mouth opened to respond, but no words came out. You weren’t used to seeing Jake like this—so earnest, so serious. The guy who flirted shamelessly, who rarely stuck around for more than a night, was now telling you he wanted to take you on a proper date before anything happened between you.

“You know,” you said after a beat, your tone teasing but your heart pounding, “you did technically buy me a round earlier at the bar.”

Jake shook his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Nice try, darlin’. A beer doesn’t count as dinner.”

You sighed dramatically, leaning back slightly and crossing your arms over your chest. “Jake, it’s late. It’s literally Christmas Eve. Nowhere that you would deem worthy of our first date is going to be open.”

Jake laughed, his hands still resting on your hips. “Guess we’ll have to wait then.”

“Or,” you said, sitting up straighter, an idea forming in your mind, “you can give me your phone.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Why?”

“Just trust me,” you said, holding out your hand.

He hesitated for a moment before sighing and reaching into his pocket to hand it over. You unlocked the screen, your fingers moving quickly as you opened the Uber Eats app.

Jake leaned forward slightly, peering over your shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Ordering dinner,” you said simply, scrolling through the options for one of the few places still open this late on Christmas Eve.

Jake watched as you added something to the cart, then handed the phone back to him. “Go ahead, pick something for yourself.”

Still looking slightly bewildered, Jake glanced down at the screen, his brow furrowing as he scanned the menu. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” you said, smirking at him. 

Jake sighed, clearly still confused, but he added an item to the order and placed it. As soon as the confirmation screen popped up, he turned to you, shaking his head. “All right, now you’ve got to tell me—what was the point of all that?”

You grinned, leaning forward slightly so your face was inches from his. “Because now you’ve technically bought me dinner,” you said, your tone teasing but your eyes locked on his.

Jake stared at you for a moment, then threw his head back with a laugh. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you said, your voice dropping to a softer, more serious tone. “But now that you’ve fulfilled your ‘dinner first’ rule, are you going to fuck me or not?”

Jake’s laughter died down, replaced by a look that made your stomach flip. His hands tightened slightly on your hips as his gaze darkened, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

“You’re something else,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “But if we’re doing this, darlin’, we’re doing it my way.”

You tilted your head, eyeing him curiously. “Your way, huh?” you teased, the corner of your lips quirking up. “And what exactly does your way mean?”

Jake didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his hands tightened on your hips, and before you could even process what was happening, he stood up with you still straddling his lap.

“Jake!” you yelped, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck for balance as he stood effortlessly, holding you against him like you weighed nothing.

He grinned down at you, completely unfazed by your reaction, and started walking down the hallway. “First rule,” he drawled, his voice low and steady, “your first time with me is not going to be on my couch.”

You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks as his words sank in. “Oh,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he carried you with ease, the hallway narrowing around you. “You deserve better than that, darlin’,” he continued, his tone softening slightly. “So, my way means I’m going to take my time with you. Do it right, starting with getting you on a bed.”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. The way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the world—was enough to leave you breathless.

When he reached the door at the end of the hall, Jake shifted you slightly in his arms so he could turn the handle, nudging the door open with his foot. The room beyond was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting warm shadows across the space.

Jake stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him with a soft thud. He finally set you down, your feet touching the plush carpet, but his hands didn’t leave your waist.

You glanced around, your nerves and excitement battling for dominance. “So…what’s the second rule?” you asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably as your voice wavered.

Jake’s lips quirked into a smirk as he leaned down, his face so close to yours that his breath fanned across your skin. 

“The second rule,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp, “is that I’m going to make sure you enjoy every second of this.”

Your breath hitched, your hands sliding up his chest almost instinctively. “That’s…a pretty good rule,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake’s smirk widened as his hands slid from your waist to your hips, pulling you flush against him. “Good,” he said, his tone teasing but his eyes dark with intent. “Because I don’t break my own rules.”

With that, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the heated kisses you’d shared earlier. His hands roamed your back, his touch firm but careful, like he was savoring every moment.

You melted into him, your arms looping around his neck as the kiss deepened. His tongue slid against yours, drawing a soft whimper from you that only seemed to spur him on.

His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your waist. But instead of rushing to remove it quickly, he took his time, his touch reverent as he pushed the fabric up inch by inch.

You broke the kiss for just a moment, your breath coming in soft pants as you let him pull your shirt over your head. His gaze raked over you, his eyes darkening as he took you in.

“Goddamn,” Jake murmured, his voice husky. “You’re beautiful.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, but before you could respond, he was kissing you again, his hands sliding up your back and pulling you closer.

Jake’s lips broke away from yours, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. Slowly, he trailed his kisses along your jaw, the gentle scrape of his stubble sending shivers down your spine. His lips moved lower, finding the sensitive curve of your neck.

At first, the kisses were light, teasing. But then he began sucking and biting softly, testing different spots until he hit the one that made your head fall back with a soft gasp, your fingers tightening in the hair at the nape of his neck.

The sound you made—the small, unrestrained moan that escaped your lips—had Jake pausing for the briefest moment before he let out a low groan of his own, his mouth returning to the same spot with renewed focus. This time, he nipped a little harder, drawing another reaction out of you.

“Jake,” you warned softly, your breath hitching as you tugged at his hair. “Don’t leave a mark.”

You felt his lips curve into a smirk against your neck. 

“Why not?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as his teeth grazed your skin. Before you could answer, he added in a quiet whisper, “I kinda like the idea of everyone knowing you’re my girl.”

That pulled your head up, and you gave him a look, arching a brow. “Your girl, huh?”

Jake didn’t miss a beat, his green eyes locking onto yours as he leaned in close, his lips brushing just below your ear. “My girl,” he repeated, his voice filled with a confidence that made your heart race.

You barely had time to process his words before his mouth was back on your skin, moving lower this time. He kissed along your collarbone, his lips pressing against every inch of exposed skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

When he reached the strap of your bra, his fingers deftly reached around your back. With a practiced ease that had you smirking slightly, he unclasped it. He pulled back just enough to slide the straps down your arms, his hands warm and firm against your skin as he discarded the lacey fabric to the floor.

Jake’s gaze dropped, and his lips parted slightly as his eyes roamed over you. For a moment, he said nothing, his expression somewhere between awe and hunger. Then, a slow grin spread across his face.

“This is what you wore to the bar?” he asked, his voice playful but edged with disbelief.

You blushed, rolling your eyes even as you smiled. “It’s laundry day,” you mumbled. “All the comfy stuff was in the wash.”

Jake chuckled, his hands sliding up your sides to rest just below your chest. “Laundry day, huh?” 

“Yes, why? Do you have a problem with my choice of undergarments?”

“Not exactly,” he teased, his grin widening. “But that…is way too sexy for just a casual night out with friends.”

His thumb brushed just below the curve of your breast, sending a spark of warmth straight through you.

You rolled your eyes again, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “It’s just a bra, Jake,” you muttered, though your voice wavered slightly.

He didn’t respond, at least not with words. Instead, he leaned forward, his mouth finding the soft skin of your chest. His lips were warm and gentle, kissing along the swell of your breast before his tongue flicked against your skin.

Your breath hitched, and Jake’s hands shifted to your hips, holding you firmly in place as he continued. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to your skin, his lips and tongue working in tandem to explore every inch. When he finally reached your nipple, his mouth closed around it, drawing a soft moan from you that only seemed to spur him on.

His hands tightened on your hips as his other hand slid up, cupping your other breast and giving it the same attention. Jake groaned softly against your skin, clearly enjoying himself, and the sound sent a shiver through you.

Jake pulled back for a moment, just enough to glance up at you with a wicked grin. “You’ve been holding out on me,” he teased, his voice low and rough. “Didn’t know you were hiding these under all those sweaters and jackets.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers sliding into his hair. “Shut up, Jake,” you muttered, pulling him back to you.

He laughed softly but didn’t argue, his mouth returning to your chest with renewed enthusiasm. Jake Seresin might have had a reputation for being cocky and playful, but in this moment, he was focused, almost reverent, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

Jake's lips were still warm against your skin, his tongue flicking over the same sensitive spot on your chest that had you squirming against him, when a sudden thought crossed your mind. You realized how uneven the situation was—your bra was already on the floor, and yet here he was, still fully dressed.

Not one to let such an imbalance slide, you tugged at the hem of his shirt. Jake pulled back, his green eyes flicking to yours in question, his mouth curving into a smug smile when he caught on.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t respond, simply giving the fabric another tug. Jake let out a quiet laugh, sitting up slightly so he could pull the shirt over his head. The movement was so fluid, so effortless, that it was almost infuriating. And when he tossed the shirt aside, your mouth went dry.

Your eyes trailed over him slowly, taking in the broad expanse of his chest, the defined lines of his abs, and the way his skin seemed to glow under the dim light of his apartment. You’d known Jake Seresin was fit—anyone could tell just by looking at him—but this? This was something else entirely.

Your hands moved instinctively, sliding over the hard planes of his chest, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips making your pulse race. You traced the subtle curve of his muscles, your thumb brushing over a faint scar just below his collarbone, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

Jake caught the sound, his brow lifting as he smirked. “What’s so funny, darlin’?”

You shook your head, trying to find the words but failing. Instead, you blurted, “You’re not real.”

That caught him off guard, and he chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest. “Not real, huh?”

You gestured vaguely at him, your hands hovering just above his abs. “Nobody looks like this in real life. I mean… how? Do you, like, live in the gym or something?”

Jake laughed again, clearly amused by your reaction. He leaned back slightly, his hands resting on your thighs as he regarded you with a playful gleam in his eyes. “It’s all just good genetics, sweetheart,” he drawled, his smirk widening. “But if you wanna keep admiring, don’t let me stop you.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the blush creeping into your cheeks. “Cocky,” you muttered, though your hands betrayed you by continuing their exploration, tracing the ridges of his muscles like you were committing them to memory.

“Confident,” Jake corrected, leaning forward again so that his face was just inches from yours. “And besides…” His lips brushed lightly against your jaw, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “You’re not exactly keeping your hands to yourself, darlin’.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, your blush deepening as his teasing smirk only grew wider. His confidence was maddening, but it also sent a rush of heat through you that you couldn’t ignore. Finally, you huffed and muttered, “You talk too much.”

Jake tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more mischievous. “Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”

Without missing a beat, you leaned in close, your breath brushing against his lips as you whispered, “Shut up and kiss me, Seresin.”

His eyes darkened at your words, the playful light in them replaced with something deeper, hungrier. He didn’t hesitate. His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck as he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours.

His hand at your neck tilted your head just enough to deepen the kiss, while his other hand tightened its grip on your waist, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between your bodies.

You melted into him, your hands sliding up his chest and over his shoulders, your fingers tangling in the short hair at the back of his head. When he nipped at your bottom lip, your soft gasp gave him the perfect opening, and his tongue swept into your mouth, stealing whatever clever retort you might have had.

Jake broke the kiss just long enough to guide you backward. His strong hands shifted to your hips as he maneuvered you gently, lowering you onto the bed as if you weighed nothing. His lips found yours again before your head even hit the pillow, his body following as he braced himself over you, one forearm resting beside your head while his other hand remained at your waist.

The bed dipped slightly under your combined weight, and you felt the cool sheets against your back, a stark contrast to the heat radiating between you and Jake. His kisses grew slower, deeper, his mouth moving over yours in a way that made your toes curl. His free hand slid up your side, leaving a trail of fire in its wake as it found your cheek, tilting your face toward his for better access.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak—all you could do was feel. The warmth of his body, the intoxicating way he kissed you, the steady weight of him pressing you into the mattress—it was overwhelming in the best way.

Jake finally pulled back, just enough to look down at you, his lips red and swollen, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His gaze was molten as it roamed over your face, lingering on your kiss-bruised lips before meeting your eyes.

“You’re something else,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. His thumb brushed gently over your cheek, and his lips quirked into a softer, almost reverent smile. “You know that?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared up at him, the sincerity in his expression taking your breath away all over again. You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice, but all that came out was a whisper. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Jake’s lips hovered above yours, his breath warm against your skin, but his hands began to move, dragging your focus away from the way his mouth made you feel and to the steady path his fingers were tracing. They slid down your sides with a deliberate slowness, his thumbs brushing teasingly over your hips before they stopped at the waistband of your jeans.

He shifted back just slightly, his hands working to pop the button open and tug the zipper down. His green eyes flicked up to meet yours, and the spark of mischief in them sent a jolt of anticipation straight through you. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart.”

You did as he asked, and he made quick work of guiding your jeans down your legs, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that left goosebumps in their wake. The denim hit the floor, and Jake’s gaze swept over you, lingering when he noticed the lacy underwear that matched the bra he’d already discarded.

A slow smirk spread across his face, the kind that made your stomach flip and your cheeks flush. “Now this,” he said, his voice dripping with that signature cockiness, “is a sight I could get used to.”

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, and with one smooth motion, he slid them down your legs and discarded them on the floor beside your jeans. His hands returned to your thighs, his touch featherlight as he traced patterns over your skin. 

“From now on,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to the inside of your knee, “you only wear these for me. Got it?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head at the sheer audacity of the man in front of you. “And what makes you think this will be more than a one-time thing,” you challenged, raising an eyebrow.

Jake didn’t even blink at your question. Instead, he leaned back slightly, resting his weight on his knees as his hands slid higher up your thighs. “Because you don’t do casual,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. His hands stilled just shy of where you wanted them, his thumbs brushing agonizingly close to the heat pooling between your legs. “You don’t do one-night hookups.”

His words were confident, but then that cocky grin returned, and he leaned down just enough that his lips hovered above your skin. His thumb trailed teasingly over your inner thigh, not quite touching you where you needed him most, and it was maddening.

“And because,” he continued, his voice low and teasing, “I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already trying to get more.” His thumb brushed a little closer this time, still not quite enough, and the sharp intake of breath you let out didn’t escape his notice.

Your hips tilted up instinctively, desperate for more contact, but Jake pulled his hand back just slightly, his grin widening as he caught your movement.

“See what I mean?” he teased, his voice dripping with that infuriating self-assurance. “One night’s not gonna be enough for you, sweetheart. You won’t be able to get enough of me.”

Jake’s smirk deepened as he continued his slow, agonizing teasing, his fingers dancing closer and closer to where you needed him.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he drawled, his green eyes glinting with amusement as he leaned down to press a kiss to the curve of your hip. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Your head fell back against the pillows, a frustrated groan slipping from your lips. You felt like you were about to combust, every nerve ending on fire as Jake toyed with you like it was some kind of game. The worst part? He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Jake,” you started, your voice laced with exasperation as you lifted your head to glare at him. “I swear to God—”

Before you could finish your sentence, his fingers finally moved, pressing against you in just the right spot. The sudden surge of pleasure ripped the words right from your throat, replacing them with a sharp, breathy moan that had Jake’s grin widening in satisfaction.

“That’s more like it,” he murmured, his voice low and smug as his fingers began working in slow, deliberate circles, coaxing another soft sound from your lips. “Knew you’d sound pretty, but damn, sweetheart, I didn’t think you’d sound this good.”

Your hands fisted the sheets beside you, your back arching slightly off the bed as the pressure built, wave after wave crashing over you with every precise movement of his hand. “Jake…” His name came out like a plea, your voice trembling as you tried to catch your breath.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “I’ve got you, darlin’. Just let me take care of you.”

His free hand slid up your side, his thumb brushing along your ribs in a soothing gesture that contrasted sharply with the fire he was setting off with every calculated touch. Your hips tilted toward him, desperate for more, and Jake was quick to oblige, his fingers pressing harder, moving faster, drawing out the kind of pleasure that had your head spinning and your thoughts unraveling.

The tension coiled tighter and tighter inside you, and just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Jake shifted slightly, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was every bit as intoxicating as the way his hands worked your body. It was messy and consuming, his tongue brushing against yours in a rhythm that matched the movements of his fingers, as if he was determined to pull every last sound from your lips.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, your forehead pressed against his, your fingers gripping his biceps for support. He didn’t stop, though, his lips trailing down your jaw, over your neck, and back to the spot on your collarbone that had you shivering.

“You doing okay there, sweetheart?” he teased, his breath warm against your skin as he chuckled softly. “Seem a little… speechless.”

Jake’s fingers slowed just enough to pull you back from the edge, leaving you breathless and trembling beneath him. A frustrated whimper escaped your lips, and you opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, his lips were at your ear, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he murmured, the heat of his breath against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. “Have you ever thought about this before? About me? About my hands on you like this?”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you could feel your face heat, your body betraying you as a rush of arousal coursed through you. Of course, you’d thought about it. You’d thought about it far more times than you cared to admit, in moments you’d never expected and in ways that had left you wondering what it would feel like to have Jake Seresin in this exact position.

But you weren’t about to tell him that.

“No,” you managed to say, though the breathiness of your voice betrayed your attempt at indifference.

Jake chuckled low, the sound vibrating against your skin as he pressed a kiss just below your ear. His fingers started moving again, slow and deliberate, building that fire inside you all over again. “Liar,” he whispered, his tone dripping with confidence.

Your breath hitched as his hand worked you over with maddening precision, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I think you’ve thought about this a lot,” he continued, his voice soft but insistent, like a secret he was unraveling. “About me touching you like this. About me kissing you. About me making you fall apart.”

Your hips bucked against his hand involuntarily, a quiet gasp slipping from your lips. Jake’s smirk was audible in his next words. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured.

“Jake…” you warned, though the word lacked any real heat, your voice shaking as he pushed you closer to the edge again.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he urged, his voice still low and intimate, as if the moment was just for the two of you. “Tell me the truth. You’ve thought about it, haven’t you?”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but your body told a different story, arching into his touch, chasing the release he kept pulling just out of reach.

“Still not talking, huh?” he teased, his lips ghosting over your neck. “That’s okay. I think I already know the answer.”

You let out a frustrated groan, your head falling back against the pillow as Jake’s fingers slowed again, denying you the release you so desperately craved.

“Jake, I swear to God—”

“Say the word,” he whispered, his voice dark and tempting. “Say you want this. Say you want me.”

Your resolve crumbled under the weight of his touch, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the teasing rhythm of his fingers sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. You couldn’t take it anymore, the denial of release driving you mad.

“Fine,” you blurted out, your voice a mix of desperation and surrender. “I’ve thought about it. About you. Happy now?”

Jake froze for a moment, his smirk widening as he absorbed your confession, his ego clearly basking in your words. “Damn right I am,” he drawled, his tone as smug as ever. His fingers picked up their pace again, but this time with a newfound determination, his touch deliberate and calculated as he pushed you closer to the edge once more.

“Have you thought about my hands doing this?” he murmured, shifting his hand ever so slightly, his movements slow and precise as he watched your reaction.

Your body arched involuntarily, a strangled moan escaping your lips. You couldn’t lie even if you wanted to.

He chuckled, his lips brushing against your neck as he continued. “Or maybe this?” He changed the angle of his touch again, his fingers finding just the right spot that had you gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Jake,” you panted, your voice trembling with need, but he wasn’t done yet.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he pressed, his tone both teasing and possessive. 

“How many nights have you thought about this? About me making you feel this good?”

You let out a whimper, the pressure inside you building to an unbearable intensity. “Please, Jake,” you finally begged, your voice cracking as you tilted your hips toward his hand, desperate for the release he was holding just out of reach.

“Please, what?” he whispered, his voice dark and enticing.

“Please, just—”

Before you could finish, he gave you exactly what you needed, his fingers working you over with perfect precision, sending you hurtling over the edge. A cry tore from your lips as the tension snapped, your body trembling under the overwhelming wave of pleasure.

Jake didn’t stop, his hand staying steady as he guided you through your release, murmuring soft praises in your ear.

“That’s it, baby,” he said, his voice softer now, the teasing replaced with something more intimate, more sincere. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

Your hands clutched at him as you rode out the high, your breathing ragged and uneven as he slowed his movements, easing you back down. His free hand caressed your side, grounding you as you came back to yourself.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

As the intensity slowly ebbed away, you opened your eyes to find Jake watching you. The cocky smirk you'd expected wasn’t there—instead, he was looking at you with something softer, something that made your chest tighten. His hand brushed a strand of hair out of your face, his touch lingering for just a moment before pulling back. He gave you a small, almost shy smile, one that you’d never seen before.

“What?” you asked nervously, returning the smile as your heart pounded for an entirely different reason now.

Jake shook his head, the corners of his mouth lifting into something more tender than teasing. “You’re beautiful,” he said quietly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

You blinked at him, caught completely off guard. He wasn’t grinning or smirking or full of his usual bravado—he was just Jake, looking at you like you were the only thing in the room.

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you didn’t know what to say. “Oh,” you whispered, your voice soft as his words settled over you.

The moment stretched between you, and for the first time, Jake looked away, almost as if realizing how vulnerable he’d made himself. But instead of pulling back, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, a gesture so tender it made your chest ache.

“Let’s get you some water,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. But as he moved to stand, his fingers brushed yours, lingering just long enough to make your heart flutter all over again.

And at that moment, you knew—this wasn’t just some casual hookup with him. You weren’t sure what it was yet, but it was more.

Jake disappeared into the walk in closet, leaving you alone in his bedroom for a moment. When he returned, he had one of his shirts in hand—soft, worn, and smelling distinctly like him. He tossed it to you with a crooked smile.

“Figured you’d be more comfortable in this,” he said before turning toward the door, giving you a bit of privacy to change.

Once you slipped into the oversized shirt, you padded out to find him in the kitchen, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge. He twisted the cap off and handed it to you as you approached.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking a long sip.

Jake nodded toward the couch. “Come on. Sit with me.”

You followed him over, sinking into the cushion next to him, leaving a respectable amount of space between you. Jake glanced at the gap and raised an eyebrow, smirking just slightly.

“You scared of me now or something?” he teased, his voice soft but warm.

You rolled your eyes, but before you could come up with a response, Jake reached over and tugged gently at your hand, coaxing you closer. “C’mere,” he said, his tone so inviting you didn’t think to resist.

You shifted over until your thigh brushed against his, and Jake draped an arm along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing your shoulder. He didn’t push for more, didn’t try to crowd you—he just held you there, close enough to feel his warmth.

“You good?” he asked after a moment, his voice quieter now.

You nodded, leaning slightly into him. “Yeah. I’m good.”

For a while, neither of you said anything. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the occasional creak of the couch as you both shifted to get more comfortable. Eventually, you rested your head against Jake’s shoulder, and you could feel him relax beneath you, the tension in his body melting away.

This—whatever this was—felt easy. And for now, you were content to let it be.

The silence between you settled into something soft, the kind of quiet where you could hear your own thoughts but didn’t mind sharing the space with someone else. Jake absentmindedly brushed his fingers along your arm, his touch light, comforting.

But then the thought hit you, and you started to feel a twinge of guilt. Jake had gone out of his way to make sure you felt incredible, but you hadn’t done the same for him. The realization sat heavily in your chest, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you shifted slightly, sitting up to look at him.

"Hey," you said, your voice quieter than you expected.

Jake tilted his head toward you, the corners of his lips quirking up. "What’s on your mind, darlin’?"

You hesitated, chewing your bottom lip for a second. "I just... I feel bad. You—you got me to, you know, but I didn’t—"

Jake’s low laugh cut you off, his head tipping back for a moment before he looked at you again, his eyes warm and amused. "You feel bad about that?"

"Well... yeah," you admitted, your cheeks heating. You glanced away, feeling the awkwardness creep in. "I mean, do you... want me to...?" You trailed off, unable to meet his gaze.

Jake reached over and gently tipped your chin up so you had to look at him. His expression wasn’t teasing this time, but soft, almost tender.

"I don’t need you to do anything," he said, his voice steady. "Tonight was about you. I wanted to make sure you felt good. That’s enough for me."

You blinked, a little thrown by how sincere he sounded. "Really?"

He nodded, leaning back and letting his arm settle across your shoulders again. "Really," he said, the hint of a smile still tugging at his lips. "But I appreciate the offer. Makes me feel pretty special."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile that broke through. "You’re impossible."

"Yeah, but you like me anyway," he quipped, his grin widening as you shook your head and settled back against his shoulder.

The room fell into a quiet lull, the kind that was filled with comfort rather than awkwardness. Jake’s arm rested across your shoulders, his fingers lazily tracing circles along your arm. You let your head rest against him, but the words you’d been mulling over stuck in your throat.

Finally, you worked up the courage to look up at him, your voice soft, almost hesitant. "Jake?"

"Hmm?" He turned his head slightly, his green eyes meeting yours.

"Can I..." You paused, nervousness creeping in, but you pushed forward. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Jake’s grin spread across his face almost immediately, cocky but somehow still sweet. "Where else would you sleep?"

You shrugged, suddenly feeling shy under the weight of his gaze. "I don’t know. The couch maybe..."

Before you could finish the thought, Jake leaned in and kissed you, his lips soft and warm, pulling you right back into the ease of being with him. When he pulled away, his grin had softened into something tender, something that made your heart skip a beat.

"You can sleep with me every night," he murmured, his fingers brushing another stray piece of hair from your face.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you just smiled, leaning into him as his arm tightened around you, pulling you closer. In that moment, the thought of waking up next to Jake every morning didn’t feel so crazy after all.

* * * *

The morning light streamed through the blinds, coaxing you awake. Your head throbbed faintly—a mild reminder of the last beer you probably shouldn’t have had. Blinking against the sunlight, you looked around, disoriented for a moment. This wasn’t your apartment.

And then it all came back. Last night. Jake bringing you home. The teasing, the kissing, the way he had pulled you close and told you that you could sleep with him every night. The memories brought a mix of warmth and guilt as you realized just how many lines of friendship you had crossed in a single evening.

Sitting up, you glanced over at the other side of the bed, half expecting Jake to still be there. But his side was empty, the covers slightly rumpled. You pushed them off and padded out of the bedroom, your bare feet cold against the hardwood.

As you stepped into the living room, you froze in place, utterly speechless at the sight before you.

Jake was lying on the floor, one arm propped up to support his head, his body stretched out lazily. He was barefoot, in jeans that fit a little too well, no shirt, and a Stetson cowboy hat perched on his head.

Your mouth opened, then closed, your brain short-circuiting. You weren’t sure whether to laugh, blush, or scold him for how ridiculous he looked—and how ridiculously good he looked at the same time.

“What,” you finally managed, “are you doing?”

Jake’s lips curved into that signature smirk of his, the one that always got him into trouble and, apparently, you as well. “What does it look like? Tall, hot, in a Stetson. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Your jaw dropped as you remembered your flippant comment from the night before, and a laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it. “Are you serious right now?”

He stood up in one smooth motion, the hat still perfectly in place as he strolled toward you. “I’m Texan, darlin’. Born and raised. Owning a Stetson is a right of passage.”

You shook your head, laughing harder now as he stopped in front of you. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leaned down, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. “Ridiculous enough to make you laugh this hard first thing in the morning?”

“Yeah, well…” You tried to form a witty comeback, but the way he was looking at you—half playful, half something much softer—made your words catch in your throat.

Jake’s smirk softened into a smile as he tilted his head closer. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, before leaning in to kiss you.

And just like that, the absurdity of the morning melted away, leaving only the feel of his lips on yours and the flutter in your chest that you weren’t quite ready to name.

Jake’s hands slid to your waist, his grip firm yet gentle as he deepened the kiss. His lips moved against yours with a confidence that made your knees weak, and you swore you felt his smirk against your mouth when your hands instinctively gripped his shoulders for balance.

Without breaking the kiss, Jake’s fingers tightened slightly on your hips, and he murmured, “Jump.”

You hesitated for only a fraction of a second before doing as he asked. His hands were steady as they guided you, and your legs wrapped around his waist naturally. He held you effortlessly, the warmth of his skin against your thighs making your breath hitch.

“You’re way too good at this,” you whispered against his lips, your voice teasing but a little breathless.

Jake pulled back just enough to flash you that cocky grin you knew all too well. “Darlin’, I was born good at this.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto your face. Then, just like that, he was moving, carrying you down the hallway as though you weighed nothing.

The hat was still perched on his head, slightly tilted from your movements, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. “You’re seriously keeping the hat on?”

He glanced at you with a raised brow, that grin still firmly in place. “You said tall, hot, in a Stetson. I’m just giving the lady what she wants.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, but your words were swallowed by another kiss as he carried you into the bedroom.

Jake lowered you onto the bed with care, the playful edge giving way to something more deliberate, more intense, as he hovered over you. His green eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, the room felt still, the air between you charged with something electric.

“Guess that makes me your cowboy now,” he said softly, his voice low and teasing, but there was a hint of sincerity there that made your chest tighten.

And before you could respond, his lips were back on yours, and nothing else mattered.

Jake kissed you with a hunger that sent a spark straight through you. His hands slid up your thighs, the warmth of his palms setting fire to your skin as he pressed you into the mattress. The Stetson, still sitting askew on his head, was the perfect blend of ridiculous and sexy, and you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing softly against his lips.

“What’s so funny, darlin’?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that made your stomach flip.

You reached up, plucking the hat off his head, and twirled it in your fingers with a smirk. “Just trying to decide if this thing makes you hotter… or if it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.”

Jake chuckled, pulling back slightly, his weight still braced above you. “Go on then, put it on. Let’s see if you can pull it off.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully, accepting the challenge. Sliding the Stetson onto your head, you tilted it just slightly, giving him a mock-serious look. “How do I look?”

Jake’s gaze darkened instantly, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “Like trouble,” he drawled.

The heat in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. Emboldened by the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted—you took a deep breath and gave his chest a small push. Jake raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but he rolled to his back without protest, his hands guiding you along with him until you were straddling his hips.

His smirk grew as he settled beneath you, his hands resting on your waist. “This what you had in mind?” he asked, his tone a teasing challenge.

You didn’t give him time to comment further before you rolled your hips slowly, teasing him. You reached down and grabbed the bottom of his shirt that you had slept in and quickly slid it off, leaving you completely bare. You reach for the hat that had been knocked off and carefully placed it back on your head.

Jake groaned, his head falling back for a moment as his grip on your waist tightened. “You’re playin’ a dangerous game, darlin’.”

“Am I?” you teased, leaning forward just enough that the brim of the hat shadowed your face, leaving him staring up at you like you’d stolen all the air from his lungs.

Jake’s hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing over your ribs as he guided your movements. “You’re wearin’ nothin’ but my hat and lookin’ like that,” he muttered, his voice low and ragged.

You laughed softly, but your amusement quickly faded as the heat between you grew. The way his hands moved over you—possessive yet gentle—was making it impossible to keep the pace slow.

As you shifted and leaned forward again, Jake reached up, tipping the brim of the hat slightly. “You’re somethin’ else,” he said softly, his green eyes locked on yours.

For once, the cockiness was gone from his voice, replaced with a raw honesty that left you breathless. You didn’t respond, couldn’t, as you captured his lips again and let the heat between you consume every other thought.

The heat between your bodies was electric, every touch and movement sending sparks skittering across your skin. You shifted slightly, lifting your hips just enough to position yourself over him. Jake’s breath hitched, and his hands instinctively gripped your thighs, steadying you as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.

For a brief moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Your eyes locked with his, and the teasing glint in his green gaze had softened into something deeper, something that made your heart skip a beat. Without a word, he let his hands glide up your sides, the warmth of his palms grounding you as you slowly sank down onto him.

A shuddered groan escaped Jake’s lips, and you couldn’t hold back the small gasp that left yours. The sensation was overwhelming, but it wasn’t just physical—it was the way he looked at you, like you were something precious, something he wanted to memorize with every touch.

Jake sat up slightly, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, pressing his forehead to yours as your breaths mingled. For a moment, neither of you moved. The intimacy of it, the closeness, was almost too much to bear. His thumbs traced small circles against your skin, grounding you in the moment.

When you finally began to move, it was slow, deliberate, like the two of you were trying to savor every second. Jake’s lips found yours, and the kiss was anything but hurried. It was deep, consuming, a perfect match to the rhythm you’d set. His hands explored your back, your sides, your hips, mapping every inch of you like he never wanted to forget.

As the pace quickened, so did the intensity. Jake’s lips left yours to trail along your jaw, down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent a shiver racing through you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you tipped your head back, surrendering completely to the moment.

His grip on your waist tightened, and his lips found the hollow of your throat. Every movement between you spoke louder than words ever could—the way his hands caressed you, the way your body arched into his, the way his lips lingered on your skin like he couldn’t get enough.

This wasn’t just a fleeting moment, and you could feel it in the way he held you. He wasn’t just here for now—he was here for you, wholly and completely. And though neither of you spoke, the weight of that realization settled between you, amplifying the passion that had consumed you both.

As the rhythm between you grew more urgent, Jake leaned back, letting his head hit the pillow as his hands guided your hips. His eyes were locked on you, full of heat and awe, like he couldn’t believe you were real. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Your gaze softened as you leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. The way he looked at you, touched you, kissed you—it was like he was unraveling every fear you’d ever had about being vulnerable, about letting someone in.

When the moment finally crested, your head fell forward, your lips finding the crook of his neck as he held you close, his hands splayed against your back to steady you. You stayed like that for a moment, tangled together, neither of you willing to pull away.

Jake’s fingers brushed over your spine, his touch gentle as your breathing began to slow. He tilted his head to press a soft kiss to your temple, and you felt the tension in his body ease as he cradled you against him.

No words were spoken, but they weren’t needed. Everything you felt, everything he felt—it was all there, in the way he held you, in the way you lingered against him, unwilling to let the moment end.

The silence in the room was peaceful, broken only by the sound of your slowing breaths and the faint rustle of the sheets. Jake’s hand skimmed lazily along your back, his touch soothing and warm as you rested against his chest. For a moment, you both just lay there, content in the afterglow of everything that had passed between you.

But of course, Jake couldn’t let the moment stay quiet for too long. His fingers danced lightly along your spine, and you felt his chest rumble with a low chuckle.

“So,” he drawled, his tone laced with that familiar cocky edge, “was it everything you imagined it would be? Or do you need another round for comparison purposes?”

You let out a soft laugh, lifting your head to look at him. His grin was downright smug, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, even as your lips tugged into a smile. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered for what felt like the tenth time since you arrived at Jake's place last night, propping yourself up on one elbow.

Jake smirked, clearly unbothered by your comment. “Ridiculous, maybe, but you like it.”

“Debatable,” you teased, your tone light and playful as you reached up to brush a strand of hair out of your face.

His grin only widened, and he gave a small shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Hey, I don’t blame you for falling for the whole ‘hot guy in a Stetson’ thing. Happens to the best of ‘em.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Mm, maybe,” Jake said, leaning in just enough to brush his lips against yours. “But I think you like me anyway.”

You wanted to argue, to fire back some witty retort, but the softness in his gaze stopped you short. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin as he smiled at you—not his usual cocky grin, but something quieter, more genuine.

“I mean it,” he said softly, his voice carrying none of the teasing from before. “You’re…amazing.”

You felt your cheeks warm under his gaze, and you dropped your eyes, suddenly shy. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Jake chuckled, his hand sliding down to rest on your waist as he pulled you closer. “Not so bad, huh? I’ll take it.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy as you settled back against him, your head resting on his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as the playful banter faded into a comfortable silence.

As your eyes began to drift closed, you felt Jake press a kiss to the top of your head, his voice soft and warm as he murmured, “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything might just be exactly as it should be.

[nghtwngs]

I need a bob fic where reader is part of the thunderbolts and they start to notice small things from their room going missing, panties, chapstick, food wrappers, etc. and one day they catch bob in the act and instead of finding it creepy they find it cute. Blah blah blah they end up fucking

18+ mdni, dark content, perv!bob reynolds x reader, vaginal fingering, implied masturbation (bob), panty stealing, no pronouns for reader, first time writing a dark fic so hopefully this isn’t completely shit haha…

“What the hell? Where is it?” You frantically search through your bag, gaining Ava’s attention.

“What is it?” she asks, peering over your shoulder.

“My favorite lip balm. Ugh, I already lost the last one I had, and it was like twenty dollars. No way I lose it twice.” You continue digging through your items to no avail, turning your head to look at her. “Right?”

She shrugs. “Maybe Alexei found it. He’s been obsessed with lip balms ever since he found out chapstick is pretty much useless. But I think your real problem is that you’re buying twenty dollar lip balm in the first place.”

“Well, I don’t have a lot of nice products…” You sigh, nearly giving up after already an hour of rummaging through all of your stuff. “That one is just the one thing I like to splurge on a little.” You huff, crossing your arms. “It’s like something is eating up all my stuff. I lost a sock the other day too. It might just be that dumb, loud washing machine Valentina refuses to replace. I think she’s just keeping it there to spite us.”

“That thing is annoying,” Ava says, “but I’ve never lost anything before. I don’t remember anyone else complaining about having lost something either. Well, except that one time two weeks ago when Alexei lost his sunglasses, and we were making bets on how long it would take him to realize they were sitting on his head.”

“Ugh, I was really so close on that one too.”

He doesn’t hear you when you arrive just outside your bedroom door or when you’re twisting the knob to let yourself in. But he does hear the shock in your sweet voice when you try to ask him, so utterly confused as to why he’d be standing in your room, “Bob? What are you…”

His hand is still deep inside the drawer where you keep all your underwear—and suddenly, it’s like everything magically clicks into place. You should probably go apologize to that dumb washing machine for falsely accusing it of theft when the real thief is right in front of you, his cheeks blushing furiously.

Bob removes his hand from your dresser, hiding it behind his back like a child caught red-handed. “I can explain—“

“—What exactly?” you ask, scoffing as you cross your arms. “That you’ve been stealing all my shit like a pervert? You could’ve just asked, you know. Were you too shy to?”

“I…” He gulps, still burning with red-hot embarrassment as he says softly, “I’m sorry.”

“You steal my sock too?” You cock your head, an cruel grin growing on your face. “What could you have possibly done with that, huh?” You step closer towards Bob, glancing down at your panty collection. “Which one were you looking for? Or were you just pursuing?”

“The… the thin, light pink ones,” he softly answers, unable to meet your eyes. “I saw them when you were doing laundry the other week…”

“You won’t find them in there.”

You hum quietly, gently grabbing the hand that had been stuck deep in your underwear drawer and guiding it towards the waistband of your tiny skirt. Bob glances up at you, and you nod slightly. Rather than lifting the fabric up, he tentatively tugs it down to glimpse at the panties you currently had on—blush pink, the pair that had him fucking your sock just two weeks ago, imagining it was you.

It’s not long before Bob has you sat in front of him on the foot of your mattress, fingers pushing in and out of your drooling cunt in a steady rhythm. His other hand paws at your chest, thumb, wet from your saliva, swirling around your hardened nipple. When his fingers find that one spot that makes your thighs twitch and your walls clench, he lets out a breathy sound of pride. The hand that had been playing with your breast moves up to your whimpering mouth, fingertips pressing against your plush lips before gliding inside.

You’d already imagined something like this before, but your imagination pales in comparison to whatever this is. His fingers are stuffed so tightly inside you that your spit begins to spill out and drip down the two fingers he’s got in your mouth. A sad, little whine escapes your throat when he pulls his fingers out of you, beginning to circle the pad of his middle finger around your wet hole. He uses more pressure, pressing it into your clenching flesh without ever pushing it back inside, eliciting more gasps from you as you beg him for more.

“B-bob,” you call his name once his fingers glide out of your mouth, whining.

You feel way too empty, but you know you’re in no position to be making demands with the way he’s got you spread out like this. The part of your brain that’s completely melted from him fingering you pleads otherwise, however.

“Hm?” He’s really not trying to tease you, but he can’t help but make you wait a little. Seeing you all needy like this for just his fingers is doing wonders for his ego. And his cock.

“I need you.”

“Need what?”

“To… make me come…” you mutter under your breath before adding on for good measure, “Please.”

“You’re so sweet,” he coos, the pads of his middle and index fingers easily finding your clit, marveling at how wet you’ve become.

Your pretty folds are drooling down your sheets, but you probably won’t mind. He’ll volunteer to wash your bedsheets if you’ll keep letting him fuck you like this. You’re squeezing around nothing, one of your hands clutching the forearm of the hand he’s got wrapped around your thigh, keeping you open for him. He hadn’t even bothered to remove your underwear earlier, only sliding it to the side and away from your slit. The pink fabric now a darker shade from your own arousal.

Bob starts to feel your peak approaching once he’s slid his fingers back inside you to give you some relief. He can’t help it when he’s got the prettiest thing moaning his name like that. Your sounds of pleasure continue to grow louder, and he feels your cunt grow tighter around his hand. He picks up the pace, quickly pistoning his fingers inside your spasming walls to help you reach your high.

“I’m—Bob, I’m gonna cum—“ With another cry of his name, your orgasm washes over you, drawn out by the continuous force of his fingers fucking you, palm meeting your clit with delicious pressure.

You let out a string of breathless curses, limp in his embrace. He kisses up your neck to your temple sweetly. Another serene moment passes before you mumble, “Do you have my black pair of underwear? I wanted to wear it today. Couldn’t find it.”

“Maybe…” he replies in a sheepish tone, plucking at the waistband of your pink panties. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

“And my sock?”

“You probably don’t want it back…”

[seongwars]

Sports Day!

wc: 1500 warnings: none, just fluff and some humor part of the lads!dadverse a/n: pushing the fish man agenda cause he's my pookie

“Daddy and Mommy! Hurry up!” Ariel bounced in place, her violet space buns bobbing as she waved eagerly at you and Rafayel.

The annual sports festival at Linkon Elementary was in full swing. Parents milled about—some stretching and hyping themselves up, others indulging in food stalls overflowing with festival treats or joining in on family-friendly activities.

And then there was Xavier—blinking sleepily near the bleachers, looking as if he’d much rather be in bed.

“Honey, are you sure you want to run? We can always do something else,” Xavier’s wife suggested, eyeing him with concern.

“Huh?” Xavier stifled a yawn. “No, it’s fine. I got this. Right, Ori?”

Orion's small hand clutched his dad’s sweatpants and looked up at him with the exact same tired expression. He held up a thumbs up, signaling to his father that he had it in the bag.

Ariel giggled and tugged on Rafayel’s sleeve as they approached the track field. “Ori’s dad and Ori and his baby brother all look the same.”

Rafayel glanced over and had to admit—she wasn’t wrong. Xavier’s wife’s genes had absolutely not put up a fight. Orion was an exact copy of his father, and the six-month-old strapped to Xavier’s wife’s chest, baby Atlas, blinked drowsily in perfect sync with them both.  

“Oh, look! There’s Archer’s daddy!” Ariel chirped, pointing across the field. 

Caleb was near the starting line, jogging in place while Archer chattered beside him. Caleb’s entire brood was clustered nearby—Ciel reminding him not to forget the basketball shootout later, while his wife handed snacks to the twins. Rafayel was fairly certain all of Caleb’s kids were at least in the 99th percentile for growth, built like miniature athletes thanks to their dad’s genetics.

A few feet away, Zayne stood rolling his shoulders, his gaze locked onto Caleb as if he were preparing to charge into battle. A few months ago, Archer had “dumped” Elsa, effectively ending their “marriage.” Since then, Zayne had sworn to avenge his daughter’s honor by obliterating Caleb in the parent dash.

“Hi Elsa!” Ariel waved enthusiastically, breaking Zayne’s intense concentration for a moment. Elsa turned around at the sound of her name, her bright smile lighting up her face as she waved back.

“Hi!"

“Oh! Mommy! Daddy! Did you know that Archer broke up with Elsa?" Ariel lowered he voice as she whipped around to face you and Rafayel.

"He said he likes Cece now. Elsa was really sad."

“What!” you and Rafayel exclaimed in unison, completely scandalized by this preschool drama.

Ariel, completely unaware of the impact of her words, continued on. “Yeah, but that’s okay because Elsa said Archer was the best line leader, and I think he likes her again.”

The atmosphere on the field shifted as a heavy presence entered the vicinity. Parents who had been stretching or casually chatting suddenly found themselves standing a little straighter, instinctively sensing something, or someone, had arrived.

“Well, this seems interesting.”

Sylus stepped onto the field, clad in all black. His sleeves were rolled up exposing his veiny forearms and his red eyes were concealed under black sunglasses, sending a message to the rest of the parents that he was going to win this whole thing. 

A few parents exchanged nervous glances.

A teacher hesitated mid-whistle.

Even Xavier, perpetually teetering on the edge of sleep, cracked one eye open in vague curiosity.

“Daddy! You forgot your tiara!” 

The entire field fell into an eerie silence. Somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed.

Cece, marched up to him, a bright pink, plastic, jewel-encrusted tiara clutched in her tiny hands. Sylus, still looking like he could probably take out a small gang with his bare hands, crouched down, and allowed his daughter to delicately place the plastic crown atop his head. The rhinestones caught the sunlight, glittering obnoxiously against his white hair hair.

“You ready, Daddy?” you teased, slipping your arm around your husband’s waist. Rafayel smirked, leaning in against your ear. 

"Always. I’ve got my lucky charm here, after all."

He leaned in to give you a quick peck on the cheek, only to be interrupted by Ariel smacking his arm with all the force her tiny hands could muster.

“Ewww! You’re being so lovey dovey!” She scrunched up her nose, looking personally offended. “You need to get your head in the game, Daddy!”

Rafayel blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “What do you mean, Glub Glub?”

“This is serious!” she huffed, crossing her arms. “You’re representing our whole family! Lemuria depends on you!” She gestured wildly toward the field, as if this were the Olympics and not an elementary school sports festival.

You bit back a laugh as Rafayel arched a brow, clearly amused. “So what you’re saying is, I need to focus?”

“Yes!” Ariel stomped her foot for emphasis. “You can be mushy later. Right now, you have to win! Look at the other daddies!”

Caleb was focused, looking every bit like a man who did cardio for fun. Zayne, despite his usual stoic demeanor, was practically burning with vengeance. 

Meanwhile, Sylus, now infamously wearing Cece’s pink tiara, cracked his neck, his expression as serious as ever as he waited for the starting signal. Then there was Xavier, mid-yawn but somehow still managing to look deceptively athletic.

“Daddy. You have to crush them.”

You smirked, giving Rafayel’s butt a playful pat. “Well, you heard the boss. Better not disappoint her.”

Rafayel bent down to meet his daughter’s gaze, a serious expression settling over his face. “Alright, Coach. Anything else I should know before I go out there?”

“Yes. Run fast.”

The participants were lined up at the starting line. The crowd was abuzz with anticipation as kids cheered for their respective parent and the announcer’s voice rang out over the speakers.

“On your marks… Get set… Go!”

Zayne took off like a man possessed, laser focused on Caleb, who was a few feet away, blissfully unaware of the grudge match about to unfold. The Colonel, still seemingly unbothered, was just happy to be there, and that only further enraged Zayne. 

Sylus was right beside him, arms pumping, breath steady, somehow managing to keep the tiara balanced on his head as Rafayel took off beside him. Your husband’s strides carried him forward, muscles flexing as he pushed harder spurred on by the cheers of your little girl.

Then there was Xavier.

What no one saw coming, what no one could have possibly predicted, was the moment Xavier, sleepy and seemingly disinterested, exploded forward. It was like something primal took over, his long legs moving with shocking efficiency, his relaxed posture giving way to a sudden burst of unparalleled speed. 

Zayne, mid-sprint, turned his head just enough to see an absolute blur whiz past him. Sylus, who had been so focused on keeping his form tight and his tiara steady, risked a glance and nearly tripped. 

“Oh, wow, dude’s fast—” Caleb chuckled as Xavier effortlessly overtook him in the final stretch.

The crowd roared.

The kids cheered.

Parents gasped. 

And just like that, the race was over.

Xavier skidded to a stop past the finish line. He blinked at the crowd, the stunned competitors, and the announcer who was gaping at him.

“Oh,” Xavier mumbled, rubbing his neck. “Did I win?”

“You won, Dada!” Ori cheered, running toward him with open arms. Xavier scooped up his son and spun him around. Even little Atlas was bouncing excitedly in his carrier, kicking his tiny feet in celebration.

Rafayel was frozen in place, still trying to process what had just happened. His body had reacted, his legs had moved, his arms had pumped with perfect form. And yet, somehow, some way, Xavier had just whipped past him defying the laws of physics. 

And the worst part?

You had caught the exact moment his soul left his body.

“You did great, Daddy!” Ariel chirped, wrapping her arms around Rafayel in a comforting hug as he collapsed against the bleachers.

Rafayel’s eye twitched as he finally snapped out of his daze. He turned to look at his daughter, his pride, his biggest fan, his coach, only to see that she wasn’t even looking at him anymore. She was watching the replay on your phone.

Tears streamed down your face as you clutched your stomach, gasping for breath. You had watched the video at least five times now, and each time, it got funnier. Because there, right there, was the exact moment Xavier passed him, and your husband made the ugliest, most tragic face known to mankind.

You wheezed, shoving the phone in his face. “Babe, look at this—”

His brows shot up to his hairline, his eyes bulged so wide they practically swallowed his face, and his mouth floundered open gasping for air.

“I don’t want to,” he pouted, turning away from you. 

“Aww you’re still the best to Ari and me,” you cooed, crouching down to poke your husband’s cheek. 

Rafayel exhaled sharply, his cheeks puffing out like a frustrated fish as he stared into the distance. Then, with fiery determination, he straightened his shoulders. Placing his hands on his hips, he rose to his full height, his posture radiating resolve.

“Next year,” he declared. “Next year will be different.”

“Raf, it’s just a school race—”

“There’s always next year.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

butterflygirl738 (4)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn’t that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You give the stranger your name but he just tells you to call him S. He seems a lot more important than you, so that makes sense. He must be if he's throwing around money so easily. A lot of money.

That seems to be on his mind too.

"Did you get the transfer?" He asks as he takes off his sunglasses.

You rub between your thumb and index nervously. You can't stop fidgeting. You glance around for what must be the dozenth time. You feel like everyone is watching you, that they all know you're doing something so stupid. Yet, nobody is looking at you.

"I... didn't check," you murmur. "I've just been waiting."

"Sorry again for making you wait," he puts his large hands on the table, framing the tall mug with his fingers. "You know what they say about meeting people online."

You snort, "ha, yeah."

You look out the window and exhale. That only stirs your nerves. You face him and sit back in the chair, folding your hands in your lap.

"I'm sorry. I think this was a bad idea." You say.

"Is it? We haven't even talked."

"Yeah, but... I should be looking for a job or... my mom. She's all alone..." you wring your hands.

"I want to help with that," he turns his hands and taps his fingers on the table. He sniffs. "I'm trying to figure out how to say what I want to say. And that's what it is. I want to help."

"But why? I don't know you. You don't me." Your teeth want to chatter, you're so nervous.

His chests rises and falls. His throat bobs. He resets his posture.

"That would be part of it." His blue eyes bore into yours. They're so bright and bold. "Getting to know each other."

You shake your head, confused.

"I could help with the medical bills and groceries. Whatever you need. It would just be..." he extends his fingers as he gestures with his hands. "An exchange. An arrangement. All you have to do is spend time with me."

You stare at him. Your eyes search his face. Your mouth slants. You want to laugh. It sounds absurd. Yet, he looks serious. You straighten your lips.

"By spend time you mean..." you shiver and mash your hands together in your lap. "They don't have people you can pay in New York."

He sighs. "It's not just... if physical things happen..." he pauses and his cheek twitches. "I'd prefer we just feel it out and see where it goes."

You look down. He can dress it up and say it as carefully as he likes. You've heard about these things. There's women on TikTok who post videos about new handbags or designer shoes and their 'daddies'. But they are so beautiful. They are interesting. You're just... afraid.

He coughs and shifts his chair closer. "I know it's not easy to be in your position. Sick parents are difficult. My mom... when I was about your age, she was really sick too. Still is but we manage."

You peek up at him. You don't know what to say. There's that voice in your head telling you that the answer is clear as day; no. You're not a prostitute. No, you have dignity. Then there's the other one, the louder one. You have nothing and you're about to lose even that.

"How about this? Before you make up your mind, let me take you around town. We'll just get to know each other. Baseline." He suggests. "We'll have our coffee, order some lunch, and you can show me around."

You bite your cheek. That's not too bad. He's not pushing you. If anything, he seems just as unsure. That makes you feel a bit better.

But can you really do this? Can you sell yourself like that? He's still just a stranger. Still just S.

Your head is reeling. What would your mom think? Well, you couldn't tell her, just like you never told her what you're really doing right then.

You bring your hand up to rub your shoulder. You hook your fingers around, shielding yourself, and nod.

"Alright, I'll try." You agree, keeping the rest of the sentence inside; I don't have any other options.

His cheeks dimple. The lines on his face only add to his good looks. He really isn't that bad. A bit older. Maybe a lot older.

"So, you hungry? What do you want?" He looks over at the chalkboard menu.

You follow his gaze. You focus on the menu. It's a bit easier to do that.

"My treat," he assures.

"Um, thanks," you scratch your neck nervously. If it were up to you, you wouldn't waste the money. "The veggie croissant sounds okay."

"Sure, anything else," he stands.

You push your shoulders back and and shake your head. "Thank you. That's more than enough."

"No problem," he turns and struts up to join the line.

You watch him. His shirt is taut across his shoulder blades and around his biceps. He's built better than any man you've seen before. Confident. He's cool as he waits patiently and steps up calmly to order. He slides out his wallet and swipes his card. Not a second thought. No tallying up rent or bills or even just the cost of a bag of rice.

He folds up his wallet and spins. You avert your attention to the table. He approaches and sits again.

"They'll bring it to us," he says.

"Okay," you accept. You can't look at him.

He shifts. "Look, I don't see you as just... I see you as a person. I hope you realise that. I really do want to help you."

"Yeah, I know." You swallow. "I'm sorry. I'm just... thinking."

"That's okay," he assures. "Not rushing you. So uh... I'll tell you about me a bit. If you want?"

You nod and make yourself look. His eyes are almost sparkling as they stick to you. You're a stranger to him too. How can he be so interested? Just you and your butterflies.

"I have a business. I have been running it for the last fifteen years. Before that, I did some corporate work but I really didn't like the politics, so started my own thing," he explains. "I live in New York, I watch baseball, I like to draw. Or liked to. I don't have a lot of time for that anymore." He pauses and holds up his finger. "One sec."

He reaches to his chest pocket and flips up the flap. He slides out a napkin. He unfolds it on the table.

"Got bored on the plane," he slides it over to you. It's a sketch of a butterfly. It's really good too.

"Wow, you did that?" You ask.

"Mm hm," he hums. "I'm a bit rusty."

"No, it's really good," you lean in to admire it. "Wow."

He's quiet. You put your fingers on the edge of the napkin as you look it over.

"My mom used to draw. Paint, too. She's really good. Like you."

You peek up at him. There's a subtle curve in his lips.

"It's... nothing but you can keep it if you want."

"I think it's more than nothing," you pick it up. "That's so cool."

"Ha, thanks. Think the real thing is cooler."

He sits back and looks over as one of the cafe employees approaches. She puts down your plates and tells you to enjoy. You tuck away the napkin.

"Looks delicious," S says.

It does and it smells even better. You hesitate as he picks up half his sandwich. You stare at yours.

"Everything okay?" He asks.

You think about your mom. She doesn't eat much these days but you wish you could bring her good food like this. You resist a frown.

"It's all good," you assure. "Thanks so much. It looks great."

You pick up half the croissant, careful not to let the contents spill out.

"So, where do you work?" He asks.

You nibble and swallow tightly. "Oh, just... customer service at a few stores. Nothing special."

"Hm, that must be stressful."

"It can be," you shrug. "Not the most stress I have right now... but er, whatever."

"Not whatever but I can understand not wanting to talk about it." He says. "Any other hobbies? Besides the butterflies?"

"No..." you drone. "Just watch some TV here and there. Go for walks when I can. There isn't too much going on around here." Not much you can afford.

"Any recommendations? I don't watch much but I'm always open to binge," he says.

"Not unless you're a fan of 90s sitcoms," you shake your head.

"Don't mind them," he says.

He leans forward to take a bite. You focus on your own sandwich. Your stomach is mulching painfully with each morsel. You only realise then how hungry you are.

🦋

S is even bigger walking next to him. You take him down the block to the park. You don't often come to this part of town but it's nicer than your neighbourhood. There's a fountain there.

You collide with S as he tries to follow the path but you find yourself distracted by the birds bathing in the water. You apologise and back up. He chuckles and turns to look at the fountain.

"Pretty. Peaceful," he says as he stops to watch them. "Different. New York is just... everything."

"Oh, it must be super busy there."

"Yeah, very," he agrees. "This is nice though."

"Probably boring to someone like you."

"Boring is nice. Boring is... easier," he says.

He starts toward the fountain and you follow. He stops at the edge and turns to sit. You do the same. The water trickles, the scent of it stirring the air.

You peer around. Another mother with her stroller, a couple and their dog, a brood of kids and their parents. It's all so nice and perfect and sweet. All these people are so happy. They don't have to worry about a thing.

You can barely remember the days when you weren't bound in anxiety. When you were the little girl skipping down the pathway. It feels like it's always been this.

You turn away to hide the gleam in your eyes. You don't know why you're thinking about that right now. You dab your eyes with your knuckle and sigh. You make yourself sit up.

"It's pretty here," you say.

He's watching you. You can feel it. Did he notice?

"It's gorgeous," he agrees but he isn't looking at the trees or the flowers.

You sniff and turn to watch the birds again. You make yourself smile. He shifts to see them too.

"Is your mom waiting for you?" He asks.

"She'll wonder where I am. She always does," you cross one arm across your middle. "I told her I was going to the bank to pay bills and do some running around."

He looks at you and nods.

"I didn't mention you. She doesn't know at all." You say. "It's just... I wasn't sure..."

"You weren't?" He wonders. "What about now?"

You clamp your lips and tilt your head. You open your mouth but can't find the words. You drop your shoulders.

"I don't know. I... I'm very lost right now." You look away.

He exhales. "I know it might not be very obvious, but I am too. I came all the way here and I was sure I was going to sit there alone all day. I kept checking your page thinking maybe you might delete and disappear with the money. Which is fine, that's fine. Your mom needs it but I just... the money is nothing to me." He sucks in air and laughs grimly. "New York is lonely. Being the boss, it's isolating. I didn't know what else to do and I... I just want something simple."

You listen, rolling around your thoughts on your tongue, poking your cheeks. You might be gullible but he sounds honest. Vulnerable even.

You hang your head and turn so that you're facing the open park path. You lean forward and wiggle your feet. "I just want my mom to be okay," you utter. "And if she isn't, then I don't want her to spend the time she has left like this."

He's quiet for a moment. You could wilt right then. All the stress crashes down on you and threatens to smother you.

"I can make sure that's not the case. I can help you keep her comfortable," he slides his hand across the stone and touches yours. "And you don't have to tell her about me."

"Yeah, she doesn't need to worry about me," you push yourself straight. You look him in the face. "I think we could try."

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

COOL FOR THE SUMMER- L. HOWLETT

pairing: older! dads best friend! logan x fem! reader

word count: 3.7k

summary: your dad urges you to come back home for the week he has all his college buddies back, and eagerly you agree because it means you get to see your crush, and your fathers best friend- logan howlett. little does anyone know your goal: to get logan to fall for you as hard as you've fallen for him

warnings: FINGERINGGG!, squirting, heavy praise kink, heavy size kink, innocence kink, daddy kink, manhandling, pet names, age gap (reader is 27, logan is mid/ late 40s), teasing, swearing, drugs and alcohol used, mentions of voyeurism

"i just wanna play with you too/ even if they judge, fuck it, i'll do the time, i just wanna have some fun with you/ got my mind on your body and your body on my mind/ got a taste for the cherry, i just need to take a bite/ don't tell your father, kiss one another-die for each other/ we're cool for the summer"- cool for the summer, demi lovato

It had been years since you had seen Logan Howlett.

And yet, when his eyes met yours- it was like he had never left.

The same gooey, sticky and sappy honey like feeling churned in your stomach when you saw him, making you feel all warm and giddy. You felt like ice cream melting under his heated gaze, just like the soft serve that was dripping down your fingers as you eyed him up from under your little heart shaped sunglasses.

It was hot today, the July heat showing you no mercy.

It had taken countless hours of whining, practically begging someone in the house to go with you to get ice cream.

It was fully packed this week, your dad doing his annual hosting with all his old college buddies- where they’d all drink beer and smoke by the firepit at night, and shoot darts during the day.

He had invited you home for the week too, to hang out with your mom and “keep her company” (whatever that meant), and she had left you for her bed and a bottle of wine.

You didn't blame her.

But it was 3pm, it was so hot you had your head in the freezer.

There was no ice cream to be found, even when you had pleaded with your dad for the keys to the car- and he had insisted there was some already at home.

What a little liar.

After countless pleads and begs, you had finally gotten his closest friend's attention- Logan.

You had always had a schoolgirl-like crush on the older man, it was deemed impossible not to. Everything about him was just so… manly.

Primal and hard edges, with a quick tongue and little tolerance for whining.

But somehow, you managed to play him like a fiddle. He caved, grumbling something about your brat like attitude, practically picking you up by your flimsy skirt and dragging you to his truck.

Now you were here, in the passenger side, sensually licking the dripping vanilla soft serve that trickled down the cone onto your fingers- eyes refusing to leave his body.

You perched your bare feet up on the dashboard, displaying your pink painted toenails skirt hiking up even higher on your thighs.

His grip tightened on the wheel, knuckles flexing as he stared at the road ahead, watching the pine air freshener swing side to side dangling from his mirror.

You knew he wanted you too. But he was too stern to cave into his urges, and you were determined this week to make him snap.

It had been years of this back and forth teasing, little touches and snide comments made whenever you came home to visit and he was around.

You weren't home very often, but when you knew he would show…

“You finally shut up now kid? Stop your whining n’ all that?” he grumbled and you giggled, hand slipping over to fiddle with loose change in his cup holders.

“Yeahhhh… thanks Lo. I really appreciate it. It’s just so hot ya know and I needed to keep my mouth occupied. S’boring.” you teased, licking your lips before taking another large lick of ice cream, savouring the cool, sweet treat on your tongue.

His apples adam bobbed, knuckles practically turning white.

He whipped into your driveway, nearly ramming into the dozens of other vehicles parked along the gravel, slamming on the breaks. It was enough to make you let out a little “oof” as he parked, turning the key in the ignition.

“You’re a spoiled princess. You know that?”

You raised an eyebrow, unbuckling your seatbelt to lean in closer to him, so close you could smell his cigars and sweat.

“Well I’m only home for so long, you know. And besides, I think you like that.”

His eyebrows furrowed, lines of annoyance creased across his forehead as he shook his head- as if he was trying to break free of some sort of trance.

You looked down, noticing a tent in his pants, and couldn't help but smirk before licking your ice cream again.

“Don't start with me kid. It won't end well for ya.” he warned, sticking a finger out to scold you, as if you were nothing more than a stupid child.

Slamming the truck door behind him, you watched from your seat as he stormed off into the house, and bolted to the nearest bathroom in the entry hall. 

-----------------------------

The first attempt got you somewhere with him.

He got all hot and bothered, refusing to even be in your proximity for the next few hours. It was later in the day, and yet the heat hadn't dwindled.

It was sticky and you were sweaty, groaning into your pillows as you fanned yourself. It was unbearable. The windows cracked open didnt help, and your dad rarely put the AC on.

But you had the perfect idea to break the dry spell.

You smiled mischievously, scampering over to your open window. You had the perfect view of the backyard, where your dad and his friends were lounging around outside, on the porch near the pool.

And there was Logan, with the perfect view of your window- and he was the only one turned towards you, as he cooked something on the grill, a cigar in his mouth- off in his own little world.

Bingo.

Your eyes zoomed in on your target, and as if he felt your gaze, his own flickered up to your window, gaze clashing with yours.

You licked your lips, slowly taking your (already sorta revealing) top off, leaving nothing to the imagination.

His eyes darkened, zoning in on you as if you were his prey, taking a long, sharp inhale of the cigar. He couldn't look away.

You let your hands trace your hardened nipples before fishing out a skimpy bikini from your dresser, tying it up in front of the exposed glass.

He shook his head, eyes fluttering closed as he flipped the food over to keep from burning, trying his best to appear focused on your dads conversation he would oddly be brought into some of the time.

Next was your shorts, then you tugged up the bottoms. Sending him a flirtatious little wave, you trotted down the stairs, snagging a clean, dry towel on your way to the pool.

You were desperate to get cool in the water- and to mainly- get Logan pent up again. It brought you such immense joy knowing his braided rope was uncurling, the pieces becoming thinner and weaker with each innocent smile and remark you sent his way.

Of course, no one else thought anything of it.

You were your dads good girl, charming and sweet and helpful.

But Logan knew. He always knew. He could sniff you out like a hound.

So when you walked out in your tiny little bathing suit, swinging your hips as you walked by him with not much more than a little glance, you knew he was about to lose his shit.

His fingers curled, tightening on the flipper as he looked over and noticed Bucky Barnes eying you up behind your fathers back, as if you were fresh meat.

Something like a growl escaped his lips, unknownst to you as you had already made your way over to the deep end, and dived in. A shirek left your lips as you splashed around in the cool water, basking in the sun as it started to slowly set behind the trees.

You looked over at Logan as he resumed his grilling, taking a slow sip of his beer, watching you as you treading over to the edge, resting your arms on the stone side, looking over at him with puppy dog eyes.

“Lo, could you pass me a beer?” you asked sweetly and he scoffed.

“No way kid.”

“Logan I’m twenty seven, I’m a big girl. Hand one over.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, ignoring your protests.

“Come get one yourself then princess.” he growled through clenched teeth, cigar close to sputtering out.

“That's too much work.”

“Well? You want one?”

You huffed, rolling your eyes right back at him. “Fine. Be like that.”

You paid him no mind as you swam over to the other side of the pool, perched over to give Bucky that same sweet, sickly look that drove him head over heels.

He had a nice view of your ass though, from this angle. He couldn't complain about that, even if you were talking to a man who wasn't him.

“Mr. Barnes? Could you pass me a beer please?” you asked gently, and it wasn't even two seconds later before he was rushing over to hand you one.

“Course sweetheart. Just dont spill in the pool, or your dad will have my head.” You giggled, turning your head over your shoulder to give Logan a wink.

“Thank you Mr. Barnes.”

“Honey, Bucky is just fine. None of that formal shit okay?”

You nodded obediently, coaxing out a Yes Bucky before taking a long swig of the amber liquid.

Bucky leaned back in his seat, trying to re- engage with the conversation, his eyes darting constantly to stare at your figure as you floated, taking small sips of the liquid.

They were then met with Logan's heavy gaze, pupils so blown out and black he was lucky the BBQ wasn't thrown at his head at this very moment. 

------------------------------------------------ You nodded your head along with the old dad rock as you took a puff of your joint, letting the warm, fuzzy feelings cloud your judgements as you sunk deeper into the lawn chair, watching the flames from the bonfire grow higher as your father tended to it.

You knew he wasn't pleased with you smoking- but what the hell was he going to do about it? You were an adult. It's not like he could tell you you weren't allowed, anyways.

You felt Logans gaze from across the fire, the flames licking his pupils as he stared you down, while you were blissfully in your own world.

Your little sundress had his eyes wandering places they shouldn't have, and it didn't help that when the sun went down, the slight chill had found its home on your breasts, hardened nipples poking out of the soft fabric.

The more hits you took, the looser you felt, and before you knew it- you were dancing and spinning around to

“I Was Made for Lovin You” by Kiss after you had begged them to put it on- joint dangling out of your mouth.

Logan couldn't help but chuckle as you spun and clapped each time the drums hit- giggling to yourself as you watched him carelessly.

“Does anyone want another drink? I’m gonna go n get one.” you slurred slightly, resting your hands on the back of Bucky's chair as you tallied the requests.

Time was blurring back and forth, so whoever hadn’t  requested one was getting one anyways. You stared off into the distance with a dazed look on your face, coming back to reality when Bucky had turned, placing his hand on yours.

“Hon? You all good?”

“On clouds. I’ll be back. Bye!” you waved, giggling uncontrollably as you skipped back to the house.

You weren't expecting company, not hearing Logans muttering about going with you to keep you out of trouble to the group, eliciting chuckles from his friends.

Shaking his head, he rolled his eyes as he jogged to catch up to you, slipping into the kitchen right after you. You were giggling to yourself about god knows what as he entered, your red, heavy eyes sliding up to meet him from where he stood.

You were bent over the counter, rocking your feet up and down, swaying yourself- no intention of grabbing any beer.

“Hi Lo.”

His eyebrows raised with amusement.

“Whatcha doin here?”

“Keeping you out of trouble. Someones a lightweight, if I’ve ever seen one.”

You rolled your eyes. “Am not.”

“Don't deny it. It's cute.” He bit his lip as he looked you up and down, eyes lingering on the swish of the flowy fabric against your soft, plush thighs, and your breasts that were taunting him.

“M’supposed to get beers. But I don't know who for.” you sighed, turning around to face him.

You were so innocent, so adorable it made his heart shatter into a million itty bitty pieces, and his dick hard as a rock.

“Is that so?”

“Mmm. I think Steve wanted one.” you nodded to yourself, feet padding on the hardwood as you walked over to a cupboard, opening in and frowning in confusion.

“Kay I don't see any beers.”

Logan couldn't help but laugh, walking up behind you to place his large hands on your hips, guiding you over to the fridge.

“Don't laugh at me!”

“M’not laughing honey. Just giving my princess some help, yeah?” The word my slipped out faster then he could catch it, and he was thankful you didn't.

He’d never hear the end of it.

You opened the fridge and let out a squeal as he picked you up with ease, as if you weighed absolutely nothing, letting you scout out the whole fridge- grabbing the cold beers on the top shelf.

“Steve, n Bucky, n Logan… who else?” you murmured, wrapping your arms around the bottles to try and carry them all.

“That's all honey. Good job.” he cooed, placing you back down on the ground, shutting the fridge doors behind you as you set the bottles down on the counter, before perching yourself up onto the granite.

You swung your legs, parting them slightly as you watched Logan watch you.

Intensely.

You bit your lip, feeling your panties dampen even more than they already were- which was saying a lot.

You had rubbed and squeezed your thighs together so much because of the older man in front of you, and you weren't even ashamed. Anyone would, in your position.

“What are you thinking about Lo?” you asked, nickname rolling sweetly off the tongue.

You were the only one who called him that. You were the only one who was allowed to call him that.

“Nothin you need to worry your sweet lil head about honey.”

You bit your lip, batting your eyelashes up at him as he dared to inch even closer. The gap was slowly closing between you two.

You smiled softly, spreading your legs, your dress draped over your thighs so he had a clear view of the wet patch on your lacey pink panties.

He audibly growled, clenching his knuckles at his sides so hard they turned bright white as he let out a breath.

“I’ve been really wet for you all day Lo. And I really need your help.”

He took a deep breath. Shut his eyes. He could not do this.

It broke every rule in the moral code book. Seeing and thinking of his best friends daughter like this- what the fuck was he thinking?

But he was in too deep now. He didn't think he could part from you, from that little wet patch.

He could smell you. Practically hear your little clit throbbing.

“You always need my help. Don't think you could do anything yourself- even if you tried princess.”

You cocked your head innocently, slipping your fingers down to your inner thighs.

“I did do things by myself- all by myself. I touched myself to the thought of you filling me up and keeping me full of your cum n…” you broke off, giggling like a schoolgirl.

“And I just couldn't do it as well as you could Lo. You’re so big n strong, and your hands are so much bigger than mine, I’m sure they’d feel amazing.”

“Fuck. FUCK baby you cant-” he panted, slamming his fist down on the countertop.

You didn't even flinch.

“You can't say that shit. I can't- fuck- your my best friends daughter for fucks sake. Fuck.” he swore, and yet he was even closer to you.

Filling the gap between your parted legs, breath mingling with yours.

“And you’re high and just-”

“M’not super high. Just really fuzzy.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure. It's so wrong baby, but fuck I can't stop thinking about you. About this tight lil body I could just use and fuck the shit out of.” he groaned, head falling as he took another deep breath, restraining himself.

His words made your clit pulse even harder, and you were desperate for release.

“It's okay Lo. I won't tell anyone. Pinky promise.” your fingers reached out to fiddle with his dog tags as he lifted his head, hungry eyes staring at your lips.

He licked his own.

“I’m just- jus hurts really bad and I need some help. Please. Please, please I’ll be so good, not a word. Just a little touch, anything- please Lo.” you begged, puppy dog eyes staring up at him.

And how could he deny you? You just begged so pretty, your bright little eyes wide and hazy with admiration as you looked at him, making him feel like the most handsome, wanted man in the world.

He was caving, and caving until he caved.

His lips crashed down onto yours, full of want and need, the sweetness of your lipgloss giving him the balance he needed to fuel his fire.

His hands harshly gripped your inner thighs, holding them open as you whined and moaned into his mouth, trying to wiggle from overstimulation. He kissed you until your lips were swollen, gloss smeared as he peppered kisses down your neck, digging his fingers even deeper into your flesh, hard enough to mark.

“Lo-”

“Yeah, you need my help baby? You gonna let daddy take care of you now? Such a big girl, tryin do everything on her own- but she just needs daddy to do everything for her, doesn't she?”

You nodded dumbly, going into a trance like state as he cooed down at you mockingly.

“Fuckin driving you around all day, watching you in that skimpy lil bikini… now you just want some touches to your pretty lil princess parts, don't you baby? You're such a greedy girl.”

You whimpered at his words, feeling his large fingers trace your inner thighs, teasing you as he inched closer to your cunt.

A moan escaped you, your head lolling back against the cupboard as the pad of his thumb brushed the wet patch on your undies.

“Please, please daddy I’ll be so good. Jus please.”

“Awh baby, you sound so pretty when you beg. You're such a fast learner, aren't you? Such a bright girl, but youre going all dumb now hmm? Gonna let daddy touch you all nice n sweet?”

You nodded frantically as he pressed his thumb down on your clenching hole, the fabric getting sucked in as he pressed.

Finally he pushed your thong to the side, air hissing through his clenched teeth as he saw just how wet you were for him.

You were practically dripping right on the counter. Your juices glistened in the pale kitchen light, and you gripped his wrist as his finger brushed through your folds before entering you, curling inside.

“Feel so good-”

He chuckled darkly, watching your little reactions as he worked his finger before adding another one, stretching you out.

Fuck you were tight.

He wondered how you'd fit his cock. He watched every little move, when you gripped his wrist harder, when your little pants and moans slipped out of your pretty parted lips.

“S’big.”

“Sweet girl, am I touching all those parts you couldn't reach yourself? Feels good?”

“S’good.” You were already cockdrunk and he hadn't even put his cock in you yet. Drool was practically pooling out the sides of your mouth as your eyes rolled back in your head as his coos and praises.

“Don't have very long angel, the guys are gonna wonder where we’ve been.”

You nodded, gasping as his thumb came up to rub gentle circles on your clit, making you quiver and shake.

“And we don't want that, now do we? Daddys friends all seeing you perched up on the counter for me, spreading your legs like the sweet lil girl you are.”

The idea of you guys getting caught somehow brought you even closer to your release, as his fingers quickend their pace. The wet sounds of squechling brought heta to your cheeks, and fuck he loved it.

He loved how flustered you got, under his thumb- how you completely gave yourself over to him, so he could take care of you.

“Daddy I’m gonna-”

“Go ahead baby. I’m right here, I gotcha sweet thing.” he cooed, and that was it for you.

You weren't sure if it was the weed or simply Logan Howlett finally appearing where you wanted him most, between your legs- but your release came hard and fast, knocking the wind out of you as your juices squirted all over his hairy arm, some drips landing on his white tank top.

His eyes widened in surprise, a moan leaving his lips at the sight of you, making a mess all over his fingers.

He was aching in his pants, cock leaking with precum- but he knew he couldnt fuck you now. Not now, not here, and not when you were this dazed.

Instead, he planted a kiss and a praise to your forehead, grabbing a rag to clean you up with, leading you upstairs to your room. As soon as your head hit the pillow, you were out like a light, body still shaking slightly in your sleep.

He smiled to himself softly, enjoying this quiet moment of peace as he watched you- so vulnerable and at peace yourself in your bed. Draping a blanket over you, he kissed your forehead again, not once but twice as a promise, brushing the strand of hair that fell over your face back behind your ear.

Knowing the boys would be wondering where the hell he had been, where you had been- he rushed to the bathroom, relieving himself as quick as possible before grabbing the beers and rushing back outside, lying outright through his teeth.

But for you, it was worth it.