#ugh. christ. this is terrible | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kenacoki · 9 months ago

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Save the Best for Last

//Pairing// Evan “Buck” Buckley x Fem!Reader

//Summary// After so many terrible dates, you always seem to find yourself coming back to Buck’s loft.

//Word Count// 5.58k

//Request// smut prompts #2 & #4

//Warnings// smutty smut smut :)), Evan Buckley being a certified munch, lazy handjobs, p in v sex, and possessive talk

//Dividers// sister-lucifer

"Oh, goddamn it."

Here you are, standing outside Buck's loft door at 10:00 at night with a six-pack of beer in hand as you contemplate your life choices.

Your latest date had been a complete and total disaster.

The man was loud, obnoxious, and a bit too handsy for your taste. So, you left the date early feeling frustrated and angry. All you want to do is relax and complain to your best friend.

Reaching into your pocket, you pull out your key to Buck's place. Letting yourself in, you sigh quietly as you slip your jacket off. The loft is empty and quiet.

"Buck?" You call out, setting the beer in the fridge.

Maybe he’s in the shower? Or asleep? You don’t get a response, so you head into the living room, flopping down onto Buck’s new couch with a huff.

You lean your head back against the couch, your eyes fluttering shut as you sigh heavily. As you sit there mentally cursing out your dumb date, the sound of footsteps causes you to open your exhausted (e/c) eyes, looking over at the source of the noise; it’s Buck, walking out of his steaming bathroom.

Completely naked.

You immediately turned red, quickly looking away and sitting up. "Jesus Christ," you blurt out, feeling your heart pound in your chest. "Buck, for god's sake, a towel please." You keep your eyes trained on the wall in front of you, refusing to look at your equally embarrassed friend.

"Oh—oh god, I didn’t know you came in!” Buck mumbles, grabbing a discarded towel from the bathroom floor and wrapping it around his waist.

Well, now you understand how he got the nickname Firehose.

"How long have you been here?"

"Not long." You mutter, still refusing to look at him. The image of his bare chest is burned into your brain. What you wouldn’t give to rake your fingers over his toned muscles—

Nope. Stop. No, nope. Bad thoughts.

“I’m just uh, gonna go grab some clothes.” Buck practically scurries away, disappearing up the stairs to his bedroom. You exhale, letting out a deep breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

Finally looking away from the wall, you bury your face in your hands.

This is bad. You and Buck are just friends. Nothing more, nothing less. You need to get these feelings under control, but it’s so, so hard.

Buck emerges a moment later, thankfully with underwear and sweatpants on, although his chest is still bare. You try not to stare at his toned upper body as he shuffles back over to the couch, plopping himself down next to you; leaving little to no space. You desperately try not to think about it.

"S-so, how was your date?" He asks, his voice is casual but a tinge of tension in his words.

You try not to grimace as you remember the disaster that had been your evening. “Ugh, it was terrible. He was so loud and obnoxious, it was awful.” You sigh heavily, shaking your head. “I don’t know why I keep going on these stupid dates, honestly.”

Buck shifts next to you, his shoulder brushing against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine. He’s so close, that you can practically feel the warmth radiating off of his body. It’s driving you crazy.

You suddenly jerk forward, rubbing your sweaty palms on your dress as you stand, “I uh, I got us beer—to drink. Do you want one?”

Smooth, real smooth (y/n).

Buck nods, his eyes following you as you walk away, his gaze trailing down your body hungrily. He can’t help it, the sight of your curves in that tight (f/c) dress is so damn distracting. He swallows hard, tearing his eyes away from you as you disappear into the kitchen.

You open the fridge door, the cool air hitting your flushed face. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. You need to stop reacting this way to him, you and Buck are just friends. No matter what your stupid heart may think.

You grab a couple of beers, opening one for Buck and one for yourself. Heading back into the living room, you desperately try to get your thoughts under control.

Buck’s in the same spot as before when you come back, his arm stretched out along the back of the couch. You hand him the beer and sit back down on the couch, putting a little distance between you this time.

As you get comfortable, you take a long swig of your drink. Buck does the same, his eyes flicking over to you as he does.

The tension in the room feels thick as if you could slice through it with a knife. You take another sip of beer, glancing over at Buck. He’s still looking at you, his eyes roaming over your face. It’s making you nervous.

“What?” You ask, lifting an eyebrow at him.

"Hm?" Buck seems to snap out of his thoughts, blinking at you. "Oh, uh, nothing—Just thinking." He replies, looking away quickly and taking another drink of beer.

You along nod awkwardly, taking another sip of your beer as you try to ignore the way Buck’s eyes still glance at you,“Don’t strain yourself too hard.”

Buck snorts, rolling his eyes at your sarcastic comment. The corner of his lips twitch upwards, a small smirk growing on his face. But the smirk fades quickly, a flicker of something you can’t quite place flashing across his eyes.

"You’re just hilarious, y'know that?” He teases, but there’s an undertone to it that you can’t quite put your finger on.

You roll your eyes at him, though your heart skips a beat at his smirk. You’re suddenly very aware of how close you two have gotten again, the heat from his body practically seeping through his clothes onto your own skin.

“Damn right, I am.” You snark back at him, taking another drink of beer as you try to ignore the way your heart is pounding in your chest.

Buck lets out a soft laugh, his eyes locking on yours again. The smirk on his face fades as he takes a deep breath, seeming to come to some kind of decision. He shifts closer, his body leaning slightly into yours.

"Can I ask you something?"

You involuntarily tense up, your heart slamming in your chest. His sudden shift in demeanor can’t help but make you nervous, you take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“Sure, yeah.” You say, trying to keep your voice even. You turn towards him, meeting his gaze with your own. “What’s up?”

Buck hesitates for a moment, his tongue darting out as he wets his lips. He’s so close to you now, his face only a few inches away from yours. When he speaks, his voice is quieter than before, barely above a whisper.

"Why do you keep going on these dates?"

His question catches you off guard, making your stomach twist into knots. You certainly hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. You take a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. You can feel your heart racing, the sound of it drumming in your ears.

"I, uh, I don’t know. Does-Does it really matter?" You reply, trying to keep your voice casual. But you can feel yourself start to fidget with your fingers nervously.

Buck watches you for a moment, his eyes scanning over your face. His hand moves, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. The touch is gentle, his fingers tracing lightly along your cheek.

"Yeah, it matters." He says, his voice soft. "It matters because all these dates are doing is making you miserable. I hate seeing you like this."

Your breath catches in your chest as his fingers lightly trail along your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You can feel your self-control slipping, your heart and mind warring with each other. You want to lean into his touch, but at the same time, you know you need to keep your distance.

"It’s fine, Buck. I promise." You manage to say, but the shakiness in your voice betrays your words.

Buck’s hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing over your skin. His eyes are still fixed on yours, his gaze intense and unwavering.

"No, it's not." He says firmly. "You're not fine. You’re miserable. I mean, you're going on these dates like some kind of punishment, like you think you need to suffer through it for some reason."

He moves even closer to you, so close that you can just barely feel his breath fan against your skin.

His words strike a nerve in you, because you know he’s right. You’ve been using these dates to try and punish yourself, to try and ignore your feelings for Buck. Now he’s calling you out on it, and it’s making it hard for you to think straight.

You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. You’re so weak for him, it’s pathetic.

Buck’s hand moves from your cheek to your chin, tilting your head up slightly, making you look at him. Your eyes lock with his, your heart racing at his proximity. His gaze is intense like he’s searching for something in your eyes.

"I don’t understand why you keep doing this to yourself." He murmurs, his thumb brushing over your jawline. "You deserve better than these idiots you keep going on dates with. You deserve someone who actually cares about you."

Your breath catches in your chest as he speaks, your heart clenching at his words. You know he's right, but you can’t bring yourself to admit it. You try to deflect, trying to keep the conversation light.

"Yeah? And who do you have in mind for me then?" You half-joke, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Buck’s thumb stops moving, his gaze steady and unwavering. His other hand moves to your hip, his fingers gripping you gently through the fabric of your dress

"Me." He says, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flick down to your lips, then back up to your eyes.

Your eyes widen in shock at his words, your mind reeling. You’re speechless, unable to believe what he’s saying. Is he being serious?

You take a shaky breath, trying to form a response but struggle to find the words. Buck’s hand on your hip tightens slightly, pulling you closer to him.

“You��you do?” You ask, your voice a little breathless.

Buck nods, and his grip on your hip tightens even more, pulling you flush against his body. You can feel his heart beating fast, mirroring your own. He’s so close to you that you can see the tiniest flecks of green in his blue eyes; you can’t help but feel compelled to touch his birthmark.

"Yeah.” He says firmly, his voice rough and low. “I do. I want you so bad it’s been driving me insane.”

Your mind is swirling, your body reacting to his every touch and word. You should be pushing him away, shoving him back, and telling him to snap out of it. This is a terrible idea, bound to end in disaster. You could lose your friendship, and your job if things go bad. But you can’t bring yourself to care.

"God Buck, me too.” You murmur, your hand moving to clutch at his waist, your fingers gripping the soft fabric of his sweatpants.

Buck lets out a low groan at your words. Your confession is like a spark, igniting a fire within him. He leans even closer until there’s barely an inch of space left between your bodies.

"You have no idea how bad I want you.” He says, his voice practically growling. “I want to kiss every inch of you, make you forget your own name.”

“Then do it.” You whisper, your voice is a little shaky but so filled with desire it’s undeniable. You want this, you want him.

You. Need. Buck.

Buck doesn’t hesitate, his lips crashing down against yours in a heated kiss. His hand in your hair tightens, angling your head back to give him better access to your mouth. His other hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you into him.

The kiss is intense, desperate, like he’s trying to devour you whole.

You let out a muffled moan, your hand moving to grasp his neck; clinging to him like a lifeline. Your body feels like it’s been set on fire, every inch of you burning with need and desire for him. You can’t get enough, you don’t think you’ll ever get enough.

You open your mouth to him, letting his tongue slide into your mouth, your own tongue meeting his in a frenzied dance. You can feel yourself falling apart, losing yourself in the intensity of his touch, of his kiss.

Buck’s hands move to your thighs, gripping them tightly as he lifts you up, easily settling you on his lap so youre straddling him. You move your hips, grinding yourself down onto him, his body reacting involuntarily to the pressure. You can feel his hardness press against your core, it sends a throb of need throughout your entire body.

Gasping, Buck breaks the kiss before moving his lips to your neck; his mouth hot and demanding against your skin.

“You…drive me…crazy.” He mutters between kisses, his lips trailing down your neck and across your collarbone. Hishands slide under the lacy hem of your dress, his fingers burning hot against your skin as they trace patterns along your sides. You arch into his touch.

“You’re all I can think about. Every day.” He continues, his voice gravelly with lust. “God, even when we’re at work.”

You let out a gasp as his tongue swirls over your skin, your fingers tangling in his curly, blonde hair. His words make your heart pound even faster.

You press yourself against Buck, your hips rolling involuntarily against his, seeking more of that delicious friction. You can feel him growing harder underneath you, only making you ache for more.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve had to go to the bathroom to get myself under control,” Buck admits, his voice rumbles against your skin. He moves his hands lower, cupping your ass and grinding you down onto him. His mouth moves lower, his teeth grazing over a particularly sensitive spot on your collarbone, his thumb moving over your hip bone, tracing the outline of your underwear.

You let out a soft moan, your head falling back as he works his mouth down your neck and across your chest. His touch is like gasoline on an already out-of-control fire, and you can feel yourself losing more and more control.

“Buck…” You breathe out, his name a plea and a prayer all in one.

Buck moans at the sound, his hands moving to your hips again, holding you still against him. His mouth moves back up to your neck, his teeth and lips roaming over your skin.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted you so long.” He mutters, his voice rough and strained. “You keep coming to me after those stupid dates, all dressed up in these pretty dresses. Do you have any idea what it does to me?”

The mental image of him watching you from across the station, seeing you all dolled up for these dates and not being able to do anything about it, watching as you leave with another man, it makes your stomach clench. You wonder how many times he's sat there, fighting the urge to pull you into his lap, to kiss you senselessly and show everyone that you’re his.

You let out a pathetic whine, the thought making you throb with need.

Buck leans back slightly, his eyes raking over your disheveled form. You’re panting heavily, your (e/c) eyes dark with desire, lips swollen from his kisses. You’re a mess, and it makes him feel a sense of satisfaction that he’s the one who’s made you this way.

“God, look at you.” He murmurs, his hands pushing up your dress, his fingers tracing over your bare thighs. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

You shiver as his hands move higher, brushing over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You can feel your own arousal pooling between your legs, your underwear getting more and more damp at his touch. You want him, you need him so badly that it’s starting to become painful.

“Buck please,” You pant out, your voice pleading. “I need you…I need you so bad.”

Buck’s breath hitches at your words, his grip on your thighs faltering momentarily. He can see the desperation in your eyes, the need written all over your face.

“You’ve got me.” He says, his voice a low rumble. “You’ve always had me…just didn’t know it.”

Your heart clenches at his words, your mind warring with your body. Everything about this is a bad idea, you’re playing with fire here. But at this moment, with his hands on you, his body under yours, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Prove it. Show me I’m yours, Buck.”

Buck’s eyes flash at your challenge, a wolfish smile spreading across his face. He moves without warning, standing up and easily lifting you with him. Your legs automatically wrap around his waist, and your arms cling to his shoulders. Spinning around, he starts the ascent to his loft bedroom.

You cling to him as he moves through the apartment, his hands holding you tightly, supporting your weight without any effort. You bury your face in his neck, leaving teasing kisses along his skin, your tongue and teeth nipping at his pulse point. You can feel every muscle in his body as he moves, your hands roaming across his back and shoulders, your fingernails scraping gently over his skin.

As you reach the top of the stairs, he walks you over to the edge of the bed and sets you down on the soft comforter.

“(y/n)…” He mutters, his eyes roaming over your body, taking in every inch of you. Your hair is tangled and messy, your chest heaving as you breathe heavily, your dress pooled up around your thighs, exposing your (s/c) skin. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

You smirk up at him, a feeling of power rushing through you at the way he’s looking at you. You lay back slowly, arching your back and letting the skirt of your dress ride up higher. You run your tongue over your bottom lip, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him.

“Pretty good way to go though, huh?” You tease lightly.

You don’t know how, but Buck’s eyes darken even more, the sight of you on his bed—practically inviting him to take you—pushes him over the edge.

“You’re such a tease.” He mutters, moving closer to you as his hands go to the waistband of his sweats.

You let out a small gasp as he starts to lower his sweatpants, the sight of him in nothing but low-hanging boxer briefs makes your mouth water. You can see the desire and hunger in his eyes, the fact that he wants you so badly sending a thrill of pleasure through you.

“Only for you, Buckley.”

Buck moves onto the bed, caging you in with his body, his hands on either side of your head.

“Better be.” He grins, leaning down to trail kisses along your jaw to your ear. His teeth nip at your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine.

He moves lower, his lips finding your neck again, sucking lightly on the sensitive skin there, leaving a mark you know you’ll struggle to hide the next day.

You can feel your hands starting to shake as the ache between your legs grows and your mind gets fuzzy. You arch up into him, your body seeking more of his touch, more of his attention.

“Buck—need you to touch me.” You pant, your voice needy and desperate

Buck groans at your words, his hands sliding lower down your body, gliding over your stomach and then lower until they’re at the edge of your dress.

“Lift your hips.” He instructs, his voice commanding, leaving no room for argument. You instantly comply, lifting your hips off the bed, allowing him to slide your dress higher up your body.

With a quick tug, Buck pulls the dress up over your body and tosses it to the side. He takes a moment to admire you, trailing his eyes over every inch of you.

You’re laying there in just your (f/c) bra and panties, your legs slightly parted, your chest rising and falling quickly as you breathe through the need coursing through your body.

He leans back down over you, his hands and mouth immediately going to work. His mouth trails wet kisses down your torso and across your stomach, his fingers tracing lightly over your skin. You can’t help but whimper as he moves, your body responding to every touch, every graze of his lips against your skin.

His moves lower, just barely brushing the edge of your panties. You let out a gasp, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as your body arches into his touch.

You feel Buck’s smile against your skin, his hands gripping your hips tightly to keep you still. He loves seeing you like this, lost in pleasure and need, your body responding to his every move. He moves his mouth lower, his tongue tracing over the thin, damp fabric of your panties.

“B-Buck!” Your voice cracks

“You’re so damn sensitive,” Buck mutters, his fingers slowly tugging at the edge of your panties before pulling them down your legs and tossing them off to the side.

You clasp a hand over your mouth as you hold back a whine as you feel his hot breath fan against your soaked center.

Buck gently nips at the inside of your thigh, leaving small marks on your sensitive skin. He moves one of his hands to rest on your knee, keeping you spread open.

“It’s okay, (y/n).” Buck says, his voice full of desire. “Let me hear you, let me hear what I do to you.”

Before you can respond, his mouth is pressed against your soaking folds.

You let out a high-pitched moan, your hands automatically digging into his scalp, your fingers gripping his curly blonde locks. His tongue is skilled, his movements sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

“F-fuckin’ dick!” You manage to gasp out, your words quickly turning into broken moans and gasps as he continues his assault

Buck doesn’t stop, his tongue working you over, his lips and teeth nipping and sucking at you in all the right places. He loves the way you taste, and the sound of your moans. But he’s greedy, and he wants more.

He slides his hand from your knee to your core, one of his calloused fingers gently teasing at your entrance.

Your body is buzzing with pleasure and your mind is fogged with need. The feeling of his finger at your entrance, teasing and tantalizing is almost too much.

“O-Oh god, Buck…please…don’t stop!” You desperately gasp out, feeling the coil inside you building.

Buck groans against you, sending vibrations straight to your core, “You’re so damn wet.”

“All for you—Fuck!”

Buck practically groans with need at your words. He gently pushes one of his fingers into you, the slide easy due to your arousal. You throw your head back from the pleasure.

“You’re like heaven, baby.” Buck mumbles, his voice filled with awe as his finger continues to move, gently stretching you in preparation for more. “Like an angel…My pretty, perfect angel.”

You can’t respond, your words are caught in your throat, replaced by gasps and moans as Buck continues to work you. He adds another finger, scissoring them gently, the sensation making your eyes flutter shut.

“Look at me.” Buck commands, “Open your eyes, (y/n). Let me see you.”

With a great amount of effort, you force your eyes open, to meet his gaze. The sight before you is one that’ll be engraved into your memory forever.

Buck’s hair is a mess from your fingers running through it, his cheeks flushed, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal, eyes dark with lust and possessiveness that makes your skin flush with goosebumps. He looks wild, untamed, and yet he’s completely focused on you, on giving you pleasure.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good.” He whispers, his fingers curving slightly, the way that makes you see stars. “I’m gonna make you cum so hard that you forget your own name, how about that?”

“Yes, please!” You gasp, your words coming out needy and desperate. “Please, Buck, please. I need you-need you so bad.”

Reluctantly, Buck pulls his fingers from you, your walls fluttering around nothing. He doesn’t leave you waiting for long, shifting to kneel on the bed, his hands go to the edge of his underwear.

You watch, breathless and eager, as he slowly pushes down his boxer briefs, freeing his aching cock. The tip is red and dripping; you swear that you feel your mouth water.

“You see what you do to me? See what you caused?” Buck’s voice is rough, his breath coming out in heavy pants.

You run your eyes up and down his body, taking in the sight in front of you, the way his body is practically trembling, desperate for you. You lick your lips, your thoughts swarming with things that would make a sailor blush with shame.

“Please, Buck.”

He looks down at you, his eyes raking over your body, as he takes in the sight. You sound so needy, so desperate. He leans over you, his hands on either side of your head.

“Please, what, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice a low, teasing whisper.

You wrap your legs around his waist, your hands gripping his shoulders.

“Fuck. Me.”

Buck lets a curse slip from his lips as he captures yours in a hungry, rough kiss. One hand grasps your hip, while the other hand drifts to your thigh, gripping it firmly as he lines himself up at your entrance. Breaking the kiss, he lets his forehead rest against yours.

His eyes lock with yours, a silent question in his gaze. You nod, your hands running down his arms.

“Do it, Buck.” You say, your voice is desperate and whiny. “Please.”

Buck lets out a low moan at your voice, his body trembling from the effort of holding himself back. He can’t take it anymore, he needs you, needs to feel you around him, needs to taste you.

He slowly pushes into you, going as slowly as he can manage, relishing in the way your walls flutter against his member.

You let out a gasp, your hands tightening around his wrists, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel him fill you, stretch you in the best way possible. There’s a slight burn, but you welcome it as you shakily exhale.

“A-Ah...” Buck moans, his voice strained as his hands grip you tighter, burying himself fully inside you. His head drops to rest in the crease of your neck. “You feel… you feel so good—god, so warm.”

You let out a moan as he bottoms out, your mind lost in the pleasure of him filling you so perfectly. You want to tell him how good it feels, but words are lost amongst the fog in your mind.

Buck presses a kiss to your shoulder, his lips feeling like fire against your skin. His hand leaves your hip and moves to grip yours, his fingers carefully intertwining with yours. Using his other hand he gently cups your face, forcing you to look at him

“Look at me, baby.” He mutters against your skin, “I wanna see your face. I wanna see how good I make you feel. Can you do that for me?”

You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. The way he’s looking at you makes your heart swell; his eyes are filled with such adoration, such love.

Buck lets out a pleased noise, “That’s it, so good for me. Look so pretty when you’re like this…all flushed and trembling, just from my touch.”

He gives a shallow, experimental thrust, eliciting a sharp gasp from you as an electric feeling shoots through your body.

He moans against your skin, the sound making the hairs on your neck stand up. He moves again, this time pulling out slightly before slowly pushing back into you. You gasp again, your hands grab at his shoulder; your nails breaking the skin.

He sets up a steady pace, pulling out and then pushing back in with slow, steady movements.

Each moan and gasp, each twitch of your brow or hitch in your breath, he takes it in, and stores it away. He shifts his hips slightly, changing the angle, and a guttural, desperate moan tumbles from your lips.

Buck lets out a taunting chuckle, “Did I find a sensitive spot, baby?” He asks, his voice teasing and gruff against your ear.

You can’t find it in you to respond, completely blissed out from the pleasure Buck is giving you. Your words catch in your throat, replaced by a series of ‘uh-uh-uhs’ as he continuously slams into you.

His pace quickens as his breath comes out in short pants, his hand gripping yours just a little bit tighter.

“F-Fuck…Who do you want?”

“You. Only you, Buck.”

Buck’s eyes close for a moment, a shudder raking through his body at your words. He lets out another moan, his head falling forward to rest his forehead against your shoulder as he untangles his hand from yours. Hastily he brings it down, harshly rubbing it against your sensitive bud.

The sudden change in stimuli makes your eyes roll back, the pleasure and heat reaching a breaking point.

“B-Buck, I’m not gonna—”

“I know, baby, I know.” He whines, his own voice wavering. “I want to feel you cum around me. C’mon, cum for me.”

That’s all it takes, the feeling of him inside you, the sound of his voice, the sensation of his hands on you against you—your orgasm crashes over you like a wave. Your entire body tenses, a broken moan falling from your lips as your back arches against Buck’s sweaty figure.

Buck groans as he feels you cum, your walls clenching around him tightly. His hips stutter, losing their steady rhythm as he pulls out and starts pumping himself over your stomach.

“Ngh—shit!” Buck gasps suddenly as he feels your fingers wrap around his weeping cock, taking over for him.

“(y-y/n), you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” You look up at him with a small, exhausted smile on your lips as you continue to leisurely pump him at your own pace.

Buck lets out a high-pitched whine, his hands gripping onto you tighter, “M-mm’ so close.”

“Then come for me, Evan.”

Buck lets out a desperate noise, the sound of his real name falling from your lips being his final breaking point.

“(y-y/n)—”

You keep stroking him through his orgasm, watching as his body shivers from the overstimulation. Slowly, Buck’s flushed face lifts from your shoulder, his breaths leaving his lips in heavy pants, the corners of his mouth turned up into a small smile. His blue eyes meet your gaze, they’re hazy and unfocused.

“God, I love you.” He mutters, his voice a little hoarse, but still filled with an amount of tenderness that makes your heart skip a beat.

You bring your clean hand up to his face, running it through his messy, tangled hair, your fingernails gently massaging his scalp “I love you too.”

Buck lets out a content hum, pressing a few soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose—Anywhere he can reach without having to pull his body away from you.

You laugh softly at his affection, your chest filled with a warm, fuzzy feeling, a smile resting on your lips. You feel…at ease.

Happy.

Safe.

Buck slowly pulls away, just enough to move off your body and lay next to you. He instantly pulls you against his chest, one arm around your shoulders, cradling you against him. He sighs contentedly, burying his face in your hair, inhaling your scent.

You rest your head against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat under your ear grounding and soothing. Your eyes slowly close, your exhaustion finally catching up to you. You snuggle closer to Buck, a soft yawn escaping your lips.

Buck chuckles as he hears you yawn. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

You give a tiny hum, the sound of his voice and the feeling of his hand on your back making your eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Sleep starts to overtake you, but not before you mutter out one final sentence.

“I love you, Buck.”

Buck’s heart warms at your words. He pulls you even closer to him, relishing the feeling of having you this close. He presses a kiss to the top of your head again, his voice soft and gentle as he speaks.

“I love you too, (y/n). More than anything.”

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sortagaysortahigh · 7 days ago

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Domestic | Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

A/N: Heyyyyyyy guys <3 here's my first TGM fic that's ever hit the dash, and ofc it had to be my favorite douchebagJake Seresin!!!! but ugh the idiots in love fic lmfao. Rivals to roommates to lovers but the catch is they're literally so dense they don't know they're in love <3 UGH I LOVE LOVE! Also thank u to my lover in christ @anxietyandtacos for reading this for me and being a hoe <3

Summary: Moving in with Jake Seresin was the last thing you'd wanted to do, but you were out of options. Turns out, life is nice with Jake, if anything, you both enjoy being a little domestic.

Warnings: Spelling and grammar errors (I am who I am), cursing, 2nd person POV, mentions of violence, Jake get's smacked a few times, Rooster and Nat supremacy bye, kissing, hand holding, mentions of hazing (not fraternity level fucked up hazing NEVER THAT!), idiots in love like honestly truly Smut: tongue kissing, spitting, handjobs, jake cums in his pants, oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, praise, cowgirl (WOO HOO!), spanking/slapping (tee hee!), creampie (unprotected p in v)

Word Count: 12.4k

Jake Seresin x Fem!Aviator!Reader

This man is such a douchebag i love him <3

Reader's Callsign is Hellfire

Living with one of your co-workers was usually a recipe for disaster, especially when said co-worker was an overconfident douchebag with a Texan twang that irritated you beyond belief.

Moving in with Jake Seresin was a last ditch effort to move off base after the dagger squad had become a permanent addition to North Island following the success of their first high-risk mission surrounding the destruction of an unsanctioned uranium enrichment overseas.

For the most part, everyone worked very well together. Mainly because the group had learned to swallow their pride and get over their differences when they were in the air. Of course there were still several petty fights and arguments over the comms systems, and several repercussions surrounding mission reports, locker clean outs, and physical torture—being the workouts Maverick had them doing in ninety degree heat.

You were one of the last members of the squad to look for an apartment, mainly because you hadn’t had the time. Unfortunately for you, one of the most infamous Admirals at North Island happened to be your father, and based on his callsign alone, it was evident that he wasn’t exactly America’s sweetheart.

Inferno had served almost his entire adult life in the Navy, he graduated at the top of his Top Gun class, had led the Pacific Fleet with Admiral Kazinsky for some time and was currently in the running to take over the Fleet following Iceman’s passing. Upon the news that you’d been selected as one of the elite pilots to be called back to Top Gun he was thrilled.

That was for many reasons, the first being he got to spend more time with his favorite child—something that he wouldn’t admit in front of your siblings, but everyone knew it to be true. You’d followed in his footsteps and joined the Navy, while your brother did the same thing, he wasn’t an Aviator, he chose the mechanical engineering route as an Aviation Machinist.

The second reason was because he practically lived to torture Aviators in the Top Gun program. With you here, he was able to double down on them, and use you as one of his many pawns in his schemes—to be fair, they weren’t terrible, usually just a bit of sanctioned hazing for the newest recruits.

But as much as you enjoyed spending time with your father and participating in him reigning hell throughout North Island while simultaneously pissing off other Admirals—especially Cyclone, you also needed to find your own space.

Moving back in with your parents was not an option, especially with the fact that your younger sister and her husband also lived in their pool house. Not that you had anything against them, but being around your very loud and very energetic family twenty-four seven was like your own personal hell. You liked to spend time with them, then head home to decompress.

So when you started looking for a place to live, you quickly learned that the housing options were slim, and several of the places you’d considered had long waitlists because of the constant influx of military personnel in the area.

Either that or they were overly expensive for a lackluster space, or a downright shitty place.

After complaining at the Hard Deck, Javy jokingly commented that Jake was looking for a roommate, it was somewhat of a joke because you couldn’t stand Jake, and vice versa. You’d met at North Island several years ago, and you were the reason he finished second in the class.

The rivalry should’ve died down in the years that you hadn’t worked with one another, but anytime you’d cross paths—even briefly, you couldn’t help but bring it up. Opting to call him ‘Number 2’ with a wicked smile on your face. As two Top Gun graduates it wasn’t uncommon for you to cross paths, your squadrons had worked together on a few missions in the past, and you couldn’t help but bring up the old nickname.

It was better than calling him Hangman or Bagman, you were the only one who could call him Number 2, it was almost special.

Jake had scoffed at Javy’s joke, however upon meeting your pleading eyes, he realized that you were actually considering it. He was genuinely looking for a roommate, rent in San Diego was far from cheap, even with his salary and basic housing allowance.

Besides he originally moved into the two bedroom, two bathroom apartment with Javy, but Javy had recently moved in with his girlfriend which left the room vacant.

That day at the Hard Deck you grimmaced before swallowing your pride and asking Jake if he actually needed a roommate, you hated the barracks, and you’d tried staying with your family but it was too overstimulating after having long days of work. You’d even agreed to stop calling him Number 2 for a week—he tried indefinitely but you wouldn’t budge.

It also helped that Natasha, Javy, and Mickey took the time to actually convince him to consider it.

You moved in three days later, and you’d spent most of that Saturday bossing him around. He was already over your shit, then he watched as you rearranged the kitchen—his kitchen—and that left him flabbergasted. You complained that the counters were too cluttered and there wasn’t enough genuine open space.

Jake didn’t care if the counters seemed cluttered to you, everything was clean and everything had its place. Then suddenly, you were like a tornado, knocking everything out of place.

Not to mention your piles that you made, gathering everything like some kind of hamster storing their food for the winter—or like a packrat hiding their stash of goods. You had several piles around the kitchen and dining space, going through each and every one of them—making smaller piles—then finally reorganizing it all and putting the new mixture of his things and your things away. It also bothered him how easily you could just mix your belongings and his—like you were there to stay.

Of course, you’d only agreed to living with him for six months, you paid the first month’s rent up front, and told him that if things didn’t work out, you’d pack your things and find somewhere else to live—either that or you’d kick his ass first then leave.

To make matters worse, two months into living together, Jake Seresin realized he actually enjoyed you being there. Even if you cleaned like an absolute maniac, you also cooked, offered to help with the laundry, and forced him to watch terribly predictable horror movies with you. It was kind of nice in a domestic way.

He hadn’t expected that—at all.

Actually, he expected it to be something similar to your callsign—Hellfire.

You’d gotten the callsign in flight school for several reasons, of course a major one being you were Inferno’s daughter, and where there was an Inferno, Hellfire followed. It was also because you had your father’s attitude and unfortunately for most of your instructors, his temperament as well. It wasn’t a secret that your father spent his early days of his career a bit out of control, disobeying orders and walking a thin line—you followed suit.

Jake expected living with you to truly be his own living hell. You were annoying as ever, that hadn’t changed, but there was also a sense of serenity with you that had completely blindsided him.

Of course it made perfect sense that after a long day of work anyone would want to relax, but with you, you’d spent all of your time off in a pretty peaceful state. Your usual attitude and smartass remarks were at a minimum, it was rare that you’d make an off-handed remark to him—which was a complete shock for the first few weeks.

If you weren’t such a smartass on base, he’d even consider you a genuine friend.

Hell, he knew you two were friends, even if neither of you would ever admit it out loud.

You enjoyed living in the apartment, it was a nice space—although it did take some time for you to ‘cozy’ it up, prior to adding your own personal touches, the apartment lacked that extra warmth. It was definitely a man’s apartment, and it even smelled like Jake—that much you didn’t mind. He smelled nice, even after a long day of dogfight drills and Maverick’s usual torture.

It did piss you off that he insisted on using the overhead lights in the place. They made sense in the kitchen, but in the living room? That’s where you drew the line. Eventually you’d dragged him to the local Goodwill to look for lamps that had ‘spunk’ and ‘character’, settling on three different ones after arguing in the middle of the aisle like two crazy people.

You also yelled at him inside of the local hardware store when he tried to buy lightbulbs that were a cool white light instead of a warm yellow hue.

That’s also when you found out that he only had one lamp in his bedroom, and it had the bright white bulb in it. You snuck into his bedroom and replaced the light bulb the next morning when he was at the gym.

The first month of living together was full of adjustments on both of your ends, you both had to get used to one another’s schedules and routines. Not to mention the few arguments over how you cleaned, Jake practically storming off into his room to avoid seeing the chaotic mess. You also hated Jake’s cooking, you called it bland and tasteless—which he argued were complete synonyms.

His spice cabinet was embarrassing, so the next trip to the grocery store, you’d bought almost one of every spice in the aisle. Meanwhile he made comments about never needing most of them, but you simply shushed him with your signature glare. There was also the utensil issue, apparently Javy had purchased most of their silverware and upon moving out he and his girlfriend had completely forgotten to buy some—so he’d stolen it from Jake.

He was nice enough to leave two spoons, two forks, and two butter knives.

So you had to buy silverware as well, and an actual set of kitchen knives considering your sister had stolen yours.

To his dismay, Jake actually enjoyed shopping with you. The first few trips to the stores were absolute disasters. You drove, which he already hated because you had road rage and a tendency to speed and weave through traffic like a maniac. Then you two would argue in the aisles, going back and forth about what you needed and didn’t need, eventually you’d shush him over and over again until he’d roll his eyes and stop fighting back.

But, things got easier once you two managed to formulate a routine of sorts.

The first major part was that Jake drove. If you needed to go to the store, to the dry cleaners, to drop something off on base, anything that involved you two traveling together and carpooling—Jake was the one driving.

Then you’d opted to only do your deep cleans when he was at the gym on sunday mornings, that way you had two hours to make your piles and sift through them without his overbearing, controlling, clean-freak nature.

You usually cooked, you hated his cooking, although you did force him to sit with you on nights that you were both home, and eventually, he started helping and asking for directions. He was still working on the whole ‘seasoning with your heart’ thing, but turns out, he’s a pretty good sous chef.

He vacuumed, you hated vacuuming. But you mopped the kitchen because he hated mopping.

Both of you would play rock paper scissors when it came to dusting. It was the shittiest chore in the house.

You both cleaned your own spaces, you with the hallway bathroom and bedroom, him with his bedroom and ensuite. He would only clean the hallway bathroom when everyone would come over because he hated people in his bathroom, so it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

One and a half months into living together is also when you found out that he had an array of hair products, which was funny considering his hair was relatively short. You’d caught him one morning heavily concentrated on his hair, two brushes and a comb on the bathroom counter alongside a jar of pommade and something in a spray bottle.

You laughed at him for twenty minutes over it.

Learning one another’s routines did help with your combined routine though. Jake knew that on your days off, you didn’t want to be bothered before ten in the morning, meanwhile he was up and ready to leave to the gym by seven. Even if you were awake, you were not a morning person, he eventually got used to your silence as you’d walk into the kitchen and start brewing a pot of coffee.

After work, he would come home and shower first, you’d focus on getting dinner started because you hated showering before cooking because you’d be left smelling like whatever you’d cooked after. It worked too because it guaranteed that you would both get hot water for your showers—also something you’d fought about during the first month of living together.

Every night after about seven you were usually quiet, at first it was alarming to him, because you’d never been quiet—not at work and not at the bar or anywhere else the dagger squad would go together.

You also liked to watch movies during that time. He hadn’t really expected you to enjoy watching movies the way you did, and turns out, you had quite a few streaming subscriptions, some you paid for outright, others were your siblings that you’d been using long enough that they had profiles specifically for you.

A month into living with each other you’d invited him to watch a movie with you. It was a bit awkward at first, mainly because Jake didn’t know what to say or do. You weren’t exactly the best of friends, and sitting in what should’ve been a comfortable silence was uncomfortable for him. Or at least it was until you’d kicked your sock-clad feet into his lap and tossed him the other end of the oversized throw blanket.

Since then, it was an almost nightly tradition when you two were home together. When everyone would go out, or either of you would go out, you wouldn’t watch anything, but when you were both home, he didn’t need to be told to join you, he just did.

You both have been living together for almost five months at this point.

Within the span of five months you’d pretty much turned his entire apartment around. Before you moved in it was just a regular apartment with standard furniture and a few decorations here and there, he liked to keep things minimal—his logic stood at ‘the less things, the less there is to clean’.

That logic had been swept out of the door, you’d decorated the entire place, opting for funky rugs with different colors and patterns, your plants were scattered around the living room and kitchen closer to any windows, several knick knacks also lined the window sills, and there were three new shelves in the living room that housed his books and yours, all neatly separated and on display—much to his dismay—especially the romance novels.

His two grey sofas now had throw blankets folded over them with a series of decorative pillows in odd shapes and sizes, and the lamps you’d thrifted all sat in their own designated corners of the large common space. You made it a rule to not use the overhead light as well—and you’d forced him to take the lightbulbs out.

The walls also had numerous photos and prints now, the wall closest to the front door had a corkboard with different pinned polaroids of the dagger squad that Natasha had taken during one of your beach days—you both agreed it made the most sense to hang photos of your shared friends. You had a collection of classic horror movie inspired prints that sat on the wall around the TV—which you also forced Jake to mount.

The space felt warm, inviting, and lived-in.

Hell, he’d even taken after your eclectic decorating in his own room, adding a few more knick knacks and lamps.

You both were comfortable in your routine, and you had boundaries already set, such as your hookup protocol. Whenever the other person was bringing someone home, it had to be approved, mainly because neither of you wanted to hear the other person having sex or deal with the awkward aftermath of a one night stand walking out to see you or Jake in the apartment.

It worked well, and for the first two months you both stuck to it. However, now, neither of you ever really texted one another about bringing someone home.

Jake was under the impression that you just opted to hook up at someone else’s place, and you were under the same impression about him.

Neither of you had been having casual sex with anyone, you just didn’t feel the need to.

It was odd for Jake to not pursue hookups, he was the former king of one night stands, he’d pick up a new girl every few days for the hell of it. Plus the sex was also a great stress reliever for him. Occasionally he’d sleep with the same girl for a few weeks at a time, but when they’d get too clingy he’d break things off.

But now? Now it was like he didn’t care about the sex.

He also wasn’t as stressed as he used to be, part of him knew it was because of you—but he didn’t want to admit that.

You weren’t huge on casual sex, but you did dabble here and there. At least you used to dabble here and there, every few weeks you’d have a one night stand then spend the next day venting to Natasha about it. Most of the time the conversations revolved around the sex being mediocre for you because of the lack of an emotional connection.

She’d laugh at you, teasing you for needing to be emotionally invested in someone to enjoy sleeping with them, but you know she meant no genuine harm in it. You were just one of the people that needed that connection to really feel satisfied.

Sure your hookups could make you cum, but that was it, you’d have sex, have a mediocre orgasm, then kick the person out—or you’d get dressed and leave.

Everyone around you and Jake noticed the shift and subtle changes between the both of you. It was obvious to them all, but for some reason you and Jake seemed to be incredibly oblivious to the elephant in the room.

It started a few months ago, something as simple as you two showing up to the Hard Deck together.

Everyone watched as he got out first, rounded the truck, then opened your door for you. Meanwhile you were smiling at him with one of your signature ‘Hellfire’ grins. The same look that everyone knew meant you were up to something.

The windows near the pool tables being adjacent to the parking lot that you two were in was a pure coincidence. But it gave the entire dagger squad a front row seat to whatever show you were about to put on.

To everyone’s surprise, you grasped Jake’s hand and let him help you out of the truck. Then again it was a somewhat lifted truck that you constantly made fun of him about—something about being from Texas and having a very ‘Texan’ truck.

The most shocking part of it all though was the way that you grasped his hand, practically pulling him behind you as you walked towards the bar. It didn’t help that you weren’t in your usual Khakis, instead wearing a red sundress that had Jake’s eyes on your figure the entire time. Then you looked back and smiled at him, clearly making a joke that had him laughing and shaking his head.

You’d dropped his hand once the both of you had walked into the bar, your eyes scanning the crowd, spotting the Daggers, Jake making a beeline towards them. You opted to head to the bar, ordering another round for your friends while simultaneously spotting your brother—pulling him into a bone crushing hug.

He didn’t hesitate to ask about Jake.

“So, is the pretty boy finally your boyfriend? Seen you two walking in together” you rolled your eyes at Dante, shrugging.

“No, why would he be? We’re friends I guess, although sometimes I wanna kill him. Like straight up wring his throat” your hands moved in a choking motion for a second before you and your brother bursted into laughter.

“Please, my wife wants to wring my throat like six days a week, I think it’s part of the age ol Inferno family charm. Besides, that man looks at you like you hung the stars, and he’s even volunteered to help with Dad’s hazing fiascos on base just to impress him and spend more time with you—“ you shook your head, interrupting him.

“Uh no, he does that because he’s a total show off! We literally live together, I don’t see how he’d ever want to spend more time with me!”

Your brother laughed, shaking his head at you “you’re so smart but so dumb at the same time. Mark my words little miss Hellfire, we’ll be at your wedding in a few years.”

You scoffed “please, I’d rather jump off a bridge than marry Jake Seresin.”

Dante shook his head at you, raising a single brow—in this exact moment he looked just like your father. “Yeah right, sure, that man is literally looking at you right now like you’re the love of his life—look” he then nodded in the direction of the pool tables, you glanced over your shoulder, making eye contact with Jake, raising a single brow.

Then he shrugged, raising his brow—a silent challenge. You scoffed and looked away.

“Please, he’s probably plotting on how he’s gonna piss me off tonight, then annoy me with apologies on the drive back home.”

Your brother nodded slowly “...so the same thing a boyfriend would do?”

You rolled your eyes again, shoving him while shaking your head.

Before you could respond, Penny placed a few drinks on the bar, whistling to catch your attention. “Here’s that round beautiful!, also when were you gonna tell me about you and Hangman? I saw you two lovebirds smiling at the door! Does Mav know?”

Your eyes widened as you shook your head, feeling the familiar blushing heat overtake your features.

“We aren’t together—oh my god please don’t tell Mav if you think we’re together, I don’t think I’d survive the embarrassment from him, it’s bad enough that I have to fly ops drills with him now that Harvard and Halo are both on leave. God—Mav literally gave me shit a few days ago because I told Bagman to screw off mid-air.”

Penny slowly nodded, exchanging a knowing look with your brother before she shrugged. “If you say so, but your boyfriend and Coyote are heading over here, probably for those drinks”

Then you looked over your shoulder, immediately making eye contact with Jake—again.

There were other signs of the change in your previous tension filled rivalry relationship as well. The quick-witted quips had turned into flirty remarks on and off base. At first you assumed it was his new way of annoying you, but eventually, you’d gotten used to it and the comments didn’t bother you as much.

You’d take the time to adjust your flight suit on days that were scorching hot while standing on the tarmac and the second Jake would walk by, you’d hear his comments and whistles.

“Looking light a sight for sore eyes today Hellfire, better stop tugging on that zipper before you give us the show I’ve been waiting for”

Or “If you wanted to take your clothes off for me all you had to do was ask”

Once, when you were telling Phoenix that you were excited to take a cold shower he’d even offered to join you. Then he elbowed you playfully and kept walking.

Hell, you’d gone to the grocery store together once and he asked if you wanted a cream pie from him. Then he had the nerve to ask if you preferred to be painted like a toaster strudel while holding both boxes up.

Jake had said it loud enough in the aisle that a group of teenagers started laughing. That day you nearly slapped him before practically dragging him out of the snack aisle—what made matters worse is he always criticized everything in the snack aisle, but somehow decided that on a random Sunday afternoon, he’d terrorize you instead.

The one singular time you agreed to go to the state fair with everyone, all of you had been drinking and laughing with one another for hours on end. It was in the middle of the spring, a day that wasn’t too hot or too cold, and the longer you all were there, the drunker you’d gotten.

Randomly, Jake had asked you if you preferred riding fast or slow. It wasn’t smooth at all, but it was enough to earn a loud scoff, followed by you hitting him with the large stuffed panda that you’d won after beating everyone at a dart balloon popping game.

“Oh come on! The line didn’t even land! Stop hitting me baby!” he yelled, letting out a dramatic scream as if you’d actually done any damage, then his hands were up, guarding his face while he mumbled about how perfect it was and how ‘his face couldn’t afford the damage’.

“Stop being a freak Bagman!” he shook his head at your shouting “but I’m only down to get freaky with you baby!” he yelled back in a sing-song voice, earning several looks from the other adults and teenagers walking through the fair—thankfully most of the people with their children had already left.

Bradley and Javy both shared a look before bursting into laughter, meanwhile Mickey and Reuben tried to egg Jake on, ignoring your death glares.

Bob and Natasha were off getting funnel cakes for everyone, which left you to suffer with the group of drunken idiots. (Granted, they were your drunken idiots)

You forced them all onto the tilt-a-whirl and they’d nearly thrown up during the ride. All letting out high-pitched screams each time their carts spun faster and faster.

During their time on the ride Bob and Nat had gotten back with the funnel cakes, both of them exchanging a confused expression at the sight of you practically fuming, watching the rest of their friend group squeal like little kids on the ride—Rooster holding onto his stomach while trying not to throw up.

Mickey had his hands in the air, cheering. Reuben and Javy both were panicking—trying to make sure no one threw up because they’d all managed to squeeze into one of the carts together. The ride instructor said it only seated four max—now they were all smushed with Rooster and Hangman who both looked ready to puke.

Bob asked if you were alright, considering how pissed you looked. Then you vented to him for five minutes about how annoying everyone was, and how weird Jake was acting—which he’d already noticed but clearly you were oblivious to the evident shift in emotions. Bob shrugged, offering “have you considered the possibility that maybe Bagman might actually be romantically interested in you? And vice versa?”

You blinked a few times, for a couple of minutes you were contemplating it—maybe Bob did have a point. Then as you glanced back over at Jake, who was now standing up from the ride, blinking several times—trying to regain his balance, you shook your head. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”

Bob sighed, shaking his head then looked at Natasha. “They’re hopeless.”

You didn’t hear his comment, not when you were already making your way towards the area full of wooden outdoor tables. Then Jake practically tackled you, his arms wrapping around your waist while he pulled your back against his chest, a wide smile on his face as he rested his head on your shoulder.

“That ride was killer Sweetheart, gotta say—you’re an evil woman.” You nodded your head, rolling your eyes while smiling, laughing at him as he held you in place.

Everyone stared in shock. What no one understood was why you weren’t cursing Jake out anymore, each time anyone would bring up the possibility of you or him having feelings for one another, you’d simply shrug them off, saying it wasn’t true—because for some odd reason, you didn’t think it was.

The shift in dynamic was confusing to everyone except for you and Jake.

Today was no different, you’d all opted to go midnight mini-golfing because the several drinks you’d had at the Hard Deck left you all a little too tipsy to call it a night. Plus Maverick had given the squad the day off tomorrow. So after much deliberation, you all agreed that it would be fun to try out the new mini-golfing place half an hour from base.

Squeezing into several ubers, was hilarious to most of you. Instead of opting for the Uber XL options, you guys somehow assumed ordering two regular Ubers would be fine. Both cars ended up being Priuses.

You were squished in the backseat with Jake and Javy while Natasha sat in the front, except you’d managed to beat Jake at rock paper scissors, forcing him to take the middle seat which led to you practically being halfway in his lap, your left thigh completely draped over his right. Meanwhile your head leaned against his shoulder while you laughed at Javy’s jokes.

Nat looked at you and Jake from the rear-view mirror, a single brow raised at your closeness. She’d been skeptical about the two of you for a few weeks now, but she knew if anything had really happened you would’ve told her. Maybe you really were that oblivious.

It didn’t help that Jake looked down at you, mumbling your name not your callsign to catch your attention. You glanced up at him, faces inches apart while holding eye contact. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then he shook his head, mumbling a quiet ‘nevermind’ before giving you a kiss on the top of your head.

Javy’s brows knit together at the motion. He met Natasha’s gaze through the rear view mirror, double checking if she’d seen it too. Sure, he was drunk—but he wasn’t that drunk. There was no way in hell Hangman would ever be kissing the top of Hellfire’s head.

Not in a million god damn years.

Once everyone actually arrived at the mini-golfing spot and tumbled out of the small ubers like clowns leaving a clown car, everyone mostly walked in a large group, but you and Jake were side by side in the back, hands gently brushing against one another with each step. Then you absentmindedly grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers while walking towards the payment booth.

There was already a line of drunk adults waiting to be assisted, so everyone moved to the end of the line in one large cluster of sorts.

No one said anything about you and Jake holding hands, but everyone noticed. They always did.

Mickey and Reuben exchanged a knowing look. Natasha and Bob did the same thing before shrugging, then Coyote and Rooster blinked several times, squinting with their jaws dropped as if this was the craziest thing they’d ever witnessed.

These are all aviators that have been in real-time active combat and somehow the most shocking thing was the sight of you and Jake not only getting along, but being rather close.

Mickey was the first to crack, he leaned closer to Reuben a harsh whisper as he faced away from you and Jake, looking towards the neon-colored booth with several black lights facing it. “Are you seeing them too? I’m not losing it right? Like that’s actually happening?”

Reuben nodded, looking back at you and Jake for another brief moment. “You think they finally slept together?”

Coyote interrupted, clearing his throat while interjecting himself between the two men, shaking his head. “No way they have, Hangman hasn’t told me anything—and trust me when I say he tells me everything. Also, he keeps saying he’s not into her—but then he’s kissing her on the forehead like they’re an old married couple”

You leaned your head against Jake’s shoulder again, now looking up at him, eyes tracing his side profile as you spoke “Bagman, you’ve got pretty eyes.” Your words slurred a little from the one too many drinks, and you couldn’t stop the dopey smile on your face while you looked at him.

He nodded his head, looking at you with a brow raised “you flirting with me Hellfire? Don’t you know it’s frowned upon to fraternize with your fellow Aviators?” Jake laughed at his own joke, a wide smile on his face as his eyes trailed your features. “You’ve got pretty eyes too, got a little twinkle to them.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head while you looked away from him, hand still intertwined with his.

Maybe this was just the liquor and your newfound friendship with Jake, all you knew was you enjoyed the closeness. He didn’t let go of your hand either, even offering a reassuring squeeze as you all moved forward in line.

Everyone was talking about mini-golf, Coyote and Rooster going back and forth about how they were great golfers, so mini-golf would be a walk in the park for them. Meanwhile Natasha shook her head, rolling her eyes while reminding them both that they were two large men who were playing golf with small putters on a course much tinier than they were used to.

They scoffed, brushing her off, even betting that they’d do the best.

One hour into being out they both quickly realized they were terrible at mini-golf. Rooster looked bulky and awkward trying to drunkenly maneuver around the course, meanwhile Coyote kept over extending his shots, the golf balls flying all over the place, he’d even lost a few in the small man-made ponds and rivers.

Now, two hours in, everyone was still drinking and you and Natasha had been tied for first place.

Jake had also helped you with a few hits, his hands on your hips, angling them slightly while he spoke directly into your ear, his low southern drawl giving you goosebumps as he directed your movements.

Everyone tried their best not to acknowledge it, well, everyone that was focusing—which would’ve just been Natasha and Bob, the rest of the squad were too drunk to care about whatever was going on between you and Hangman.

Bradley and Javy were shotgunning beers as if they were twenty-one and the president of a fraternity. Both chest bumping after finishing their drinks before swinging their puts around a little too frantically as they headed towards the next course.

Then Fanboy tripped over one of the small bird-house-esque obstacles, he’d gone face forward into the turf, which had everyone erupting in laughter. He got up quickly, giving everyone two thumbs up before realizing his nose was bleeding.

Your eyes widened, now stepping away from Jake whose hand had been around your waist, resting gently along your hip. For a second it felt like he didn’t want to let you go, but you gently pushed him away to rush over to Mickey, shaking your head at him while he awkwardly pinched his nose, flashing you a bloody smile.

“Are you shitting me Mick?” you couldn’t help but laugh at him, now digging through your purse, grabbing some tissues and handing them to him before looking over at Reuben who was laughing so hard he’d been hunched over gripping his chest, still laughing.

“Payback, chop chop, it’s time to head home! Fanboy’s officially cut off” you were laughing as you spoke, one hand rubbing gentle circles into Mickey’s back while he pinched his nose with the small stack of slightly crumpled tissues. He was still smiling, eyes hooded, the drunken haze very evident on his features.

Reuben slowly stood up, still letting out a few laughs, shaking his head while he pointed directly to Mickey “you are an absolute legend man!”

Bob and Natasha exchanged a look, both sighing as he pulled out his phone, now opening the Uber app—Bob was always the most responsible one on these outings, even after a few drinks. “Don’t worry, Hellfire, I’m calling the uber now. You heading back with them?”

You nodded your head at him. “Yeah, I’ll make sure they get in alright—these two morons might end up killing each other if we let them go alone” you giggled as you glanced between Mickey and Reuben. Both of them exchanged a look before bursting into a fit of laughter, what made it worse was now Reuben was falling over the same miniature house, except he’d managed to land directly on his ass, groaning at the impact.

“I can head back with them, that way Hangman can make sure you get in alright plus you two live together so it makes the most sense—Rooster and Nix are gonna head back with Coyote.” Bob motioned behind him, your eyes following his hand.

You looked over at Coyote and Rooster who were still in their frat-boy era, now trying to coordinate a handshake while drunkenly laughing together, then they both paused, belching loudly.

“Geez, Nat you sure you wanna deal with that?”

She laughed, shrugging a bit before looking over at them. That’s when you noticed the smile on her face as she looked directly at Bradley, your brows knit together—eyes wide. Before you knew it, you were gasping, catching everyone's attention, then you muttered out an apology, clearing your throat while giggling.

“Phoenix! We have a lot to talk about tomorrow!”

She blinked a few times, then her eyes widened as she watched your eyes jump from her to Bradley. “Don’t get me started!” both of her brows raised as she looked from you to Jake, which only confused you, there wasn’t anything going on between you and Hangman—at least you think there’s nothing going on there.

You’re friends—ish?

“Alright everyone, as much as we would all love to stay here until someone else gets hurt, our rides are here.” Bob announced, then he called out to Bradley and Javy, who turned so fast they’d managed to smack into one another.

Maybe midnight mini-golf wasn’t the best idea.

Bob shook his head, pausing before looking back at you. “Hellfire, do you need me to call you a ride?”

You shook your head, digging through your pockets, eventually finding your phone in one of them. “No, it’s okay—I’ll be fine with Number 2 over there! Be careful getting home guys! Text the group chat when you’re in okay! Or, I guess Bob and Nat text us?”

They both nodded, then the group started heading back towards the initial booth to return the puts, most of the golf balls were now long gone, something that you’d apologize profusely for once you turned everything in.

Jake helped Rooster and Coyote into their ride, Nat shaking her head as she climbed into the front seat while mumbling apologies for the two drunken idiots in the back seat. Meanwhile Bob managed to grab more napkins from the woman behind the golf counter for Mickey, who was getting into the car while still holding his bloody nose as Reuben practically flailed himself into the backseat.

“Good luck Bobert!” he laughed at the nickname, shaking his head at you before getting into the car and waving goodbye.

Once everyone else was in, you glanced over at Jake who was scrolling through his phone. “Alright sweetheart, looks like we’ve got eight minutes to kill. Apparently those esteemed pilots managed to snag the closest rides here. Unless of course, you count me, y’know what they say about saving horses.”

He tried to be serious, but the second you made eye contact, the both of you were bursting into a fit of laughter. You shook your head at him while smiling.

“Seriously? You think that was smooth or something? No offense Bagman, but I don’t think you’d be able to handle me giving you a ride.”

Jake’s eyes widened slightly, meanwhile you gave him a flirty smile and a shrug. It was a challenge, that much he knew. You were both overly competitive, it’s one of the major reasons you couldn’t get along when you’d first met—hell it was the entire reason you two were even friends now.

Neither of you said anything else during the wait, it was a comfortable silence, you leaned into him while he wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you closer to his side.

By the time the both of you had gotten home, it was a little past three.

You were in his bed before four.

The second you’d walked into your shared apartment, he was on you. As soon as the door shut, he had you pinned against it, looking down at you in a lustful drunken haze, eyes slightly hooded while he smirked.

You raised a single brow. Eyes moving from his blue irises to his lips—that’s all the confirmation he needed, his lips were on yours in seconds. You weren’t sure what happened or what changed tonight, but something shifted between the both of you—the previous gradual change had now fully tipped the scales.

Jake Seresin kissed you as if you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. One of his hands firmly held your waist, the other caressed the side of your face, thumb on your chin, lightly tugging against your bottom lip for a brief moment—just long enough for him to slip his tongue between your lips.

Your hands gripped his shirt as you did your best to keep up with him, but it was clear this was one competition you wouldn’t be winning. So you shoved him back slightly, biting his bottom lip as he pulled away, your eyes meeting his again.

He licked his lips as he nodded, eyes stuck on your kiss-swollen lips “what was that you said earlier? You wanna go for a ride?” his voice was deeper than usual, and it had you biting your bottom lip and nodding.

If anyone were to ask you how you ended up half-naked in Jake Seresin’s bed with him between your thighs? You wouldn’t have a proper answer. One day you couldn’t stand the man, the next he was leaving bruising kisses along your body, then biting into the plush skin of your thighs.

You looked down at him, biting your bottom lip as he ran his tongue along the bite mark on your inner thigh. He was already looking up at you, steely blue eyes on yours while he kissed a trail along your inner thighs, the way he stared at you was downright filthy.

Your clothes and his were in a scattered mess, trailing from the living room to his bedroom, your panties now dangling from your left ankle while he spread your thighs even further, moaning at the sight of your glistening core.

“Fuck—wanted to taste you for so long baby” your eyes widened at the confession, but before you could say anything, Jake’s tongue was already lapping at your cunt. With zero hesitation he rapidly flicked his tongue along your swollen clit, your back immediately arching, one hand grasping his sheets, the other in his hair, tugging on the blonde strands.

He moaned against you, alternating between fast movements to slowly, deliberately trailing his tongue along your clit. He was practically french kissing your cunt—the motions had you whimpering.

Jake didn’t care about the obscene wet sounds coming from his mouth against your pussy, if anything it turned him on even more. He focused on your clit—gauging your reactions to different speeds and pressures, doing his best to build a rhythm that would push you over the edge.

Then he paused, biting his bottom lip at the low whine you let out.

“Jake—don’t tease me”

His cock had never been harder in his life. Jake Seresin had never once cum in his pants from going down on a woman—but today that might change. With the way you were tugging on his hair and whining his name and the taste of your cunt on his tongue—he was seconds away from finishing.

He nodded his head “don’t worry Sweetheart, I’ll give you what you need.” then one of the hands holding your thighs in place moved, now sliding into the apex of your thighs, right below his tongue.

The feeling of one of Jake’s fingers fucking into you had you moaning his name desperately. You were practically begging for more already, rolling your hips against him.

Jake nodded his head “fuck, you’re so tight baby—gonna feel so good wrapped around my cock. Pretty girl, you need more don’t you”

You didn’t hesitate to moan “Fuck—yeah please-please Jake” his name sounded absolutely filthy leaving your lips in a desperate plea.

Then he was wrapping his lips around your clit, hollowing his cheeks and harshly sucking on the swollen pearl while sliding a second finger into you, the combined sensation had your eyes rolling back, hips rocking against his face and fingers, trying to chase your high that he was dangling right in front of you.

He sped his fingers up, curling them slightly—just enough to have you moaning his name again.

You were begging to cum, moaning a slurred mixture of pleas and his name.

Jake didn’t care about anything else in this exact moment except for making you cum. What pushed you over the edge was the feeling of him slipping a third finger inside of you—your thighs practically caging him in—back arching off the bed, eyes squeezed shut.

“Jake—oh fuck! Oh fuck—Jake—”

He moaned against you, a deep guttural moan as his entire body stiffened up, then it happened. Jake’s eyes widened as he kept his motions up, prolonging your orgasm for as long as he could—letting you wrap your hands in his hair and cage him in with your thighs.

When you finally pushed him away, he licked his lips, slowly sliding his fingers out of you, free hand gently caressing your hip—thumb rubbing half moons along the soft skin as you slightly winced from your own sensitivity.

You were out of breath as you watched him sit up, the bottom half of his face covered in your slick while he tried to steady hsi breathing. Then your eyes were trailing along his body, Jake had always been muscular—that much you knew, and of course he was easy on the eyes, but you’d never seen him like this.

Chest rapidly rising and falling, a red flush to his skin, lips swollen, lust evident in his gaze. Then your eyes trailed even lower, taking in the defined ridges of his abdomen, and the trail of hair that led to the waistband of his briefs. However, nothing prepared you for the sight of his half-hard bulge below the grey Calvins with a dark patch evident on them.

“Did you—?” he shushed you, shaking his head, now looking slightly embarrassed as he looked away from you.

“Fuck, don’t ask me that—y’know I did. I’ve never—it’s never happened—shit don’t laugh at me baby” His drunken rambling was cute, it was clear that Jake was embarrassed, but he did little to nothing to hide it from you—he was comfortable around you and that had your heart doing somersaults.

You did your best to stop laughing at him, biting your bottom lip while raising both brows. “Yeah, never had pussy this good?” you tried to be serious, but you laughed again, and that caused Jake to laugh as he shook his head at you.

“You’re the bane of my existence y’know that? No wonder they call you Hellfire, you’re terrible” he nodded as he spoke, shifting slightly, trying to ignore the fact that he was getting hard again. Something about this—how intimate it was—was sending his caveman brain into overdrive.

Then you were sitting up, grasping his hand, pulling him towards you. Once he was on top of you, you rolled over, the two of you in a fit of laughter at your lack of finesse—you blamed that on the drinks.

Eventually you managed to properly straddle him, now unclasping your bra, tossing it across the room. His eyes widened at the sight of your tits, he licked his lips, looking at one, then the other, already imagining biting into them—maybe he had a thing for biting—Jake was discovering a lot about himself tonight.

You didn’t hesitate to tug on his briefs a bit, sliding them down just enough to grasp his cock, laughing at the sticky wetness to it, raising both brows at him as you wrapped your hand around his length, hand pumping along it as he gasped. You could feel how hard he already was—but based on his reactions, he wasn’t there just yet.

“F-fuck, you’re gonna kill me baby”

You smiled at that, “not before I get my ride, how else am I gonna save a horse?”

His moan was animalistic, Jake covered his face with both hands, muffling his own moans while your hand moved faster, wrist slightly twisting, adding to the sensation. It didn’t help that you were slotted directly behind his cock, giving yourself the perfect view of it—and he had the perfect view of you.

When he moved his hands, he watched as you spit onto it, a thin string of spit leaving your tongue, landing on the head of his cock, you quickly used it to move your hand even faster now. Then you looked at him, holding eye contact as you spit again.

Jake had to start doing mental math to stop himself from cumming. He was in his head calculating the force behind pulling four G’s in-air.

This was a side of you that he knew nothing about—he’d never once in his life heard you talk about your sex life, nor did he know if you were actually out hooking up with people—but he didn’t care—not at this moment when you were jerking him off like a vixen straight out of a porno.

“Is now a bad time to say I’d wear one of your hats if you asked me to—not tonight though—I think you might go into shock or something” your light hearted tone, giggles, mixed with the fact that you were suggesting wearing one of his cowboy hats while simultaneously jerking him off had him squeezing his eyes shut, taking in a sharp intake of breath and thinking of Maverick—doing his best not to cum again.

It was terrible, having to think of your mission instructor just to avoid cumming for the second time in one night—Jake was humiliated—which might’ve been making the situation even worse.

“Why the face?” he blinked a few times at the question, taking a deep breath.

“Sweetheart, do you realize how sexy you are right now? I’m over here five seconds away from cumming—again. Between me and you, I’ve gotta think about Mav to stop myself from finishing”

You paused your movements, eyes widening before bursting into a fit of laughter, head thrown back with a wide smile on your face. “Hangman! Seriously?!” he nodded, rolling his lips inward and taking a deep breath.

“So, if you could, I’d like that ride—before I end up embarrassing myself twice tonight.”

You nodded at him, grasping his cock again, now sliding your body forward, lining him up with your dripping entrance, then you were taking his cock—slowly at first. You moaned at the stretch, toes curling, eyes rolling back slightly. It was obvious that he was big—but feeling him stretching you out was euphoric.

Then he grasped your waist, biting his bottom lip, trying not to buck his hips into you.

By the time you had him fully sheathed in your cunt, you were slightly out of breath, now leaning backward slightly, hands resting on his toned thighs, your head thrown back while you adjusted to the feeling of him. “You’re so fuckin big—fuck me.”

Jake was on cloud nine, his head practically spinning. He must’ve died and gone to Heaven—and the exact moment he was asking himself if this could get any better, you were lifting yourself off of his cock, using his thighs to brace yourself, then slamming back down.

He expected you to take it slow, but you had your own ideas.

When you said he wouldn’t be able to handle you riding him—he now realized you might’ve been right.

You bounced on his cock without a care in the world, too cock drunk to think about anything but fucking Jake Seresin. Hips rapidly moving up and down along him, skin slapping against skin as your cunt practically swallowed him—soaking him in your essence.

He bit his bottom lip, moaning at the sight of your bodies connected, his cock practically shining, covered in a thin layer of your slick while you rode him. At this rate, he could hardly remember his own name, hands moving from your hips to your tits, he was testing the waters now, landing a gentle but firm slap to one of them, earning a choked moan from you.

The sting only intensified your pleasure, you moved one hand now, sliding it between your own thighs, two fingers rubbing circles into your clit—walls fluttering around his cock at the sensation. Jake’s hips bucked into you uncontrollably.

Before he could start apologizing, you looked at him again, still fucking yourself against him, still rubbing your clit, and letting him play with your tits. “Fuck—do it again Jake—please”

He was in heaven. This was it—or he was in Hell and you’d be torturing him for eternity—using him for your pleasure. Actually—that wouldn’t be torture, not when he felt like every nerve ending in his body was on fire and all he could focus on was the slick vice grip your cunt had him in.

Jake planted his feet on the mattress, one hand firm against your waist-grip bruising—then he started fucking up into you, meeting each and every one of your movements.

You were a whining, moaning mess. It wasn’t long before you were practically begging him to cum—asking him for permission. That had his mind hazy again.

“Fuck, y’wanna cum baby?” His voice was strained, deep, and that texan drawl was driving you crazy. “Yeah, keep taking this cock—fuck just like that—such a good fuckin girl—best pussy I’ve ever had—Fuck—” Jake’s words were strained, at this point he hardly knew what he was saying, his filter was gone, all he could focus on was your pleasure and his. He pushed your hand out of the way, using his thumb to rub hard circles into your clit.

That sent you over the edge, you practically fell forward as you came, moaning his name like a prayer, cunt clenching around him so tight that he couldn’t hold it—you felt his cock twitch inside of you then he was coating your walls in ropes of cum—the warmth spreading throughout you.

It took a few minutes for both of you to fully come down from your shared high. You rested your head against his chest, eyes fluttering shut while you caught your breath.

“Seresin—I’ve never been fucked that good before”

He laughed at your hoarse voice, nodding his head while he massaged your scalp with one hand. “Pretty sure you fucked me, not the opposite”

That had both of you laughing again.

Eventually you slowly slid off of him, biting down against his shoulder as you winced. Then you were rolling onto your back, looking at the ceiling, biting your bottom lip and laughing. He slipped out of the bed, heading to the bathroom for a few minutes.

When Jake came out you were already half asleep, a dopey smile on your face while you looked at him, it had his heart racing. You looked so beautiful, the warm glow of the light against your skin made you look like a renaissance painting, all soft edges and sweet smiles—the definition of beauty itself.

He had a pair of pajama pants slung low on his hips, then he was back between your thighs, gently maneuvering your body around, a warm washcloth between your thighs as he cleaned you up, taking a mental picture of his cum leaking out of you—something he’d think about later when it was just him alone at night.

Eventually when he was finished, he handed you one of his older PT shirts, ‘NAVY’ across the front in bold letters, the shirt was definitely one that he didn’t wear often—you knew that based on the fact that it was actually an oversized shirt. Jake Seresin was the kind of guy to only wear fitted t-shirts, showing off his body that he’d ‘spent so long curating’.

You sat up in his bed, looking at him for a few seconds, finally sobering up—well from the drinks—admittedly you were still a little cockdrunk and fucked out.

“You wanna watch a movie?” he smiled at you, nodding his head.

“Nothing I’d want more.”

Both of you expected the next day to be awkward, when you’d woken up on the sofa, tangled together under your usual blankets with the TV displaying an ‘are you still watching’ screen. But neither of you felt awkward about the previous night, you’d had sex—arguably amazing sex, and that was it.

He gently got off of you, helping you off the sofa with a wink. You raised a single brow “don’t get any ideas Seresin, my thighs are on fire” then you laughed, shrugging before walking off to your bathroom.

Jake watched you walk off, his eyes trailing your figure, brows knit together, trying to process his own feelings. Sure you were still his annoying overly competitive friend—but you weren’t just his friend. You acting so casually also didn’t help, not a single awkward laugh or moment of eye contact. You’d gotten up and made a joke about it, and that was it.

Before he could dwell on it, the doorbell rang. He glanced over at the clock you forced him to mount near the kitchen, it was barely nine, who the hell would be showing up to your place at nine in the morning?

When Jake opened the door, the sight of Natasha in a pair of sweatpants, blacked out sunglasses, and a very oversized ‘Margarittavillle’ t-shirt told him everything he needed to know. Especially considering that was the same shirt Rooster wore to the gym all the time.

They exchanged a knowing look. Natasha’s brows knit together as she noticed Jake’s half-naked form, her eyes trailing him skeptically. Then she noticed the evident reddish purple bite-marked shaped bruise on his shoulder.

“Long night Hangman?”

He nodded “You too Phoenix?”

She nodded. He then stepped to the side, making room for Phoenix to come into the apartment, which she gladly did, mumbling a ‘thanks’ while Jake shut the door behind her, locking it then scratching the back of his neck.

“So, are you here to debrief with Hellfire over your freaked out sex with Rooster? Is now a bad time to make a joke about his coc—”

“Jake Seresin! If you finish that sentence I’ll personally kick your ass!” you shouted from the hallway bathroom, now stepping into view, pointing your toothbrush directly at him, both brows raised—shooting him a warning look. He knew that look well, it was better than the usual warning glare though—that one was a little scary.

Nat sat on the smaller sofa, raising a brow as she took in your disheveled appearance. Most notably the Navy t-shirt you had on that hardly even covered anything—it had just enough give to keep your bits hidden, but the second you turned around, she was flashed the bottom of your ass.

“Put some pants on Fire! Your ass is out!”

Ten minutes later you were mostly dressed and brewing a pot of coffee, Jake decided to skip the gym for the first time in a very long time, instead he actually joined you and Phoenix for the debrief. Mainly because he wanted to be nosey about their relationship.

While you stood in front of the coffee pot, he slid right behind you, hands on your waist while he kissed the side of your exposed neck—your hair all braided into two thick braids now. You giggled a bit at the feeling, trying to hold in your smile, lightly swatting at him.

“Stop it Jake!” your giggles gave you away, he then wrapped his hands around your waist, holding you against his chest.

“C’mon baby—can’t I just be sweet and doting?”

You scoffed, pushing him away while shaking your head. “No, don’t make me start doing my weekly deep clean early!” his eyes widened at the threat, shaking his head.

“Please—God please no. The piles are crazy! It drives me insane! It makes no sense!”

You shrugged, now turning back, grabbing three mugs from the cupboard above you. “It makes perfect sense, you’re just mister neat freak, although you’re not very neat when it comes to se—” his hand was over your mouth, you laughed against it, while he blushed.

“None of that! Jesus—Phoenix is here!”

You pushed his hand away, shrugging while pouring each cup of coffee, then you grabbed the milk that you’d gotten out already, pouring some into his coffee and dropping a singular cube of sugar into it—the way he liked it. He’d told you that a few months ago, said his mom drank it like that, so he did too.

Then you focused on making yours and Phoenix’s, adding the vanilla coffee creamer in until both cups were the right color. He shook his head at the sight.

“Y’know how much sugar is in that shit? It’s terrible for you Sweetheart.”

You raised a single brow “what are you, my almond mom? As a top Naval Aviator who was number one in my Top Gun class, I think I'll be okay drinking coffee with vanilla creamer. Besides, if it kills me at least I’ll die happy—not depressed with bitter nasty coffee.”

Then you were grabbing the mugs and walking past him, walking around the kitchen island, heading over to the sofas, handing Phoenix her mug before taking a seat in your usual spot on the couch, wrapping yourself in a blanket then taking a sip of your coffee.

You and Phoenix both looked back at Jake who was leaning against the kitchen island with his coffee in hand.

“We’re not including you in our debrief if you stand there like a creep Bagman.” You hummed in agreement with Natasha. Jake let out a dramatic sigh before walking over and sitting on the couch beside you, using one hand to lift your legs into his lap.

“Are you two together? Everyone on the squad wants to know. Even Mav”

You and Jake exchanged a confused look, then you both looked back at Nat.

“No, why would they think that?” You shrugged as you spoke.

Jake spoke at the same time as you “No, who said that?”

Natasha slowly nodded her head at the interaction. “You two are like heavily domestic, and we’re at that age where two people who are heavily domestic are usually in a relationship. I mean look at this apartment, it’s all warm and cozy and screams ‘I let my girlfriend decorate’. You two hold hands in public now, you laugh and smile at each other? You haven't been chewed out about arguing during ops for like two months now! Y’know Mick asked Inferno if he knew his daughter was in a relationship”

Your eyes widened at her last sentence. Everything else hadn’t bothered you, you didn’t really notice the shift in your relationship with Jake—honestly you liked the shift. But Mickey telling your overbearing nutcase father that you were in a relationship? That was a problem in and of itself.

“I wouldn’t say we’re heavily domestic, I dunno, we just get each other.” Jake spoke with a shrug, the same oblivious nature that you had evident in his tone. Natasha sighed and shook her head, pinching her nose bridge slightly as she finally slipped off her hangover sunglasses.

“You two are hopeless. Nothing about your current dynamic screams relationship to either of you?”

You and Jake exchanged a look, then you both shook your heads.

“No.” followed by “Nope.”

Natasha didn’t get it—she truly didn’t understand either of you. She was currently sitting in your shared apartment, that you’d practically bullied Hangman into redecorating, you constantly bossed him around and he responded as if he liked it. You two had your arguments and disagreements—but nothing was major anymore and you both simply brushed things off.

Holding hands in public was one thing, but she’d literally watched him kiss your head in an uber as if it was a normal gesture? If any of the daggers kissed her head she’d probably smack them.

You two naturally gravitate towards one another now, then the fact that you’d both managed to fall into a regular routine while living together, spending quality time with one another—completely dropping all of your previous hookups. Now you’d clearly had sex with one another, and somehow, someway, you two were still convinced that there was no romantic inkling in your dynamic?

Natasha had a headache already, and you two were making it worse.

“You two are morons. Anyways, now it’s time to talk about why I’m a moron.”

The three of you laughed together. Then Natasha went into her story-telling mode, and she’d even given you and Jake all of the details on her and Bradley’s changing dynamic.

They’d been friends since flight school, and they kept in touch, to the point that she’d been genuinely mad at him when he hadn’t told her that he was finally stateside again following the original assignment and callback to Top Gun.

“But here’s the thing, I don’t know if I’m genuinely into him, or if I’m just lonely and crave a relationship and domesticity! We’ve been friends for a long time, it’s not like you just randomly develop romantic feelings for your friends.”

She sighed as she spoke, now slumping into the sofa, her mug on the coffee table while she wrapped herself in another one of the throw blankets, a pillow in her lap.

“Actually, it’s pretty common to randomly develop feelings for your friends, especially as you get older and realize that they have genuine traits that you like—plus Bradleys not exactly ugly. I’m sorry but he’s fucking fine, that man is like a 6’2 wall of muscle, and have you seen his hands?”

She nodded as you spoke, meanwhile Jake scoffed.

You glanced at him, raising a brow “is there a problem Twosie?” He rolled his eyes at the nickname.

“Of all the names you have, I told you not to call me Twosie, it sounds like I’m a damn child.” you shrugged at him.

“Oh well, don’t throw a fit like one then. Now why are you scoffing, what are you gonna disagree that Bradley’s not super sexy? He’s like sex on legs.” Jake rolled his eyes at that comment. “Anyways, back to what I was saying before the Ken doll interrupted me. Bradley Bradshaw is a catch, and honestly Nat, with the way he looks at you whenever you two talk? I wouldn’t be shocked if he has a thing for you too.”

Jake nodded his head at that “yeah, that man looks at you like a lovesick puppy.”

“So he looks at me the way you look at Hellfire?” Natasha spoke with such a matter of fact tone that she had you actually thinking about how Jake looked at you. Everyone was constantly saying that the way he looked at you meant something—but you just didn’t see it.

“I do not look at her like a lovesick puppy.”

She rolled her eyes “yeah, sure Bagman. Back to me now.”

The three of you spent the rest of the morning and afternoon talking, eventually you’d also called Mickey and Reuben to get their advice on the situation, both of them agreeing that Natasha very clearly had romantic feelings for Bradley. Hell, the second you texted Bob, he sent a thumbs up, followed by ‘yeah, she’s into him.’

Eventually Natasha left, and you were back with just Jake.

Your brows knit together as you sat on the couch again, now staring at him.

“Jake?” he nodded his head, eyes practically glued to the TV as he scrolled through Netflix, looking for something interesting to watch tonight. You told him to pick once because you always pick, so now, once in a blue moon he cashes in his ‘it’s my turn to pick’ card.

You cleared your throat, he got the message and turned to look at you. Your brows were knit together, a confused expression on your face, while you looked at him.

“Yeah? What’s the matter sweetheart?” He sounded so concerned, and that only added into the confusion you were feeling.

“Are we in a relationship?”

Jake shook his head “uh no, we’ve never even been on a date.” Then he started thinking, you two had never really been on a date, neither of you had asked one another out.

But you did go to restaurants together, and you dragged him to several art galleries, the two of you drove to the beach to watch the sunset, you went to the movies together, whenever he saw something that you might like he jotted it down for later, taking you as a surprise.

Hell, just last weekend Jake had woken you up early, forced you to get ready just to drive two hours away to go cherry picking with him because he’d overheard you mention cherry picking season to your sisters on FaceTime two weeks prior.

Then when you’d gotten there, he paid for everything and let you drag him around the entire orchard while he carried an eight pound bucket of cherries. Once you’d gotten home, he also helped clean each of them, and helped you bake for nearly five hours before taking you to your parents house to drop off several pies.

Jake had also managed to meet your mother, he already knew Inferno—but showing up to his house with his daughter in tow was something he hadn’t exactly thought through, so he was grateful that the man was on base.

He also understood why you didn’t enjoy living with your very loud, very rambunctious family. They were all amazing, and he fit right in—which your mother teased you about—-but between the yelling, children running around, animals all over the place, and your brother’s family showing up as well, it made sense why you liked having your own slice of peace.

Your mother had also told Jake that he really liked him with you—which at the time, he simply shrugged off with a smile. Not wanting to get into the whole ‘we’re friends’ debacle with the woman that managed to stay married to a man as intense as your father for over twenty years.

Not to mention, the woman had also managed to raise your psychotic self—although Jake liked you for who you were.

His eyes widened “holy shit, we have been on dates—like a lot of dates. Wait, I think we are in a relationship—when’s the last time you’ve had sex—outside of last night.”

You shrugged, trying to think back on it “I think like three or four months ago now? I dunno, I just stopped having casual sex with people—I didn't really want to anymore.”

Jake nodded “yeah, actually. It’s been a few months. I preferred one night stands for the stress relief, but I haven't really been stressed in a while.”

“Isn’t that also around the time that we started getting close?” He nodded again with a light hum.

Then he glanced around the apartment, thinking about what Phoenix had said, it hadn’t really bothered him when you started redecorating, and sure he’d argue a bit, but for the most part he just did what you told him when it came to moving things, mounting things, and rearranging.

All of your stuff was mixed with his stuff outside of your separate bedrooms. He didn’t mind, usually he would’ve—but with you it was different.

“Listen Sweetheart, I know we’re not friends. That much is for sure.”

His tone wasn’t venomous, not in the slightest. He sounded sincere, and almost vulnerable. But Jake was right, you weren’t friends. This was different—much different.

Mick, Reuben, and Bob were your friends. You would never sleep with them—drunk or not. You also wouldn’t do their laundry willingly or cook dinner for them, or spend your decompressing time with them.

Natasha was right, you and Jake were downright domestic.

Even after having sex with him, there was nothing awkward, there wasn’t a single sense of regret in either of your bodies. There was no awkward ‘oh this was a mistake we’re never speaking about this again!’ conversation. It felt normal, you felt normal.

“Jake, I think we’re in a relationship.”

He nodded his head “yeah, no, that tracks. Considering you’re the only woman I want to spend my free time with, actually, if we’re being honest, I wanna spend all of my time with you. It’s part of the reason I’m always kissing your dad’s ass.”

You laughed at him, smiling “don’t worry Bagman, I like spending my time with you too—otherwise I would’ve kicked your ass and stolen your apartment. But I think I just made it our apartment instead.”

“We should’ve had sex sooner then.”

“Jake Seresin!” you paused, eyes widening “oh my god—my dad probably already thinks you’re my boyfriend. I’m so sorry for what Inferno’s gonna put you through.”

He shrugged “it’s fine, I made it through the Hellfire, I’m sure I can handle the Inferno.”

“Have you seen the way he hazes new Top Gun recruits? Not sure if you’re really ready for what Inferno’s gonna put you through.” you smiled at him, pulling him into a kiss.

Fin.

Thanks for reading my lovers <3 As always feedback is appreciated!

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin smut #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin fanfict #jake seresin one shot #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman x reader #hangman smut #hangman seresin x reader #hangman seresin smut

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socratesgirlnextdoor · 19 days ago

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spoilers for ginny and georgia

you guys are free to go im done with s3. oh ok crazy ending.

season 1 ending was ginny running away. fine. makes sense for the season

season 2 ending was georgia getting arrested for tom's murder AT her wedding.

season 3 ending is georgia pregnancy bomb. it does make sense because they were foreshadowing it with the whole ginny thing but.

ok so obviously season 4 is gonna be "who's the father" and dude if it's paul. that's so boring i don't care that is so dull get him out of here we're done with paul ugh but it's probably gonna be paul's jesus fucking christ. because they don't want joe and georgia happy yet. no no no no! too nice for them

though speaking of? my theory was right. joe did not give a FUCK about the murders. he's the only sane one of the show but he is still georgia's number 1 superfan. i know this is a soap opera drama but whatever

obviously if they're going down this route im team joe. show it's bad enough that you had this man go to her wedding to paul after he confessed his feelings and then you had them reach this lovely little mutual understanding by the end. georgia wants to be better for her kids so she isn't diving into another romantic relationship so she can focus all of her attention on them. joe is absolutely on board with this. this man was prepared to visit her in prison possibly her entire life sentence okay YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW LONG HE HAS WAITED. luke danes waited 7 years. JOE HAS WAITED 16 YEARS. unknowingly but still. please ginny and georgia end after season 4. they're obviously ending up together so don't have this man watch her have a baby with paul fucking randolph okay?? i don't like babyplots but if you're going down this road have it be joe's OR false alarm. please? please?

im weirdly very passionate about this show. anyways! onto other topics of discussion of this show. the baker family. okay so the final few episodes were a LOT. marcus was doing pretty well in this season but then his mental health got crazy terrible like pits terrible and he was less iconic in the last few episodes. i am so happy LIKE STOKED that they're making max more sympathetic now. in the final episode they fully season 1 abby'd max crazy hard. oh my fucking god i understand that max was bad but i am 100% a max defender now and the show is too. like max is ignored for most of the season and then everyone is like "max is just getting so dramatic at us" i know you guys are kids and max has been a lot but can you have like a grain, a drop of perspective here. or just stop being friends with her. you hate her so much let the theatre kids take care of her.

im usually a ginny defender but woof idk guys. idk chat. ginny is doing that weird thing again where she goes all evil mode. ginny i get it but yeah watch out. props on rescuing ur brother but...

austin's becoming a really interesting character. he's obviously very resentful of what he had to do in court and even if you know your parent is a violent guy dude (no offense to ginny) being forced or at least pressured into accusing your dad of a murder you know he didn't commit when he personally hasn't harmed you but you do know that he has harmed others its a lot. breaking the glasses was crazy holy crap plus he shot his dad last season? can he pretty please go to therapy now

wolfe was a funny fucking character this season. when he first showed up i loved him a lot ngl and i still do. but That's Wild is so hilariously bad. i understand him but that reaction is the funniest most chaotic thing ever. he literally went "damn thats crazy" and drove away LMAO that's so terrible. but! im glad the show didn't go "and now he deserves to die so we'll hate him into oblivion" because as immature as that reaction was, like ginny said, she does not think he's evil. i really liked him lol he was so chill the entire time, even when he knew he was an active rebound. he still hung around. he came back another day and was supportive of ginny. wolfe wasn't so bad guys <3 but for the love of god condom next time okay. glad he and ginny ended up chill in the end. though ginny did fr go through an emotional shit storm and he did not support her at all until later work on that

hate georgia being pregnant. bad. i dont like it. i don't care for it. please im so done with paul the show massacres paul in this season

obviously i still love joe it's joever fr. joe won't get the "i didn't put anything there that wasnt already a part of you" talk. georgia could probably stab him and he'd be like "hey that hurt! don't do that again please :(" and stay with her. my favourite thing about joe is that he is the sanest person on the show he is the most logical but also he is okay with georgia being a serial killer. he really went "shit. oh wow that's a lot of information. can we kiss now" yeah it's joever

no more paul randolph please. no paul randolph baby im on my knees begging

ok end of review it was just me loving joe as it should

p.s. padma <3 and also abby was mostly cool, netflix is obsessed with fairy smut apparently, mousse was really cool oh!

and marcus going to rehab. have fun king excited to see you in two years get better

ginny and georgia show dont make me wait so long cheers

#ginny and georgia #spoilers #georgia miller #ginny miller #joe #paul randolph #anti paul randolph #season 3 #netflix #marcus baker #maxine baker #austin miller

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lxvvie · 1 year ago

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Divorcecanons, Phillip Graves edition:

You asked for a divorce based on "irreconcilable differences" and Graves... agreed. Without a fuss. See that GIF up there? That's the same questioning look he gave you when you brought it up. Did you ever stop to ask yourself why he agreed to it?

Doesn't matter though 'cause even though the divorce is official (you sure about that, darlin'?), it's like nothing's changed between you and your ex-husband. Much. Except you're not wearing your ring. Mm. Terrible, sweetheart. Absolutely terrible.

Sure, he's moved out. Graves has his place set up for the time being and you're set financially, but he's never too far from your house. Your house that belongs to you two. Your house that belongs to you two because you're MARRIED.

Need repairs? Not to worry darlin', if it ain't something he can fix, he knows people who know people. He's there to oversee it, too.

Social events? Going out together? You fuckin' know it, doll. Got a dinner with the fellas at 7. He'll be there to scoop you up at 6:30.

Need a sounding board? Well, who else are you gonna turn to? He's been that for years. A simple... separation won't stop that. He's all eyes and ears, beautiful.

Talking shit about your asshole neighbors? Well, tell 'im all about it. He told you some of them were full of shit but now you're seeing it for yourself and it's... ugh. You don't have his gift of gab.

The bed's cold at night? Damn. Bummer. If only your HUSBAND was there to keep it and you warm but he can't. Because you're divorced. Bummer.

Dating. Oh, boy. You told Graves it was high time you started to move on but the thought of Graves giving someone else his last name has you feeling some type of way. Must be those post-divorce (what divorce?) blues.

Except when you dipped your toe into the dating pool, it was two hells and two nawls. No one could make you laugh like Graves did. Some couldn't hold a conversation at all. Some wanted sex right then and there. You were kinda-sorta-absolutely catfished a time or two. Or three. Jesus Christ.

But there Graves was to be a listening ear. After a couple drinks and rants about dating and your dry spell, you were face down, ass up in your MARITAL bed, and Graves' hands were gripping your hips like his life depended on it. You're pretty sure you broke the bed. That could be the wine talking, though...

But it doesn't matter 'cause come next morning, you wake up in his arms and the bed isn't cold anymore. Oh, and your ring is back on your finger. Again. "How 'bout it, darlin'?" Well, you can't complain, can you?

It's a good thing Graves knows people who know people 'cause what divorce again, darlin'?

#2queued4u.#nsfw.#call of duty #call of duty modern divorcefare.#call of duty modern warfare #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #cod x reader #cod x you #phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves x you #x black reader #x poc reader #x plus size reader #shadow company

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wakeup01 · 1 year ago

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Two Twinks, One Wish

“So Charlie, what did you wish for Christmas?”

“Really? Can we just watch the movie?” I say, annoyed.

Daniel had been my boyfriend for about a month now and had recently moved into my flat, just in time for Christmas. Since then things had been a struggle, he would continually whine about my inadequacies - how I didn’t tidy enough, didn’t appreciate him and most of all how I was a terrible top.

See, the problem was, we were both twinks. We had the same skinny body type, with barely any muscle definition. The only real difference being he had the better ass. Admittedly, I had a severe lack of confidence in the bedroom, frequently failing to get in the mood. Daniel on the other hand was very particular about what he liked and what he expected.

“Come on! You must be able to think of something. God knows there’s enough things you can be better at…” Daniel chastised.

Even now he had turned a harmless movie night into another chance to take petty digs. We were on the couch watching some cheesy xmas film, where the protagonist makes wishes that magically come true. Now he was insisting for me to make some stupid wish.

“Why don’t you go first? You seem to have a lot of ideas in mind.” I shoot back, not taking my eyes off the screen.

“Hmm, I got the perfect one! Charlie, I wish… you were a better top!” He laughs and nudges into my shoulder.

I roll my eyes, of course, I should of guessed this is where things were heading. Ugh. Out of nowhere I feel a chill wash over my whole body and a tightness take hold in my chest. After a moment the feeling subsides.

“Very funny. Have you been thinking that one up all night.” My voice dripping in sarcasm.

I shift in my seat slightly, a dull warmth emanating from my crotch. I must be feeling unwell, I’m definitely not being turned on by his degrading remarks. But the heat doesn’t fade, in fact it only grows in intensity. I get the impulse to grope at my growing bulge, the tightness straining against my jeans. Daniel would never live it down If I did, but it was becoming rather uncomfortable.

“You look a little flustered there… ah. I see. Are you really getting horny from this? Christ, you’re pathetic.” Daniel scolds, reaching his hand down.

Before I can object he unzips my trousers and pulls down the waistband of my briefs. My cock bursts forth and slaps against my chest, pre already leaking from it’s tip. Except it’s not my cock, this monster is almost twice my normal size. And my balls are inflating in front of my very eyes.

“What the hell?” I shout.

“Woah, oh shit, it’s working. It’s a Christmas miracle!” He exclaims in barely contained glee.

“Daniel, what did you do!” My voice cracks.

My dick continues to snake up my torso, going from 5 inches, to 7 then to 8. As it grows, so does my hornyness, overpowering my head as I fall into a drunken stupor. This is the most intense erection I’ve ever felt. My hand rubs up and down the entire length and I attempt to wrap my fingers around it, before discovering its girth is now thicker than my hand.

“Nice cock ‘bro’. Good tops are well equipped downstairs. And now, you are too. Hahaha” I look over and see him smirk at me.

He’s enjoying this far too much for my liking, but I’m in no position to fight back. Why did he make that stupid wish, I better not be stuck with this forever. At this point I don’t think my cock would even fit into any underwear I own. How exactly can I walk around with this thing swinging between my legs.

“You know who makes good tops? Jocks. That cocky attitude and carefree nature, coasting through life without thinking.” Daniel suggests, wistfully.

Jocks are also narcissistic morons. And I’m certainly not going to be one just to be a better ‘top’. I’m suddenly distracted by a chafing from my rear, a pair of straps seem to be cupping the cheeks of my tight butt. Below my balls now sits a stained pouch, the smell of musk rising from it hits my nose and I recoil.

“I think it’s jockstraps only from now on Charlie. And woof, sweaty ones at that.”

All of my senses are being overpowered, it’s like my head is in a vice that keeps on tightening. The film in front of me becomes a blur, my focus shattered by the intense pleasure from my new cock.

“Cock.” I blurt out.

I hear Daniel laughing from out of view.

My head is starved of oxygen as all the blood rushes to my groin, I’ve never been this horny before. I feel the strangest sensation as my brain thickens, filling up with throbbing meat. All the space padded out until I’m holding up a heavy dumbbell on the end of my neck. My thoughts were still there, somewhere, but it took so long to find them. It was quicker and easier to just embrace jockdom, stop worrying so much and just go along with the flow. If I was unsure of what to say then bro, I’d just say ‘bro’! A bro can fill in sentences with ‘bro’ and everyone will know what a bro they are. And bro? Being labeled as a dumb bro means no one expects anything meaningful from me. Brawn over brains is the mantra of my life dude.

“Jock’s also like to wear their bro-hood on their sleeves, and in your case, quite literally.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth I feel a sharp pain, as if a hundred needles are stabbing down my arm. I brace myself before glancing down. And there it was, 🍖 the meat emoji tattooed on my left hand. Huhhuh, awesome bro. Branded a meathead for life.

“Bro?” I ask slowly, my voice now considerably deeper.

“Yeah ‘Chad?’” Daniel emphasises.

The name immediately sticks to me like glue. Chad. I am such a Chad. I have some distant recollection of being someone else, but I can’t be bothered to search my brain for it. There’s a more pressing concern.

“Bruh, I need to empty my balls.” I grunt. The pressure from my engorged member becoming unbearable.

“Then you know what to do. Good muscle tops have their cocks milked every day.”

I grip my cock and begin pumping in earnest, my jaw hanging open. As I masturbate, my hands and arms bulk up with muscle. I see my veins very noticeably pop out. I feel a desperate urge to flex, letting one hand go from my dick. I ball it into a fist and raise it to the side of my head, squeezing my biceps. My arm pulses with meat, sending a vain satisfaction to my pleasure center.

“Good dumb tops spend all their time in the gym or on the field. Sculpting their body into the perfect chiselled shape.” His nasally voice instructs.

Muscle continues to form all over my lithe frame; my shoulders broaden and my chest ripples into a tight 6 pack. My clothes are loudly ripped to shreds. Memories enter my head of spending hours working out, of hanging with the other jocks and forming a vacant facade of a personality. Sweat drips from my hairy armpits, staining the couch under me. The room quickly starts smelling like a gym, my rank feet tearing free from my socks. My face cracks as it squares out into a more defined outline, brow growing heavy above my distant eyes. My body is now taking up most of the couch as Daniel budges over to the side. I quicken my pace, pumping now with both hands. My balls tighten.

“Fuck yeah brah.” I roar, reaching climax.

My cock spurts rope after rope of musky cum directly at my face, I’m left covered in my own seed. Daniel leans over to me and begins to eagerly lick at my face. He savours my taste on his tongue before swallowing. The sign of an expert bottom, huhuhu.

“Mmm. Great Tops know how to take control. And you’re a great top Chad.” Daniel moans in lust.

He’s right.

“Dude, this film is fucking dull. I’m changing to the sports channel bro. There’s a sick game playing today.” My hands take the remote and switch to a noisy football game.

I grab Daniels’s tiny little body and force him onto my lap. I flex again and push his face into my armpit. His tongue drags along my wiry dank hair. He moves his hand between my legs and starts passionately fingering his hungry ass hole, using my cum as lube. I hear him panting heavily like a dog. Man, my boyfriend is such a whiny brat…

“Bro, it’s my turn.” My cocky voice booms.

“What?” I hear his muffled voice cry out.

“Uhh… I wish… I wish you were a Bro like me, Bro.” I smirk.

“Wait, noooo!” He screams.

His body shudders and contorts as I hold his face to my pits with my newfound strength. He packs on pounds of muscle in a matter of seconds. Dan’s moaning turns to grunts. He’s going to make for such a Good. Arrogant. Dumb. Bro.

I watch his dong stretch down his leg, his balls sagging between his thickening thighs. The head of Dan’s veiny cock leaking like a faucet. A pair of juicy pecs push out from his chest and his adam apple swells. I pull away the remains of his clothes, letting them fall to the ground.

Dan’s dainty feet beef up to a size 12, sweat gathering between his toes - smelling like a real man should. I feel his previously fat bubble butt tense with lean muscle on my lap. With a squeak, his thoroughly abused fuck hole tightens shut, never to be stretched open again. He only tops after all, like me.

I release my grip on him and he pulls away, my sweat covering his square jawed face. He stuffs his junk into a jockstrap, looking barely concealed as it throbs with need. His messy hair has receded into a clean as fuck buzzcut. We now look almost identical, except that his meat emoji 🍖 tattoo is engraved on his right hand.

“Bro!” Dan’s voice deepens.

“Let’s go find some sluts to breed, bro.” We both smirk at each other and flex.

#transformation #gay #jock #brainwashing

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falling-star-cygnus · 5 days ago

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telling myself that it's okay if i don't like every piece i write and that as a writer i'm entitled to writing poor stories from time to time so that i don't crash out and throw everything away

anyway- warm up fic to get in the writing mood this vacation: ↓ this was SUPPOSED to be a warm-up fic, and it warped into possibly one of the longest oneshots i have ever written

No Duh, Dumbass {ao3 fic link} SUMMARY: Shortly after his first encounter with one Sakura Haruka, Endo Yamato limps home. Turns out, ankles weren't meant to withstand the full weight of a muscled teenager when they leap from high places.

Who would've thought, huh?

+=+=+

That was... a remarkably stupid idea.

Even by Yamato's standards, and all he was willing to do, attempting to imitate action movies was.. a low point. A... very- low point.

God, he used to be a straight-A student.

Then again, he also used to be small enough to dangle from his 'friends' arms. So. Maybe this was just par for the course.

Had to trade in a few braincells to get his new physique.

Heh.

His ankles protest every step of the way home- they scream at him to sit down- though it's most noticeable in the way his right throbs and drags and lags behind like a spoiled child. Ugh..

It was nice seeing Tsubaki again, all things considered. If he had to take a little victory. They were always more alike than the other wanted to admit.

In love with someone they couldn't have.. heh. Hehehe- his chest hurt.

Rather, it was nice messing with Tsubaki again. His hair had gotten so much longer than their first [and only] year together.. and those red ends?

Ah, he should've asked what brand he'd used.. Takiishi might've liked it.

Eh, there was always next time.

Rough brick scrapes along his shoulder as Yamato stumbles into the wall.

...what a pain.. is all he can think, and it's so goddamn redundant.

His ankles, his arm where that bicolored brat got a kick in, his chest, and now his shoulder- it all seemed to permeate his very being. Bogging him down...

The sigh that breezes out of his chest is overtly underwhelming.

He should go threaten that old man before actually heading back.. then he can sleep for a week. Or until all these aches go away.

Mm.. no, Takiishi needed to eat, aaannd he tended to forget to feed himself until his stomach was empty enough to cause cramping. Maybe he could just precook a bunch of things and then sleep. And set alarms on his phone.

...actually, that wouldn't work either.. in fact, it might just end with another broken device.

Endo starts walking again, intent on finally getting off his feet for a while.

They'll just order in tonight. Well- if Takiishi didn't feel like prowling around anyway.

"We had a deal, mophead."

. . .oh, come ON-

Can he catch one break? Just one?

He tilts his head over his shoulder lazily, naturally trying to make his brace on the wall look more 'lazy' like than 'wounded animal'.

"Hey," he calls back, slipping his hands into his pants pocket, "I was just coming to find you."

The old man stalks over to him, flanked by two.. honestly less-than-impressive 'bodyguards'. Jesus Christ.. talk about throwing your wealth around.

All that money, and you go for barely outta grade school teens? From a no-name school?

Yeesh.

Though, I guess you'd be hard pressed to find someone stupid enough to do what this guy's been dealing in. Then again, what does he know?

Yamato Endo's a terrible judge of character after all.

Turning to face the irate, huffy old man is more effort than it should really be worth, but alas... he has ends to tie up. So his bitchy ankles can take a back seat.

A hand latches onto his face and tugs him down.

down

Down until he's bent at the waist and staring into the eyes of a man pushing 80.

BAD bad bad badbadbadbad bad- BADBADBAD

"I paid you to do a job," the man spits, his bitten [fuck, fuck, get it off] fingernails digging into the softer pudge of the tattooed teen's cheeks.

Just smile through it, Yamato.. just a little longer. Then you can go home.

Fuck, he's so tired. And hurt, and he just wants to settle down to the sound of Takiishi's breathing. At least until the ache soothes itself into something manageable again.

But smile he does, a familar placating curl that feels as natural to him as the tattoos on his body.

Yamato was still, and forever will be, a bastard though.

Deep breath, and-

"And I used the money to pay someone else to do that job," it's hard to talk clearly with his teeth grinding together, "Also the job is off."

Quicker than he thought himself capable in his battered state, he seizes the old creep's [because why else would he be so interested in a broke singer girl?] arm- the same one accosting his face.

The 'bodyguards' behind him jolt forward. At the end of the day, though, they're just first years. And they freeze when real danger rears its ugly head.

God, finally. Yamato works his sore jaw as it's freed from greasy fingers, adorned in trashy fake gold, until it pops with a nice little click. That's better.

"Change of bleeding heart?" the old man sneers, gasping, "I should've known you'd chicken ou- ACK!"

Limbs make such funny sounds when they bend the way they're not built to.

'Chicken out', huh? Heh. That was funny. Takiishi has beaten him within an inch of his life [a staunch three occasions] and this guy thinks kidnapping some whiny girl makes him squeamish? Makes him scared? No.

He used another word for it- he thinks it makes him a bleeding heart.

Yamato doesn't give two shits what happens to her.

"I found someone a bit more fun to play with," is what he tells this wannabe yakuza. Or would it be American Mafia...?

Italian? With the suit and trashy rings..? Mm. Well, who really cares anyway. Yamato-

crack!

-was suddenly in excruciating pain.

It knocks the breath out of him for a second- its abrupt intensity flaring up from his ankles.

His knee buckles under the weight of a cheap sneaker to his calf, sending him reeling to the.. huh. To the surprisingly clean ground. Damn, those stuffy Roppo Ichiza suits did their self-imposed jobs well. That was kind of infuriating.

But not as infuriating as this ballsy punk-

God- shit- he is never attempting to imitate a movie again, fuck fuck fuck. The shitty kid doesn't lift his foot from the abused limb, but he's shaking.

He's scared.

Alright then. Okay.

He fucking should be.

Everything passes in blur after that- a haze of rage induced practicality. He might laugh like a madman- he might sob like a cornered animal.

Who fucking knows.

Who fucking cares.

All he's capable of processing is that everything hurts, and everything is closing in on him and these three are the only things standing in his way. The only things caging him in. So they're going down.

One, two- Yamato doesn't know how many times his fists connect with flesh.

Just that the bodies fall all the same.

Vaguely, maybe, the tattooed teen wonders if this is how Takiishi feels when his loyal devotee gets in his way.

He wonders if his god feels as trapped as he does now.

It's not until strong arms are hooking under his shoulders that he snaps out of it- with an inhale that feels like he was robbed of air for too long. His chest heaves, his knuckles are bloodied. With his own or the skeeze or the bodyguards, he doesn't know- but-

His ears are ringing, and his legs no longer supporting him.

"ENDO!" and, unfortunately, he knows that voice, "CALM. DOWN!"

Those arms heft him straight up- forcing his spine out of years of slouching and forcing him to think properly. It pops.

Ugh.. as if this evening could not get any worse... here he is, Takiishi's white knight. The god to Takiishi's phoenix. The one gets to stay in his world while everyone else fades away.

"Finally," Umemiya sighs, "You were really out of it, huh?"

Yeah, and he'd like to go back to it.

Yamato lets his head drop and groans- long and annoyed and tired.

To his utter humilation, the fucker just laughs at him. And then lowers his worn out body from its restrained prison- and then lifts again. Like he was some sorta cat.

What the fuck?

"Hey, you put on some weight! That's great!" and he truly sounded genuine.

....he hates him. He really, really does.

"Don't make that face," he'll make whatever face he wants actually, "It's a good thing. You used to be so small, it was worrying."

Worrying- bullshit.

"Put me down."

To his credit- Umemiya complies easily. He hefts Yamato back up to his feet with just a grunt, and the tattooed teen wastes no time in throwing himself far far away from the chipper man.

Nobody worried over him- ever.

Not even his parents cared what he got up to as long... as long as he-

His legs give way barely a second later, leaving the tattooed teen to either catch the wall or hit the blood covered ground.

Hah- not so clean anymore, is it Roppo Ichiza?

Heheheh.. ah, shit.

A calloused hand catches his wrist and hauls him right back up- before his nose can make friends with asphalt.

There are three prone bodies in front of him. Breathing?

..maybe. He's not sure, but they're probably fine if this goody-two-shoes isn't going off his rocker.

So-

"Still don't like me, huh?" that white-haired asshole muses, as he [and let it be known this will forever MORTIFY him] slips Yamato's arm over his shoulder, "And here I thought absence made the heart grow fonder!"

"Drop dead."

"Already tried that, didn't really work out."

...christ.. Yamato tilts his head to the side, just to be sure Umemiya catches the full force of his judgment, "...you're really depressing to be around."

"Heh. Sorry."

No, he's not.

But whatever. Whatever. Yamato's to-do list is done, and his couch is waiting for him. He just needs to-

"What are you even doing out here?" he finds himself huffing, his lower half like lava-filled lead.

Furin was way in the other direction, wasn't it? And waay out of this district's supervision, he'd thought. Or at least hoped.

Umemiya just hefts him closer.

"Tsubaki- you remember Tsubaki, right?" god, could he sound anymore besotted, "Tsubaki performs here sometimes."

...yeah, and his shift ended like an hour ago. Poor guy. And what's even worse is that this asshole sounds elated at the information too- like he could watch his.. what is he calling those four nowadays, his kings?

Whatever. His king.

Like he could watch his king perform. What a loser.

Yamato goes to say as much.

"So..." the top-dog of Furin says abruptly, as he starts leading them through the back-alleys, "What'd you do to your legs?"

But Umemiya is faster.

You know, there's only a centimeter difference in their height. Umemiya only has a centimeter on him. And somehow it feels like a mile when he's being hobbled along like this.

Maybe if he just ignores him, he'll drop the entire conversation...

"It didn't seem like you had a problem fighting those guys, so what gives? They get a lucky hit on you or something?"

. . .

"There was... a losing fight beforehand?"

Silence.

"Oh! Did you kick a vending machine too hard?"

Yamato will say absolutely nothing.

"If you don't answer, I'm just going to keep guessing."

...damnit.

"Why do you wanna know so bad?" Endo Yamato is a terrible judge of character, he knows, but this line of interrogation would be lost even on a therapist.

Which- he doesn't need. No matter what some of the rookies tell him.

...anyway. Umemiya finally lets him go, right onto an odd amalgamation of boxes just sturdy enough for him to sit on without them collapsing.

The relief that sweeps through him is near suffocating.

At least until he catches sight of the serious look in titanium blue eyes. And that's interesting.

Yamato tilts his head onto his shoulder, bracing his weight on his arms as a smile- more smug and taunting than placating this time- warps his face.

"Endo, you're one of the strongest fighters I know."

Wait what-

Umemiya strides [because he doesn't need to stalk- not when his presence is already drowning everything else out] closer, his hands grasping Yamato's shoulders. And-

And they're rough from gardening. He grows tomatoes and produce and gushes about them like they're his children for cripes' sake.

So why does it feel like a death sentence?

"If someone did you in this bad, I need to know." those hands aren't hurting him, they're not exerting any other force than friendly, but the tattooed teen has only ever been this struck dumb once.

Hitting has always meant love to him, or better phrased, affection. A trade for him to stick around. A kind reprimand to get him back on track.

He doesn't know how to handle touches that don't split skin.

"I need to know, before they hit Furin."

But stupidity is a better wake-up call than a bucket of cold water.

Yamato lets the tense silence linger, just to see Umemiya grow increasingly agitated and antsy.

And then he bursts into cackles.

"BWHA HAHA HA-" oh, man, that was good, "You- HA- you think a person did this to me?"

In his defense, no one's first guess to the cause of fucked up legs is someone jumping off a roof to look cool. Because that would be remarkably stupid.

And Umemiya only knew him as a straight-A student, after all.

It's flattering, really.

The tattooed teen brushes those gentle hands off his shoulders.

"Ah.. chill out," Yamato sighs, mirth drying up in an instant, "I fell."

Jumped, more like, but whatever. He's entitled to a lie to make himself look cooler.

"Your precious, boring town is fine."

For now, anyway... June 21st was coming up pretty fast. Ooh, and there was still so much to get in order.

Hm... Yamato stretches his legs idly, already bracing for the sting of overused muscles as his sneaker hits the side of Umemiya's leg.

What he's not braced for is the calloused hand that grabs it.

The punch he throws is entirely borne of instinct, and maybe that's why it gets blocked before ever making contact. His arm, the same battered arm that Takiishi first hit- that Sakura Haruka just hit- strains against the unmovable barrier of dark green fabric.

Umemiya probes his ankle with a scarred thumb.

"Doesn't feel broken, at least," he says, like this was just another fucking Tuesday- like he had any fucking medical experience, "Definitely swollen though.."

This guy.. god, does Yamato hate him. Soo much.

More gently than he's been treated in his entire life, the top-dog of Furin lets his leg drop. And then he goes for the other one, the one on his right.

"Piss- off." he snaps, but even he knows there's not much he can do but succumb to treatment. That's fine.

He'll settle the bill later- like he always does.

Another swing, another block.

Yamato gives up.

Whatever, he thinks at last, dropping his arms to his thighs. Whatever.

"...what do you want?"

Umemiya looks up at him, one scarred brow furrowed as he cradles- cradles- and pokes gently at a barely working limb.

"Whaddya mean?" the man asks, somehow even kinder as he lowers it back down, "That one doesn't feel broken either, but I'd try to stay off it for a few days."

He rolls his eyes, so- so tired, "I mean, why're ya helping me?"

Nothing.. except- maybe the dull sound of eyelashes blinking in surprise. Maybe what he wants is obvious and Yamato was just- not getting it?

"Because you need help?"

No the fuck he doesn't. Not from this guy.

Not from anyone.

"And?" there's always a cost for help, there always is.

Yamato didn't get this far in life without paying his toll. When he looks up, Umemiya is gobsmacked. And confused.

"Nobody helps someone for free."

"I do."

"You're an idiot."

"I'm not the one with two sprained ankles," there. That's something he's more familiar with. Assholery.

He's halfway to throwing another punch, just for the hell of it, when he catches red on the hem of his white flannel. Fuuuck, are you kidding? He liked this one... it was soft and worn on the inside and soothing on new tattoos.

Shit.. one rotten occurance after another... today was reeally not his day, was it?

"Cold water and lemon juice will clean that right out."

God, this guy just could not shut up, now could he? But... that.. did made sense for him to know, considering white shirt dress code of Bofurin. Ugh.

Has he mentioned how much he hated this guy?

"...I'm not going to say thank you."

"I didn't think so."

+=+=+

Home sweet home.

At long fucking last.

Climbing the stairs to his and Takiishi's apartment is a nightmare and a half on his busted up legs, but in the end it just makes sinking into the couch that much sweeter.

He doesn't think his roommate is home, even if his keys are in the little bowl by the door. The redhead forgot them sometimes.

So, with the door unlocked just in case [he does NOT want to replace it again], Yamato settles in with his throbbing legs thrown over the opposite armrest.

Shit, he's so done.

But he also needs to get the blood out of his flannel.

Yamato rakes his palms down his face with a quiet groan.

"Come on.." the tattooed teen mutters to himself, "...come on, one more task and then you're done.. just... one more. And then you're done."

He's had to carry on in worse conditions, after all. This is nothing. This should be nothing.

So it is, and so Yamato Endo forces himself up to stagger into their kitchen. Lemon juice and cold water and.. was that really all? Did he have to scrub it too?

Could he just let it soak for a little bit?

His ankle chooses that moment to give again and send him into the wall- jarring his scraped up shoulder.

...he'll let it soak for a little bit.

It's a remarkably simple affair, all things considered. Glass bowl, ice, water, lemon juice. Annnd some lemon slices against the stains for good measure.

There.

Yamato lays back down on the couch and passes the fuck out.

+=+=+

Chika's roommate is hogging the couch.

He never does that.

Endo Yamato always seemed to be hyper aware of his limbs, at least when around the redhead- mostly keeping to himself, even if only physically. It was anybody's guess what would come out of his mouth.

Though, after so many years orbiting each other, Chika sometimes liked to make a game of guessing.

When he came home, he'd expected the usual. Endo typically cooked them something on weekdays- unless he was out and about with Chika himself- so their house was almost always filled with the nice smell of spices.

Those smells still linger, ingrained in each surface and microfibre. But there weren't any new ones.

And no lights were on.

The door was unlocked though [small victory, considering he forgot his keys again] so that at least meant Endo was home. But then why...

Ah.

He's sleeping on the couch.

At least, Chika thinks he's sleeping- his tattooed arm is thrown over his eyes, and his lanky legs are thrown over the cushions- but he looks remarkably uncomfortable.

Still- right now Chika wanted to sit down.

So, as his his tried and true method, he rears back his fist and-

His roommate dodges.

"What the fffu-" Endo sputters, blindly throwing a punch of his own.

That's new. The dodging and the fighting- even if the punch misses when Chika tilts his head and instead hits his hair.

With enough force that the duel-colored strands fly into the air.

Endo Yamato has never tried to hit him before.

Not even when, admittedly, Chika went too far in beating the shit out of him. He always just laughed.

This was kind of exciting.

But this was also kind of annoying.

He wasn't acting like his roommate.

Alas, the sleep clears from.. algae hued eyes. Huh. Before he can dwell on it further.

That was a pretty color. Maybe after he was done with reds and yellows, he'd change it to blues and greens. His roommate blinks hard up at him, feeling up synthetic strands of hair, before his body loses its hard lines of tension.

"Taki- ishi?," he wheezes, dazed as the yellow ends of his extensions drape over his palm, "AH-! Shit."

There he was.

Endo sits up so fast he almost rams their skulls together- if it weren't for Chika's stunning reflexes [and experience] in avoiding such things.

...so he liked to watch his roommate sleep sometimes, who cared? Not like he didn't get watched in turn. Fair is fair.

Whatever.

"Sorry, sorry, Takiishi," Endo's smooth voice isn't as smooth as it usually is, but he swings his legs back to the floor to make space, "You wanna sit down?"

He did, but also what the fuck.

Why was his roommate acting so weird? Weird-der than normal.

There's blood crusted on his shoulder now that Chika cares to look, and he's not wearing the flannel he went out in. Which is weird, because he went out to get his tattoos darkened and he always wears that flannel when he does that.

Every single time.

Something unpleasent starts to brew deep in Chika's gut.

He prods at the crusted blood, vaguely daring it to be his roommate's and not someone elses. It better be somebody elses.

Only Chika should be allowed to make him bleed.

Alas, it's entirely Endo's- proved by the jolt and cringe he gets- and the tattooed teen stares at it like it had just betrayed his bloodline. Did he... not know it was there? Did he forget about it?

"Where's your jacket?" such thoughts left him feeling rankled, so it was time to switch topics.

"My what? Oh." Endo drags a hand down his face with one more hard blink, "Kitchen."

...that was a weird spot for a jacket.

Regardless, Chika strides over anyway. For some reason, his roommate was.. not in pique performance. Hurt on a level that was deeper than physical.

Why did that bother him so much?

Because he couldn't bring him things like this, maybe?

Tucked away in their kitchen is a glass bowl of... slightly opaque liquid. It's not really brown, and it's not really clear- and it has bits of yellow floating around on the top and.. oh.

It's the flannel.

Floating with lemon slices and rusty red particles. Hm.

"Did you get into a fight?" without him? Rude.

Endo ruffles his curls, only visible to him as he strolls past into the tatted teens room, "Eh.. kinda?"

Kinda? How do you 'kinda' get into a fight? Whatever, Chika didn't stick around to care.

Now where did he keep his...? Ah.

His roomate had a lot of jackets, most of which he had free reign to snag from... aaall except for two. Not that Endo ever explictly told him not to wear them.

It was just clear he had his favorites.

A white flannel annnd... Chika nicks black fabric from its hanger.

A white flannel and a black yukata, adorned on the back with a deconstructed skeleton.

And sakura flowers.

The redhead isn't known for his gentle behavior, obviously, but he knows how to take care of clothes. He knows they stayed most comfortable with a careful hand.

When he ventures back into their living area, overwear hung over his arn, his roommate has one knee tugged up to his chest- his eyes on his phone- as he massages-

. . .

As he massages very, very, swollen skin.

Another detour then.

But first, Chika throws the yukata over Endo's head.

He needs his hands free.

"Ack- what?" a sharp inhale as he, presumably, registers the material.

Chika doesn't bother listening to see if he says anything else.

For sprains... you needed ice, right? Or something cold? And elevation. Which- certainly explains why the tatted teen had had taken up the entirety of their shared couch. Meh.

It looks like all their ice was put towards the bowl of flannel, though, so what else would work?

"Hey, Takiishi?"

"Mm?" Chika eyes a bag of frozen vegetables they're probably never going to eat. Ever, really, if he has a say in it.

"I don't think I can cook tonight," no duh, "Do you wanna get take-out instead? That place you like is delivering."

Obviously.

His answer is so blindingly obvious, he doesn't respond again.

No, Chika Takiishi doesn't bother with questions that have clear cut-out endings. He doesn't bother with people who get in his way, or interrupt him.

What he apparently does bother with is stupid, tattooed, roommates who bring him stuff that he likes. That can't take care of their own injuries to keep doing their self-assigned jobs.

But that's fine. For now.

Chika knows how to treat his things with a careful hand.

#'he doesn't care about me at all' ARE YOU SURE ENDO???#REALLY?#the ramblings of a fallen star #winbre #wbk #wbk fanfic #wind breaker #windbreaker #endo yamato #umemiya hajime #takiishi chika #endochika

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