Simon Riley really delving into his oral fixation.
See, you'd asked Simon to stop smoking after reading that it would damage his sperm. Trying for a baby apparently meant he needed to give up his vice.
But you were his missus, and he'd learned a long time ago—don't fucking argue with the missus.
Already by day three Simon was buying multiple packs of gum a day. Grumbling around base and the house. But he wouldn't take it out on you, never on you.
Your tits? Different story.
Simon had been sucking on your tits for almost an hour, switching between your now swollen and spit slick nipples. Yes, it felt fantastic—but Jesus Christ what was his obsession tonight?
"Simon." You murmur, tugging at his hair to pull him up. "You're usually inside me by now."
Simon grumbled, licking his lips. "You had me quit smokin' my fucking mouth needs to be doin' somethin'"
After that confession, Simon was always on you.
He comes home from work, and he pushes your shirt up while you read some book on the couch. His mouth immediately locking around your nipple. The tension built throughout the day leaving his body.
He'd suck on your tits of a morning instead of going for his usual smoke. Though you point out that he spends a lot longer on your nipples than he ever did his cigarettes.
You can't even take your shirt off around him without Simon pawing at your tits and sucking on you for at least five minutes before you finally batt him off to go cook dinner.
After a long weekend though, you went to work with sore tits. Your coworkers getting excited after hearing you'd been trying for a baby and now you were adjusting your bra all day.
Simon only chuckled when you complained to him that afternoon, letting you frustratedly throw your bra at him. "Just tell them that your husbands helping you practice for when you're actually breastfeeding."
Summary: You finally talked Jack into ditching the hospital for a beach getaway since every other trip you've taken together has been during colder seasons, buried under layers. Stripping down to swimwear, you're reminded of how just damn good your man looks under the Italian sun.
Warning: SMUT (MDNI 18+) established relationship, language, pet names, flashbacks to so much vacation sex (descriptions of p in v sex, oral - both m&f), heavy petting/teasing, insecurity (jack's leg and prosthetic), alcohol consumption, pushy italian man not understanding you aren't interested, protective jack, lots of physical touch (dat man is obsessed with you), dirty talk, praise, semi-public smut, (fingering), risk of getting caught, possessiveness, casual dominance, its basically a story about vacation sex, but with plot and love 🙂↔️
A/N: How are there not more vacation!jack fics? Please send them all my way. I hope people have some fun upcoming vacations planned as summer ramps up! GIF by @sammy-bryant found HERE. Dividers as always by @saradika-graphics.
Thank you for reading!! if you comment reblog with commentary i love you so much <3.
POSITANO, AMALFI COAST ITALY
You woke slowly, the morning light filtering through the curtains of your suite at Le Sirenuse. Jack lay on his stomach beside you, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other relaxed at his side. His face was turned toward you, lashes resting against his cheeks, mouth slightly parted. You had talked your man into ditching the hospital for a sunny getaway. Jack was utterly deserving of this rest. You leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, breathing in the faint scent of salt and his skin. He had been working tirelessly lately, and dating someone in such a high-stakes profession wasn’t easy, but he had recently switched to the day shift, telling you he didn’t like your opposite schedules anymore. Knowing he wanted to spend more time with you made you feel truly special.
You slipped out of bed and moved to the kitchenette, brewing coffee while the sea breeze drifted in from the open balcony doors. Once it was ready, you carried your mug outside and settled into one of the chairs overlooking the glittering water. It was Day 4 of the trip. The first day had been quiet, just wandering Positano’s narrow streets until Jack pulled you back to the suite and fucked you deep and slow until you fell apart for him. You felt his warmth flood your pussy before you both passed out after the long travel day.
Day 2 started with you going down on him, but he stopped you before things could go further. He pulled you up, his breathing heavy, and pressed you against the wall on the private terrace. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust into you with harsh rolls of his hips, the morning sun warming both of you. You came with your forehead against his shoulder, and he followed soon after, breathing hard against your neck.
You then went to the hotel pool. Jack had said he would join you after lunch, but ended up staying inside and told you he got wrapped up in a book. Later, you drove to Tramonti, toured the vineyard, and drank tons of wine and cheese for hours. You both were probably a bit tipsy by the time you came back for dinner to sober up with some food and water. Before you went to sleep, you enjoyed another round. Jack ate you out from behind before bending you over the bed, taking his time to reach that spot that had your vision swimming with tears and your voice breaking over his name while he whispered words of encouragement in your ear. His teeth bared when he pumped you full of his spend, and you continued to scream his name into the mattress.
Yesterday’s boat cruise was an 8-hour journey along a breathtaking coastline, featuring sights like Emerald Grotto, Furore Fjord, Amalfi, Maiori, Minori, Atrani, and Nerano. Despite the warm sun and the stunning scenery, Jack stayed in his T-shirt and jeans the entire time, while you relaxed in your bikini and cover-up. Both of you ended up talking with a lovely couple visiting from California. For most of the cruise, you hung out with them, sharing stories and enjoying the beautiful views together before returning to the hotel and just sleeping in each other’s arms.
You sipped your coffee and cast a quick glance back inside. Jack was stirring, still half-asleep. You couldn’t stop thinking about how something was slightly off with Jack, and you weren’t an idiot. This was the first summer (and first beachy vacation) you’d taken together in the two years you’d been a couple. The other big trips had been travelling across the Maritime Canadian provinces one autumn, and exploring Japan one winter, hopping between cities on train platforms and staying bundled in layers the entire time. In his everyday life, it was rare for Jack to wear shorts unless he was in the privacy of your shared home—he even preferred his athletic pants when he ran every day back in Pittsburgh. But here, in this quiet, sun-soaked place, you hoped he might finally feel comfortable enough to shed those layers, to wear shorts or trunks like everyone else.
The soft scrape of crutches pulled your attention away from the glittering sea. Jack stepped onto the balcony without his prosthetic, the morning light catching the smooth, healed skin just below his knee. His chest was bare, and his boxer briefs hung low on his hips, revealing the sharp cut of muscle that disappeared beneath the waistband. His curls were mussed, eyes still heavy-lidded from rest. God, he looked so fucking good on vacation.
"You look beautiful," he said, voice gravel-rough from sleep, the corner of his mouth lifting in that familiar half-smile.
Warmth bloomed in your chest. "I never want to leave this place. It’s perfect."
Jack lowered himself into the chair beside you and set the crutches aside. You reached for the bare skin of his amputated limb, fingers gliding over the smooth, warm flesh to massage it. He let out a low, rumbling groan, head tipping back against the chair, throat working as his eyes fluttered half-shut. The sound vibrated straight through you, heat pooling low in your belly.
You leaned in to quickly kiss him, not thinking it would escalate to anything, but then his hand slid up your side, strong fingers curling around your waist as he pulled you onto his lap. Your thighs spread over him, the heat of his body pressing up between your legs. His mouth claimed yours again, tongue sliding hot and deliberate against yours. He cupped your breast beneath your shirt, thumb dragging slow circles around your nipple until it tightened into a stiff peak. You felt yourself growing slick, the fabric of your underwear clinging damply as he rocked you subtly against the thickening ridge in his briefs.
"Feel that?" Jack murmured against your lips. "See how fucking hard you make me?"
"I have plans for us this morning," you whined as you began to pull away. "Stop trying to distract me."
"We’re on vacation, pretty sure this right here is the plan," his hand drifted lower, palm pressing firmly between your thighs, rubbing slow, teasing circles over the damp cotton. You whimpered softly, hips twitching forward into his touch. Your lips parted, breath coming quicker as your fingers curled into his shoulders. Jack’s eyes stayed locked on your face, watching every flicker of pleasure cross your expression—the way your lashes fluttered, the soft sound that escaped your throat when he pressed a little harder.
"That’s it, pretty girl," he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear. His palm rocked against your clit through the thin fabric, steady and deliberate, building the ache until your thighs trembled around him. You could smell the faint musk of his skin, hear the distant crash of waves below, feel the sun warming your back as your body grew hotter, wetter, needier.
"J-Jack," you moaned breathlessly, feeling yourself giving in.
"Keep those perfect eyes on me," he demanded, his tone making you shudder.
You made sure to listen and Jack’s breathing deepened—chest rising and falling faster, jaw tight, pupils blown wide as he watched you. A low groan rumbled from him when you rocked harder, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours.
"God, you’re the most gorgeous thing. I want to lay you out right here, and taste every inch of you until you’re shaking." His free hand slid up your spine, fingers threading into your hair as he kissed you again...slow and fucking filthy.
You moaned into his mouth, hips rolling, the wet heat between your legs growing slicker with every teasing press of his palm. Your nipples ached against the fabric of your shirt, every nerve alive and begging for more. When you finally pulled back enough to speak, voice breathy, you said:
"I booked us that exclusive Arienzo Beach Club pass for today."
"Oh?" Jack’s expression shifted instantly. The heat in his eyes cooled, the easy warmth fading.
"Yeah, it’s a short walk away."
His hand stilled between your thighs. He looked away, a deep crease forming between his brows.
"One of the hotel concierge staff told me about this little walking tour. Kind of a hidden‑gem thing. Figured we might check it out." It was a flimsy excuse, and the lie was obvious—he probably hadn’t thought about it for even a second before saying it.
You leaned closer, voice dropping into something silky. "Don’t you want to be in one of those private cabanas with me?"
He withdrew his hand with a final, reluctant twitch of his fingers, then gently lifted you from his lap and settled you onto the chair beside him. Leaning over, he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder.
"I don't want to take away from your beach time. You should go, and we can meet up afterwards."
Jack reached for his crutches, stood, and headed inside without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, and the sound of running water soon drifted out. The frustration (and horniness) hit you hard, twisting together in your chest as you sat alone on the balcony, the morning sun suddenly feeling too bright...and too empty.
The water hit Jack’s skin hard, almost scalding, but he didn’t turn it down. He braced one hand against the tile with his head bowed down. He hated disappointing you. Hated the look in your eyes when he shut down.
Traveling with him wasn’t simple, and he knew it. Checking his crutches at the airport. Packing the waterproof prosthetic. Making sure the shower chair fit in his duffle. Calling hotels ahead of time to double-check handicap accessibility, even when they promised everything was fine. It was exhausting. It required planning. It was stressful.
And he hated that you had to deal with any of it.
What he hated more was the thought that you might be pretending it didn't matter.
He pressed his forehead against the tile, letting the fear and self‑loathing churn through him. Jack’s insecurities about his leg didn’t usually own him. Most days, he moved through the world with his usual stubborn defiance. But trips like this, where his body was on display and mobility mattered… it brought every buried doubt roaring back. He hated the way he felt less on days like this—less capable, less appealing, less easy, less fun. He hated that he had to think about terrain, distance, accessibility, and pain levels. Hated that spontaneity wasn’t simple for him.
Jack also didn't want you dealing with the stares at the pool or the beach. The curious looks, the pitying ones, the ones that stuck around too long. He didn't want to slow you down. Didn't want to be the thing you had to work around. Didn't want to be the weight dragging down your plans. The truth was he wanted the cabana, the sun, and your skin under his hands.
He stepped out of the shower, steam curling around him as he reached for the towel. He dried off, sat on the bench, and reached for the prosthetic. The socket slid on with a familiar hiss of air, the weight settling against his residual limb. He flexed his foot experimentally, testing the response. Good. No pain today, at least. He dressed quickly, and when he emerged into the suite, you were already dressed. The cover-up was one of his favorites—that lavender cream-colored thing that fell from your shoulders and hinted at the curves beneath without revealing them. Your sunglasses were pushed up on your head, holding back your hair, and you were reaching for a book from the side table, your tote bag already slung over your shoulder.
His chest tightened. You'd been ready to go without him.
"No brunch together?" he asked, and even he could hear the wounded edge in his voice.
You glanced up, and he watched your expression shift—a flicker of something that might have been frustration, quickly smoothed over into something lighter.
"The beach club pass includes food and alcohol," you said, moving toward him with that knowing smile playing at your lips. "But I was waiting for you to get out of the shower to ask if you wanted to eat with me first. You know…if you have time before that 'walking tour' of yours." The sarcasm was gentle, but it was there.
He deserved that.
"I do have time," Jack said quietly. He closed the distance between you and kissed you, pouring everything he couldn't quite say into the press of his mouth against yours. When he pulled back, he kept his forehead against yours.
"I love you," he murmured. You were quiet for a moment, and he felt the weight of what you weren’t saying hang between you. He appreciated that you weren't calling him out, weren't demanding explanations or forcing a conversation he wasn't quite ready to have. But he also knew you deserved better than a man who was too afraid to just be with you at the beach.
"I love you too," you replied, and because you were perfect, you changed the subject as you both headed toward the door.
"There are rumors that George and Amal got here last night," you winked, stepping into the hallway. "They might be staying at this very hotel."
Jack followed, catching your hand and bringing your fingers to his lips as you walked toward the elevator. "I still can't believe you read celebrity gossip," he said, against your skin, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth as you pressed the elevator button. You were a highly respected wealth advisor at a massive institution managing over $7 billion in assets. Jack found it fascinating that you could dissect market volatility before breakfast and had an encyclopedic knowledge of who was dating who in Hollywood.
"It's Page Six," you squeaked in protest, as the elevator doors slid open. "It's basically required reading."
He grinned, watching you step into the elevator with that easy confidence you carried everywhere. God, he loved you.
"Oh, and Dua Lipa and Callum Turner just got married," you added as the doors closed, descending toward the lobby. "She looked so beautiful in her custom Schiaparelli skirt suit."
Jack paused. "Who?”
You gave him a look that suggested this was common knowledge as the elevator dinged softly. "You’re lucky you’re hot."
The sun blazed overhead, turning the water into liquid sapphire that stretched out in gentle rolls toward the horizon. You peeled off your cover-up in the cabana, the purple bikini clinging tighter than your usual suits, and the bottoms riding high on your hips. A quick squeeze of sunscreen across your shoulders and thighs left your skin gleaming. The beach wasn’t deserted, with couples lounging on loungers, and a few families splashing at the shoreline. But, the crowd was sparse compared to the packed stretches you had seen elsewhere. You wished Jack were here with you.
You settled into the padded chair, watching the scene unfold. A silver-haired man in linen shorts kept his arm draped around a much younger woman in a white micro-bikini; she laughed at everything he said and let him feed her strawberries from a silver bowl. Two cabanas down, another older man scrolled on his phone while his companion, maybe 22, knelt between his knees applying lotion to his calves, her ass in the air. The dynamic was clear everywhere you looked: older money, younger beauty, easy transactions wrapped in flirtation and sunblock.
A young waiter in crisp, white shorts and a polo shirt appeared at the edge of the cabana, a small notepad in hand.
"Good afternoon. Can I start you with any drinks from the beach bar?" he asked with a surprisingly Australian accent.
"A mojito, please."
"Right away, Signorina," the waiter said with a polite nod, already turning to head back to the thatch-roofed bar nestled among the palms. Less than five minutes later, the waiter was back, presenting a tall, frosty glass.
"Grazie," you said.
The mojito was perfect and just what you needed.
You cracked open one of the paperbacks you had packed, but then your phone buzzed with that unmistakable Outlook chime you had sworn you were ignoring this whole trip. You’d been doing a surprisingly good job of not checking work emails on this trip, but curiosity tugged at you until you finally reached for the phone, muttering to yourself that you were just as bad as Jack when it came to being too dedicated to your job. One new email sat at the top from a long-time client whose portfolio had taken a beating in the market downturn. The message detailed how he'd panic-sold half his positions at the bottom last week; now he was second-guessing everything and wanted to move the rest into cash. You sighed, closed the app, and tried to focus on your book instead.
After a while, the heat became too much. You walked down to the water, the first cool rush licking up your calves, then your thighs, until you dove under. The sea felt silky against your sunscreen-slick skin, the salt stinging pleasantly at the edges of your bikini. You swam lazy laps parallel to the shore, and the current tugging gently at your body. When your arms started to tire, you waded back out, droplets sliding down your stomach.
You were halfway to the cabana when a tall man in board shorts stepped into your path.
"Bella, you swim like a goddess," he said in a thick Italian accent, eyes dropping to your chest. You smiled politely and kept walking, but he matched your pace.
"You’re not from around here, are you?"
"Nope."
"That explains it," he said, grinning. "The locals don’t look like you."
"Lucky them," you muttered.
"I would love to buy you a drink," he said, stepping a little closer.
"I can buy my own drink," you said, tone still polite but firmer now.
He tilted his head, amused. "Ah, independent."
"I guess."
"Come on, bella. One drink. You’ll enjoy it."
"I’m not interested."
"Oof. You’re breaking my heart here," he said, acting wounded. You closed your eyes for just a moment, gathering patience.
"You’ll live." You sort of hated that you had to say the next part, "Also, I have a boyfriend," but it felt like he was operating under the assumption that your rejection needed a reason he would accept. A simple lack of interest wasn’t going to be one. Maybe if you referenced another man's 'claim' on you, he would take you seriously.
"If you looked like that and were mine, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight, bella."
"Good thing I’m not yours, then."
He opened his mouth to fire back, but then his expression shifted. Not toward you, but past you.
A familiar voice cut through the air behind you, calm but edged with steel.
"Is there a fucking reason you’re harassing her?"
Jack stood shirtless in swim trunks, a t-shirt twisted between his hands, the afternoon light catching the scatter of freckles across his shoulders, chest, and arms. His salt and pepper curls looked so fucking luscious on this trip. His jaw was clenched, his hazel eyes fixed on the man with an intensity that made the air itself feel heavy. He didn't raise his voice. Didn't need to. There was something about the way he looked at people…that did all the talking.
The Italian man straightened, but you could see the hesitation flicker across his face. Jack took a step forward, unhurried, and his prosthetic caught the light as his leg shifted beneath him with each measured stride. The man's eyes locked onto it for a fraction of a second, and his confident smirk faltered.
"I asked you a question," Jack said, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous. "You deaf, or just stupid?"
"Look, I didn't mean—"
"You didn't mean to be a disrespectful asshole?" Jack's smile was all teeth, no warmth. The man took an actual step back. Jack didn't move; he just continued to look at him, that cold, assessing stare that suggested he had already decided exactly what he'd do if this continued.
"Listen carefully, you prick," Jack's voice was ice. "Women deal with enough without guys like you pretending that persistence is charming. She said she wasn’t interested. That’s your fucking cue to leave."
The man held up his hands and practically stumbled backward. "I'm g-going. I'm—I'm g-gone."
You stared at Jack, surprised and instantly warm between your thighs at the protective edge in his tone. He rarely swooped in, usually letting you fight your own battles and handle your own shit. But this was different; he had stepped in because someone had disrespected you, not because you were his property to protect. He did it without that ugly display of ownership and gross possessive edge some men mistook for devotion.
Jack balled up the t-shirt in his hand and tossed it into the cabana behind him before he grabbed your towel without a word and began drying you, slow passes over your arms, your stomach, the curve of your ass. The towel moved across your shoulder blades with surprising gentleness, and you realized his jaw had already unclenched.
"You okay?" he grunted, tossing the towel aside. You turned to face him, still damp, still warm from the sun and something else entirely.
"Yeah. I am."
He tucked a wet strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. "Good."
"That was a little caveman of you," you murmured, the corner of your mouth lifting.
"Yeah, well," he muttered, while a faint flush crept up his neck, settling high on his cheekbones. "He was out of line."
You stepped closer, nudging his arm with your shoulder.
"Relax, handsome," you said, smile widening. "I liked it." You pulled him into the cabana, the canvas flaps falling closed behind you. The waiter appeared almost immediately to take your drink orders. Once he returned, Jack took his beer and settled on the wide lounger, pulling you between his legs so your back rested against his chest. You set your second mojito of the day on the mantle nearby. His hands stayed on you, thumb stroking the inside of your thigh, fingers tracing the edge of your bikini bottom.
After the waiter left, the mood shifted. Jack’s fingers stilled. "I’m sorry about earlier," he admitted quietly. "Over the years, I’ve just… gotten tired of the stares. I didn't want you dealing with people looking at my prosthetic, wondering what you're doing with me. Honestly…" his voice dropped to a mutter, barely loud enough for you to catch. "…sometimes I wonder what you’re doing with me."
You turned in his arms, cupping his face, and his eyes that now looked green were fixed somewhere past your shoulder.
"Jack, look at me." You waited until his eyes met yours. "Talk to me."
"I can't remember the last time I went to a beach or a pool without dreading it. Years, probably. I've spent so long avoiding situations like this—all the stares, the questions people have asked, the way I've convinced myself that you probably regret travelling here instead of going with someone who could just... be normal."
"Hey." You tilted his chin up. "Stop. You are normal. And I'm not going anywhere."
"You say that now—"
"I'm not finished." You softened your tone but kept it firm. "I know you've probably convinced yourself that your prosthetic makes you less than, or that it's some kind of burden to be around." You traced his jawline. "But that's not the truth, Jack. Not even close." He exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping slightly as he listened. "I love every part of you. Your leg doesn't change that—it never could." You kissed his forehead, then his temple, then his lips. "I love you."
His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer.
"And I really appreciate you for being here, and coming to the beach," you continued, your voice soft against his skin. "But I don't ever want you to put yourself in a situation where you feel uncomfortable either. It doesn't matter if we're here or in fucking Antarctica. I just want to spend time with you. That's it. That's all that matters to me." He pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression vulnerable. "If something doesn't feel right," you said, brushing a curl from his forehead, "you tell me. We figure it out together. We do what feels good for us—not what you think you're supposed to do or what you think I want. Your comfort matters just as much as mine."
His eyes glistened slightly as he nodded, his jaw working like he was fighting to keep his composure.
"For the record. I’m loving this trip, sweetheart. This might be the best vacation I’ve ever been on."
"Really?" you asked meekly.
Jack swallowed, his gaze locked on your mouth. "Really."
You leaned in and kissed him, slow and deep. His palm slid up your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through the thin purple fabric, before he cupped you fully, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch.
"4 more days of paradise," you murmured against his lips when you finally pulled back, voice dreamy.
Jack smirked, teeth grazing your bottom lip. "I could get used to this. You, half-naked all the time. Might never let you put clothes on again." He nipped at your jaw, then kissed the spot he’d bitten. You pulled back with a soft laugh, eyeing his pale, freckled skin (and the faint farmer’s tan he would absolutely deny having).
"We’re going to need another bottle of sunscreen just for you," you said as you reached for the bottle.
"For the record, I can tan," he rolled his eyes. "Eventually… After several medical interventions."
You giggled, squeezing sunscreen into your palms and began smoothing it over his chest and shoulders, careful and thorough. His skin warmed quickly under your hands, and he stayed still, letting you work while he reached down to cover the top of his thighs. Once you were done, he tugged you closer again. His hands never left you—stroking, squeezing, mapping every inch like he couldn’t get enough. The cabana stayed quiet except for the distant waves and the low murmur of your voices, the two of you wrapped around each other while the sun climbed higher outside.
"I haven’t seen this bikini before," he said, voice low. "It’s fucking sexy on you. Those little triangles barely cover anything. I keep thinking about peeling them off."
"You don’t think it’s too revealing?" you teased.
"Baby, it’s perfect. You look incredible. I can’t stop touching you." There was something almost disorienting about the way he was looking at you… like you were the only thing in his entire world worth seeing. It was still hard to understand why Jack saw you as sexy. Past boyfriends had never made you feel that way… but Jack? He fucking worshipped you. You had never experienced this kind of adoration before. Being someone's everything.
You lounged together for a while, then swam into the ocean. The water enveloped you both in its cool, briny embrace as Jack pulled you deeper, the waves lapping at your breasts while the sandy bottom shifted beneath your feet. The scent of sea air and his natural musk filled your nostrils, heightening every sensation as his breath mingled with yours in short, excited puffs. He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, with your tongues dancing in a playful, teenage frenzy of sucking and exploring every corner of each other's mouths. Salty droplets ran down your faces, mixing into the kiss, while the smell of wet skin and ocean breeze enveloped you. His hands were on your hips, and he pulled you tighter against the hard evidence of his own arousal pressing through his swim trunks.
A sharp gasp hitched in your throat, your eyes flying wide.
"Jack," you whispered, your voice a shaky mix of awe and sudden, dizzying arousal. "What are you doing?"
A slow, utterly wicked smile spread across his lips, and his eyebrows lifted in a silent, unmistakable challenge.
"Shhh, just relax," he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. "I've got you."
You felt his fingers trace the edge of your swimsuit bottoms, a teasing hint that made your breath catch. "Jack, wait—" you breathed, your voice tight with a fear that was half genuine alarm, half intoxicating thrill. Your gaze shot to the shore, a frantic scan of the distant, blurred figures. "Someone could... what if someone sees."
"Half are asleep,” he whispered, his breath hot on your damp skin. "The other half are staring at their phones, trying to figure out if the weird shadow on their screen is a cloud or a notification that their life is profoundly boring." He dipped his head, his nose gliding along the column of your throat, inhaling the scent of saltwater and sunscreen on your skin.
His logic was a seductive trap.
"But..." you managed to say (not really knowing what else to say), as your hips gave a tiny, involuntary roll against his hard cock.
He hushed you gently, nuzzling into the damp hair at your temple. "I'm just finishing what I started earlier," he whispered, his voice a low, tender rumble. "Let me take care of you now."
His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, and your eyes went wide. A soft, surprised "oh" escaped you as he found your clit, circling with a touch that was electrifying. You could hear the distant laughter and chatter of beachgoers, the rhythmic crash of waves, but it all faded into the background.
Jack loved watching that little hitch in your breath. He loved that he could undo you like this. You were usually all sharp wit and raised eyebrows, but here…here you were just soft sighs and pliant for him. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, clinging for stability as your knees felt weak, even supported by the water.
"Jack," you breathed out, the name itself a plea. The sun warmed the top of your head while the underwater world remained your private haven.
"I know, baby," he murmured, his lips pressing a soft kiss just below your jaw. "You’re doing so good for me."
You were so responsive. Every little circle, every shift of his fingers, and you were shivering. He was looking at your face… and all the tension was gone. Just pure, sweet surrender. He could do this forever, just watching you fall apart. His fingers continued their gentle, persistent torment. Then, slowly, he began to slide a finger inside you. The sensation made you gasp sharply, your body tensing for a split second at the new, fuller pressure.
"Shhh, easy," he soothed, his voice a velvet command. He stilled his hand, letting you adjust, his thumb never ceasing its soft circles. "Just relax into it, sweetheart. There you go… that’s my girl."
As your body accepted him, he began a slow, shallow rhythm, his finger moving in and out with a slippery ease aided by the water and your own growing wetness. Your head lolled against his shoulder, your mouth falling open in a silent, overwhelmed gasp. The dual sensations were too much—the focused, maddening friction of his thumb and the soft, filling stretch of his finger moving inside you. A low, helpless moan finally broke free.
Jack caught the sound with his mouth, kissing you deeply, swallowing your noises as the waves gently rocked you both. His kiss was tender but consuming, his tongue stroking yours in time with the rhythm of his hand. When he broke for air, his praise was a hot whisper against your slick lips.
"Listen to you," he breathed, his own voice rough with want. "So pretty. So perfect.”
His movements became more deliberate, his thick finger curling slightly, searching. When he found that sweet spot inside you, your entire body jolted against him. A sharp, broken cry tore from your throat.
"God, Jack, please..." you whimpered.
"There?" he asked, his voice thick with satisfaction. He pressed against it again, and your second cry was louder, less controlled, a raw sound of pleasure that echoed slightly over the water before being swallowed by a wave. Jack’s eyes, filled with lust, flicked toward the distant, indistinct shapes on the shore.
"Shhh, baby," he whispered, but there was a new, teasing edge to his tenderness. He pressed another soft kiss to your temple. "You don’t want everyone to hear, do you?"
He curled his finger again, rubbing that sensitive spot of yours. Another moan, high and desperate, was ripped from you as your hips jerked against his hand. You tried to stifle it, biting your lip, but it was useless. The pleasure was too overwhelming.
A low, husky chuckle vibrated against your skin. His lips were right by your ear. "Or… maybe you do," he murmured, his voice dripping with knowing amusement. "Maybe you like the idea that someone might hear how good I make you feel."
He added a second finger alongside the first, stretching you just a little more, the sensation making you gasp. Every slight shift of your bodies rubbed him against you.
"Fuck," he groaned, the word strained. His fingers never stopped their sinful work, pumping into you with a steady, deepening rhythm now, his thumb a consistent counterpoint on your clit.
"God, I wish I could fuck you right now. Make you scream my name so loud the whole beach knows who you belong to."
The vividness of his words, the possessive heat in them, sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you. Your own sounds were becoming impossible to control—soft, choked sobs of pleasure with every inward stroke of his fingers.
"Jack..." your voice, a ragged, breathless mess against his neck. "Jack... I love you. I love you, don't stop, please don't ever stop..." The words tumbled out, unfiltered and soaked in pure, delirious pleasure. You were babbling, lost in the storm he was orchestrating with his hands. He shushed you again, but it was a mockery of comfort now. He loved this. He loved the raw, unfiltered honesty of your pleasure, the way you completely fell apart for him and him alone. Hearing you babble his name and those three little words while he had you at his mercy was the most potent aphrodisiac he'd ever known.
He trailed his mouth down your jaw, your neck, sucking a wet, salty path to your collarbone. The contrast of his hot mouth and the cool ocean sent shivers racing over your skin, pulling you tighter against his hard cock.
"I love you too," he murmured, while his eyes held yours, with flecks of green and gold that were endless. "You're going to come for me right here." His fingers curled, pressing that perfect spot with unerring precision as he spoke. "And when you do, I want you thinking about how when we go back to the hotel room, I'm going to spend an hour between your legs, tasting you until you come over and over again, just from my tongue."
"Oh f-fuck," you gasped, feeling your orgasm building, a tidal wave of sensation starting deep in your belly, threatening to crest and drown you with the cool water lapping at your waist. Your hips began to move against his hand of their own volition, a frantic, shallow rhythm seeking more friction, more of him.
"And when you're shaking, when you're begging for it, that's when I'm finally going to fuck you."
He saw the panic and the pleasure warring in your eyes, the desperate clamp of your jaw as you fought to stay quiet. It only spurred him on. His thumb became relentless on your clit, a firm, circling pressure, while his fingers fucked into you with a deep, steady rhythm that hit that perfect, devastating spot every single time.
"Hard and fast," he growled, his own breath starting to come faster, his control fraying at the edges just watching you. "I'm going to fill you up so completely that you'll feel me for days. You're going to come on my cock just like you're coming on my fingers right now, aren't you, baby?"
The command in his voice, and the vivid promise, was the final thread to snap. Your body went rigid, a silent scream locked in your throat as the orgasm detonated, a white-hot shockwave of pure, shattering pleasure.
He saw it the second it hit you—the way your eyes rolled back, the tears that instantly welled and spilled over. He captured your mouth in a deep, consuming kiss, swallowing every choked sob and whimper of ecstasy. His tongue swept against yours, tender and claiming, as he gentled the movements of his hand. He tasted the salt of your tears and felt the helpless tremors still coursing through your limbs.
You were a boneless, quivering weight against him, your face buried in the damp skin of his neck, breathing in the scent of salt, sunscreen, and him. His own breathing was ragged, his body a tightly coiled line of tension pressed against your stomach. For a long moment, he just held you, one arm a solid band around your back, the other hand gently cupping the back of your head.
"You did so good for me."
He shifted slightly, and you could feel him. The hard, insistent length of his cock straining against the fabric of his swim trunks, pressing into your stomach—a stark contrast to your own spent, liquid state. A weak sound of concern escaped your lips.
"Don't you worry about that." Jack gave a strained chuckle, the sound vibrating through you. "We'll take care of it later. Right now... we'll get you some water. And some shade."
He turned around, and you draped limply over the broad expanse of his back. Your cheek rested against the wet skin between his shoulder blades; the world reduced to the sound of his breathing and the gentle lap of the water as he swam. He reached the shallows where the waves gently broke. With a grunt of effort, he stood up, the water dropping from his torso. He kept you secure on his back, your legs hooked over his hips, his hands firmly under your thighs.
Jack walked up the beach in an almost casual stride, nodding at a few scattered sunbathers who glanced your way and were probably staring at his prosthetic (or his raging hard-on). You, clinging to him, were just the tired girlfriend getting a piggyback ride from her attentive boyfriend. The perfect, innocent picture. He reached the private cabana, and with a final, effortless heave, he swung you gently off his back, depositing you onto the lounger. You landed with a soft thump, your limbs still feeling like over-cooked spaghetti.
He turned and grabbed the bottles of chilled water that the waiter offered immediately. Crouching down in front of you, he uncapped it with a sharp twist.
"Open," he said, his voice low. He didn't hand you the bottle. Instead, he brought it to your lips. When you parted them automatically, he tilted it, the cold water pouring into your mouth. "Drink," he ordered, watching your throat work as you swallowed. A little trickled down your chin, and his gaze followed the droplet's path over your collarbone. You drank until the bottle was empty.
"Thank you," you whispered, the words barely audible. A shaky, sated smile touched your lips as you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes.
"Good girl," he said, his voice dropping that utterly intimate register of his. He leaned in, his lips brushing your forehead in a kiss.
"You wore me out," you mumbled, your voice thick and drowsy. Your head lolled back against the cabana bed. The sun felt like a warm blanket, and the intense pleasure had left your body feeling heavy, deliciously used, and utterly spent. "Just... gonna close my eyes for a minute..."
Your words slurred into a soft sigh as your eyelids fluttered shut. The world faded to the sound of the distant waves and the feeling of the warm lounger beneath you. You were already slipping into a contented, post-coital doze. He watched you, the bottle of water hanging loosely from his fingers. You were his masterpiece... and beautifully ruined. He sat down in the shade, the frame creaking softly under his weight, and leaned back, stretching his legs out.
"Come here," he said, his voice leaving no room for question. He patted his chest, right over his heart.
Still floating in that boneless, sated haze, you didn't hesitate. You crawled the short distance from where you were and settled against him, your head finding its perfect place on the solid pillow of his muscle. His arm came around you, heavy and secure, his hand splaying possessively over the curve of your hip. His other hand began tracing those lazy, hypnotic circles on the small of your back.
Your eyelids grew too heavy to hold open.
"I love you," you murmured.
"I love you," he echoed, just as you were slipping away.
You stirred, consciousness returning slowly, and pleasantly. The world came back in pieces: the dappled shade of the cabana, the distant cry of seagulls, the solid, warm weight beneath you. You blinked, your eyes adjusting, and glanced at your phone screen where it lay beside the lounger. 4:00 PM. You’d been out for over an hour.
You tilted your head up. He was awake, watching you from behind his sunglasses, a soft, unguarded curve to his mouth. You leaned up and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to his lips.
"Mmm," you hummed against his mouth as you pulled back just an inch. "I think I need a snack before dinner. All that... 'swimming'.. worked up an appetite." His hand slid from your back to cup your ass, giving it a firm, appreciative squeeze.
"Is that right?" he said, his voice gravelly with disuse. "What kind of snack are you craving?"
"Something sweet," you teased, nipping lightly at his bottom lip. "Maybe something I can eat right here."
"Tempting.” His gaze was hot and appreciative. "But if I start feeding you here, we won't make it to dinner. Let's pack up." He gave your ass one last, playful smack before releasing you. "Up you get."
You pouted dramatically, making a show of stretching your still-tingling limbs. He stood, pulling his t-shirt over his head, the fabric clinging briefly to his torso.
"Watching the people here is fascinating, isn't it?" he mused, his tone conversational but his eyes locked on you. You followed his gaze out to the beach. A group of young women were taking an absurd number of selfies a little way down the shore, angling their bodies and drinks just so.
"Right?" you squealed, playing along, putting a hand on your hip and mimicking their poses with exaggerated flair. "The struggle is so real! Do I look aspirational? Do I look like I have my life together?
He chuckled, shaking his head as he finished smoothing his shirt.
"You," he said, stepping close and pulling you to the edge of the sofa bed, "look like you just got fucked senseless. Which is infinitely better."
You laughed and swatted his chest, and wriggled out of his grasp to reach for your cover-up draped over the back of a chair and shimmied into it. The two of you stepped out of the cabana and began walking hand-in-hand, but you were surprised when Jack started pulling you closer to the shore. You saw Jack raise a hand, catching the eye of one of the influencer girls from the selfie group. She was tall and clad in a minuscule neon green bikini, her phone held up as she surveyed the light.
"Scusi," he called. He made a frame with his fingers, pointing at you and himself, then pretended he was taking a picture with an invisible camera. She immediately lowered her own phone.
"Oh! Photo! Yes, of course, I speak English," she said, her accent a pleasant, unplaceable blend, as she gracefully stepped away from her own photoshoot.
He handed her his phone, while whispering to you. "Is it that obvious that I'm American?"
"Yes," you giggled.
She grinned, positioning you both close, his arm tight around your waist, his waterproof prosthetic clearly visible in the frame. The fact that he wanted the photo with his leg showing made your eyes sting. Influencer girl took a few steps back, expertly using the natural light and the stunning views as her canvas.
"Get closer! Yes, like that. Perfect."
He pressed a kiss to your temple as the girl snapped the first photo.
"Beautiful! Now look at each other. Give me a real smile!" she coached, moving slightly to adjust the angle.
You turned your face toward Jack, and the look in his eyes stole your breath. It was open affection, a quiet joy at simply being there with you, exactly as you both were. Your smile changed, becoming real and unguarded. The camera clicked several times in rapid succession.
"Amazing! You two are gorgeous. That light is everything."
"Grazie," Jack said, the Italian word clumsy but earnest.
"Thank you," you said.
As the girl returned Jack's phone, she lingered for a moment and asked the usual small talk question about where you were from. You answered, and within seconds, the conversation shifted with the realization that you and she had grown up in the same country. What a small world. Your attention was suddenly fully on her, and you were completely absorbed talking to her in your native mother tongue and discussing the last time you had been back home. Jack took advantage of the moment and opened his messages to Robby and attached one of the many photos.
Surprisingly, Robby answered almost instantly since it was a little past 10 AM, which was usually when he sneaked in a snack.
Robby: She’s so out of your league.
Jack snorted under his breath. Out of his league? Absolutely. He’d known that from day one, and he still couldn’t believe you’d chosen him anyway. His thumb hovered over the send button for a full second before he finally tapped his next message.
Jack: I think I’m going to do it tonight.
Robby: Holy shit. About damn time, you’ve been carrying that ring around for a year.
Jack: I’m nervous as hell.
Robby: She’s perfect. Go get her, brother.
Robby then sent another quick message.
Robby: You look happy. Happier than I’ve ever seen you.
Jack thought about the man he’d been before he met you. He was convinced that good things weren’t meant for him. And then you showed up…and you made him want things he’d never let himself want.
When Jack looked up, you were turning back toward him, waiting with that patient little smile he loved more than he could ever say. Jack smiled, slipped the phone away, and reached for your hand as you walked back toward the hotel.
— 𝜗𝜚⋆ your cat can’t read the room and trots in anyway because she’s hungry.
the room smells of sweat, sex and love. you don’t know how many times he’s made you come, lost count after the 3rd time. all you can really think about is the weight of his body caging yours, pushing you both deeper into the mattress, the sheets wrap loosely around his legs, yours tight around his waist, locked and refusing to let up.
the sounds of skin slapping echoed the room, rang through your ears loudly, but his pace didn’t falter, if anything it got faster then slowed just enough to have you whining in frustration. his fists, slightly bawled, rest on either side of your hips.
“always feels good when you’re wrapped around my cock, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice raspy and slightly broken, a small chuckle vibrates against your neck when your hand flies up, grabbing the back of his arm tightly. “that’s it, hold onto me, i ain’t going anywhere and neither are you, babygirl.”
true to his word, he doesn’t let you go anywhere, keeps his hard chest practically pinned down against yours, thrusts slow and rhythmic. your nails sink into this skin of his arms deeper each time he slides back in, cock stretching you out perfectly. “just like that,” you whine, hands slipping from his arms to his sides, nails raking up and down the skin there before making their way back to his arms; where you cling tighter. “love you.” you murmur softly into his shoulder when he presses his face deeper into the crook of your neck.
“love you, honey,” he pants, grinding his hips against yours slowly to the point your lips part in a silent moan and the arch of your back has your tits pressing harder to hist chest. an action he welcomes happily because he’s groaning and growling into the small space of your neck, fisting at the sheets when your cunt clenches around his cock. “my angel, could stay like this forever, so warm, wanna stay buried in you for the rest of my life.”
neither of you hear the slight creaking sound of the door at first, completely absorbed in each other too much to care, too in tune with meeting each others thrusts to feel the subtle chill soaking in and then suddenly when it’s only the soft sounds of both your moans, a loud meow rips through the entire room.
his body stills completely at the sound, slowly lifts his head from your neck, you see his hooded first but you can also see the hint of confusion lingering beneath as he looks down at you. “the hell?” he mutters hoarsley, turning his head so slow you’d think he’s broken.
sitting completely still in the bedroom doorway is your cat, tail swishing behind her with a slowness that only happens with two things. one, she’s doing it to spite you both. or two, she’s hungry and demands all the attention in the world. “you’ve got to be kidding me,” he scoffs, albiet no anger or annoyance behind his words.
your cat stares, almost like she knows what she’s ruining and does it all over again. meow!
his eyes narrow at the second meow, and his hands finally move from beside your hips to your stomach, dragging them down slowly before sighing in defeat. “okay, she’s not kidding.”
“no, she isn’t.”
“i fed her before we even came in here!” he huffs but makes no effort to move. hell, he hasn’t even made a single move to pull out of you either.
“that was before, and now she’s hungry again, so go on,” you pause, grinning up at him smugly. “time to feed your daughter, daddy.” you teased, giggling with a choked gasp at the way his cock twitches inside you. “oh?”
his eyes widen slightly at your seductive tone and shakes his head quickly “nope, no, we aren’t doing this. m’gonna go feed her like the royal diva pain demands.”
your giggle doesn’t last long, a warm melodic sound turns into a whine when he’s pulling his cock out slowly with a wet pop! your walls flutter around nothing while your eyes, despite being hooded and dazed, followed him. lingered on the firm muscle of his ass when he slipped off the bed, before widening, a shy smile on your face, at the sight of his cock despite seeing it so many times. still hard, angry red, slick with your wetness.
“nothing you haven’t seen before, sweetheart,” he catches that look on your face while tugging on a pair of boxers, the fabric rubbing against him causes him to hiss. “i’ll be back soon, honey, don’t miss me too much.”
by the time he slipped out of the door, leaving you alone, aside from the muttered words coming from him in the kitchen, you slumped back down onto the bed, chest still heaving but you didn’t move to run after him. your thighs still tingled, twitched at the reminder of him being inside of you not that long ago.
sighing softly, you turned onto your side, curling up and smiling to yourself into the pillow. the sounds of his muttering and sighs getting louder. and you can’t help the laughter that leaves your lips at his sudden panicked shout.
“no! stop! we use the litterbox not the floor, oh my god! she’s gonna hate me, use the litterbox please!, honey, the litterbox, right there! oh you hate me so much that you want her to hate me too huh?”
The oven timer beeped right as the front door clicked open. You wiped flour-dusted hands on your apron, already moving toward the hallway before the beep had fully died out.
"Hey, handsome," you called, rounding the corner just as Nanami stepped inside. His tie was slightly loosened, his sleeves rolled to the elbows—small signs of a long day finally unwinding. He blinked at you, then at the faint scent of vanilla wafting from the kitchen, and something in his expression softened.
"Hello, my love," Nanami replied, his voice low and warm like the oven you'd just left. His briefcase hit the floor with a soft thud as he reached for you, one broad hand settling at the small of your back. You could feel the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of your apron.
He didn’t say anything else, just pressed his nose against your temple and inhaled deeply, his breath hot against your skin. You laughed, tilting your head to give him more room. “Long day?”
"Mhm," he murmured, lips grazing your jawline. His other hand came up to cradle your face, thumb brushing absently over the smear of flour you’d missed near your ear. You could feel the tension in his shoulders, the way his body leaned into yours like he was borrowing your warmth. "You baked."
You hummed, sliding your fingers under his loosened tie to tease the first button of his shirt.
"Wanted to make something sweet for you." His exhale was sharp when your knuckles brushed the hollow of his throat. The oven beeped again, an insistent reminder—but neither of you moved.
Nanami’s grip tightened at your waist, pressing you closer until the starched fabric of his shirt rumpled against your apron. His mouth found the curve of your neck, open and wet, and you gasped when his teeth scraped lightly over your pulse. "Kento—the cookies—"
"Let them burn," he growled, and then his hands were under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly against him. Your legs locked around his hips on instinct, heels knocking against his perfectly tailored slacks as he carried you backward toward the kitchen. The counter dug into your lower back when he set you down, but you barely noticed—not when he was shoving the apron up your thighs, his palms rough against your bare skin.
Your breath hitched as Nanami’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your thighs with a slow, deliberate tug. The cool air of the kitchen kissed your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze—dark and intent, like he was mapping every inch of you.
"Kento," you breathed, fingers tangling in his hair as he dropped to his knees between your legs. His palms smoothed up your calves, then higher, thumbs pressing into the softness of your inner thighs to spread you wider.
"You taste so sweet," he murmured, voice rough as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your damp skin. The first lick was slow, deliberate—a teasing drag of his tongue that had your hips jerking forward. Nanami chuckled, the sound vibrating against you, and his grip tightened to keep you still.
"Impatient," he chided, but there was no real scold in it, just that low, honeyed warmth that always coiled low in your belly.
His mouth was relentless after that, alternating between broad, languid strokes and sharp, focused flicks that had your toes curling against the tile. Every sound you made—every gasp, every whimper—only spurred him on, his fingers digging bruises into your skin as he dragged you closer to the edge.
"Love you like this," he rasped between kisses, lips glistening. "Love you messy, love you unwashed—fuck, you’re perfect."
The oven beeped again, a distant, forgotten noise as you arched into him, fingers tightening in his hair. Nanami groaned against you, the vibration sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine.
"That’s it, sweetheart," he murmured, dragging his tongue over you in a way that made your vision blur. "Come for me.
Your thighs trembled around Nanami’s shoulders as his tongue pressed deeper, relentless in its rhythm—every flick and curl deliberate, every breath he exhaled against your skin sending shivers up your spine. The countertop was cold beneath your palms, but you barely registered it, too focused on the heat of his mouth, the way his thumbs dug into your hips to keep you from squirming away.
"Kento," you gasped, voice breaking as his teeth grazed your inner thigh, a sharp contrast to the softness of his lips just moments before.
"Say it again," he demanded, voice rough, and when you moaned his name louder, he rewarded you with a slow, torturous lick that had your back arching off the counter. The apron tangled between your legs, bunched up in his fists as he dragged you closer, until you could feel the scratch of his stubble against your skin.
"God, you’re sweet," he muttered, lips moving against you as he spoke. "Could eat you for hours."
You clutched at his hair, tugging slightly, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through you as his grip tightened. "Close?" he asked, voice thick, and when you nodded frantically, he hummed in satisfaction, lips curling into a smirk against your skin.
Then his fingers joined his mouth, pressing inside with the same slow, deliberate precision, and you shattered, a broken cry tearing from your throat as your hips jerked against his face. Nanami didn’t let up, drinking you in as you came, his free hand sliding up to press against your stomach, pinning you to the counter as you trembled.
"Good girl," he murmured, finally pulling back to press a kiss to your inner thigh, his breath hot against your oversensitive skin. "So good for me."
You slumped forward, barely catching yourself on his shoulders as your legs threatened to give out. Nanami stood in one smooth motion, his hands sliding under your thighs to lift you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. His mouth found yours, deep and possessive, and you could taste yourself on his tongue—sweet and faintly salty, mingling with the vanilla still clinging to your skin.
"Missed you," he admitted against your lips, voice quieter now, almost tender.
The kiss broke with a soft, wet sound, and Nanami pressed his forehead to yours, his breath still warm against your lips. The kitchen smelled like burnt sugar now—somewhere between the oven’s forgotten cookies and the heat still radiating off both of you. You laughed, breathless, and he smiled, just a little quirk of his lips, before pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, fingers combing through his hair where you’d missed it moments earlier. His tie was completely undone now, hanging loose around his neck, and his shirt was wrinkled beyond repair. Nanami didn’t seem to care, his hands still firm on your thighs as he held you against him.
Summary: After the last time you baked, Simon decides to supervise you. He didn’t think anything could go wrong with him there.
Words: 1167
Warnings: fluff, cute!simon, reader can’t bake, bad writing
“Pleaseee can we make cookies? I promise I won’t burn them again.” You say as you grab Simon’s hands and try to pull him off the couch.
The last time you baked with Simon, you set the oven a whole 50 degrees higher than you were supposed to and then you still left them in too long. The cookies came out black. Simon swore he would never let you bake again.
“No, absolutely not,” he grumbled. “You almost burned the house down last time. I won’t let that happen again.”
“So don’t let it happen again. You can supervise the wholeee time, I promise. Pretty please Simon.” You beg, still pulling him up, but he’s too big and he doesn’t move an inch.
But Simon being the absolute simp he is, gives in. He can’t say no to your adorable face, especially not when you’re begging him.
Simon gets off the couch and you walk to the kitchen together. Well, more like you skip to the kitchen while dragging a grumbling Simon behind you.
“I can’t believe you’re makin’ me do this, sweetheart.” Simon complains, even though he clearly chose to get up and do this with you. There’s no way he would let you do this alone again.
Before he could even make it into the kitchen, you were already pulling ingredients from the cabinets.
“Slow down.”
“I am slow.”
“You grabbed three different bags of flour.”
You glanced down at your arms. “Oh.”
You giggle and hand two of the bags to Simon for him to put back. Simon puts the bags of flour back and by the time he turns back around, you already have sugar spilled onto the counter and a handful of chocolate chips being stuffed into your mouth.
“What the hell? I turned around for two seconds, baby. What happened?”
Simon severely underestimated your talent for making a mess of something so simple.
You just smiled, offering some chocolate chips to him. He let out an airy chuckle and kissed your cheek.
“Okay baby, what’s next?”
“Well, since I know what I’m doing, I don’t think we need to follow the directions on the box.” You throw the box away, and Simon just watches you.
“I don’t think that’s a smart idea.”
“You don’t trust me? I’m not going to mess it up. Plus, you’re here to save the day if anything goes wrong.”
“Alright, do your thing then honey.” Simon sighs, but as you start pouring and mixing the ingredients, he goes to the trash can and gets the box back out.
In the next ten seconds, you have flour on the floor and covering your hair. You had somehow managed to hit the bowl with your elbow when you turned to get the eggs, and when you turned back you knocked the entire bag of flour over. You turn to Simon with a sheepish smile, “Oops..”
You ignore the mess and continue to mix the ingredients, but Simon comes up behind you and stops your hands by putting his on top of yours. You turn around and look up at his tall figure.
“Maybe slow down a little, yeah?” he says, glancing at the flour coating the counter.
“I’m doing fine.”
“There’s flour on the floor.”
“It’s decoration.”
Simon lets out a quiet huff of amusement. “Decoration.”
“Yep.”
His eyes meet yours and you can’t help but grin. Simon loves watching you have fun, even if it usually ends with him cleaning up the aftermath.
You continue to stare at him for a moment before an idea pops into your head.
Carefully, you reach behind you and grab one of the eggs from the carton.
Simon narrows his eyes.
“What?”
“Nothin’.”
“Right.”
As he leans down to kiss you, you quickly crack the egg against the side of his head.
For a split second, you look very proud of yourself.
Then Simon reaches behind his back and reveals an egg of his own.
Your jaw drops.
“No.”
“Oh, yes.”
Before you can escape, the egg cracks against your hair.
You gasp dramatically while Simon finally breaks into genuine laughter.
“Simon!”
“You started it.”
“I barely touched you!”
“You put an egg in my hair.”
“It was one egg!”
“And now we’re even.”
“That is not even.”
“Looks even to me, sweetheart.”
The egg mixed with the flour already on you, and Simon laughed out loud. He threw his head back with laughter, “Sweetheart, you look like a walking cookie. Here, let’s add some chocolate chips to give you some flavor.”
He grabs a handful of chocolate chips, still laughing, and poured them onto your head.
“Simon! I can’t believe you just did that. I’m so going to get you back!” You yell, as you grab some more flour and start chasing him around the kitchen. He stopped in the corner of the counter, and you got closer.
“You can’t get away now, I’ve got you cornered.”
You get your hand ready to throw the flour at him, but before you can he grabs you by your hips and flips your position. Now you are in the corner, and he holds you there with his hands on either side of you.
Simon laughs, as you get flustered from the switch.
“That’s not fair! You’re so much bigger than me!”
“Life’s not fair, love.”
After your little play fight, Simon cleans up the flour that somehow made its way across the kitchen, and you get back to mixing the rest of the ingredients together.
Although, this time Simon made sure you read the directions. Once the dough was made, you make little balls on the sheet. You let Simon set the temperature on the oven, him saying something along the lines of someone in this house needs to know how to read numbers.
The smell of fresh cookies fills the house as you pull the tray from the oven.
You immediately reach for one.
“Ow!”
“Told you they were hot.”
You glare at Simon while shaking your hand dramatically.
Once the cookies cool enough to eat, you grab one and take a bite.
Your eyes widen.
“Oh my God.”
Simon looks concerned for half a second.
“What?”
“They’re actually good.”
“They’d better be. We practically fought a war making them.”
Simon takes a bite of his own cookie.
You watch him closely.
“Well?”
He hums thoughtfully.
“Well?”
“They’re good.”
You grin so hard your cheeks hurt.
“I knew it.”
“You absolutely did not.”
“I did.”
“You threw away the directions.”
“Minor details.”
Simon shakes his head and settles onto the couch beside you.
As a movie starts, you lean against him and grab another cookie.
After a few peaceful minutes, you glance up at him with a mischievous smile.
SUMMARY: Reader makes Jason do a TikTok trend. Bat-siblings get to discover the big bad has a girlfriend he's totally whipped for.
PAIRING: Jason Todd x Fem! Reader
TAGS: I was talking about this trend, fluff, a little mature but mostly fine, fatson todd mention, bruce wayne flies to tokyo cause he can, jason loves her but dosen't wanna be teased about it (harms his street rep) , a little ooc? , a little beta read
𖦹 Word Count: 1,718 𖦹 Ao3
"I can't believe you made me agree to this," Jason said, leaning back into the couch, making himself comfortable.
"As if you're not right where you wanna be," you shot back, straddling him as his hands naturally come to rest on your hips.
"I'm not complaining about-mmhm" he completely melts as soon as you shut him up with a kiss, your nails softly scraping the back of his neck the way he likes, making him groan into it. But you know Jason. Know exactly when he's about to turn an innocent little makeout shesh into toe-curling sex, so you were quick to pull away, determined not to get distracted. When you did pull away sucessfully, he looked at you as if you had offended him in 12 different ways.
"Oh don't make that face Jace. It's not even gonna take like 10 minutes to get done with the vid!" You said, applying lip gloss as his eyes settled on your lips.
"Hey, I'm all for giving up my body so you can do whatever you like with it. But leaving me high and dry for your private following of 50 is so mean," he said, hands disappearing under your top.
"You'll live." You smacked your lips, held his face in place and started peppering it with kisses. A wide smile found home on Jason's face, enjoying the attention. The concept of his face being ambushed like this was not foreign to him at all. Whenever you'd see him look at home and comfortable, you'd literally pounce on him.
When he's lying under the blankets in winter, his hoodie cocooning his face. Boom your on him.
He's cooking something, his brows furrowed in concentration. Boom your on him.
He could be doing the most mundane things, like watching a movie with you. BOOM your on him again. He never knows when it's coming, but he knows it's inevitable.
So it's safe to say he has taken a liking to being handled like this by you. Hell, he loves it even.
When you're done painting him red. You pull back to observe your masterpiece. "Hmm you look nice..Wanna see?" You say grabbing ur phone and snapping multiple pictures. Jason was smiling like an idiot, content to just be there. Just being yours like this.
You turned your phone to show him how he looked. "I personally think I should do this more often" you said proud of your craft.
“That so?” His brows lifted lazily, fingers tightening on your hips as he kissed you again.
Today was a good day.
"GUYS." Stephanie's voice cut through the coms, "Nobody leaves directly after patrol tonight. I have something to show all of you." Just by Steph's tone, everyone guessed this was going to be entertaining. A string of 'you got it', 'yep' and 'what for?' followed.
Cut to the infamous Batcave. All of them had busied themselves. Damian was polishing his katana, Tim was arranging case files, dick on the worn-out couch scrolling on his phone, Cassandra was in the training area and Jason leaned against one of the support beams, eating popcorn. The only person they were waiting on was Bruce. And all of them were getting impatient because Stephanie was too giddy and bouncy for their liking.
“Can you relax?” Jason finally asked. “You’re pacing like you planted explosives somewhere.” to which Stephanie scoffed with a smirk "Oh! Talk all you want Todd...for now."
Before Jason could even ask what she meant by that, Dick suddenly groaned dramatically from across the cave. “Well, we waited for nothing. Bruce is flying to Tokyo.”
Tim’s head snapped up instantly. “Why would he text you that and not me?” Already offended, he pulled out his phone only for it to be snatched by Stephanie. "Not right now drake"
“Everybody. Huddle up. Now.” She said a bounce in her step as she made her way to her phone.
"I'm about to show you. The cutest thing you've seen in a minute." She turned the phone around to show the video you had posted earlier that day.
Jason felt his ears get warm actively. The screen shook slightly as you tried to fix ur lipstick yourself only for Jason’s hand to enter frame, big fingers tilting your chin up with absurd gentleness.Then came the worst part. Jason’s face. Not the bruised-up, helmet-wearing crime lord terror one Gotham knew. No. This was domestic Jason. Soft Jason. The Jason who looked at you like you’d personally invented sunlight.
Covered in red.
God he looked so whipped.
Pin drop silence through the cave.
The first to react was Damian, springing off his seat to get a closer look "Is that Todd?!" and Stephanie nodded, squealing, "Aren't they so fucking cute!!" Before Damian could give his insight, Jason cut in, "What the fuck, Steph! How'd you even get the video??" Dick chimed in, "No better question. Since when do you have a girlfriend and why does it look like only I didn't know about her!" tim piped up "I didn't know either!" Damian nodded as well, "Why would you not tell us?"
"Just because! That's not the point right now. The point is that Steph is hacking into my girlfriend's account to get at me!" Jason said, standing up and taking the stage, "Wow, chill, I'm not hacking into anything, damn. Is it that hard to believe I'm mutuals with her?" Jason scoffed as if that had personally offended him, "no ur not." She just gave him a flat look. "...you are." He says, dropping back to his seat.
Dick asked the necessary question, "How do ya know her, Steph?" Stephanie shrugged casually "We've been volunteering for the same animal rights NGO for the past month and became friends. Then I see him pick her up one day and well..." Jason ran a hand over his face.
"I think it's very sweet." Cassandra spoke up, "You both look good together." Considering Cassandra rarely ever spoke, the atmosphere had quieted down to listen to her properly "Thanks cass. You're sweet. Maybe teach that to these assholes." Jason replied bringing the tension back in."We haven't made fun of you even once. Why the fuck are we assholes?" Tim asked annoyed.
"Because you were thinking it,” Jason shot back immediately, pointing accusingly at all of them like a man defending himself in court with nothing but wounded pride and vibes. "I can feel it in the air. Every single one of you is gearing up to make fun of me."
They exchanged looks.
“Can we replay the video?” Dick asked hopefully, already halfway off the couch and reaching for Stephanie’s phone.
Jason looked horrified. “Absolutely not.”
Too late.
Stephanie had already restarted it.
Dick clutched his chest dramatically. “My Littlewing grew up so fast.” Jason groaned, “I hate all of you.”
“You look like you’re about to serenade her.” Tim added.
“They look married,” Stephanie corrected. And god help him. Jason just hopes he was only feeling warm and not looking the part.
Damian, meanwhile, was staring at the phone with narrowed eyes like he’d just witnessed cryptid footage. “That cannot be Todd.” Jason scoffed.
Cassandra tilted her head slightly, watching the paused frame. “You look calm.” The words actually made Jason pause for half a second. Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? He was calm around you.
Then Dick ruined the moment instantly.
“Wait, wait, pause when he's in frame!”
“DON’T.”
Dick gasped, “Oh my God. He’s got the eyes.” Jason crossed his arms stubbornly. “You guys are overreacting.”
“Are not” Damian said immediately.
“You called me emotionally constipated three days ago!”
“You are. This is simply...unexpected character development.”
Tim leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “Honestly, I thought your version of romance was just threatening people slightly softer.” To which Tim received a 'what-the-fuck-dude' look
Jason groaned and leaned back against the beam again like a man moments away from faking his own death. Unfortunately for him, the hyenas smelled weakness. Tim held a hand out toward Stephanie.
“Lemme see the account.”
“No,” Jason warned immediately.
“Too late,” Stephanie chirped, tossing Tim the phone.
Jason lunged. Cassandra smoothly stuck a foot out. Jason stumbled mid-step while Tim escaped with the phone like a victorious raccoon stealing bread. “Traitor. You're supposed to be on my team.” Jason accused. Cass only blinked innocently.
Tim scrolled for exactly five seconds before letting out a low whistle. “Damn.” Jason narrowed his eyes. “Drake.”
“You’re in every other post”
“Drake.”
“There’s one where you’re asleep.”
“TIMOTHY.”
Dick perked up instantly. “THERES A SLEEPING JASON TODD PHOTO?!” Jason started moving again, but Damian intercepted him this time, grabbing the back of his jacket with deeply unnecessary force.
“You will sit,” Damian ordered.
“What are you, twelve or a Bond villain?”
“Yes.”
Dick had now migrated from the couch and was fully invading Tim’s personal space to look at the phone too. “OHHH this one!” A photo from the funhouse where the mirror had made jason look stretched and small (honouring fatson todd here.) Stephanie grinned, “Read the caption.” Tim chuckled, "He's 2 apples tall.” Everyone broke out laughing.
Jason looked like he was entering cardiac arrest.
Tim spoke up, "Dude, we have proof Jason isn't just a big tough GUY!"
Damian, however, was still staring at Jason. “You let her post this?” Jason frowned. “I'm no one to tell her what she can and can't post?”
Another question “She openly displays affection for you in front of strangers.” Jason answered warily, "...yeah?”
“And you permit this.”
Jason blinked slowly. “Do you think she’s my hostage? I love her. She's her own woman.”
Damian nodded in deep thought.
Dick slung an arm around Jason’s shoulders before he could escape again. “Face it, little wing. You’re down catastrophically.” Jason immediately tried shrugging him off. “Get off me.”
“Nope. I’m embracing this growth.”
“This isn’t growth.”
“You smiled.”
“I smile.”
Dick’s expression softened instantly beneath all the teasing as he got off jason “You really love her, huh?”
The cave quieted again. No jokes this time. Jason looked away first. Which was answer enough already. But then he muttered, quieter this time:
“More than anything.” The words settled through the cave strangely gently.
Then naturally.
“Anyway when’s the wedding?”
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
a/n: First Jason fic! I hope this wasn't too stretched! Do you guys like it?
tags: jack abbot x younger fem!reader, fluff to the max, sweet feelings, jack finding and recognizing his second second half, reader's age is not specified
notes: i thought this would be a cute idea, so why not! this is smaller than my normal one shots, but i think keeping is short helps it along. i hope you all enjoy, and like always if you'd like to join my permanent taglist please comment on this post ! enjoy!
word count: 1.8k
The first time Jack had seen you read the morning paper after staying over, he thought that might have been a poke at his old age.
But what else was he supposed to think when you literally stepped outside, grabbed the plastic covered paper, brought it over to the table, and actually opened it, your eyes scanning the lines with careful precision. Every so often, you’d pick your mug up and take a sip of your straight black coffee before going right back to the paper.
He bit his lip, either to stifle a laugh or stop him from blurting out something so sarcastic it might sound mean.
Instead, he settled on, “You know you don’t have to do that?”
The paper crinkled as you folded it in half, your sleepy face pinched slightly in confusion. “Do what?”
“Read the paper,” he responded, running a nervous hand through his curls. “I get that my age is showing, but you don’t have to read the paper.”
“Oh.” You looked down at the paper before looking back at him. “Um, no, I actually read the paper, honey. It slows my morning. Less phone time, less eye strain, yada yada yada.”
His eye brows lifted. “Okay.”
You covered a giggle. “Surprised?”
Jack shook his head, mouth pulling to the side. “A bit. Just didn’t know people over the age of sixty-five read the paper.” He walked over with two plates full of breakfast food and placed them on the table.
A hum rumbled through your chest when he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “It’s fine. I know it’s a bit out of the blue, but—”
“No, sweetheart, I shouldn’t have said anything,” he muttered, groaning as he sat in his chair next to you. “It’s cute; you’re cute.”
“Thank you.”
He’d never say it out loud, but he enjoyed seeing the hint of blush rise through your cheeks as he cut through the first bite of pancake. You had been right after all, he though while sitting there. The quiet morning was indeed nice and slow. Without the noise of a doomscroll or messages buzzing, he felt a sense of peace he hadn’t in a long time. He didn’t even care if he couldn’t see your face throughout the breakfast.
When you finally placed the paper on the table, you smiled over at Jack, leaning in to plant a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for letting me read your paper, honey. My apartment canceled the paper sub two weeks ago.”
And if Jack Abbot started hoarding his newspapers for the next time you slept over just to see you in your cute oversized glasses wearing just his shirt during breakfast? That was between him and the kid who threw the paper at his door at 6 a.m.
_______________________
Now, the morning paper had been one thing, but Jack seeing you pull out a flip phone of all things was another. He couldn’t possibly comprehend the hot pink bedazzled thing you took from your scrub pocket and held between your fingers. Hell, he didn’t even know the last time he used a flip phone.
And he guessed he wasn’t the only one to noticed since Trinity stopped a few steps away and gawfed loudly, causing you to look up at her.
“What?” you asked. “Never seen one of these?”
Trinity rolled her eyes. “Only in movies that got released in like 2000-something. Why are you using that?”
You sighed rather loudly. “My iPhone fell in a puddle, and I needed something quick and easy. This bad boy was less than two-hundred bucks at Walmart, and I had a few rhinestones hanging around and thought why not.”
The resident stepped closer and rounded your body, now peering over your shoulder. “How do you even type with that?”
“You just push the button until you get to the letter you want.” Jack watched you demonstrate. “And then send it off. See, not that hard. Rotary phones are kind of the same way—”
“Rotary phones?” Trinity giggled. “What are you, fifty-two?”
Jack caught the way you glanced at him.
“Nah, I’m sixty and some change.”
Trinity followed your eyes. “Hear that, Dr. Abbot? You got yourself a cougar.”
He chuckled softly and shook his head. “Basically a cradle robber at this point.”
The flip phone shut with a click before it disappeared back into your pocket, and for some reason, Jack was sad to see it go. Not that he was happy your iPhone was broken (he was already planning to upgrade it for you), but seeing you with something so simple and personalized, it was almost healing to his soul in a way.
His late wife had had a flip phone.
It wasn’t sparkle-ified like yours, quite the opposite actually. He remembered the black, scratchy feeling of the plastic whenever he needed to use it. If he thought long about it, he would remember that the same phone is sitting dead in his bedside drawer. The phone that was now in your pocket must have been a sign for something.
When Trinity walked away, he took the opportunity to side up next to you, arm brushing yours in a soft, controlled motion. “Am I going to have to ask you for your number again?” he teased.
You scrunched your face in mock contemplation. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around since I robbed your cradle?”
His arm raised and wrapped around your shoulder tightly, bringing you into his side. “My favorite cougar. What’s next? Am I going to be your sugar baby?”
“Ew, Jack!” you squealed. “Not when you practically beg me to use your credit card all the time.”
“What can I say, baby. I like taking care of my girl.”
_______________________
In the middle of a massive cyber-attack after getting shot at was not the time for Jack to be so endeared by you to the point he wanted to squeeze you like one of those squishy dogs where the eyes pop out of socket.
He handled the newspaper well, the flip phone even better (he thinks). However, nothing—and he really means nothing could have prepared him for the utter glee on your face when Dana hauled a fax machine out of nowhere.
The machine had made a booting up noise, to which the newest shadowing-nurse Emma had questioned what it was.
Dana, in all her spare sarcasm and patience, responded with, “UFO landed. Aliens are invading,” as she placed a paper into the slot.
Jack had pointed at it with a large smirk. “That is a fax machine.”
Joy, one of Robby’s new daytime residents, peered over it at like it personally offended her. “They still make those?”
You giggled slightly. “I love fax machines.”
Jack had barely heard you say that over the chaos of everything, but he still turned toward you with a questioning look. “When on earth did you learn to run a fax machine?”
“Probably around the same time you were still writing charts by feathered quill and candle light.”
That earned a snort from every person born before 1990 in the room. Even Robby looked surprised by the quip that had flown out of your mouth. Jack at least looked a bit stunned before he shook it off.
“Careful, dear. I think I just heard your newspaper quiver.”
“And I think I just heard your heated blanket frizz out.”
Joy blinked over at you before looking at Jack. “I like her.”
By the time Jack glanced over at you, you were already moving to help Dana run the fax machine, your hands carefully placing papers in the top to run through. He couldn’t help the smile that formed across his face.
“Yeah, me too.”
_______________________
Some days, life was just hard.
Jack knew that better than most. His shift had been filled with loss after loss after loss to the point he wanted to leave halfway through just to catch a break. Thankfully by sunrise, the Pitt wasn’t his problem anymore, but then his mind remembered that Robby was still on sabbatical, and his mood dropped even further.
However, the moment he stepped inside and the smell of a plethora of baked goods hit his nose, he almost melted right then and there at the threshold. He paused, taking in the sight of his crutches that definitely were by the bed he left last night. You must have moved them for him with some supernatural ability to sense that he’d want his prosthesis off immediately. He couldn’t even hold in the groan that rumbled through his chest the minute his stump was free to hang in the air.
“Jack?” you called out.
“Yeah, baby,” he grunted. “It’s me.”
His crutched clicked against the flooring in rhythmic sounds. The closer he got to the kitchen, the sweeter the smell got. His hazel eyes widened at the sight of his counter. Small loaves, cookies, and even a pie rested against the granite. He wondered how early you’d been up, because one glance to the clock on the oven told him it wasn’t even 8 a.m. yet.
“What’s all this?” he asked, crutching closer to you.
You gently smiled and wrapped your arms around his middle, not caring that he still smelled like hospital and sweat. “Woke up antsy. Needed to get my mind off stuff.”
Jack carefully leaned his crutches against the counter and held you close. “Wanna talk about it?”
A sigh pushed through your lungs. “My grandpa died around this time a few years ago, and I always miss him a lot.” You sniffed quietly. “He practically raised me. Guess he’s the influence as to why I do a bunch of old people stuff.”
He stayed quiet while you talked, absorbing every word carefully.
“He always drank his coffee black; said the frou-frou stuff wasn’t necessary when you knew how to make a good cup of joe.” You laughed softly, the sound full of fondness. “He never knew how to use a smart phone, and I’d always want to play with the buttons on his.” Your cheek pressed into Jack’s chest so hard you could feel his heartbeat against your skin. “Fax machine too. Could never get a computer to work, so I started faxing things over when I wanted to talk to him, especially when it got really bad, and he couldn’t move much.”
Jack felt your shoulders raise just a bit before falling back down.
“I miss him a lot.”
Tears pricked your eyes when he kissed your forehead before leaning down to press one to your lips. When he pulled back, you were startled to see tears in his own eyes.
“He sounds like a good man,” he whispered. “And I am so glad for the little things that you do.”
The next sound out of your mouth sounded like a watery chuckle. “Yeah? You don’t care that I act like I’m thirty years older than I actually am?”
Jack shook his head. “Just means you got an old soul, sweetheart. And there’s nothing wrong with that.” He hugged you tighter. “Absolutely nothing.”
short | fluff | smut | “wiping my drink after him”
synopsis: you try a trend on jason by wiping your bottle after he takes a sip. clearly he doesn’t appreciate it.
a/n: was supposed to be fluff but i’m freaked out sorry
it’s nearly 10pm when jason comes home from patrol. he had planned to get here earlier and switched his shift with dick all because you told him you finished work.
without even asking if you wanted him to do so, he just did it.
“baby?” he calls out as he shuts the front door.
you’re sitting on your bed, practically buzzing as you’d just been scrolling on tiktok and saw a trend you just had to try on him.
“i’m in here jay,” you reply from your bed, fingers idle on the screen as you quickly place it on the nightstand.
enough to capture the both of you.
heavy footsteps approach the room and he opens the door with sweat wicking his brow. he gives a low hum as he takes on the sight of engulfed in just one of his shirts, a habit you’d taken when you missed him and wanted him home. curled up in your comforter with just your torso peaking out, jason plops right on top of you. no care in his sweat on your skin now of his weight resting on you entirely. you giggle as you run your fingers through his hair.
“don’t you think you should, i don’t know, shower before you come into bed?” no real annoyance behind your words.
he nuzzles even closer to you, shakes his head in the crook of your neck. almost like he’s motorboating your neck.
“nah, i’ll wash the sheets in the morning. they’ll need it after i’m done with you.”
the heat reaches your face and a fluttery feeling sits low in your stomach. he always knew how to throw the words back at you. but alas, the show must go on. you stroke his hair back once more, cupping his face with both hands to kiss his sweet face. jason melts into it immediately, but he shrugs like he were shy from this attention. when you pull away, a piece of him was disappointed.
“you hungry?” you ask him. “i was gonna make something to eat.”
he shakes his head, “don’t worry about it. i came home to take care of you. i’ll cook.”
you raise a brow as you reach for your water bottle, ready to play in his face. “take care of me? i’m a grown adult babe.”
he watches as you lift the bottle to your lips, his eyes trained hard on how they part and press against it. taking in how your throat swallows down the water and he gulps in anticipation as though he was drinking it too. his lips part as he leans in to kiss you again. though this time, you bring the bottle between you and put it to his lips.
“you look dehydrated,” you say like it’s the easiest thing in the world. tilting your head slightly and watching the gears turn in his head. “have you been using the bottle i bought you?”
he sighs and nods, “yeah, but i like using yours better.”
sitting up enough to take the bottle and take a long sip. probably draining your ice cold water from how thirsty he was and didn’t even realize. he makes a sound of approval and hands it back to you when you do the unspeakable.
you take the bottle from him, lift your opposing hand and wipe it with your sleeve. jason is absolutely dumbstruck. his lips part in confusion as his brows furrow. he looks to you, then the bottle and then back to you again. he scoffs softly and then points at the bottle.
“the fuck was that?”
he’s blinking hard at you and waiting for a response. you just take a long sip and furrow your brows back.
“what do you mean jay? i’m drinking water?” feigning confusion.
“you just wiped me off of it i’m some freeloader, with germs and shit.”
you can’t control your laughter and shake your head at him. “i’m just wiping your spit off of it jason. it’s not a big deal.”
he knows you have never cared about germs with him before. besides, you live in gotham, and it’s hardly the cleanliest place to be living.
then he’s stammering, pointing between you and the bottle again. “but babe you just kissed me! how is that any different! wait, does my breath smell?” before he leans back and puts his hand in front of his mouth and breathes out to sniff his breath. “i didn’t smoke or anything and i brushed my teeth i swear.”
this only makes you laugh harder, pushing this chest and grasping tightly at he bottle in your hands. jason only seems to get even more confused. he sits up completely and watches you giggle to yourself, finding this entire thing amusing. jason however, does not.
with a loud scoff, he takes the water bottle from your hands and tongues at the mouth piece. he fully lets his tongue fall out of his mouth, licks it all around before pulling back and handing it to you. you grimace a little at the wet sheen on it.
“ew jay, what the hell.” holding the bottle like something toxic.
“take a sip.” he says with the most stern expression you’d ever seen on him.
oh, he was pissed.
you decide to play along longer and shake your head in defiance at him.
he blinks at you, “i’d let you spit in my mouth and you’re sitting here telling me you won’t drink from the same bottle as me?”
“no, not until i wash your slobber off of it.”
that’s when he huffs out like a kid throwing a tantrum and grabs the bottle from your hand, mumbling under his breath. you watch him with genuine confusion while he is the one to take another sip before grabbing your chin and pulling you closer.
he squeezes your cheeks until your lips part and spits the water directly into your mouth. you make a sound of surprise the sudden intrusion makes your eyes widen but you were definitely not opposed. you swallow it down immediately. he keeps his hold on your cheeks as he squints and a small smile begins to take form on his face.
“you’re liking this,” he states rather than asks.
the contagious smile takes home on your face as you stare back at him and nod. “it’s a prank.”
“ha,” he says flatly, “now can you lay back down please?”
sighing as you lay down for him, he immediately follows after you. weight resting directly over you like a weighted blanket that wouldn’t budge if you tried. when you squirm a little, he wraps his arms over yours so you’re bracketed between him and the mattress. then he really does give you some sloppy, wet kisses that leave a trail in its wake.
he’s mumbling lowly as he starts to tug on your shirt, pulling the fabric up and huffing like he’s still annoyed. kisses getting a little rougher as he starts to bite the flesh beneath it and knead it with his teeth. you can’t help but tilt back for him.
“slobber, huh? i’ll show you slobber.” murmuring against your skin enough to tickle. he pulls his head up to look at you while you’re still giggling, “okay jokes over. was gonna do all the work but—”
jason lifts you from beneath him and places you firm onto his lap. hand tight in your hip as you straddle him and he settles his back on the pillows. he clears his throat and something behind his light eyes darken enough to tell you you were really in for it now. the thick bulge beneath you was unmistakable. you open your mouth in a gasp and say his name.
“there’s no way that turned you on.” making the horrible mistake of letting a giggle out again.
he breathes out of his nose and pinches your side to make you jolt. groaning like he’s not the cause of you shifting around and tightening his hold on you so you’d stop moving.
“i spat in your mouth. of course i’m hard.” he sighs as his fingers slide across the waistband of your underwear and tug them just to let them snap. you jolt again but he doesn’t stop you from moving or say anything about the desperate sound you make at the friction.
instead, jason smiles a little harder, “go ahead then.”
guiding your hips back and forth until your breath caught in your throat and you grip his shoulders for dear life. you breathe out his name again but it’s barely a whisper.
he tsks and bucks up into you, dragging his hard length against your clothed core. hips with a mind of its own as you chase your own release, dragging your hands down his chest and pushing him further into the mattress. you’re already a mess, panting heavily and moving desperately.
dangerously close and he’s just grinning like he’s won.
one of his hands come up to the nape of your neck and pulls you down towards him, whispering lowly in your ear.
“there you go ma, take what’s yours.”
movements getting sloppy and uneven while he’s keeping you folded against him. one strong palm kept your faces close and the other moved you in accordance what he knew got you there. he knew you were a goner before you even let go, gasping and stilling just for him to continue moving against you. even when you make a whimpering sound he continues and holds you hard against him.
you’re trying to catch your breath when he finally stops and kisses the side of your face sloppily again. his hands rubbing up and down your back like he’s soothing you. it feels like you’re purring against him as you come back to yourself. but this time, he’s the one laughing while he whispers in your ear like a coo.
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