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gisellaswrld · 4 months

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i’m at a loss of words even looking at you; no pain could ever reach how it felt when you twisted the knife.

jh86 | traveling to michigan due to the loss of your father sucked. especially when a familiar face longed to speak to you.

The passing of your father was sudden, unexpected really. The last time you seen him-- a few months ago-- he was perfectly fine. A week ago, your mom called you stating he had fallen really ill. A few days after, she announced his passing to the family.

You made the unfortunate flight to Michigan, having to take your second semester finals earlier to be able to make it to Michigan. Luckily, all your professors were willing to allow you to take them early.

Being in Michigan brought a dark gloom over your head. Of course, it was mostly due to your father's passing, but the last time you were in Michigan, it didn't end well.

Last summer, you were in an on-and-off situationship with your long-term best friend Jack Hughes. At first, it was great. You had the ability to brag that you were the one Jack was fucking at night, you were the girl that Jack had his arm around at the party of the night.

Until you fell for him, something that was easy to do. Jack had charm, his game with women was off the charts. You knew he had a way with getting women to fall easily for him. Before you agreed to the friends with benefits deal, you swore to yourself you wouldn’t fall in love — but you did.

Instead of effectively communicating your feelings to Jack and dealing with the rejection, you ghosted him when you went back to school. You expected him to reach out to you, but instead you got nothing from him. In the end, you thought that hurt worse than rejection ever could.

You stood in front of the mirror that hung on the door to your childhood bedroom. Smoothing out the black dress, you sucked in a deep breath. You were sure Ellen and Jim would be at the visitation. You just were unsure if they forced their three sons to join along.

A soft knock pulled you from your thoughts. You opened the door to see your mother, her eyes clearly swollen from her late night sobbing.

“Are you ready, honey?” Her hoarse voice spoke. You gave her a sincere smile. You knew your mother was in a lot of pain. After all, she lost her husband — the love of her life. You were upset about your father’s passing, but your mother was just completely empty of any emotion besides grief.

“Yeah, I just need to grab my purse. I’ll be right down.” You replied, voice quiet. Your mother nodded, shutting the door to your room. Seeing your mother in this deep of pain hurt you beyond words could explain.

You reached for your purse that was slung on the desk chair, accidentally knocking a few things over. “Shit-“ You grumbled, trying to gather them. You noticed a small note that was hidden behind the old clutter on your desk.

Good Luck in Maine, Stevie. I’ll miss you while you’re gone! - Jack

The familiar — yet unfamiliar — nickname made your stomach turn. It came from your undying love for Stevie Nicks in middle school. When you and Jack would walk home after school, the sound of Fleetwood Mac was always playing from your speaker. Jack turned that into a nickname for you.

You had been wondering why listening to Fleetwood Mac had been making you upset recently, the note just clicked a few buttons in your brain to remind you.

You crumbled the post-it note into your hand, tossing it somewhere in your room. With a huff, you grabbed your purse and left the room. Your family had been waiting downstairs. Evelyn, your younger sister, had a blank expression on her face due to the grief. Your older brother looked like he hadn’t been sleeping well.

You were the epitome of a mourning family.

Your mom drove everyone to the funeral home, it was an hour before the visitation started. Your mother wanted to ensure the visitation room was prepped like how she wanted it.

The visitation room made your heart twist and ache. There were photos of your dad scattered everywhere. Family photos, old prom pictures, even pictures of him attached to a telephone pole from his first job were posted.

“Wow,” Your brother commented, his eyes turning glassy quickly. “This is… this is heavy.” He continued, swallowing harshly.

Your eyes quickly connected to a photo. It was of your father and Jim Hughes. They were the best of friends in high school. The photo was of them holding you and Jack when you were babies. You shook your head, rolling the tears out of your eyes.

Soon enough, the visitors started to roll in. They ranged from family to friends and even some of your own peers showed up. You and your brother stayed off to the side, watching as family consoled your mother.

“Surprised Aunt Nancy even showed her face. Last time I check, she was strung out on meth in Illinois.” Your brother scoffed, staring directly at your father’s sister.

“Dad wouldn’t have wanted her here.” You replied, agreeing with him.

Your attention was turned to the family walking in, the Hughes family. All five of them were present, even Jack. Your stomach turned, feeling queasy at the thought of being in his presence.

Jim spotted you and your brother, considering you were off to the side of the crowd. He led his family over.

“I see your mom is caught up with your father’s family?” Jim commented, a sad expression on his face. He lost his high school best friend, the guy he partied with through college, and the guy he purposefully lived next to in Michigan — just so they wouldn’t be apart.

“Nancy is here,” Your brother answered, watching as Jim rolled his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, honey. I’m sure this is hard,” Ellen frowned pulling you into a hug. You haven’t cried yet today, but this interaction was pushing you close to your limits.

“It is, but what can you do,” You answered, a small frown forming on your face. Your eyes trailed over to Jack, who was piercingly staring at you. You pulled out of Ellen’s grasp, watching as her and Jim got swept away by your mother.

Quinn was the first to speak up. “So, what happened? Jimmy said it was unexpected.”

You looked over at your brother, knowing you’d be the one to explain the story. “He got admitted to the hospital after he went for a high fever. Turns out he had many malignant tumors in his lungs and bronchus. He passed not too long after.” You sadly answered, your voice nothing short of monotonous.

“Fuck — that’s awful.” Luke sighed, scratching at his head. You and your brother shrugged simultaneously. “It happens.” Your brother responded.

Jack stood quietly behind Quinn, his attention fully devoted to you. Your stomach churned, causing you to become light headed. “I’ll be back,” You whispered to your brother, quickly walking out of the visitation room.

You found the women’s bathroom, quickly slamming open the door. You didn’t have time to lock the door behind you. Your body hunched over the toilet, the contents of your stomach spilling out of your mouth. Your body was shaking due to the exertion. You had a few tears spilling from your eyes, ones that you quickly wiped away.

You flushed the toilet, falling against the bathroom wall. “Of course—“ You commented, your voice quiet.

Slowly, your stood to your feet, standing in front of the mirror that was above the sink. You let out a shuddered breath. You ran the water, gargling some water in your mouth. You spit it out into the sink, feeling some relief.

While leaving the bathroom, you had your head in your purse searching for gum. You felt your body come to a halt as someone grabbed your arm. You found the gum, sliding a piece into your mouth, then looked up to see Jack.

“Are you okay?” Jack asked, his hand gripping onto your arm. You looked down, pulling your arm from his grasp. “I’m good.” You confirmed, nodding at him.

“Why didn’t you ever reach out?” He asked, his eyes forming into a glare. You raised your eyebrows, scoffing. “Are you really asking me why I didn’t reach out at my dad’s visitation?” You quickly fired back, watching as his expression changed.

“I just wanted to know, Stevie. That’s all.”

“Don’t call me that.” You stated, turning on your heels to walk away from him. You sucked in a deep breath once back into the visitation room, joining your brother once more.

This is going to be a long week.

You peered out at the sinking sun, watching as night fell onto the town in Michigan. The colder atmosphere chilled the air, unfortunately you didn’t bring a jacket.

The large pier was empty this time of year. There were no tourists to occupy the town, just those who lived here year round. The sound of the water moving and occasional car driving past kept your mind at peace.

This is where you decided you hated Michigan.

A car door could’ve been heard if you weren’t trapped in your mind. The car door could’ve signaled to you that someone would be joining you within moments. It could’ve been a serial killer, or some elderly woman who wants to knit.

Instead, it was Jack.

He sat down next to you on the bench, quietly turning his head to you. “Your brother told me you were here,” Jack spoke, his eyes fixated on you. “I didn’t ask,” You simply replied, voice quiet.

“Do you hate me, or something? I’m lost at how suddenly you just disappeared, and why you did.” Jack blurted, turning his body slightly towards. you.

You shrugged, a small frown forming on your lips.

“Do you regret it? Or did we do something that we shouldn’t have?”

You shook your head, then shrugged once more. You didn’t want to speak to him, let alone be near him.

“Stevie, we were best friends before whatever happened this summer. Your dad just died, and you are like a closed off shell of what you used to be. Why won’t you just talk to me?” Jack pleaded, his eyes starting to water.

As badly as you wanted to explain your feelings, explain how you didn’t want to be one of those girls that he picks up whenever he wants just to throw them away, explain how you didn’t feel like you even compared to his previous girlfriends, or even explain how you fell in love with him, you chose not to.

Simply out of the fact you didn’t want to be one of those girls crying over the fact that Jack Hughes never loved them.

“I don’t want to talk Jack, at all. I just simply want to be alone,” You abruptly stood from the bench, pulling your sleeves over your hands. “Stop trying to get me to talk to you,”

You quickly walked back to your car, then slowed down once you realized he wasn’t following behind you. Once in the safety of your car, you broke down. Sobs racking your body during the whole drive back to your childhood home.

The bar was practically empty at this point of the night. It was two in the morning and you were five drinks deep. It doesn’t seem like a lot, but due to your small tolerance of alcohol, it felt like a lot.

Your mind was running, thoughts swirling quickly through your brain. Frankly, you didn’t know why you haven’t just laid your feelings out on a silver platter to Jack.

You thought back to what he told you on the pier, and he was right. Your friendship had been deeply rooted into your life. It was wrong for you to shut him out like you’ve been. It was out of your own stubbornness, and now you were cursing yourself for it.

You sighed, fishing your phone out of your purse. You signaled for the bartender, asking for her to close you out.

“Hello?” Your brother’s tired voice grumbled through the phone. “Hey, I’m at Joe’s, can you come get me?” You slurred, your head resting against your hand.

“It’s literally two AM, are you serious?” Your brother continued to grumble, his voice becoming more annoyed. “Please?” You pleaded.

After a few moments, hearing him tap at his phone and the ruffling of his sheets. “Jack’s gonna be there in ten to come get you.” Your brother informed. “Stop being rude to him, by the way. He just wants to help.”

You heard the chime of the hang up sound, groaning to yourself. The bartender handed you the debit card that belonged to you, giving you a sincere smile.

After a little while, the door bell chimed, signaling that someone had entered.

“Stevie come on,” Jack muttered, standing behind you. You felt the tension, causing your less than sober state to fill with nerves. You slid off the bar stool, sulking as Jack led you to his car.

Once safety inside, Jack started the drive back.

“Why?” Jack asked, his focus on the road. “Why are you doing this to yourself again?”

“I don’t know, Jack,” You shrugged. Tears started to run down your face, regret filling your body due to your actions.

“You’ve shut me out once before, and you know how that makes me feel. I don’t know why you are doing it again.” Jack continued, his hands gripping onto the wheel tightly.

“I’m sorry, Jack” Your voice shuddered as you spoke, your eyes staring down at your hands.

“And I don’t know if you’ve just been acting like this because you are going through a lot right now, but I just wish you’d talk to me. And drinking — really Stevie — drinking? This is how you are going to work through your pain?”

“I-“ You stuttered, shrugging as you tried to finds words to speak.

“You don’t have to answer now, you’ve been drinking.” Jack stated, pulling into your driveway. You sat in the car, not sure of what to do or say.

“Can we talk tomorrow?” You asked, finally glancing over at him. Jack briefly glanced at you, letting out a sigh. “Yeah, just text me.” Jack replied, nodding. “Bye,” You quietly excused yourself, getting out of his car.

The rest of the night, you laid in bed, thinking of things to tell Jack tomorrow.

Jack sat across from you, nursing a hot black coffee. Your head ached with a never ending headache due to your hangover. You sipped on a iced chai latte, silent.

"Tell me what's going on," Jack requested, breaking the heavy silence with a sentence that made your body flood with anxiety. You wished you never asked him to talk - but you decided that your since your trip was coming to an end soon - it was now or never. Never meaning you would lose your best friend for good.

You attempted to gather words in your brain, opening your mouth to speak but nothing would flow into coherent sentences.

"I really - do you regret this summer? Do you thing it changed anything?" You asked, your mouth running dry with your words.

Jack knit his brows together in confusion, quickly shaking his head. “No, I don’t regret it. Do you?” Jack leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet. “I don’t regret it, but something changed.” You spoke, eyes tearing away from his.

“What changed, Y/N?” Jack’s face flooded with worry. “Because if it’s something I can fix, I want to. I just want my best friend back, I just want you back in my life.”

“That’s the thing, Jack.”

“What? What’s the thing?” Jack’s voice was rushed, his eyes searching your face for any answers. He used to be able to read your expressions like an open book, but now it was like trying to read a locked diary.

“I can’t be your best friend anymore-“ You were quickly cut off.

“What the fuck? Why? Why can’t you be my friend anymore? Because we fucked? I mean, I can see how it would change things but I feel like it-“ You quickly cut him off in return.

“No, Jack. It’s because I fell in love with you.” You harshly stated, eyes quickly locking onto him. You could visibly see a wave of emotion rush over him.

Jack sat in silence, his brain swirling with many thoughts and questions. He was unsure of which one to ask first, to learn about. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You scrunched your face, clasping your hands in your lap. “I’ve known you for how long, Jack? You’ve told me about every girl you’ve brought home, immediately knowing whether or not they’d be a quick hook-up or if it would be more. You’ve told me how many times you’ve ghosted girls over something small they did that threw you off.” You paused, sucking in a deep breath. “I didn’t want to be one of those girls.”

“You never were, Y/N. We have too much past to even make you remotely close to one of those girls.” Jack shook his head, disbelief flooding his brain. Did you really think that he would just drop you?

“Jack, be serious. If we didn’t have the past, if our families weren’t close friends, would I be one of those girls?” You asked, a stoic expression on your face.

Jack shook his head again. “Absolutely not. If you were one of those girls, Y/N, if I even remotely felt like treating you like those girls, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now. I wouldn’t have kept being around you all summer if you were one of those girls. You just — it was natural — it felt easy to be around you like that,” Jack explained, confessing thoughts in his head he never thought he’d say out loud.

“Why?”

“You are different. Your achievements are far different from how many Instagram followers you have, you have actual goals in life. You never thought of me as some fucking — as #1 draft pick with a 8.8 Million dollar contract — I’ve always just been Jack to you. I’ve always been the kid your parents forced you to hang out with. I’ve never been some celebrity in your brain. You make me feel different.” Jack let out a deep breath after his small speech, his eyes focused on you.

“Jack, I-“

“I’m not finished. You are in school, pursuing fucking politics, Y/N. You spend your nights studying instead of throwing back as much Pink Whitney as you can. Instead of posting sponsorships on social media, you post about your friends, family, achievements. I have always thought you were the smartest girl I’ve known. I always surrounded myself with girls different from you to try to convince myself that it wasn’t right to have feelings for you. Because you don’t deserve to be with a guy who won’t have a career in thirty years, who doesn’t even know what he’s going to do with his life in thirty years.” Jack ran a hand through his tousled hair, moving to anxiously fiddle with the strings to his hoodie.

“I think your monologue was longer than my final paper this semester, no offense.” You spoke, trying to ease the heavy mood. “I — uh — wow. That is a lot to process? Give me a second to think.” You spoke, thinking maybe Jack would actually let you think for a moment.

“Y/N, I’ve loved you since sophomore year of high school. That’s the whole point of that speech or whatever.” Jack stated quickly, clarifying his words.

“So, now what?” You asked, shrugging. “You go back to New Jersey, I go back to Maine, now what?”

“We figure it out. Because, Y/N, seriously. I’ve gone the past five months not speaking to you, and I really can’t go any longer.” Jack frowned, scratching at the small patches of stubble that had been growing.

“We figure it out?” You questioned, waiting for him to confirm his words.

“Yeah, I mean, we’ve figured out ways for you to come to New Jersey for like the past three years. I’m sure it won’t be any less harder, now. You have one semester left at college, then it’s up in the air, yeah? I think we’d be able to figure it out.” Jack nodded, feeling less suffocated that he had previously felt. “Only if you want to though.”

You, on the other hand, were still battling with your internal insecurities. Your lip was tucked between your teeth, biting at the dead skin. “I need to get some air, for a second.” You stood from the chair, heading outside the small coffee shop to think in peace for a moment.

You knew it wouldn’t be hard to figure out. And, you knew Jack would treat you right. He already did so much for you, as a friend. Sending you sweet messages when you were upset, ordering you uber eats when you were up all night studying, the signs were all green.

Yet, the lingering thought of if you were good enough still pounded into your brain like a headache.

You heard the door chime, not realizing they maybe you have been sitting outside for far too long. Jack stood on the side walk, a sad expression plastered on his face.

“Just let me know-“

You stood to your feet, rushing over to him. You placed you hands on his cheeks, planting your lips onto his. Jack hesitated, but soon his hands found your hips, squeezing.

“We’ll figure it out.” You mumbled, watching as his eyes flickered brightly.

“We will figure it out,” Jack nodded, pulling your body against his chest.

You were sure that Jack would do his best to navigate through his life, especially if you were by his side. You knew that Jack would treat you as best as he could, always ensuring you were happy with how the relationship was going. You knew Jack just as well as you knew yourself.

Maybe being back in Michigan wasn’t as bad as you thought it was.

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thirstworldproblemss · 7 months

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Fic: Closer

cowritten with @astroboots

Fandom: Moon Knight Pairing: Jake Lockley x F reader (x Steven, x Marc) Length: 5.6k words Rating: Explicit 🔞 Warnings: This fic contains explicit sexual content including dirty talk, spitting, anal play, and anal sex. (That's it. That's the fic.)

Summary: Jake checks an item off his bucket list, and you both thoroughly enjoy yourselves.

Notes: Many thanks to @guruan who fixed our my extremely questionable Spanish (any remaining mistakes are entirely my fault) and whose deliciously debauched art is a never-ending source of inspiration. More thanks (and uh... oh god, sorry 🙈) to the poor anon who submitted the prompt that spawned this to Cici last Kinktober and had to wait a whole year to see the damn thing. And, of course, ALL my love to my darling cowriter and 🤡💖🤡 sister, @astroboots, who always makes writing a joy, and without whom this never would have been started, finished, or posted at all.

[ twp’s Masterlist | boots' Masterlist ]

Jake hasn’t spent a lot of time in the driver’s seat over the years. For a long time he only fronted on rare occasions. Life or death situations mostly. Those hair-trigger moments when the body is in critical danger and a moment’s hesitation is all it’d take for all three of them to wind up dead.

Those times when things are too much for Marc or Steven to be able to handle? That’s when it’s Jake’s turn at the wheel.

It’s why normally the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes, in command of the body, is the source of imminent danger:

The face of the man who has a knife pressed against the collar of his military uniform in the middle of a desert.

A panoramic view through the windshield of a truck that is seconds from veering off a winding cliff-side road.

A long-haired Jim Jones wannabe staring down at him along a glowing walking stick protruding from his own chest.

But things have been different lately. For one thing, he’s been spending a lot more time fronting, and not just in dangerous situations.

For another, he’s learning that there’s so much more world out there than he’d ever imagined. There’s Ben & Jerry’s peanut popcorn flavored ice cream, Saturday karaoke nights, Derby Girls and you.

Always you.

You were just Steven’s girl first, and then somehow against all odds Marc got involved too, and now that Jake’s been allowed a taste, he's never letting you go. You’re his guide to the wide world, the road map keeping him on the right route, the safe resting place when he’s tired. Su alma, his soul.

And right now you look exhausted. Your thighs shaky and trembling, matted hair glued to your forehead, all of you dripping with sweat and other things. Steven must have really worn you out before he ceded the front.

Sweet, shy little Steven—Mr. Sunshine—who just fucked you seemingly within an inch of your life before he remembered that he needs to share.

And Marc thinks Jake is the unhinged one.

The punch of adrenaline that always comes with fronting is still running through his veins, and he’s already hardening at the sight of you on your stomach, ass up in the air on display for him, Steven’s come just beginning to drip out of you. It doesn’t matter that the body just came, it’s Jake’s turn now.

He slides his rapidly stiffening cock through your slippery folds, nudging the head against your clit, you and him both slick and sloppy with Steven's come and your own wetness.

“Aaah – Jake,” you gasp sharply into the pillow.

You know it’s him. He doesn’t know how. You haven’t even turned around to look at him, but somehow you just know. You always know. It’s an uncanny magic trick that impresses the hell out of him every time.

Jake grips one side of your ass in his free hand, squeezing hard. You’re all smooth skin and soft flesh under his finger, your cute little asshole peeking up at him. You’d kill him if he’d called it that out loud. So he doesn’t. He bites his tongue, swallowing down the groan that’s simmering in his throat at the sight of you.

He can't resist sliding his thumb over that little pucker. He barely even brushes over you when you let out a pretty gasp for him. His cock is fully hard now, and it jerks against you at the sound, so he does it again, just to see if you’ll make the same noise twice. You do.

Then you moan, sharp and keen, and he has to pull back, hand sliding over his slick length once before he leans in and replaces his thumb with the head of his cock. Taking his time, he slides it along the curve of your ass before nestling himself snugly between your cheeks. He makes an absolute mess as he goes, smearing the shiny slick left by Steven all over your bare skin until everything is a glistening sheen under the dim light as he begins to thrust forward, sliding his cock between the valley of your cheeks.

Jake's dreamed of taking you here. He wants to take every fucking hole you have, fill you up and cover you with his come until it's dripping off of–out of every inch of your body.

Mierda. Even just the thought of it has heat climbing his spine, and his cock jerks in his fist and spitting even more precome into the mess already covering your spine and the rounded curves of your ass.

He thrusts against you again, fucking himself between your cheeks, and you mewl quietly, pressing back against him. Maybe he won’t even fuck your pussy this time. Maybe he’ll just stay right here and rub his cock on your gorgeous ass until he comes all over it. Add to Steven’s mess with one of his own. He’ll do it. And reach around and rub your clit so you come too.

Maybe if he can get you used to the idea of his cock rubbing against your ass, maybe one day you’ll let him put it inside too.

"You can, you know," you mumble out into the pillows, and Jake freezes, heat streaking down to his balls, and he has to grip himself hard at the base to avoid painting your ass with his come right then and there.

Shit, did he say that out loud? He’s pretty sure he didn’t. He must have heard you wrong. Or he misunderstood. You can't possibly be offering what he thinks you are.

"You can try putting it in. I might ask you to stop if I don't like it, but..." you your knees slightly, and the move has your ass practically wiggling at him in temptation, "It feels good right now."

Jake's brain stalls out. His body flashes hot all over. The back of his neck is tingling. He squeezes the base of his cock so hard he thinks he might be in danger of doing permanent damage, but he'll be damned if he comes on your ass right now when he’s just been told he might get to come in it.

Gritting his teeth, Jake breathes through his body’s urge to come, pushing down the near-overwhelming need to shove his cock into your tight little asshole immediately. He knows he has to prep you if there's going to be any chance of you enjoying this, and he needs you to enjoy it because he wants to be able to do it again (and again and again and...)

Shit. He needs to get on with it, or he's going to finish before he even makes it inside.

Jake makes himself let go of his aching cock, leaves it bobbing and dripping in midair, and turns his focus on you.

Leaning closer, he uses both hands to pull your ass cheeks apart, and just looks at you for a minute, watching your body clench around nothing.

"You want me to fuck you here, sweetheart?" he demands, sticky thumb sliding down through the mess of your slick and Steven’s come to circle your puckered hole, almost but not quite touching it, "Gonna let me put my cock inside this tight little hole and fill it up with my come?"

You whine, your whole body shivering under him, and he grins, satisfaction buzzing in his veins when your hips cant further up, trying to get him to touch you.

It’s fucking adorable is what it is. He is starting to understand why Marc likes to edge you now. How could he not? You’re always so reactive and needy when you’re denied. You make it so fun to tease.

Sliding his thumb down, he slicks it around and around, just to watch you whine and shiver and shift, hips chasing his touch. His dick jerks with every noise you make and every time your body visibly clenches.

As fun as this is, a bright delight humming in his chest at your every little reaction, Jake doesn’t have the patience to tease you for long.

He’s not like Marc. El Jefe seems to have infinite patience when it comes to this, but it’s only a minute or two before Jake can’t wait any longer. He feels like he’s going to jump out of his skin if he doesn’t get inside you one way or another. So he stops, holding his hand still to let you “catch” him.

When you do, he sucks in harsh breath, heat punching through him as he watches you rub yourself against his thumb, heart rate spiking as you lean back, the tip of his thumb pushing inside just a little.

It's barely anything, but the feeling of you parting to let his his thumb slips inside, then squeezing him back out is addictive. He presses harder, wanting more. His thumb slides a bare inch inside, and his groan barely covers the strangled sound you make, body tensing under him.

Sweat breaks out on his forehead along with the realization that he cannot fuck this up.

"Alright, mi alma?" he asks, trying to sound sweet and gentle, but his voice, low and eager, betrays him. A starving wolf in a sloppy sheep disguise. He’s not fooling anyone, not himself and certainly not you.

Reigning himself in as best as he can, his fingers close into a fist with tight tension blaring in every nerve. Then he unfurls his palm to pet his hand over your back and down your side to give your ass a gentle squeeze.

“Do you need me to stop?"

"N-no," comes the shaky answer, and Jake thanks any gods who might be listening, "It feels a bit odd, but..." you squeeze around his thumb, hot and unbelievably tight, and Jake swears under his breath, "It’s a good odd, I think. Just– just give me a moment."

You shift slightly, clenching again, and his cock jerks and throbs like the nerves of his thumb have somehow been reattached directly to his aching length. He really fucking doesn’t want to come before he even gets inside you, but right now he’s not sure if that’s in the cards for him.

Then you push back against him, and his thumb slides in another half inch, and both of you gasp. He pulls out slightly and risks a small thrust back inside. He's rewarded by another gasp and a small moan, so he does it again, a little further this time, and this time the moan is louder.

Fuck, you look so good like this, ass all slick and slippery. Before he even knows what he’s doing, Jake leans forward, spitting onto the curve of your ass right above where his thumb is inside you.

You jerk when it lands on your skin, and he likes that. Likes that even though he’s done it before it always seems to take you by surprise. Likes how his spit looks on your skin too, shiny and slick as it slides down the crack of your ass to join the rest of the mess he’s smeared there. Likes that when he pushes it into your tight little asshole, it’s one more way that he can be inside you, make you a little bit more his in a way that will linger after he’s no longer with you.

You whine as he pulls his thumb all the way out, he spits again, hitting his target, directly on your pretty little asshole, then he presses in again, shoving more of his spit into you.

Like most things when it comes to how he feels about you, Jake doesn’t entirely understand why he likes this so much. It’s primal, somehow, a deep-seated need to mark you with himself–his spit, his scent, his come.

His cock is aching, throbbing in time with the way you clench every time he pushes his thumb into you. Jake can't stand it, has to wrap his free hand around himself, gripping as hard as he dares, and stroking slowly. He grits his teeth against how good it feels, red hot pleasure searing up his spine as he leans in to slide the head of his overwrought, leaking cock along your ass, right next to where his thumb is shoved inside.

"You feel how hard you make me?" he demands, pressing himself against you, relishing the way you shift and moan again, body still squeezing around his thumb, but loosening with every passing moment as you relax. It also has the added benefit of his precome dripping down to lubricate things even more as he thrusts into you a little deeper each time. "Fuck, I can't wait to get inside this tight little hole. You gonna let me in, mi alma?"

"Yes, yes, Jake! Please!" you cry out, only partially muffled where your face is pressed into the pillows, and he damn near loses it again. Has to press his cock against you hard, almost to the point of pain as fire licks out along his nerves, threatening to send him over the edge.

"You want this cock in your ass right now?" he grits out, vaguely aware that he should probably spend more time prepping you, stretching you so you can take him easier, but he can't wait another fucking second.

He pulls back, pulls his thumb out, and you whine out his name Jake, Jake, Jake as you push your ass up and back, chasing his touch.

He looks down to see a blur of movement between your legs, and realizes that at some point you shoved a hand underneath yourself to rub at your clit.

It’s pure impulse. He doesn’t think. Before he even realizes what he's about to do, Jake’s hand flashes out, coming down on your ass with a sharp crack that sends your flesh jiggling in an all-too-appealing way.

You cry out, sharp and high-pitched, but Jake knows from experience that it's a cry of shock, not of pain, and he quickly follows up on his advantage.

"Naughty naughty, sweetheart,” he scolds, “Who said you could touch yourself?"

You freeze, obviously caught, and several seconds tick by where he watches approvingly as the mark left on your supple skin from the impact of his hand shades into a darker hue before you whine again, "Please, Jake. I need– I need–"

That's more like it.

"Pobrecita," he croons to you, enjoying the way you relax at his gentle tone, "Do you need more?"

You nod into the pillow.

He leans in and smacks his cock against the same place his hand struck. You jolt, letting out the hottest fucking sound, so he does it again, and has to grit his teeth against the noise that wants to escape him at the sensation.

"You want this cock, mi alma?" he demands, voice harsh, "You want me fuck your ass with it right now?"

"Yes. Yes, Jake. Fuck, please. YES!" you pant out, sounding as desperate as he feels. You’re pressing back against him, hips shifting so you can press that pretty little hole right against the tip of him, acting for all the world like you're going to fuck yourself back onto his cock if he doesn't give it to you fast enough.

It's a heady feeling, to hear you beg for him, and part of him wants to hear you do it again, and again and again. To leave you there, begging for him as you struggle to fuck yourself on him. Lucky for you, he is nothing like Marc.

"All you had to do was ask, mi alma," he grates out as he begins a slow press forward, "All you ever have to do is ask, and I'll give you the world."

Your body yields to him, the head of his cock slipping inside, and he has no more words. Only a strangled groan to match your whine as you clamp down hot and impossibly tight around him.

A sparkling clarity descends, time dilating, stretching out the way it does when he's in the middle of a fight, and he can only be grateful because he's barely clinging to his composure by the tips of his fingers here.

One truth stands out above everything else: he can't hurt you.

He has to go slow, keep control, make it good for you.

Jake wraps an arm around you, fingers tangling with yours to rub desperate circles around your clit, and he breathes a sigh of relief when you relax slightly under and around him. Still he doesn't move, not sure if he can without losing it and pumping you full of his come right then and there.

It's only when your hips start to move, hitching forward against his fingers, and then back to fuck yourself a little farther onto his aching cock that he dares draw in another breath, dares to meet your movements with small thrusts of his own, fucking in a little further each time.

And you take him just like that, little by little. One slow press, one torturous inch at a time, until he's buried as deep in you as he can go.

"Fuck. Jake," you gasp out, clenching hard around him, and he groans.

He makes the mistake of looking down at where you’re stretched tight around the base of his cock, taking every fucking inch he has to give, and the sight hits him like a punch to the gut. His hips stutter forward involuntarily, and somehow you take him even deeper.

You make a strangled sound, clamping down so tight it borders on the painful, and he freezes, shuddering behind you.

"¡Mierda! ¿Estás bien?" he demands, has to stop and mentally scramble for the words before he can ask again in English, "You okay, mi alma? Shit, did I hurt you?"

"N-no. I'm okay," you pants out in response, "You can– You can move, Jake. Please. Need you to mo–"

Before you even finish the sentence, he’s already pulling out and easing back in. It’s a tight fit, your body hugging him so snugly that nothing else would fit.

Lento, he reminds himself, gently. Not too fast. Gritting his teeth against the demands of his body, he presses himself in and out of you as slowly and carefully as he can manage, and he tries to keep his fingers moving on your clit. His free hand grips your hip, fingers digging in until he’s sure it must be painful, but he can't make himself let go.

You whine, writhing under him as he inches back into you.

"Jake," you pant out, nearly sobbing his name, "Jake, Jake," and he slows further, worried that it's too much.

"No!" you cry out suddenly, and Jake freezes on instinct, holding still as you prop yourself up on one elbow, turning your upper body sharply to one side so you can glare at him over your shoulder, "Don't bloody stop. I want you to fuck me."

The words hit him like a blow, knocking the air out of him, and the determined look on your face stabs him right in the heart, his whole chest pulling tight.

"You've been so patient, Jake,” you cajole him, “and it's good. Better than I thought it would be. I want you to stop holding back. Fuck my ass for real. Let go, Jake."

Fuck, he loves you so fucking much. The feeling is so big, he doesn't know how his body can contain it. He wants to move mountains, conquer the fucking world just so he can lay it at your feet. He'd give you anything.

But the only thing you're asking for right now is his cock, and that he’s just as desperate to give you as you are to take it.

He pulls out slowly, one… last… controlled… withdrawal, then he slams into you so hard it drives you forward across the bed away from him. Digging both hands into your hips, he yanks you back to him, back onto his cock.

"Like this?" he asks as he pulls out and slams into you again, "You want it hard? Like this, mi alma?"

"Yes– Fuck– Yes–" you gasp out between harsh thrusts, "Ja-Jake!"

His name breaking on your lips is the sweetest fucking sound he’s ever heard in his entire life, and it severs the last threads of Jake's control. He lurches forward with a roar, driving himself into your tight little ass over and over again, as hard and fast as he can go.

The force of it knocks you off your elbows, flattening you into the bed, but Jake just yanks you back, repositioning his knees as your hands scrabble uselessly at the sheets.

Every thrust is deep and relentless, burying himself inside you as deep as your body will let him, giving you as much of him as you can take. Until his hip bones are pressed flush against your ass, until his cock is buried inside you to the root, until every inch of him is enveloped by you.

He's so lost in the feel of you, he doesn't realize he’s fucked you all the way across the bed until you're precariously balanced on the edge of the mattress.

Your knee goes first, slipping sideways off the bed mid-thrust, and it's enough to pull him off balance and send you both tumbling to the floor.

Instinct takes over, and before Jake even has a chance to consciously register what’s happening, he’s already twisting, shielding your body so that he takes the brunt of the fall. He winds up hitting the hardwood ass-first before coming to rest with his head against the nightstand and you in his lap.

Miraculously, you’re still connected, the force of the fall shoving you down on his cock farther than ever before, the feeling of being lodged so far inside your tight ass more than enough to overwhelm the slight pain in his tailbone from the fall.

There's a moment of stunned silence, then you start shaking, trembling in his arms, shoulders vibrating against him. He has half a second to worry that he’s fucked up badly enough to make you cry before a loud, bright sound rings out in the room.

You’re laughing. Oh thank fuck.

"Oh my god, Jake! You just fucked me off the bed, quite literally. That's definitely a first!" you exclaim, twisting around to giggle down at him, eyes crinkled with amusement, mouth curved in an open, full-toothed smile. Jake has a handful of seconds to marvel at how beautiful you are before you shift in his lap, your body clamping down around him, and any last lingering shreds of control he might have been clinging to are gone.

Jake lifts his hips, fucking up into you, and watches your eyes go wide, a gasp falling from your lips.

It's not enough.

He grabs your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh and rolls to his knees, and your gorgeous laughter dissolves into a broken cry of surprise as he drags you with him. The sound melts into a long drawn out moan that has the tip of his ears tingling. He can’t think, all he can do is keep going as he fucks forward into you again, his chest tight against your back as he forces you down onto all fours so he can keep fucking you.

Fuck. The wood floor is hard and uncomfortable under his knees, digging into his kneecaps. He knows it must be worse for you with his weight bearing down on you, but he can't make himself stop.

He's been dreaming about taking you this way for so long, and now he finally gets to. He knows, he knows he should stop and check on you, should move the two of you back up onto the bed where you'll be more comfortable, but that pretty little ass is stretched around him so perfectly, tight and hot around him, and his need is riding him hard.

Heat prickles from the tip of his fingers, spreading along the nerve endings along every patch of skin, fuck. It’s everywhere, expanding across the span of his chest, pooling in his abdomen, gripping into his lungs. He can’t breathe. Can’t stop. Can’t–

"Lo siento," he stutters out. "I'm sorry, mi alma. I can't– I have to–" Words leave him, and all he can do is pant against your neck as his hips jerk into you with increasingly sloppy thrusts.

His end is approaching fast, whether he wants it to or not, and he barely has the presence of mind to shove a hand underneath you, rubbing desperate circles over your clit with fingers gone clumsy with need.

He has to make it good for you. He has to. He has to–

Por fortuna, it only takes a minute for you to tense underneath him, sobbing out his name and tightening around him so forcefully that he can't keep thrusting, his cock locked in place by the tight clench of your body.

The lack of movement is enough to stave off his own orgasm, but just barely, the pleasure is overwhelming, teasing at the tip of his tongue as you shudder underneath him and you flutter rhythmically around his cock. It's so similar to being inside your pussy when you come, but it's different too. The pulse of your pleasure there squeezing him so tight it's nearly painful, but its so, so fucking good.

He breathes through it, pressing open-mouthed, panting kisses against the skin of your back. Does his best to keep his fingers moving on your clit, trying to prolong the moment for you, to draw you pleasure out as long as he can. He wishes he could see your face.

Next time, he promises himself. Face-to-face next time, so he can watch every expression you make as he fucks you full of himself and see the pleasure break across your face when you come with his cock lodged deep inside.

All too soon, you're collapsing forward onto one elbow, your other hand shoving at his where it's buried between your legs, and he lets you push his hand away, planting his palm on the ground next to your head.

You turn weakly to look up at him, pulling partially off of his dick as your body sags like you can’t keep yourself up.

"Are you ready, mi alma?" he grits out, dimly aware that he's shaking as he braces himself above you, "Ready for me to fuck this tight little ass full of my come?"

"Mmm," you hum, sweet and contented under him, "yes, please."

That's all Jake needs to hear.

He slams his hips forward into yours, and the force of the first thrust knocks you forward off your elbow, your chest meeting the ground as you half-collapse under him.

Jake follows you down without stopping, fucking into you hard. You sink a little further towards the floor with each thrust until you're flat on your stomach, but Jake still doesn't stop. He can’t, though he's sure he must be flattening you. Doesn't think he could stop if his life depended on it

He's grinding into you now with increasingly sloppy thrusts, burning heat burrowing into the base of his spine as he holds back his orgasm by sheer will, slurring out endearments against the back of your shoulder.

“Mi alma. Mi vida. Reina de mi corazón.”

And you are. His soul. His life. The queen of his heart. You are all of that and more. His gorgeous, perfect love, taking him, all of him, exactly as he is.

"Do it," you say from underneath him, and reality seems to recede, his vision tunneling in on your lips as they shape the words that just might kill him.

"Fill my ass up with your come. Fuck it into me as deep as you can. I'm yours, Jake."

Jake's orgasm crashes into him like an unexpected switch. Like a bomb going off. Like a knife sliding between his ribs, sharp and sudden. Pleasure sears though every inch of the body that has never felt more like his than it does at this moment, his forehead pressing against the warm skin of your back as he empties himself inside you in pulse after pulse of aching release.

By the time the last shuddering spasm subsides, Jake feels wrung out like a bloody rag. He barely manages to avoid collapsing on top of you, mustering just enough strength to roll the two of you to the side so that he’s no longer squishing you. Pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he carefully pulls out, then pulls you back against his chest, curving his body around yours, and the two of you lay cuddled together like that for a long moment.

Eventually, his strength returns, along with the awareness that the floor he’s holding you on is both hard and probably not all that clean given Steven’s penchant for pouring sand all over. You deserve better. He gets up first, and carefully helps you rise to standing, waiting a moment to be sure you’re steady on your feet, before guiding you gently into the bathroom.

When he flips on the bathroom light, the shadow of his reflection in the small round mirror transforms into a flushed, wide-eyed Steven who mumbles, “That was… God, that was… ”

He doesn’t seem to be able to find the words. Jake’s not sure he could either, but Mr Sunshine doesn’t need to know that, so he just shoots the mirror a smug smile and tips an imaginary cap in that direction before he moves to turn on the shower.

You shiver a little when he steps away from you, so once the water is running, he wraps both arms around you, encouraging you to lean against him while you wait for it to get warm. You do, wrapping one arm around his waist in return and curling into his chest like there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

Jake just watches you. Tilting his head back and slightly to the side to get a better angle, he lets his eyes roam over your face, taking in the soft curve of your cheek, the eyelashes feathered against the soft skin there nod that your eyes have fluttered closed, the hand you’ve settled against his chest, right over his heart, the way your lips curve up into a slight content smile.

You’re beautiful.

You always are, but right now, something about this moment makes Jake’s chest tight. It steals his breath as surely as if there were hands wrapped tight around his neck, choking the life out of him. But instead of stealing his life, it’s as if you’re giving him more of it, pumping him full of its essence, filling his chest until he doesn’t know how his body can contain the feelings you inspire in him.

The bathroom is getting warmer, steam starting to form on the mirror, but Jake is loath to relinquish his hold on you. You seem equally uninterested in leaving him. You’re snuggled contentedly into his chest, but the way you slump lower and looser with each passing second tells him that he needs to get you moving fast, before you fall asleep standing up. “Water’s warm,” he tells you, and you hum sleepily against his chest. It’s so, so tempting just to carry you back to bed, but he knows you’ll be happier if you’re clean.

“C’mon, mi alma. Into the shower. Vamos.” He herds you gently backwards until you’re standing under the spray.

You hum sleepily up at him without opening your eyes, and he’s worried for a moment that he’s lost you to sleep already, but you stay standing when he cautiously releases you.

Reaching for your soap, he quickly lathers up a washcloth. The smell of the soap—the smell of you—quickly permeates the small space, and he breathes deep, letting the familiar scent wash over him. He runs the cloth gently over your shoulders, taking extra care with the still-visible bite mark one of them left there, then down over your chest. The skin of your breasts is soft and warm under his fingertips, and he’s half tempted to try for another round, but he feels strangely protective of your soft sleepiness.

Instead he dutifully rinses you off, letting the water cascade over your body.

You blink your eyes open long enough to shoot him another warm, sleepy smile, and the contentment in his chest seems to expand, taking root and spreading with every breath until it feels almost too large for the small space of the shower.

He steps out, reaching for a towel, and drys you off gently, before doing the same to himself with much less care.

Then he carries you back to bed and tucks you in, doing his best to straighten out the wrinkly covers before pulling them up over both of you. Curling his body around yours, he holds you tightly to him. There are a lot of things in this world Jake can do without, has done without. But this– you are no longer on that list.

In the cozy warmth of the bed with your body pressed against his, his eyes feel heavy. Jake never used to fight to stay in the driver’s seat, not once the excitement was over. But he clings to consciousness now. He wants to prolong this moment when his vision is filled, not with yet another threat to body, life or limb, but with something altogether perfect: the sight of you drifting off to sleep, your head nuzzling into the pillow, a slight smile on your face… safe.

It’s the last thing he sees as he falls into a deep, restful sleep. .

Thanks for reading!

—

Want more to read?

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#moon knight #moon knight fic #jake lockely #jake lockely x reader #jake lockley x you #f reader #oi stuff #fanfic #astroboots #thirst world problems #lemon #q #red flags 'verse

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ef-1 · 6 months

Text

Transcribed Excerpts from Christian Horner's hour long Interview that are batshit insane and so narratively dense you'd think they're lifted wholesale from a book, featuring:

The most in depth, behind the scenes view of what transpired in 2018

Fords CEO getting in touch with Dax to gush about how much he likes Daniel

Christian feeling vindictive towards Daniel

Christian comparing Sebastian and Max

Christian comparing Daniel to Roger Federer

How Christian had to mitigate Helmut's shitshow and personally asking Dietrich to give Daniel everything he wanted

Hilarious rapid fire in the end and his perspective on the failure of Ferrari

●●● <- indicates a time skip

Dax: In tennis you see guys when they lose steam, they break apart.

Christian Horner : you see that with checo.

●●●

[Dax mentions that in Christian's position, a lot of people would not have invited Daniel back into the family. "Because Daniel turned his back on the family." ]

Christian: Daniel's a great guy. Very badly advised in his early career. Everybody fucks up at some point. I think he recognizes that he made a mistake. He didn't have good advice around him at the point he left us. Having spent time outside the family he realized what he had here was actually good. It was horrible to see that it got worse and worse after us. It was actually this time last year in Mexico where I sat down with him in my hotel room, I told him you need a complete reset- take a year out. Come back to us.

Dax: He's such a win for you guys.

Christian: Totally.

Dax: you sent Daniel to Jim Farley [ CEO of Ford] and I know Jim Farley and he got in touch with me and told me "That Daniel Ricciardo guy is the greatest!" I'm like to him: he's the dream, send him anywhere.

●●●

Christian: He's [Daniel] a confidence driver, when he's got his mojo, he one of the fastest guys on the grid.

Dax: he's lethal.

Christian: yep.

Dax: he's got that magic thing that people either have or don't have in my opinion which is: there are winners and there are not winners

[you're not ready for this lol]

Christian: He came to us, he's one of our juniors, I remember going to watch him in formula 3, he really stood out. Very smooth. Just great. Naturally. Like a Roger Federer kind of style behind the wheel, very very classic. Light touch. Great, great skill. And then he came through the system [RB program] when we had Sebastian Vettel, 4 time world champion- Mark Webber retired. We chose Daniel as the Junior, with no expectation on him and he started beating Vettels ass. he won 3 races in 2014 when we had FAR from the best engine, Sebastian never won a race that year.

Dax: Even his time at Mclaren, it sucked for him but he's the only one who won a race.

Christian: He IS the only one who won a race.

Dax: and for a long time now.

Christian: and Renault he had great performances. [...] he's got to feel the love. He's got to feel comfortable in the environment that he's in. Some of his races for us were- absolutely outstanding.

●●●

[Christian about the 2018 negotiations]

Christian: I asked Dietrich to show Daniel love. Helmut was obviously pro Max, I said if you could just balance things out, let him [Daniel] know you want him. Dietrich said "no problem, I'll talk to him" so he took Daniel upstairs after the race in Austria to talk to him, and they were there for well over an hour.

Dax: To the point you were nervous?

Christian: I thought SHIT! But they reappear, and they're both smiling, I tell him: "Dietrich, how did it go?" He says,"No problem, don't worry about it. It's not even a question [that daniel would leave]"

Christian: Then we went to Germany, and his engine blew up. His engine kept letting him down, letting him down, letting him down. But from there, we went to Hungary, and we got his paperwork [Daniel's contract] for a TWO year deal all sorted out. Daniel's manager came to me and said 'listen Daniel is nervous about the engine' because we were going to switch to Honda so his manager said: 'he'll do ONE year' I thought wow. That's not really what we talked about, because in 6 months we'll be having the same conversation. So I remember I went back to Dietrich, and I said, "it's about relationships. It's NOT about contracts. If he wants a one year contract, give him a one year contract," so at this point: he's got everything he wants. Also, at that point, Daniel was doing a test for us after the Hungarian race, I thought Daniel will sign the paperwork on Monday, suddenly Monday goes and he's in the car on Tuesday. I'm starting to smell something because this is an enormous deal, you'd have thought he'd be in a rush to sign this contract. And he didn't sign the contract before he got in the car in the morning and I thought he'd sign by lunchtime but it didn't happen. He had to get out of the car and go straight to the airport because he's flying from here to LA and I thought he'll call me. I'm feeling something at this point.

Dax: you know you're about to be broken up with.

Christian: yeah.

Dax: if your girlfriend didn't show up to lunch then dinner-

Christian: exactly. So- he [daniel] rings me, I was in the car with Geri, he tells me "I just got off the plane, I arrived in LA, and I've been thinking on the flight, all the way here- I'm not going to sign the contract. I'm going to take another contract. [...] he tells me Renault? The engine that let him down for 2 years? I was convinced, I was CONVINCED- because Daniel has got a sense of humour- I thought- he's taking the piss. I thought come on. I told him: come on. There is no way. You're not going to Renault, stop fucking about, just sign the contract. After 10 minutes he finally persuaded me that he was going to Renault. It was disappointing.

Dax: I wanna applaude you, because a lot of people who go through that experience think: fuck you.

Christian: there was an element of that. I thought: go and suck on a lemon for a bit. But actually during the pandemic, I remember he called me and said "Christian I hate to say this to you but you were right"

•••

Christian thinks Max > Vettel

Christian about Alex and Pierre being teammates with Max: he broke them

[Very confused in this part because Christian like? Says the best thing for Checo to perform is to forget about Max, stop trying to compete with him, stop looking at his data? Girl you are NOT selling it rn]

•••

When Christian is asked to analyse Red Bull's champions, he thinks Sebastian and Max are diametrically opposed . Sebastian is your stereotypical German, he would be at the track until 11 to analyse data. Max is not interested in all the detail [devasting news for all the bitches who spent years trying to dunk on Daniel by calling him not technical, Christian seems to think that Daniel and Max share a natural ability that doesn't rely on data.] He [Max] Gives you just what he needs to go faster. Max hates testing, has no interest in it.

●●●

Christian confirms he has a lucky toilet.

●●●

Christian says in 2014-18 Red Bull came this 🤏 close to selling to Audi.

●●●

Christian: Drive to Survive is the Kardashians on wheel

●●●

Christian: You get characters like Gunther Steiner. How scary is he. He used to work for us, I had to be the one to fire him.

●●●

Christian on why he believes Ferrari have failed over the last 15 years: Ferrari is a national institution instead of a Team. It needs to become a racing team again. Too many people have input at the top.

#it like. reads like fanfic #this team is so fucked up none of this can be healthy #what makes him tick #its all very insane. Machiavellian!Christian... be very afraid.#i wish Christian didnt speak about seb like that. just be more respectful. he clearly has his favourites #f1 #daniel ricciardo #Christian horner #brazilian gp 2023

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