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coconutdays · 2 days ago

Text

sex, money, feelings dont die

s. you come back home after spending a year away from your friends, suguru geto among them. and you think you've gotten over your suppressed feelings for him, you think

w.c. 11.2k

w. fem! reader, kickboxer/business student!geto! x reader , mutual pining! friends to lovers! fluff!, smut! virginity loss! (but it's not that big of a deal, you'll see why) masturbation!

a/n: ummmmmm I thought about this while watching a suguru edit. this is a little slowburn, but not painful I think idk I stayed up to finish this. will proofread later I need sleep. mwah hope you like.

you are beat up the first morning you wake up in your home after spending a year abroad.

your head is pounding, the light is agonizing to stare into, and your back is tense after spending the last 24 hours running around with the fattest luggage on earth, sleeping on stiff airport lounge seats, and sleeping on the stiff plane seats, or at least trying to.

buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz

fuck's sake

"let me sleep, let me sleep, let me sleep." you groan painfully into your bed, body short circuiting on the jet lag and reminiscing on the peaceful sleep you were just having.

buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz

"oh my-"

knock-knock

your head whirs up and looks towards where the door to your apartment would be outside of your room. and you hear a faint, familiar voice calling out your name cheekily.

exhausted, you get up and out of bed to open the door.

"as much as I missed you guys, I just traveled across the world and my body is still recovering..."you groan, walking to your couch and flopping onto it, eyes still a bit puffy.

"my body too would also miss the crisp baguettes and wine for breakfasts," gojo slyly comments as he slides into your apartment with one step and plops into your--small--beanbag, his legs poke out comically while he inhabits the light pink ball of foam.

a light whiff of cigarette smoke and cherries inhabit your room too when shoko throws a warm? bag on your back and picks up your legs so she can sit underneath them.

"I told him you wouldn't want people at your door this early." she sighed aloofly.

"nothing a breakfast bagel can't fix." gojo snickers

you finally open your eyes and sit straight up, digging into the brown paper bag that was once on your back

"or two." he adds, watching with a smirk as you take a hearty bite out of the first bagel

when you gulp it down and clear your throat, you point a finger at him then to your suitcase in the corner of the room, "there are four boxes of pierre herme macaroons in there with your name written all over them."

"aw you thought about me."

"yeah I really do," you speak gruffly between heavenly bites, "paris doesn't make this shit."

"there's no bagels in Paris?" shoko tilts her head, a blank look in her eyes

"shut up, you know what I mean." you almost moan, faintly rolling your eyes back in pure bliss before forming a realizing thought and turning to gojo, "did you come here this early for your macarons gojo satoru????"

his smile is blank and so are his eyes, you can tell, even through his stupid glasses.

"eat that second bagel, why don't you, my favorite friend who I've missed so dearly."

right before a slight scowl forms on your face, shoko interjects.

"he did cry when nobody else wanted to drink the nth pornstar martini with him at the function the other day."

"hey!"

you giggle a little and feel your sleepiness and grumpy mood fading away. (thank you gojo's breakfast bagels and shoko's disrespect)

"no need to worry anymore babygirl, daddy's home." you smile, lazily hugging the armrest of your couch

gojo huffs and puts a hand close to your face, "I saw your stories unfaithful slut, those cheese fiends were matching your freak, with espresso martinis of all things."

"but did I ever drink a pornstar martini without you?" you poke back, slapping his hand away

you can tell gojo is thinking and has been left speechless, but just as much as he's a victim to shoko, so are you.

"that she posteddddd."

"you guys are not allowed to wake me up this early and bully me, either of you," you state as you jump up and address the both of them before heading to your fridge to serve yourself some water.

"anyways, where's suguru?"

"training." shoko answers airily as her head lolls onto the armrest.

"he's been super focused lately right? I think he deactivated his instagram like the first month of me being in France."

you remember feeling bummed out every time you posted a pretty picture and never saw him in your views.

"that's an understatement," satoru scoffed snarkily, "I do not understand such a dedication to kickboxing when he's deadset on business."

"can't a guy have hobbies?" shoko questions, not at all seemingly bothered by Geto's dedication to sport such as satoru is.

"you guys want coffee?" you ask, about to turn your back to turn on ur espresso machine.

"yes," gojo says before adding a quick, "but from the cafe two blocks from here."

eyes squinted, you turn again and lean against your kitchen countertop, "I literally have a coffee machine."

"you drink that pretentious small espresso shot crap, weirdo, I don't want that"

"okay but I can just pour milk for yours?"

"I doubt you can make an iced vanilla biscoff latte here." he scoffs

"satoruuuuuu~" you whine, exhaling as you stare up at your ceiling, "I have to wash my face and get ready! I wasn't mentally prepared for that."

"I'll buy you a pistachio matcha latte," he grins, toothy and sharp, "with that creamy oatmilk you like that's an extra 2 dollars."

"I missed you and your bank account so, so much," you say whole heartedly, sending him quick air kiss of appreciation with your middle and index finger as you trot into your bathroom to start getting ready.

on the walk to the cafe, you fight and try to suppress the wondering your conscious has for suguru geto.

you're friends, have been since your freshman year of college, and that's all you have been. there's always been a feeling there in regards to him, but you've never touched on it for more than you've thought about it (repeatedly.) you just couldn't bring yourself to break that peaceful friendship or to even think about crossing it.

sure you noticed the day he deactivated his socials.

sure you like wearing his hoodie/jackets and acting like nothing of it.

but it's not like you took up the scholarship offer in Paris because maybe your favorite city in the world could distract you from hoping he'd ever flirt with you.

it did

"oh is that the rock climber?" shoko asks as she peers over your shoulder and onto your phone.

"indeed it is," you mutter cheekily as you answer the French fling's text, "he thought I was leaving tomorrow instead of yesterday, lmao"

"no goodbye sex?"

"fingering me is hardly sex," you look at her with a side eye

"woah, couldn't get over the 50/50 thing after all huh?"

"never," you sighed, putting your phone back in your pocket, "the least he could do was service me a little with a few orgasms after I had to pay for my own drinks."

"so who did you fuck?" satoru interjected, visibly curious as he stood in line with you guys and simultaneously read the coffee menu for any new sugary drinks

"nobody," you sighed, "didn't feel like anyone was worthy losing my card to."

but all this and here you are, shoving thoughts of him to the back of your mind. it's all become so natural that compressing any thought of geto isn't an overthought process anymore. you've forced yourself to become near careless about him, silencing the voice that cares every minute of every day. you don't know if you're in love with him or containing a small crush on him, that's how scared you are.

"understandable," satoru reasons, whilst picking his phone out of his pocket to read something.

"hey, look at that, haibara wants us all to come for drinks at his place tonight," blue eyes sparkle at you from beneath his glasses that he's purposely let slide downwards, "you know he makes the best lychee and passionfruit martinis."

"and dirty martinis." shoko pipes in

both you and gojo stare at her in slight disgust before he returns to giving you his puppy face.

"as long as there's a ride home involved, I hate sleeping at other people's places."

satoru stands straight up in glee and claps his fingers together, "great! don't worry about that, suguru doesn't drink anymore because of how uptight he's been lately."

the whole day becomes hang out with satoru and shoko day after that. you can't exactly go home by the time you're done with your matcha latte and your stomach starts rumbling for lunch, especially when trust fund baby satoru offers to pay for lunch. then he drags you both into a museum he's been wanting to see, and suddenly it's nearing sundown and it's time for dinner.

"let's go buy pizzas for haibara!" satoru exclaims with a pep in his step as he leads the way for you and shoko to follow after him.

when you get to haibara's apartment, everyone's already there.

various chimes of your name are said as you begin to greet everyone after being away for so long.

utahime hugs you particularly tight and fusses over you, "thank god you're back, you look so beautiful, shoko's too careless to have conversations with sometimes."

fearing your friend would be offended, your mouth open and closes, unable to figure out what to say until you turn to look at her sleazed on the couch and already lighting a cig.

"it's true," she shrugs

"I'm glad to see you too hime." you smile, embracing her in the hug again.

you hear a familiar voice speak when you let go of the embrace

"there wasn't really anything for me to wear haibara, had to settle for this shirt."

geto stands at the door to haibara's bedroom, one hand up and holding onto the frame as he calmly peers down at his shirt and then to the owner of it.

why was he wearing haibara's shirt? and why does it look so...

and suddenly he's looking at you, eyes softening just a bit as he greets you by your name and starts to walk towards you.

you'd imagined, hoped seeing him again would warrant more excitement from him, but no he's still the same calm and collected guy he's always been.

"suguru" you smile, ignoring the way your heart races at the side hug he gives you

well, his body isn't the same. god, how often has he been training? you didn't know his arms could be that veiny.

"satoru texted me that you've been with him and shoko all day." he starts, lips only slightly, minisculely turned upwards as a way of being polite towards your presence.

"since eight in the morning." you sigh, looking over at the freakishly tall giant already breaking into one of the many pizza boxes he bought.

"he missed you." suguru looks at his best friend too, making a face of disgust for a moment when satoru finishes a pizza in two bites.

"I missed him too," you breathe, smiling a little, "wallet or no wallet."

that makes suguru laugh and you're so thankful tails evolutioned off of humans or else you'd have a hard time controlling the urge to wag it back and forth at the reward that was making geto suguru laugh.

"I missed you." he says once his laugh falters away

"me too." you respond, fighting the awkward and terrible pit in your stomach

did he really miss you? miss you? how much did that mean for him?

it doesn't seem like a lot because he gives you a small grin before walking towards shoko and striking up a conversation with her. and gojo hithers you to him from across the room to start drinking your first martini of the night.

you've forgotten how drunk you get with gojo.

your vision is tunneled and you dont know what time it is or what is even what.

"oh brother." you groan, stabilizing yourself on the kitchen countertop. you had gotten up from being sprawled on gojo's back on the floor because you wanted a slice of pizza and the journey seemed quite treacherous now. so far, yet so close. you just had to open that pizza box.

until a hand made its way into your vision, opening the box, getting a slice, and offering it up to you. its a pretty hand, a silver ring on the index finger, veins running up it and onto the arms

of suguru

he's smiling fondly at you

"hungry?" he asks in amusement

"yes, thank you." you gulp, otherwise unable to show how flustered you are due to the immense alcohol in your system and insatiable hunger.

once you take the slice from him, geto begins to slide a chair out and helps you land on it considering it was a little high.

he sits across from you on the kitchen island.

"parmesan?" he has the bottle in hand, jeering it to you

"mhm" is all you can say through a muffled mouth and take the parmesan bottle for yourself.

"is this anything like the pizza over there?" he asks again in amusement

"no," you shake your head gruffly, almost groaning from how wonderful the taste is on your inebriated mouth, "but I can appreciate this right now."

you feel as if you've finished your pizza far too soon, knowing that the part of you that's embarrassed is subdued and screaming that you've been far unladylike in front of suguru, who eyed satoru so disapprovingly when he did it.

suddenly,

"you have some..." suguru leans over just a smidge and brushes your cheek with his thumb, "...parmesan dust."

"oh," you try to keep your jaw closed amid the surprise of his actions, "thank you."

"you want another slice?" he nudges his head in the direction of the box next to him, eyes innocently waiting for a response.

he sees you open and close your mouth again, hesitant on a response before he decides for you and gets you another slice.

"you need something else in your stomach to keep the martinis some company." he smiles a little and motions for you to look at the plastered satoru on the floor, "he's done already, so don't worry."

"thank you." you almost pout as an appreciation to his mercy and figure you should ask what was on your mind earlier, after chewing and swallowing a bite gracefully. you were going to be more conscious of this second slice.

"why are you wearing one of haibara's shirts by the way?"

"Oh," his eyebrows only raise a little and he looks down at the extra tight black shirt, "he was trying to imitate those street vendors that make slushies out of regular soda before you three got here."

"and haibara being him, I figure somewhere along the lines it erupted all over you." you giggled a little, imagining the mess

"that you are correct." geto smizes. he then looks around to the various bodies thrown across the room and zones in onto the floor.

"are you ready to go now satoru?" he asks, one brow quirked up, wondering if his best friend heard him or not.

you turn a little to look at him too and he only turns his face so that his cheek is resting against the floor.

"I don't think I'm even ready to get up," he grumbles, "you guys can go without me, I'm fine right here for the night."

feeling alert already at the idea of being alone with geto, you ask satoru if he's sure

"your back is going to hurt a lot in the morning Toru." you plead internally

"don'ttttttt careeee." he burbles

you're about to open your mouth to urge him again, but suguru gets up and nudges your arm lightly, keys already in hand, "don't worry about satoru, he doesn't have anything important tomorrow anyways."

then his hand is reached out towards you, probably to help stabilize you as you get off the ridiculously tall chair.

hazily, you take it and start to follow him out of the apartment and to the parking lot

his back looks really good in that shirt, you note. every muscle is carefully outlined, every movement of his being emphasized.

"hey," he turns his head over his shoulder to peer down at you, "why're you back there."

suguru then reaches a hand behind your back lightly and motions you to walk in front of him.

"oh, my bad," you murmur, having been snapped back into reality.

the rest of the walk to his car is quiet. and when you get there, suguru's leading you to the passenger seat, opening the door for you, and leaning in to buckle you in without even asking if you could do it.

when he starts the car, you see the time on his front screen.

3:43

"oh my god," you gape at the time, then look at geto while he starts to back out.

one hand on the back of your seat.

"hm?"

and that's all it takes for you to resume what you were going to originally say, finding all the scattered gibberish in your brain to form and communicate the thought.

"weren't you telling utahime that you had to get up early for training? it's so late..." you point at the time

"I do," he shrugged, eyes on the emerging road

"I'm sorry," you lightly pout in guilt

suguru gives you a quick once over and he grins so faintly, "I don't mind."

"let me send you money for a coffee or something." you turn in your seat to look at him pleadingly, eyes scanning him for any hint of resentment

he laughs

"I'm flattered," he smirks, amusement lingering in his tone, "but I'm not taking your money."

you slump in your seat at the rejected offer before you remember something and quirk up in your seat a little

"at least let me give you the gift I got you when we get to my place?"

"sounds like the perfect exchange." he nods

when you wake up, its 1 p.m. and you're surprised you slept through the many alarms on your phone.

you remember everything from the night before and you're not hungover, thank god.

you reminisce on the moments you shared with suguru, even the ones you're embarrassed about.

"arghhh why did I force him to walk all the way up for his gift," you groan into your pillow, "wasted like fifteen more minutes of his time."

a small shriek leaves you as you headbutt yourself on the bed, "why did I do that."

its been about a week and a half since haibara's hang out. which has given you enough time to finally get used to being back home. you reorganized your place to accommodate for all the trinkets and decor you brought from Europe and cleaned out your closet.

you finished everything in time for your hangout with satoru

"Hey Toru." you lean down to give him a quick hug from where he's seated snugly, slurping on a sundae

and suguru

"hey." you breathe, not gulping when he gets up and hugs you to greet you.

when you sit down, you notice your heart is racing and your breathing is just a bit labored

probably the long walk over

"we got you strawberry mochi and a matcha latte," gojo mutters through the straw he's still slurping on, eyes zoned in on particularly nowhere? on the table in front of you all.

never separate this man from his sweets...

"oh thank you satoru." you say appreciatively, happy he thought of you

"thank suguru," he mutters back, "he paid."

your eyes drift to suguru, who smiles unphased, and lifts a hand up to minimize the gesture of paying for you, "satoru knew your order already, I just offered to pay."

"oh," you try not seem too disappointed that he didn't go out of his way to know your order, "well, still, thank you."

"it's no problem." he settled back into his seat comfortably

"didn't offer to pay for my sundae." satoru rolled his eyes

geto's eyes creased a little, as if internally smiling, and said, "didn't you eat out almost a third of my fridge yesterday?"

"whatever," satoru rolled his eyes, "buy me a second sundae then, im already finishing this one up."

"I'm not familiar with anything you've just said. are you feeling light-headed?"

"oh puh-lease," satoru starts to nag, "you can hear me just fine. stop acting like an idiot."

suguru fakes a look of confusion and concern, which makes satoru bolt up out of his seat and start heading towards the door to enter the parlor. and you're pretty sure you hear him say something about taking a bite out of your mochi when you're not looking.

the idiocy makes you giggle a little and you don't notice when suguru turns his head from looking over at a grumpy satoru to you, a slight upturn of his lip at being able to make you laugh.

flash!

after a blinding white light attacks your eyes, you're met with five schoolgirls, all with their phones out.

you'd think they'd be ashamed but?

"you guys are going on my Pinterest!" one giggles

another one is laughing almost as if she's on a sugar rush, very manically, "I hope my boyfriend is as hot as him one day. oh my god. aha aha ahahahahah!"

"you're so so so pretty." a ditsy one with a valley accent deadpans, nearing your face and making immense eye contact, "I know that you guys have the hottest sex."

your jaw drops and you look at suguru in shock, embarrassment out the door at being a coupe and more surprised by the actual words these teenagers are spilling out.

suguru's no better, no other movement on his face except for his raised eyebrows and wide eyes.

the ditsy one speaks again before they start to trail off, "I'm using you as hairspo for my next hair appointment."

and it goes in one ear and out the other because your mind is still stuck on the, 'I know that you guys have the hottest sex.'

what the fuck? what kind of crap was she imagining?

what was she thinking about?

hottest sex?

like flashbacks that never happened, vivid images of you on your knees and suguru drilling into you from behind play in your mind quickly.

he's so big in person and the thought is so palpable when he's next to you...

stop!

you feel your cheeks heating up and a shiver runs up your back.

you try to laugh to brush it all off, "they were probably high or something. or just really really extroverted..."

the tips of suguru's ears are the slightest pink as he finally makes eye contact with you.

"yeah," he breathes, "without a doubt."

"what were those schoolgirls yappin about?" satoru asks, a bit careless, as he plops back into his seat, a new sundae in hand

"nothing."

satoru glares a little at the both of you, his brow quirked up a little, "yeah sure."

you're shopping later at the mall with the both of them, a slight awkwardness between you and suguru that the both of you cover up by only really interacting with satoru and not the other unless satoru was involved in the interaction.

satoru is drowning in what looks like eight bags of clothes when he halts your walking and jeers his head towards the store next to him.

Victoria's Secret

"Didn't you come with us so you could buy new stuff here?"

Yes you had.

But that was before a group of teenagers made you feel awkward about discussing/associating anything nearing sex with suguru now.

"yeah..." you try not to stutter as you start to walk in

god, satoru is so unabashed and careless that he's going to accompany you too. and if satoru goes in, so does suguru. if suguru didn't want to, he would surely have to right now or else satoru would question him.

you know what, maybe suguru isn't overthinking it like you are. surely he isn't clinging on to the idea of sex with you.

yes, exactly.

bracing yourself, you walk into the store, pick up a bag, and ready yourself to start filling it up.

you've forgotten about your awkwardness with suguru after a while of being amazed by all the pretty options in front of you

and satoru, for the most part, is quite mature in this store.

for the most part...

"ha, look at those," he points at a mannequin wearing crotchless panties and at the same panties decorating the table beneath it, "get them."

disgruntled and rolling your eyes, you respond, "yeah sure when I'm getting screwed."

"girls wear lingerie for themselves you know."

"yeah I know," you huff, "and I do. but I can wear crotch on lingerie under my clothes. that's just plain old porn panties for not single people."

"you're such a debbie downer," he groans, "if I were a girl, id wear those with or without out a man."

"well, im a girl and you're not so." you say in a sing song voice as you check out a bra in your hands and toss it into your shopping bag.

"wait where's suguru?" gojo says, having noticed that his best friend's presence was quiet.

and that was all it merely was because suguru was scrolling through his phone, seemingly unphased by the store, paying no attention to what you and satoru were looking at.

"oh." gojo shrugs before he moves on to checking out more underwear with you.

and he spots a particularly cute set of babydoll's that you've grown enamored with, staring at all of them.

"those are very cute," your white-haired friend says

"and very expensive," you whine, having seen the price tag on one of them, "I don't know which one I want to take home."

"hm," satoru whirls around and looks between the mannequin wearing the see through pink one and the see through baby blue one.

"hey suguru." he calls out

suguru looks up from his phone and is slightly confused by where satoru's standing.

satoru has his chin in his hand, "which one do you think would look better on her."

suguru faintly gulps and quickly regains his normal calm confidence, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

"whichever one she'd feel the best in." his eyes smile for him

"oh don't be a prude," satoru gags before pestering him again, "really, pick one."

"why don't you pick satoru?"

"because I think both are too pretty." his eyes gleam, staring at both of the babydolls in question

suguru sighs then looks at you, who so happens to already be eyeing him down, eyes wide for a response.

"the pink one." he mutters quickly, eyes immediately darting away.

there's a loud sigh of relief from satoru when suguru finally makes a decision and you pick up the pink one sitting at the table.

"I think that's all for me," you breathe, skimming over the rest of the store quickly.

and before you make your way to the register line, you stop near suguru

"thank you sugu."

it's a Friday night that you've got all yourself the next month following the incident with those girls and suguru.

you've shaved, washed and blow dried your hair, did a thorough skincare routine, and put on the babydoll you bought last month.

you feel hot and have plans...in mind.

you've seen a little bit of stuff on twitter just for a spur

and there you are, sitting on your dildo, cheeks heated as you sit up and down on it.

you're unabashedly thinking about suguru.

truth be told, you haven't been able to get him off your mind since those schoolgirls planted the thought of that hot sex with him.

he's just so big and lean.

god

you remember satoru making you go with him to pester suguru while he worked out, considering his gym was next to his apartment complex and he had agreed to invite you both and shoko for a watch party of the scream movies that day.

he looked mad when he trained on his kickboxing, eyebrows furrowed and eyes dark on whatever he was taking out his strikes on.

you figured he'd make a similar face beating your pussy up.

that same trail of sweat making its way down his spine. thigh veins twitching all the same at the force he'd use on you.

"su-"

knock knock

the blood drains from your face and you immediately feel yourself getting dry

"oh my god, who's here at 10 p.m.?!" you whisper shout to yourself as you scram to put your dildo back in its hiding place and through your night robe on.

you take a breather and check through your door's peephole

a big blue eye meets yourself and zooms out when satoru leans back and reveals that suguru is also with him.

you open the door quickly, slightly angry.

"why are you guys here?"

you keep your eyes on satoru, afraid even looking at suguru would reveal somehow that you'd just been vividly imagining sitting on his dick.

satoru seems impressed as he looks at your very short night robe, thighs out in the open and he shrugs, raising a bag of fast food in his hand, "wanted to hang out with you."

unable to refute his friendly gesture, you move so that the both of them can come in.

"you were ready for bed early," he comments, setting down the food on your kitchen island.

"it's ten p.m. satoru." you sigh, spotting that they didn't get drinks, so you try to find some cups for the Diet Coke in your fridge.

you realize they're in a cupboard.

that you'd have to lean up to

you're about to ask satoru to help you, but he's far too focused in setting out the food for all of you and suguru's just there, standing watching you and satoru, mostly you, in awkward silence.

"um, suguru," you pipe

he fully turns his attention to you. argh, you didn't think having 100% percent of his attention would be so drastic than having 80% of it as opposed to earlier, but it did

"can you get some cups from here?" you point at the cupboard, "I'd get them but uh-"

you look down at your very short nightrobe and exposed skin and suguru's ears turn pink at the tips

"yeah, no problem." he says quickly, moving to open the cupboard and gets out three ceramic pink cups.

you, meanwhile, open your fridge and get the Diet Coke jug you've had chilling, thankful you put it in the top shelf and not the bottom, having avoided the risk of bending to get it.

you sit down next to suguru, unfortunately, since satoru took the single seat across.

"so," you start to pour drinks for all of you, "what were you guys up to before this?"

"nothing," satoru mumbles through a mouthful of fries, "we were supposed to watch t.v. at suguru's place but the internet went out in his building."

one of your brows raises, "and you came to hog my t.v.?"

"no," satoru glares at you a little, "the burger place was right by your place and I wanted to stop by."

"plus," he adds, "I didn't bank on you being ready for bed so early."

then something lights up in his head and he stares at you quizzically, a smirk forming, "were you getting off before we got here? is that why you're all dolled up and dressed for bed like you've got first name dil last name do coming over?"

"ugh," you groan, "gross, satoru!"

"shoko and I went with you to buy that eight inch purple girth monster," he laughs, "you were sooooooo on it."

you roll your eyes and decide to ignore him, taking a bite out of the burger in front of you.

"take it easy on her satoru," suguru swoops in softly to defend you, "I remember how disgruntled you were when I found you with the door open during our time as roommates."

"hey! we agreed to never mention that to anyone else!"

you start to laugh, embarrassment only a tinge less than it was before, thanks to suguru.

although their sudden presence had interrupted your orgasm, you looked forward to the moment in which they would leave.

but satoru somehow, being the annoying giant he is, finds a way to make suguru and him stay the night at your place.

"satoru, I don't think my back can support sharing this couch with you." suguru tries to reason

"oh come onnnnn, we've shared less at frat parties before" satoru chippers, beginning to roll himself into a ball in one of your blankets.

pitifully, you share a look with suguru and hand him a blanket.

"sleep well guys." you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to your room.

your very empty room.

and you can feel your panties dampening again.

no you shouldn't.

you get into your bed and stuff yourself under covers, hoping your body gets the message that it needs to sleep.

it doesn't

so you count sheep.

nope

force your eyes closed and hope it just knocks you out.

nope, you were in that weird limbo of sleep and no sleep.

you don't know how much time has passed but you assume its late enough that both of the boys are asleep, so you shoot up out of your bed and lean over to open your nightstand, flipping your covers off in the process.

the desperation never wore off, your panties were drenched and you didn't even have to play with yourself to spread your lubrication or open yourself up a little.

biting the bullet, you lift a leg up with one arm and use the other to press the head of your dildo inside.

your breathing was extra labored, but that was nothing compared to the moans you'd let out if your friends weren't sleeping in the room next door.

then you start fucking it into yourself slowly, inch by inch, and it feels oh so good. even if it was see through, you pull down the straps of your nightgown and let your tits out, letting the air hit them and put you in a further state of vulnerability.

then in a matters of seconds, you're pounding yourself as hard as you can without making a noise from either lips.

your eyes are rolling back and it's hitting that angle so well that-

the relief washed over you faster than expected, orgasm a little ruined because you wanted to relish in the feeling longer.

so there you are, dildo still inside, one hand over your stomach while you let your breathing go back to normal.

"I needed that anyways." you whisper to yourself, feeling your chest heaving up and down.

knock knock

"you've got to be fucking kidding me." you shriek to yourself in the quietest manner possible as you rapidly stash your dildo away and fix your nightgown back on.

you dash to your door and open it a little, only letting the top of your head and eyes peer through the side considering what you were wearing.

there's suguru, hair down and shirt ridden up just a little, face a little surprised at the way you opened the door

"yes?" you ask, quickly peering at his happy trail

"is it alright if I use the restroom?" he asks, a little sleepy

"yeah," you gulp, "just let me get back in bed so I'm not indecent when you come in."

"alright, just tell me when."

and you leap onto your bed, immediately tugging your cover on top of you.

"you can come in." you say meekly, hoping he can't see how disheveled you are. the moon was especially bright tonight and it always lit up your room nicely during nights like this.

suguru opens the door immediately and smiles at you a little as he walks towards your restroom.

you smile awkwardly back

he pees you assume, because you've barely seen three tiktoks on your phone by the time he comes out.

"did I wake you?" he asks while he approaches you on your bed, taking a seat at the end.

having him so near the spot where you just pummeled yourself to orgasm made you shiver a little in fear.

"no," you almost stutter and put your phone down, "I was struggling to sleep."

"so was I" he laughs a little, "satoru sleeps so selfishly."

and your blabber mouth, stupid fake facade that you aren't affected at all by him speaks up.

"you can sleep with me."

you're both caught by surprise at your offer except only suguru expresses it, his eyebrows have raised innocently

and you cough up another remark, "it's not like you can really see what I'm wearing and you can just turn to the other side."

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable-" he's about to get up

and you act so stupidly again

"I don't mind suguru, your body needs good rest with all the strain you put on it." and there you are, flipping the covers open from the other side of your bed and tapping it for him to get into.

hesitantly, he gets up from the end of your bed and walks towards the open spot, "are you sure?"

"yeah," you nod, other hand hidden under the cover and gripping the sheets under you, "we've slept cramped up next to each other on road trips. what's the difference with all this space?"

you both know the difference

but he slowly gets under the covers with you anyways, positioning himself on his back, stiff as a board as he looks up and tries not to look at you, well that's what it looks like and you understand why.

"I'm sorry if I snore." you peep, also staring up at the ceiling

suguru turns to look at you a little, "you snore?"

"I don't know..."you respond, following in his lead and peeking at him from the corner of your eyes, "but I'd be really embarrassed if I did."

"well, I'm sorry if I do too." he gives you a small smile, one of those tight lipped ones, no teeth, just the softness the moment in them.

then your phone suddenly starts ringing loudly.

and you scram to shut it off, putting your phone on night mode

"who was that?" suguru peers at you, neck turned more to look at you now.

you gulp, "some guy from paris. I should block him soon anyways."

"you were seeing each other?"

well you did go out with him various times and continuously stayed lots of nights with him. hell you even showered with him a couple times.

"hardly." you brush off

"shoko would talk about you always spending the night at a Claude's place. didn't you text her that you had to pay for your own uber once?" he said it so smoothly, without a thought

you shrink a little into the bed, "well yeah but I never saw him as something serious and we never sealed the deal. I didn't think you'd know about him..."

"shoko often aired out what you'd be texting her in the moment." he breathed, one arm behind his head as he went back to staring at the ceiling again.

"so you know about how hard I partied and stuff?" you asked, hoping that maybe they showed him all your selfies and outfits, casual and sexy.

"yes." he nodded

he seemed so serious and a hopeful part of you wanted to say he seemed...jealous?

does he think you saw a lot of guys on your nights out? what is he thinking?

"I liked it," you started, making the path for a way to comfort him if that was the case, "but I wasn't a big fan of having guys try to pull me to dance with them. I missed you and satoru being there to stop guys from hogging on me."

his ears perk up a little and he looks at you again, almost as if he's waiting for you to continue, so you do, stupidly but it was at attempt

"I'm just glad I'm back with you guys."

"I'm glad you're back too."

"you guys finally freak it?"

you get a sudden whiplash and wake up to find satoru standing at the end of your bed, one leg propped up on it while he brushes his teeth.

you lean up, making sure to cover yourself with the covers and notice the comfort of suguru's arm leaving your head.

HUH

you're at a distance from him, you would've definitely noticed his body pressed against yours, but he's turned in your direction, one long arm splayed out and oh my god

you had been using it as a pillow.

he starts to wake up too at satoru's sudden intrusion and squints sleepily at him, starting to stretch a little. the covers must've shoved off of him a little because you can see his v-line when he groans.

which reminds you that he must've not recalled/felt you on his arm just now. he probably would've been so awkward.

you calm yourself down enough and go back to looking at satoru.

"oh probably not." satoru, with a mouth full of toothpaste, mumbles without a shame after looking at suguru still being fully clothed and your reaction at sleeping on him

"satoru," your vision and brain is still blurry from waking up, "is that my toothbrush?!"

"no," he borbles offended before walking back into your restroom and beginning to clean his mouth out with water, "I have a go-go bag here."

"since when do you have a go-go bag here? and where the hell did you hide it?"

"since you left me your apartment key to take care of your place before leaving," he's already spit out the last of his toothpaste and is sassily walking back to you and suguru, "and I have it in your closet all the way at the top."

you fall back into your bed, rolling your eyes at his weirdness, "why do you still knock then?"

"I have manners?" he looks at you like you just asked a stupid question

"I found his bag in my laundry room." suguru sighs, running his hands through his face.

"well it's impossible to hide anything in your apartment considering we're the same height." satoru rolls his eyes, "haibara's like 5'10 so he can't see that I have mine at the top cupboard above his stove."

"normal habits follow you satoru," suguru sighs, flipping the covers off his lower half and standing up, "but you outrun it."

"track was my thing in high school." he shrugs

you haven't seen suguru since then. it's been two weeks and you've no sight of him. you were hoping he'd make an appearance at satoru's apartment today, seeing as he was hosting a House of the Dragon watch party.

"oh suguru? he's not coming," satoru shrugs as he plops onto his couch, next to shoko and tugs the bowl of popcorn from her, "he's working on his startup. something about a big client needing something by tomorrow."

then it's been another week, no sight of suguru with anyone at any hangout.

you don't feel that optimistic when haibara and satoru beg the group to show up to the club tonight, with pregaming at satoru's apartment.

you're dressed in a tight little white dress when you show up to satoru's apartment, clinging onto shoko's arm because of how cold it was.

and you feel so happy that you still put 100% of effort into getting ready because there was suguru, seated on one of satoru's couches, watching in amusement as haibara attempts to teach satoru how to make a negroni.

your own excitement blinds you and without thinking, you slip in past everyone and stand in front of him.

"I thought you wouldn't be coming tonight." you look at him in slight marvel, astonished that he finally made an appearance

he makes a face of surprise at you, well you think it's surprise at what you said. you probably came off too strong because his ears turned a little red. what else could it be?

god he was taking a little too long to respond. had he been trying to avoid you? was he-

"it wouldn't be gentlemanly of me to leave your protection solely up to satoru would it?"

and just like that his soothing voice brushes over your entire body

"it would not." you giggle a little when you sit next to him, hoping your perfume reaches him and relishing in the fact that his arm was already hung over the part of the couch you inhabited.

"but what have you been up to? I haven't seen you in a while."

suguru's eyes soften at your curiosity, and unbeknownst to you, his heart swelled at the fact that you noticed his absence.

"I've been finishing up a personal project of mine," he says warmly, "if all goes well, I'll probably come close to affording an apartment like satoru's soon."

affording an apartment like satoru's soon?

that's like

a lot of money

a lot

and why is him getting more money in his bank account making you fawn even harder for him

well, the stability, duh.

but you have to act cool

"are you sure you want to live in the same apartment complex as satoru gojo?" you tease?

"I said like," he shoves your leg a little with his own, "I don't think I would be able to stand living under the same roof as him again."

"well I don't think he could either," you giggle, "he says you're too much of a homebody and always say you have food at home."

suguru makes no attempt to defend himself and shakes his head instead at the complaint from his best friend, "I find it wrong to say I'm guilty when there's nothing guilty about cooking your own meals."

"are you good at cooking? I know you posted on your close friends about some meals here and there, but it's been a while since you deactivated your account."

"I'd like to think I'm good," he pauses, looking at you for a moment before continuing, "I'd make a pasta for you but I don't want to challenge the likes of Italy and France."

"now that just sounds like an excuse to not cook for me," you squint your eyes and scrunch your nose at him playfully

"I make no excuses," suguru drinks from the glass of water in his hand, eyeing you with the same playful aura, "I'll let you try if you want, but you can't make any comparisons."

"deal." you huff a little, reaching your hand out towards him.

"deal." he agrees, setting down his glass to shake your hand.

you don't drink a lot in the pregame

or at the club

something about suguru being there, sober, and able to control every moment makes you want to do the same.

so you're surprised that you're not at all even tipsy when you gently grab his hand and motion for him to dance with you amongst the crowd of your friends and other strangers.

it doesn't really feel awkward.

satoru's dragged you plenty of times to dance with him. haibara's kinda twerked on you a couple of times.

how is this any different?

at least that's how your mind approaches it, unphased by the sensual rnb music and your waist in suguru's hand.

when your arms reach around his neck eventually, you note he smells intoxicating, like amber and leather.

when you've known the club to normally be a place where you cause a ruckus with satoru and haibara, this is quite the opposite.

you didn't know you could feel so grounded

maybe it was the lack of alcohol to spur on the party animal in you, but this was fine. your brain felt woozy enough from breathing in suguru's cologne.

it's only when you feel a tap on your back that you and suguru are interrupted.

suguru juts his jaw for you to look behind and when you turn, there's shoko a lighter and a cigarette in her hands. you and suguru follow her outside for her smoke break, the bare minimum for her protection, a norm.

"how come you haven't been following satoru's pace tonight with the drinking?" she sighs melodically as she puts a cig in her mouth and cusps a hand around it while the other lights it.

"um," you avoid suguru's presence, feeling something that you just can't quite point your finger at, "I think im pmsing, so...I don't want to trigger any cramps with the drinking."

"fair enough." she blows out a puff of smoke as she says that

"and when are you going to ever drink again suguru?" she lets her head fall on her shoulder, lazy eyes looking at him.

"when are you going to stop smoking those?" he asks in return, leaning against the wall behind him and looking at the people in passerby considering this was a busy street during the night.

"soon." she shrugs

you and suguru exchange a look between each other at the response. shoko's been saying that since freshman year.

and your small moment is interrupted when you see a frantic utahime waving her hand, nanami and haibara holding up a very pale satoru between them as they walk out of the club and towards you guys.

the three of you meet them at the middle and utahime starts to explain.

"satoru threw up on this vip table trying to make it in time to the restroom..." a slight look of disgust on her face

"you guys know I can't stand the smell of cheap vape smokeeee~"he whines from between his two friends, body slumped over

"oh." you also grimace imagining the situation

"we're going to walk him back to his place." utahime tries to convey with sorry eyes that she's sad the night had to end like this

"it's okay." you say and turn to shoko, "are you going with them?"

her place was on the same side of town as theirs, and they were probably going to stay at satoru's anyway. he had more than three bedrooms and was always ready for sleepovers.

"yeah," she says, moving forward to poke at satoru's chest, almost as if he were a lab rat, "you guys fine to-"

"nice tits pretty girl!" you hear a holler next to your ear

and its some guy walking by with his two other friends, clearly inebriated but its also clearly not enough for him to blame the behavior on it. and his target couldn't be anymore obvious when he's making the nastiest eye contact with you, or more so your chest.

"come again?" suguru says sternly at him, he didn't yell but...

you could hear him well and clear alright.

the guy stops walking and turns to you and suguru, speaking with a sassy stupor, "I said her tits were nice."

you look up behind you and suguru is biting his cheek, something you've never seen from him. you can tell he's mad and so can the other guy.

"you her boyfriend or something?" he smirks, relishing in the way suguru scowls at him as he nears the both of you, "if you're not saying shit ill fuck her little pussy right in front of-"

BAM!

multiple oohs are heard when suguru sucker punches him. and height is the only thing that helps your offender, because he does manage to stay up and land a punch to suguru's nose.

but before you can react and head over to check on him, like lightning, the guy is the ground after suguru hands him an uppercut.

and there goes satoru, vomiting on the side of the road too.

which you don't seem phased by because suguru just defended your honor, and won, so quickly.

but you're also really worried because his nose is bleeding when he turns around.

ignoring the pain of your heels finally setting in, you click clack over to him and move the hand he's using to grab at his nose so you can inspect him.

you're not sure if he can tell you're somewhere between feeling lusty and worried when he looks down at you, but he looks serious still as he makes eye contact with you.

and satoru barfs even more

"I can't handle blooddddd~" he cries which ushers a panicked utahime into calling shoko over and asking if you'd be fine heading back with suguru, making sure he's fine at the end of it.

when they start heading off, you pull out your phone from your purse, "let me get us an uber to your place."

your hands are shaking a little in adrenaline and you jump a little when suguru swipes your phone from your hand and hands you his, uber app already open.

he's continuously wiping his nose as he painfully murmurs, "not letting you leave my place alone, I'll drop you off at yours first, put your address, I'll pay."

worriedly, you want to deny him, but the thought is intimidated out of you when he stares you down.

"ok-okay." you speak a little shakily

so much for you thinking you'd be cool and calm in a situation like this.

you dragged suguru into your apartment the moment you got to your place. you had finally noticed the small cut on his nose bridge and near his eye and really insisted on patching him up.

you also were scared that he'd somehow get a brain bleed and die on the way home out of sheer anxiety. so you wanted to keep an eye on him for a while to keep your mind at ease.

suguru is sitting at the edge of your bed, watching as you rummage through your restroom for your first aid kid. and when you finally find it, you're rushing to him and setting it down next to him, beginning to filter through it for the alcohol wipes.

"close your eyes," you ask breathlessly, still feeling the after effects of your adrenaline, "I don't want to irritate your eyes accidentally."

suguru listens to you and closes his eyes, a slight grimace already on his face in preparation for the sting you're about to bring to his cuts.

he hisses a little when you press on them

"sorry."

"it's okay." his eyes scrunch a little and you can see his hand on his lap, opening and closing as a reflex to the sting.

then you take out the antibiotic ointment to start spreading a little on his wounds. his body relaxes a little when he sees that the bothersome part is over and he keeps his eyes open, watching you.

you feel so hot under his gaze, you can't help but blabber when you're in the process of putting cream on his nose bridge

"you really have been putting the work in at kickboxing huh." you say awkwardly, trying to do a fake laugh, but

"did I scare you?"

suguru's burning a hole into your face with how intensely he's looking at you

you almost choke on your breath

"no."

"you were shaking when you were typing your address on my phone."

oh he noticed

you didn't want him to misunderstand

"well you didn't scare me, but I was scared for you, still am. I don't want you to drop dead on the street." you answer a little shakily, having forgotten to reach for the small bandaids.

"besides what girl gets scared of the guy who defends her honor..." you add

"shoko almost gagged when nanami made a guy apologize to her." he quips

"well that's shoko," you shrug and look off to the side, "I liked it."

you're about to reach for the bandaids when his hand on is holding onto one of your arms, gentle but it sustains all your attention.

"what do you mean?"

"well we all know shoko's a lesb-"

"no, when you said you liked it."

explaining that to him is complicated. when you said that you liked it you know that you mean that your panties got a little sticky watching him spit out blood that tried to seep into his mouth from his nose. the memory makes you subconsciously rub your thighs together. but you'll just brush it off as a normal like, as in it flattered you.

unbeknownst to you, suguru spotted the movement between your legs.

"it was flatte-"

"then why do you look so nervous trying to tell me that?"

a bit exasperated and heavily flustered, you stomp your foot a little and avoid looking at him, "suguru, please stop. you're making me nervous."

"what's there to be nervous about?"

"we're just friends." he adds

and his eyes light up watching when your own shoot towards him, your offense front and center.

and for the first time, you can see how he looks at you with so much yearning?

"am I wrong?"

christ, has he always looked at you with this much desire?

you're speechless and even though the signs are pointing towards the obvious, you still form a sentence that spares your feelings.

"do you want to be wrong?"

"yeah."

you feel shaky again

and it's not because you're scared.

"can you please stop looking at me like that?" you beg, avoiding his eyes again, almost about to hyperventilate from the pressure his stare is putting on you.

he grabs your other hand and leers you close to him, breath tickling your neck since you're so stubborn on not looking at him.

"do you still want to be friends?" he asks

and even though it sounds seductive and suave, you can make out the slight genuine yearning to know if that's what you want.

so you look at him again, trying to swallow the nervous lump in your throat

"you know how I feel." you plead

"no I don't," he laughs a little painfully, "I've never said anything because I don't know, so tell me."

you stare at each other for a while, his patience everlasting as you muster up the courage to say something that shouldn't be so embarrassing.

"I don't want to be friends."

"do you want me to go home?" he asks, thumbs rubbing circles on your wrists.

and its the quickest answer you've given him so far

"no."

and you want it

bad.

so so so bad.

but you have to get the question off of your chest.

"what-what do you want to be?"

"each other's if you'll have me." he breathes, looking up at you still

he's saying all the right things. and he's here. you're freshly shaved and waxed and wearing the hottest lingerie under this. fucking hell you wouldn't even need foreplay to take him right now, you're preening at the thought of having him.

"do you think satoru packs condoms in his go-go bag?"

it just slips out of your mouth so easily and you want to be embarrassed, but you're to eager for that.

"I know he does." suguru gets up quickly, eyes darting to your closet and then to you, "are you sure?"

and it's like some sort of instincts take over because you take the hands that are holding yours and place them on your tits, motioning for him to squeeze them.

"I'm really sure."

the action has him baffled, a pink flush face you've never seen on him while he stands there taken aback. it gives you a little confidence to remove his hands and take off your dress. then you let him watch as you get on the bed, sitting on your heels as you take his hands in yours again to plead.

"I want you in me suguru."

"fuck." he curses, before rushing towards your closet and yanking the infamous go-go bag and tossing it next to the bed. he starts to take his shirt off soon after, immediately reaching for your face when he gets into the bed with you

he's a sensual kisser. sensual as in you're pretty sure it'd be illegal to kiss him in public.

he kisses like he's fucking your mouth with his own. and it has you shivering into his touch, pussy aching for him to fill you up.

you pull him in by the belt loops of his jeans and whine, "take it out please."

your words make him groan into your mouth and he reaches one hand down to help yours unzipper his pants and push them down.

you feel his raw length slap across and press onto your mound when he grinds against you

"you haven't done this before right." he almost says darkly as he stares down at where your bodies would be meeting soon.

"no." you moan, watching him as he stuffs his dick under your panties and slides it back and forth on your pussy lips.

he shivers at the contact and dips his head into your neck, mouthing and biting at the skin there, "fuck, you're actually drenched."

and for a moment, you both get rigid at the euphoric feeling of his tip catching on your hole so easily.

"I'm not sure I'm going to last long with you right now," he all but exhales shakily, hips still moving back and forth against you

"that's fine, just keep going."

and he's about to reach over in the bag for a condom when your lust takes over so much that you stop him and line him up with your hole.

"just do it like that please."

he moans as your ministrations and looks at you for reassurance, "are you sure?"

you can tell he's fighting so hard not to move

"just use my pussy please suguru, I need it so bad." you complain, reaching down to pull your panties further to the side, chest heaving from carnal need for him.

suguru leans closer to pull your see through bra down, and begins to suck harshly on one of your nipples when he starts bullying his cock into you.

you can feel every vein when he starts to sink into you and fuck, his tip is so snug and big, the feeling of it ridging against your insides every time he brings it in and out is dizzying.

you're so focused on the feeling of his thick dick filling you up that you've barely noticed how suguru's folded your legs back. both of you now entranced in the way he's balls deep in you, a loud wet pap sound accompanying every thrust of his.

"you like that sweet girl?" he heaves through deep fast thrusts, mesmerized by the way your stomach moves just a little every time he bottoms out.

words aren't something you're capable of right now because when you try to respond, all you let out is shriek

this is nothing compared to the way you've tried to pummel yourself with your dildo. his hands are everywhere and he's got you right where he wants you. you can't escape him.

and when you thought he couldn't his pace and force grows stronger.

you're basically screaming now.

"yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes." is all you can say, so dumb on his cock that you can't help but want more and more

"fuck, don't talk like that," he groans, almost as if to himself, "I'm gonna end up creaming your pussy if you keep that up."

"cream it please." you beg loudly, "wanna feel us get messy."

your tongue is basically salivating at the though of his balls coated in cum and slapping against your clit, strings of mess forming from how intense it is.

and he starts twitching into you, rushing to kiss you as he pumps inside of you. thank goodness, it feels like its spilling out of you in heaps.

you're so happy, so so happy.

"let's do doggy yeah?" you pull him in by wrapping an arm around his neck, grinding your hips against him for more

"whatever you want," he nearly whines, pulling out of you just so he can flip you over and push your back down.

you feel hornier like this, pussy more exposed and growing needier with the feeling of his cum seeping out of you. it makes you wiggle your ass for him to fuck you more already.

and without warning he does just that, slipping into you again and gripping your ass so hard when he starts using you like a fleshlight.

"fuck, yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes," he mumbles to himself, "tiny fucking wet pussy. love it so fucking much. fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck."

you're thoughtless, just utterly brain dead from how hard he's going on you, from how much your pussy is getting split open again and again.

this goes on for hours, so many positions covered by you and suguru. foreplay was never involved at all during that time, neither of you wanting to go without feeling each other so crudely connected for more than a second.

you actually fall asleep cockwarming him even, the both of you too stubborn to stop that you fell asleep still trying to get it on.

neither you or suguru hear the jingle of your apartment door being opened later that day. both too fucked out and tired to wake up.

but you do hear when the door to your own bedroom opens, and suguru quickly gets on the defensive, covering you with your bedsheets and about to-

"satoru!" you both yell.

"woah," you hear laughing through the door, "you guys really stayed up all night fucking? everybody's been calling you guys since two."

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lauraneedstochill · 1 day ago

Text

can’t pretend

pairing: Jack Abbot x resident!reader summary: He is puzzled with you first, then vexed, and he can’t understand his feelings. In an attempt to get to know you better (or maybe to get you out of his head), Abbot accidentally crosses the line. (or, alternatively: what if Jack met someone similar to him in many ways. traumatic past included)

warnings: <rivals> to friends to lovers, slow burn, mentions of blood and injuries / I’m hinting at the age gap but you can ignore it / some complicated feelings and a LOT of Jack’s thoughts (his poor therapist will need a raise); assault. ANGST. / words: 7K author’s note: this is my first fic for “The Pitt”. I binge-watched the show in 2 days and didn’t plan on writing anything but my inspiration decided otherwise. I’ve never had a beta reader in my life, please be kind. ♡

Early at dawn, the sky is just the right color — the darkness slowly dissipates, deep purple at the edges, black fading into blue. If he squints and looks above the roofs, he can pretend he’s looking at the ocean. He’s been toying with the idea for some time but it’s more of a dream, a comforting mirage: him getting a small house by the beach, waves crashing softly in the distance, clean blue water blending into the bright blue sky. He’d wake up to the sunrise, take lugs full of cooling salty air, walk in the sand that glistens under the foaming swash. He’d probably adopt a dog — someone to pass his days with, just so the silence doesn’t get too heavy, doesn’t weigh on him when he can’t sleep at night.

A passing car honks down the street, loud and sudden, and Jack flinches, opening his eyes. That’s when the perfect image always falls apart. He is afraid he will get lonely with just a dog and with nothing to do, he will be going up the walls, bored out of his mind. But he doesn’t know how not to be alone. And some days he wishes that he did.

The air in Pittsburgh doesn’t carry any scents at this morning hour, and Jack’s gaze wanders down to the tree leaves writhing in the wind. He absentmindedly rubs his wrists when he hears the door creaking behind him.

“You know, security is getting worried about you,” Robby chuckles, his steps slow. “I heard the guys making bets on how many times a week you’ll come here.”

“Says the man who likes to brood in my spot,” Jack huffs without looking at him.

“Me, brooding? No idea what you are talking about.”

Robby gets to the roof edge but stays behind the railing, leans on it and slowly stretches his arms. His tone lets empathy in when he speaks up:

“Tough night?”

The sky is overcast, a mush of white and grey clouds the blue barely peeks through, and Jack sighs as he turns away. “Remember you told me about the kid who OD’d on Xanax laced with fentanyl? The parents sat by his bed hoping he’d wake up by some miracle,” Robby only nods when Jack throws him a glance. “I’m dealing with one of those.”

They both lost patients before, and both know that it doesn’t get easier with time. You have to tuck your grief away to walk into the room with their loved ones, offer apologies that carry little meaning, take even more grief in because this isn’t about you and this loss is not for you to carry. But they do carry it — Robby memorizes lifeless faces, Jack never forgets the names of everyone he couldn’t save.

“Brain dead?”

“Yep,” Jack drawls, hands gripping the metal rails. “He’s got three sisters, and all three were begging me. And I stood there feeling absolutely useless.”

Robby watches as his friend’s knuckles turn white. “If you couldn’t do anything then there was nothing that could’ve been done. And I’m really sorry.”

If only words could bring people back from the dead, Jack thinks bitterly but doesn’t say it out loud. He doesn’t want to sour Robby’s mood. And he can’t help but notice — it used to bother him way more, it sometimes would eat him alive; now Jack is mostly numb.

“I’ll sleep it off,” he mumbles.

“Not staying for the welcoming party?”

It takes a few seconds for the reminder to pop up in Jack’s head: a new senior resident, today is her first day. After Collins took maternity leave, Robby spent hours on the phone, glasses pressed to the bridge of his nose as he flipped through the applications, always unsure, never satisfied. And then he got a call and drove across the city to another hospital to meet her in person — he came back beaming. Jack must’ve zoned out so he didn’t catch the details.

“Don’t think I have a very welcoming face.”

“Should’ve seen the guys she worked with. I thought her chief of surgery would literally fist-fight me after I offered her the job,” Robby cackles.

It stirs Jack’s curiosity a bit. “She’s that good?”

“I believe she is. Skilled, confident, haven’t heard a single bad thing about her,” and even though his voice is certain, Robby dithers, bringing a hand to the back of his neck.

“But... ? I sense a but coming.”

“No-no, she’s great, really, and I made up my mind. It’s just that… She comes off as quite stubborn, and I feel like she is used to flying solo,” his eyes dart to Jack. “Reminds me of someone I know,” a smile grazes his lips, an unvoiced comparison he can’t help but draw.

Jack doesn’t see it, his gaze set somewhere on the horizon. “We all have to be team players here, that’s how it works,” he says dismissively. “I’m sure she’ll learn.”

The streets are getting busy, filling with people talking, rushing, making endless calls — and with more honking and more sounds that all merge into one unpleasant noise. And Jack is getting really tired.

“I should go back. Don’t want anyone to scare her off,” Robby puts a hand on Jack’s shoulder, a friendly but firm grip. “I’d also rather not waste my time on scraping your frail body off the pavement. Let me walk you out.”

“Frail body? You are three years older, you bag of bones,” Jack quips, and they share a laugh, and it warms up his heart a little.

But the warmth fades as they get inside, into the weave of corridors, into the crowd of nurses and other doctors pacing, the lighting bright and harsh, the smell of antiseptics clinging to the walls like mold. And it is not as overwhelming as it’s tiresome; once he is out on the street, Jack takes a few deep breaths. It’s hardly a relief.

As he passes by the park, exhaustion already on his heels, he suddenly picks up a sound, something between a whine and a small woof. Jack looks around to find the source peeping out from behind the bushes — brown eyes, wet nose, grey fluffy ears, one marked with a white spot. When Jack takes a step closer, the stray puppy immediately runs off.

On his way home he gets some dog treats and throws them in his bag. He tries thinking of pet names but nothing comes to mind. And when he falls into his cold bed, thick curtains not letting any light reach him, he dreams of standing on a long road framed with grass, a murmuring of waves heard through the mist. But he can’t see the ocean.

It keeps raining, and they have to close the roof — “Merely a precaution, sir, we don’t want anyone to slip. I heard the weather is supposed to clear up in a few days,” one of the guards assures Jack. His mood these days is just as gloomy as the sky. But he’s a man of habit, so every time Jack wants to get out to the roof, he instead gets more cases, drinks more coffee, barely a few words squeezed in between that aren’t work-related.

At first, he only catches glimpses of you.

On the days when your shifts overlap, he sees you tearing along the hallways, your hair up and your face focused, removing gowns to quickly put on fresh ones, your hands either in gloves or carrying the charts. You don’t speak much, and very few times Jack gets to walk past you, he is slightly puzzled by this combination of quiet and fast-paced.

Your first week is nearing its end when Dana prompts Jack to make a proper introduction. She calls him uncooperative and calls for you herself when she sees you leaving trauma#1. You swiftly come by the nurses' station and glance up at the board — and then you finally face Jack, your gaze so piercing, it catches him off guard. He clears his throat and manages a greeting, a bit coolly.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Abbot,” you tell him calmly, offering a hand. And you don’t look away, and your handshake is firmer than he would expect. The next thing you are holding is another chart, eyes following the lines of words and numbers as you step away, Whitaker barely keeping up.

“She is so fast, she’s almost flying. Beautiful,” Princess notes approvingly, and Perlah hums in agreement.

Their voices snap him back into reality, and Jack inhales sharply, only now realizing his gaze is still on you. He looks down, pretending he needs to fix his watch. “What is this, a fan club?”

“Aw, no need to be so jealous. You will always be our favorite old white doctor,” Princess teases.

Perlah gives her a side-eye. “I thought Dr. Robby was our favorite.”

“Well, yes. But I have a soft spot for men in existential crisis,” Princess winks at him.

Perlah rolls her eyes. “They are all in existential crisis.”

“And I wonder why,” Jack deadpans, then picks a case just so he’s got an excuse to leave. And maybe an excuse to pass by the room you’re in, your gloved hands already stained with crimson.

He starts watching you more often, an impulse he can’t necessarily explain.

He’s careful, he’s not staring, but his hazel eyes always pick you out from the crowd. He’s taking mental notes: you lean on doors with your right shoulder when you rush in, you scan the injured head to toe in every case, hands moving quickly in tandem with your gaze. You never raise your voice but you keep eye contact — with the interns when you give instructions and with the patients to make sure they understand what’s going on. You are efficient with your work-ups, you’re the first one to come in and you stay late to turn your patients over to the night shift. You are meticulous and disciplined in a way he finds relatable; in three weeks' time there’s a foundation laid for him to grow respectful. But sometimes Jack can’t stop the thought: he is yet to see your smile. He is also yet to see you slip up, and that is bound to happen because no doctor is without fault.

A month in, he thinks you finally come close to failure.

A patient is wheeled in on a gurney, gesticulating, red in the face from how displeased or pained he is (probably both); still, as you talk to him, he makes pauses to listen. There’s blood on his chest and his speech is slurring, and Jack’s gaze follows you. From where he’s standing, he can see you clearly, so he can’t help but glance up a few times from his computer screen. It’s all the same routine and it seems to be working smoothly — but when he takes another peek, he sees you frozen.

Jack instantly draws near, alert and observing through the glass: the man is intubated, his shirt cut and chest bared — and with a nail sticking right out of where his heart should be. The monitors go off as the blood pressure drops. When Whitaker makes eye contact with him, Jack takes that as an invitation to come in.

“What do we got here?”

Whitaker looks half worried, half relieved. “Um-m, 41 years old male, nail to the chest, intracardiac. Prepped for the thoracotomy. Cardio is tied up with another surgery, and it’s at least 15 more minutes until we can get an O.R.”

Jack knows the patient doesn’t have that long. His gaze flickers to you but you do not meet it, and he can’t tell what you are looking at. There is no time to guess — if you’ve never cracked into someone’s chest, he’ll gladly guide you. And his guidance is assertive, if a little cocky.

“It’s not every day that you get to do a thoracotomy. And it can be daunting — also, pretty risky if you ask me—”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not asking,” you retort abruptly without even sparing him a glance.

And then you pick the scalpel and make the first incision, your hands steady and never hesitating, the confidence of a tsunami sweeping rocks away.

Jack has to take a step back because it would be childish to argue when someone’s life is hanging by a thread. And all his doubts are crushed before his very eyes the way ribs are under the pressure of a steel retractor you are holding, the metal sinking into flesh and blood to give you access to the heart. After the nail is out — long but intact, you deal with excess fluid and with the bleeding — and you are more nimble than he is, than he’s ever seen the other doctors be.

“Well, call me impressed,” Jack says earnestly.

The silence is a little awkward — a couple of seconds before you give reply: “Thank you, Dr. Abbot.”

He wonders if maybe his compliment might’ve come as patronizing. What he knows for sure is that you do not need his help. But when he backs away, he sees a glint out of the corner of his eye — dog tags left in the pile of the man’s belongings on the floor. Jack has the same tags hanging on a chain around his neck. He almost doesn’t feel the weight of them but the memories they bring are heavy — sometimes an image flashing through his mind, sometimes a nightmare stirring him awake. And mostly it’s the latter.

But today, as his shift goes on, he isn’t thinking of torn limbs and collapsing buildings and bombings that looked like firecrackers in the night. Those weren’t the reasons he kept going back — he never once craved violence, never really cared about the money. For him, it was the roar of the adrenaline and the belief that even amidst the death and ruins, he could make a change. He hasn’t felt that for a while: the rush, the determination, the power held in your hands when you are cutting into someone’s body, fixing the organs and sewing the skin together, bringing the life back in. He lacks that spark, he misses it, he wants to get it back. To prove to himself that he still can do that — or maybe not only to himself.

So now he isn’t watching you but studying, with a diligence of a man who once had to learn how to walk again.

He starts work earlier just so he can get more patients — but also to listen in on your case reports and trail your steps, peek into trauma rooms you run in and out of. He often finds himself holding back the questions: damn, how did you do that? How come you easily catch things others take so long to figure out? You take on complicated cases: a feeble woman who can’t hold her food down, her arms marked with a red rash; a young jogger who keeps fainting, short of breath; a man whose neck hurts, the pain radiating to his chest. And you examine them and pick the clues to solve the tangle of the symptoms — it’s Celiac disease, it’s kidney failure, it’s spondylodiscitis and you know exactly how to treat it. But Jack knows all these answers too. And even if they don’t click in his mind as quickly as they do in yours, it’s still a victory: he’s not as rusty as he thought he was, he is enjoying this. He can’t believe he almost let himself forget.

When he decides to try a day shift for a change, he’s met with Dana’s worried face, her wondering out loud if he feels okay. She then proceeds to ask the same question two more times, just to make sure.

“You on day shifts may be the thing that saves Robby from a heart attack, you know,” her face softens.

“Are you saying you guys get way more action than us night owls?”

Dana grins. “What, you are already reconsidering your choices?”

“Like hell I am,” one corner of his mouth hints at a smirk.

The day is busy, and he can barely catch a break, but it isn’t a chore: he’s equally enthusiastic about a road accident that left a guy with a skull fracture, an appendectomy, a stoned teenage with a knife stuck in his thigh, a street worker with a leg broken in two places. An hour before his shift ends, they get a lacrosse team of middle schoolers, and the staff shares an exasperated sigh; but not Jack. He fixes broken noses and split eyebrows and some nasty shoulder dislocations, then goes to talk to their coach — a woman in her fifties, robust and perhaps too loud with her scolding. But her blaring voice cracks as soon as the kids are out of her sight. At some point, Jack finds himself holding her hand in reassurance, and she jokes that she’d gladly marry him if only she didn’t have a wife. She also promises that all the kids' parents will give the hospital the highest ranking. And they do.

Jack clocks out when the sky is colored orange, the shadows bleeding on the pavement, and his limbs hum but this weariness is pleasant. He is content, he’s almost joyous — the almost comes from you having a day off. He got to work with so many people, why would your presence make a difference? Jack persuades himself it’s not the reason he takes a few more mornings.

But when he comes back the next time, and you’re already there, there is this weird feeling in his ribcage — a spill of heat, a flutter of his heart. He blames it on the caffeine. You stand with your eyes glued to the chart while Princess lets out a big yawn.

“If another lacrosse team comes in today, I might actually quit,” she laments.

“Send them my way,” you say with ease, without missing a beat.

“That’s ten people,” she punctuates, incredulous. “We got lucky they were just kids. Grown-up men who slam into each other while voluntarily chasing a ball scare me.”

“I’m not easily scared,” you carefully tap on the screen, scrolling through some case report, someone’s illnesses broken into signs and terms; but you do pay attention to what she’s saying. You glance up at the nurse, your voice kind: “If you ever need help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

And then you look over your shoulder as if you can feel him watching — and it’s the same as the first time: your gaze startles him, like would a fire eruption or a ball lightning. But Jack’s greeting stays rooted in his mouth because Mateo sprints in:

“Hey, there’s something wrong with my patient’s veins, can someone take a look?”

And you are by his side and following him out of the hall in what feels like barely a second.

“I’m so grateful for you!” Princess calls after you. Then she spots Jack too, her face expression turning smug. “Oh, hello there, boss,” and she grins like she knows a secret Jack wasn’t let in on.

Turns out, Robby showed his gratitude by taking a sick leave, the first in three years (Jack would’ve sent him home himself if he heard Robby’s muffled coughing one more time). And it left Jack with way more shifts to cover. He readily gulps coffee from his to-go mug as he skims through the list of patients. The others join him soon: Mel smiles at everyone, the ever-optimistic one, Whitaker looks like hasn’t slept in months, and Santos teases him about something Jack doesn’t care to listen to. McKay is running late. Langton walks briskly to the nurses' station, taps on the tabletop right next to Jack.

“Ready to get back in the game?”

“I’ve been in the game for more years than you can count on your fingers,” Jack gives him a cold stare.

Frank sighs, his fingers drumming on the wooden surface, although he sounds barely concerned. “Love the positive attitude. Dr Robby surely won’t be missed.”

“As if you are such a pleasure to work with,” Dana cuts in, hands on her hips. “You guys should redirect that buzzing testosterone into your work. No one is getting paid for whining.”

“Preach,” Jack huffs as he steps away.

He stops himself from immediately going to check up on you. And twenty minutes later, he is glad that he did — you walk back, unruffled as you always are, Matteo tagging after you. His patient is an old lady with thrombocytopenia she probably ignored until it got too bad: there are bruises sprinkled on her arms and legs, a splotch of dried blood under her nose from how often it’s been bleeding. You gave her a platelet transfusion but you suspect it’s cancer; you order more blood tests and bring her a blanket before she even asks for it. Her eyes well up, voice shaking with heartfelt gratitude. And Jack has to remind himself that he can’t pick any favorites, he isn’t in it for the long run; but if he was to pick, it would’ve been an easy choice. And no one lags behind today — he’s got a well-coordinated team, like gears interlocking in a clock, the harmony built out of weeks of practice. They make jokes, share work stories and snacks; but every time Jack’s eyes get back to you, he can’t catch even a ghost of a smile.

He finds that you are very hard to read. And it unnerves him, maybe just a little.

He tries for his attempts to look brief and nonchalant — a kind word here and there, a quick approving look, a dry joke — and you offer nothing in return. As thorough as you are with diagnosing, you take no part in other conversations, you rarely take breaks or stand around. By the time the noon rolls in, Jack is fighting the urge to grab you by the shoulders: hey, take a seat and have something to eat. And tell me how can I cadge a laugh out of you, just one will be enough.

Dana waves a hand before his face, the phone up to her ear. “There’s been some gang fight at the North Side. Four victims coming in, two critical — one shot in the stomach, the other has his head smashed in. Don’t think they both will make it.”

Jack’s bet is on the first guy but it’s the head injury that’s fatal — the victim is pronounced dead, face so disfigured they’ll need a DNA test. Mel looks away in shock, and Santos frowns. Your stare is blank and unimpressed. You volunteer to take the third guy with a pelvic wound — he’s rambling incoherently, the tight bandage over his hip already soaked; you press your hand to it on the way to trauma. Jack leaves the worst case to himself.

“Who’s down for an ex-lap?”

“Can I run the bowel? I’ve never done it,” Santos asks, hopeful.

“Sure. Once we open the abdomen and remove the bullet, you can have your fun,” he offers, and she runs along with joy.

Although Jack can’t imagine a procedure less joyful. Yet, he is fueled by his new-found appreciation for his job so he walks her through the steps: identify the entry wound and cut in, look for the bleeding and what the bullet might’ve hit. It missed the liver by an inch; but to confirm the damage they need to evaluate the area by hand.

Perlah peeks into the room. “Is he stable?”

“Well, unless Dr. Santos gets too excited and makes a bow out of his intestines,” her hands stop, and Jack breathes out a chuckle. “I’m just joking, keep going. I’d say, his vitals do look promising.”

“Then you can keep him down here for a bit. We have a guy with a balloon in his aorta, he’s gotta go up first.”

Jack blinks at her once, twice, the meaning of her words settling in. “Did someone do a REBOA?”

“You bet she did. And it was awesome,” the nurse then scrunches her nose. ��Apart from the amount of blood. And by the way, the fourth one only has a broken rib, so no miraculous procedures needed.”

He doesn’t find it funny and he can’t find the word for it: it’s something in between confusion and offence. As soon as Santos’s done with stitches, he strides out to find you.

His turmoil momentarily recedes when he sees one of the cubicle curtains stained, the deep red lurking through. Jack pulls at the material and barges in — and then he’s silenced at the sight. The area looks horrifying: bright streaks of blood left on the floor, the anesthesia trolley, the table with the instruments that you are now collecting, a few droplets smudged over your cheek. Before he’s even angry, there is another feeling — a thought, a pull: if only he could brush that splatter off your face, a few brief seconds for one briefest touch. Of course, he doesn’t.

Jack keeps his hands behind his back. “You didn’t think you should consult with anyone first before doing a damn REBOA?”

“Why would I?” your eyes are on the tools.

“Because it’s dangerous as hell and since I am the attending—”

“I do know protocol. But I also know how fast a human can bleed out. It was a truncal hemorrhage, and you were hands deep in someone’s abdomen. Was I supposed to wait?”

He wishes you were meaner, rougher, anything that would give him an excuse to snap. But you aren’t doing this to show off — your tone is measured and your reasoning is simple: a man was dying and you knew how to save him. Jack realizes it is the same logic he often uses. And he can’t tell what is it that bothers him so much. If Whitaker pulled off something like that, Jack would’ve chosen to commend him. The same goes for Santos, Javadi or King, for any other intern or resident that he can think of... Except, they would’ve asked for his opinion or his help. You didn’t even think to.

Well, Robby warned him you’d be stubborn.

“I want to be informed about any life-altering decisions. At least give me a heads-up so I am not blindsided when a nurse gushes over it in passing,” Jack insists, head tilted slightly so he can catch your gaze.

What he really wants is for you to look at him. You grant him that one wish.

“Will do,” you tell him simply.

But your eyes are still unreadable, a book written in a foreign language, a manuscript he doesn’t know how to decrypt.

And either out of incomprehension or rejection, his brain makes an assumption: maybe you believe that you are better, maybe you think the rules weren’t made for you. You never really gave him cause for rivalry — you are in your final year of residency, and Jack is put in charge. But you are so bluntly independent and reserved, his every try to understand you feels like leaping in the dark. Later that day he can’t help but glimpse into your file — there’s hardly anything of interest: you previously trained in a small clinic, in a nice neighborhood, your letters of recommendation all consist of praises.

What adds to his moroseness is that you fit really well with literally everybody else. Langdon tones down his sarcasm, listens to you like he only does to Robby. Santos discreetly brings you cases she needs advice on, McKay and Mel enjoy your company when you get a free minute. Whitaker seems to be your favorite although Jack isn’t sure why — he deems him soft and insecure; but Dennis does a better job under your guidance. On rare occasions when he’s got a day off, Javadi always takes his place.

Jack figures out everyone’s relationships by his fourth morning shift; he hasn’t gotten any closer to figuring you out. He’s fighting the grimace at how bitter his coffee is when Javadi pops out in the hall and you follow suit. He catches scraps of your conversation: something about a teen with a gashed forehead. Javadi rambles — until you ask her nonchalantly, unprompted. “You don’t like the sight of blood?”

“What? Oh no, it’s fine! I’m totally fine,” Victoria stumbles over the words, but her denial is too meek.

From how nervous she is, Jack guesses that she’s lying. He almost wants to laugh — before a thought comes to his mind: how come he never noticed her fear of blood?

“It’s just a little disturbing sometimes... But I only passed out, like, once or twice.”

“I used to be like that. Fainted many times during blood tests,” you tell her quietly while entering some data.

Jack is so caught in disbelief, he can’t help a glance in your direction. But your sincerity doesn’t seem feigned. Javadi gapes at you.

“And how did you... what did you do to overcome it?”

“I found myself in a situation where someone needed help and there was no one else around to help him,” you shrug. And Jack discerns the subtle reticence behind your tone.

It only spurs Javadi’s interest. “Was there a lot of blood? Like, a heavy bleeding, a deep wound?”

Your fingers freeze over the tablet screen, your facial profile not betraying your true feelings. But Jack swears he can see the tension crawling down your body. You don’t give the answer right away, you weigh the words carefully before you say them.

“A drug overdose, he still had a needle in his arm and I must’ve missed it. Took barely a minute of chest compressions for the needle to fly out across the room. It was a lot of blood to me.”

Javadi’s hopefulness grows dim. “Yeah, I don’t like needles too. I tried drawing blood a few times but the process kinda makes me nauseous, and I can’t force myself to —”

“It’s different when it’s someone you care about.”

Your comment slips out involuntarily — and immediately you look like you want to take it back. But you get it together and meet her eyes, your voice carrying just the right amount of firmness.

“Listen, I’m not suggesting you should torture your family members. But you may not always have attendings by your side or someone else to take your place in case you feel like fainting. If you fall, you can hurt your head, you can hurt a patient, you can disrupt a surgery when every minute counts. I think you have a good head on your shoulders, and I don’t want to downplay your efforts. But please, figure it out. Otherwise, you won’t make for a good surgeon.”

You reassure her you won’t tell anyone her secret. Javadi manages a small smile, a hushed “thank you”. It is a sweet moment, a heart-to-heart chat you bond over; it’s also three times more words than you’ve spoken to Jack in weeks.

But he accepts your silence — as a challenge.

Jack keeps an eye on you, now critical, resisting the gravitation that’s been attracting him to you. Although it’s hard to find the reasons to be hard on you. Whenever he has questions — or more so when he can come up with some, you give detailed replies, and he’s left with nothing to complain about. Your patient satisfaction score is high, you are never facile or reckless with your judgment; with how smart you are, you can give odds to many doctors, him included. And Jack knows he is older, with years of experience under his belt — but he can’t in good faith wish for anyone to go through the same things he did to gain the same knowledge.

On his second week of day shifts he is still clueless about what to make of you. And Jack tells himself that he is simply looking for a connection — except, all his attempts look like he is trying to pick a fight.

“This is a teaching hospital. You are supposed to teach them things,” he grumbles as he meets you outside the trauma room. You got a guy who came in spitting blood — post-tonsillectomy hemorrhage, and things went south pretty quickly. He started choking, crashed, his airways flooded with liquid; you had to intubate him blindly. Whitaker spent an hour by your side, his questions endless — to which you did give answers, barely ever breaking focus, but you only allowed him to use suction.

“He’ll learn plenty if he is attentive enough,” you say, throwing away the gown, trying to put some distance in between you.

Jack doesn’t like it, he keeps pace with you. “Whitaker needs more practice, as much as he can get. He’s not supposed to stand there like some deer who wandered into the yard.”

You whirl around, so fast that Jack comes to a stop when you are separated by merely an inch. And your gaze burns, like lava seeping through the mountain’s restrain.

“And I needed the patient not to die on the table,” you bite back, then breathe in — and then add more coolly. “Dennis will get his chance to shine.”

“And when exactly is that gonna happen?”

“That’s for me to decide,” you state, like you would do a fact that can’t be questioned. “Thank you for your input, Dr. Abbot, but I have to get back to work.”

You turn your back to him and leave him standing there, and Jack almost feels helpless. And that’s the feeling he can’t stand. It simmers in him, it must be the reason his cheeks suddenly feel hot.

Dana tsks as she comes near, her brows furrowed and face visibly concerned.

“You know how I’ve been calling Robby a sad boy? I’m gonna start calling you a pissy boy.”

“Not the worst thing I’ve been called,” he dismisses, a humorless escape attempt. But her fingers grab at his elbow, and he pauses with an annoyed exhale.

“I’ve been watching you hammering away at her for days,” Dana makes sure to lower her voice. “If she was a student, I’d maybe let it slide, but she is a resident, a senior one. And nothing I am seeing suggests she isn’t doing well.”

His eyes dart to her hand; then he glares stubbornly at her. She looks unfazed.

“Jack, you will take it too far one day — and you will regret it,” Dana tries to reason. “She is a good kid and she’s really good at her job. Just let her be.”

“Thank you for your input, Evans. I’d prefer to get back to work,” he frees his arm, and she allows it. But Jack can feel her worried gaze as he walks away.

He doesn’t come home until the twilight hugs the sky, until he feels like he’ll pass out on the next step. Jack wastes hours on attempts to wear himself out: he walks the entire park three times, peeping about in case the puppy comes again. It doesn’t. He stops by the bar he hasn’t been to in a few weeks, orders a beer and sips on it, his musings soon drowned out by the blasting music. The alcohol tastes weird, and the bass guitar gives him a pounding headache. He takes a walk instead of taking a bus home, two miles on foot in hopes he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

But the thought of you cuts into his mind as easily as a nail does into a human body, and it stays there, vexing and robbing him of whatever little peace he’s had.

He barely gets any sleep.

And his nights are dreamless.

It’s just another Friday, and these bring in a lot of drunks — from parties and family gatherings, from business meetings that ran late and tense until someone reached for whiskey. Jack stays behind for paperwork, a tedious pastime that keeps him pinned to an uncomfortable chair. He briefly takes eyes off the screen, stretching his neck — and then a noise catches his attention. It’s someone talking in a raised voice, someone who sounds too wasted to be reasoned with. Which sounds like a problem.

Jack finds the source with ease — the nurses all glance in the direction of the trauma room, and in support of their agitation Mateo all but flies out, his face hardened at the edges. Jack gets up and gets closer, his ears open and eyes watchful.

“Should we call security?” Dana asks warily.

Mateo brushes the suggestion off. “No, it’s fine,” — but it sounds like it’s not. “I just need a short break.”

“What’s wrong?” Jack interrupts.

And it isn’t a question but a demand for explanation Mateo can’t reject. He lets out a tired sigh.

“The guy got drunk and couldn’t hold his liquor, some passersby saw him sprawled out in an alley and called the ambulance. Came in with a nasty arm fracture. He’ll live though,” Mateo looks back at the room with obvious disdain. “Unfortunately.”

Jack promptly moves forward. “I will deal with it.”

“Hold on, Rambo,” Dana interjects. And she keeps her eyes on him while she talks to Mateo. “Did he get physical?”

“Nah, he’s too inebriated. Keeps trying to get up from the gurney but mostly he’s all talk.”

More can be heard from where they are standing — it’s some drunken yelling, a disarticulated chain of curse words. And then they hear something break, a dull sound of an object hitting a wall.

In a few seconds comes another one.

“I can’t just let him trash all of our equipment,” Jack gives Dana a pointed look.

She clucks her tongue at his persistence. “It’s not the equipment that I fear for.”

“Rest assured, Evans, I won’t give him another arm fracture.”

“I didn’t think you would, but now that you suggested it so easily—”

“Finally someone decided to take action instead of all this talking,” Perlah remarks, her gaze isn’t on either one of them. And Jack turns to follow it just in time to catch you running right into the room.

His heart falls. Why the hell are you even still here?

And it’s barely three heartbeats before a realization strikes: you can’t go there alone. He can’t let you.

Jack bolts to you without waiting for anyone’s permission. He comes in just in time to see you dodge the trolley the patient pushed at you — it slams into the wall and rolls over, the instruments scattering loudly across the floor. You don’t seem scared, but you are all tensed up, gaze fixed on the guy who’s screaming his lungs out.

“You won’t trick me! I won’t let you experiment on me!”

And you don’t look away once but you must’ve noticed Jack; your voice comes out low. “I think he’s having an episode. He needs benzodiazepines but I can’t get close to administer them.”

“And you should not,” Jack retorts, eyeing the guy with discontent. “You absolutely shouldn’t deal with him on your own. Not when he’s flapping around and yelling like a fucking psycho.”

“Silently watching him wreck the room didn’t seem like a good tactic either.”

In an instant Jack’s gaze is drawn to you, pulse racing as he is struggling to bite down his emotions: why would you put yourself in danger, why can’t you ever back down, why can’t he stay away? And unexpectedly you look at him, and your gaze isn’t a puzzle or a dare but an explanation: you can’t be mad at me for the thing you would’ve done yourself. I know you would have.

The room goes quiet but only for a moment — before another cry comes, and the patient lunges straight at you. Jack’s eye catches the movement, and at the very last second, he moves to stand in the guy’s way.

The drunkard crashes into him, hands swatting at the air, too uncoordinated to land a proper punch. And then all of a sudden he headbutts Jack. The pain is sharp, shooting toward his nose, but Jack manages to stay upright. He can’t see you stopping cold or the security approaching in a hurry and in worry.

Because Jack is only seeing red.

He breathes in through the mouth and grabs the man with both hands, rough and unflinching. Jack pushes him back to the gurney, then throws him on it, face flat against the pillow; his angry cries tone down to weak whimpers.

“Shut the fuck up. Stop moving,” Jack hisses into his ear.

He can taste the blood that oozed down to his lips and he can hear the sound of footsteps in the room. But he doesn’t let go.

Jack feels a hand on his shoulder — he turns to see one of the guards, Ahmad. “Man, let us handle this. C’mon, step away.”

Begrudgingly, Jack does. Ahmad quickly takes his place, he and two other guards strapping the patient down; Mateo wriggles in the middle to sedate the guy. He dozes off, a dark purple bruise already blooming on his forehead, drool at the corner of his mouth.

You are still standing at the exact same spot, but then your eyes land on Jack’s blooded nose, and you immediately fall out of the stupor. You rummage through the nearest drawer and get a few clean cloths, then call for Dana to bring an ice pack. The guards leave but Mateo hangs back; he pulls up a chair for Jack to sit on.

“Are you okay? Any headache or dizziness or—”

“I’m fine, no need to coddle me,” Jack waves off his concerns crankily. Mateo looks at you for some support.

“He needs a head CT,” you say, gaze glued to Jack. “Ask the radiology if they can squeeze him in.”

Mateo nods and takes off with no other questions asked. The silence is now laced with tension, and while Jack’s pain gradually subsides, his anger doesn’t. He’s not the one for chit-chats, and it’s not a 'thank you' that he wants — but an admission: he was right, and you were careless, and maybe this is the one time you can agree with him.

You lean over wordlessly and wipe the dried-up blood, pushing his head back to examine his nose. Your touch is light, fleeting, but his skin heats up under your hands. You take a penlight to check for septal hematoma; then your thumbs move from his cheekbones to his nostrils. Jack doesn’t wince or look away, eyes dark and boring into you, unblinking. You put a finger to his nose and move it slowly from side to side, watching closely as his gaze follows it.

And then you pull away, and something cracks in him, a line formed on the ocean floor after it’s shaken by an earthquake, a force that pushes waves to crash onto the shore. And all his feelings surge up, unstoppable like a tsunami.

You look for more cloths, and only with your back to him, you finally decide to speak:

“Doesn’t look like a fracture but—”

“Are you out of your mind?!” Jack bursts out, the stridency of his voice barely contained.

Your hands flinch at the sound. Jack misses it or maybe chooses to ignore it, too adamant in his displeasure, too wrapped up in it.

“Do you realize how dangerous it was for you to go here alone? What could’ve happened to you if security came late? Or do you just assume it’s not a big deal if you get hurt? Can you for at least a second consider the consequences of your relentlessness, can you imagine how dire they might be? And what it’s like for someone else to throw themselves between danger and you?”

But then you turn to him, and his tirade breaks off, the anger ebbing instantly as he sees your face expression.

It would be easy to assume he must’ve hit a nerve. Except, it looks way worse than that.

Your gaze is swept with pain, eyes wide and bright with tears you are holding back. An inhale quivers at your lips, chest heaving like you are scarcely managing to curb your feelings. Like there’s been a wall you’ve built meticulously over the years, and he didn’t just put a crack in it — no, he tore it down completely, drove through it with a bulldozer, only a mess of rubble left behind. And he knows that’s not something an apology will fix.

Jack feels the guilt already swirling in his chest as he sits straighter, eyes not leaving yours.

“Listen, I didn’t—”

“I heard you loud and clear, Dr. Abbot,” your voice is lacerating, a blade you’ve armed yourself with, steel that cuts him deep. “If my company displeases you so much, I will make sure to limit our interactions. Apologies for any inconvenience.”

You turn away, and when he sees you wipe your cheeks with one quick motion, Jack knows he is the only one to blame. But you don’t let him see your tears nor do you wait for him to talk again. You rush out of the doors, and the words he catches aren’t meant for him:

“Dana, please help Dr. Abbot with the ice pack.”

He hears her coming in and he’s almost ashamed to look — Dana meets his gaze with arms crossed over her chest, shaking her head in disapproval. She doesn’t say a thing and puts ice on his nose with a face that looks like she would rather punch him. Jack doesn’t even try to come up with excuses — he knows that he has none.

He fails to find you after the shift ends: you must’ve sneaked out to avoid him, and he can’t say that he’s surprised. Jack walks home in the rain, not bothering to open the umbrella, the street lights drowning in the puddles underfoot, the wind biting his wet face. He can barely feel it. And in the privacy of his apartment — a cold, half-empty space, walls void of any color — a thought that has been lurking in his mind finally takes shape:

Jack loathes being alone.

And he messed up so badly.

🎵 the title is a quote from Tom Odell’s “Can’t pretend” (the song is just so Jack-coded to me! highly recommend you give it a listen. the small part from 1:29 to 1:49 gives me heart palpitations and is very fitting for this chapter lol).

by “rivals” I meant it’s all in Jack’s head, he’s silly like that 😩 you’ll learn about the reader’s past in the next chapter!

I didn’t specify how big the age gap is exactly. google search told me you get into residency when you are in your 30s, and Abbot is def over 40. but some like to imagine the reader younger, so I didn’t want to ruin that for you.

there are definitely some medical inaccuracies (pretty sure ex-lap isn’t performed in the ER) but I am begging you to ignore that.

dividers by me & plum98.

» I plan on writing 3 parts in total (a prayer circle for my inspiration to stay with me, PLEASE). of course, there will be smut... they just have to learn how to talk to each other first. » read on AO3 » English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very appreciated! tell me if you want to be tagged ♡

#the pitt #jack abbot #I’m so nervous about posting this I’m about to have a heart attack #lauraneedstochillinsteadshewrites #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot fanfiction #dr abbot x you #dr abbot x reader #dr abbot #dr jack abbot #jack abbott #shawn hatosy #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #the pitt imagine #the pitt hbo #abbotjack

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ama3003 · 21 hours ago

Text

In the Middle

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: No

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: Being caught in the middle is always hard.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!! I have seen Thunderbolts* on Thursday (amazing btw) and have been craving Thunderbolts!Bucky. Also reader is like mid to late 20s.

Also double whammy with these fics. Also thank you those who requested some fics. I'm getting on them right now. Keep em coming!

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

“I cannot believe this dude,” Sam says, pacing the living room like it personally offended him. His hands are moving almost as fast as his mouth. “I tell him Ross wants me to rebuild the Avengers, right? I open up—I mean really open up. I tell him I’m not sure I’m the guy for it. That maybe Steve made a mistake giving me the shield.”

He stops mid-step and points dramatically in the air, like he's building up his case.

“And you know what Bucky says? ‘No, he didn’t.’ That’s it. No discussion. Just—‘No, he didn’t.’ Point. Blank. Period. And I'm not gonna lie, that's all I needed to hear."

You open your mouth to say something, but Sam’s already spinning toward you.

“And I believed him! I believed him because I thought he was my best friend.”

"Hey!" you cut in, brows raised.

Sam waves you off. “Nah, nah—don’t ‘hey’ me. You know you’re like my sister. Ultimate mega best friend status and all that, but not the point right now. Lemme vent about your ugly boyfriend real quick.”

You throw your hands up in surrender. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you!” Sam claps once, then starts pacing again. “Then I find out there’s already a ‘New Avengers’—capital N, capital A—already up and running. And guess who’s right in the middle of it? Bucky! Like I wasn’t gonna find out!”

He stops again, staring at you like it’s your fault. “You know what I call that? Betrayal.” He jabs the air for emphasis. “Straight-up betrayal.”

You’re sitting on the sofa, letting him work through it. Honestly, you couldn’t blame him. Bucky had called not ten minutes ago to talk about—of all things—the copyright on the Avengers name.

Now Sam wants to sue them.

“Fourteen months,” Sam says, voice rising, “of back-and-forth with this man and his ‘new family.’ You remember what we went through? What he went through? Guess what? We were his family first. And now he’s calling me like I’m the one stepping on toes? Like I’m in the wrong for trying to do what Ross asked me to do?”

“He told you to back off?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Sam gives you a long-suffering look. “He wants me to give him the rights of the name."

"So it didn't end well..." You sighed, rubbing your temples.

"Y/N… if I’m venting like this, how do you think the call went?”

You try to offer something. “Can’t you just… I don’t know. Combine the teams? Be the MegaVengers or something? Steve literally said ‘Avengers, assemble’ and there were like a thousand people who showed up. We all kind of worked together then.”

Sam looks horrified. “No. No combining. It’s not about numbers—it’s about principle. That man knew what this meant to me. And now he’s trying to sidestep it like it’s nothing.”

He crosses his arms and looks at you with purpose. “You need to talk to him. Get him to step back.”

You shake your head. “Nope. Not getting in the middle of this.”

You meant it. You’ve known Sam for years—he was your ride-or-die, your day-one, the brother you got to choose. But through Sam, you met Bucky. And he became your favorite person. You were in between your best friend and the love of your life.

You learned about the ‘New Avengers’ team at the same time Sam did. The two of you had stared at the screen in disbelief.

But after hours of yelling at Bucky—tears, arguments, explanations—you got it. You understood that he hadn’t meant for it to happen like this. That Valentina made moves he couldn’t stop. He hadn’t betrayed you… not intentionally.

Still, the line between intention and impact? That’s where Sam lived.

He stares at you for a moment, then reaches into his jacket and hands you a folded sheet of paper.

“What’s this?” you ask, skimming it. Then you stop. Your eyes widen.

“I want you to join my team,” he says simply. “The new Avengers.”

Your jaw drops. “Sam…”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says quickly. “You really think I’d build a team without you? Come on. We’ve never not been on a team together.”

“Sam, I… I can’t sign this,” you say, handing the paper back. “You know I can’t.”

He rolls his eyes. “You can. You should. Y/N, I’ve already started recruiting. I’ve got a plan, but I need my right hand. I need you.”

You stand, walking toward him. “And I can’t go against Bucky.”

He exhales sharply, then softens. “Just… think about it, okay? I don’t need a yes right now. Just don’t say no yet.”

“Sam…”

“Think about it,” he says again, looking at his watch. “Ugh—venting session’s over. Gotta go pitch Ross on the plan. Wish me luck.”

He leans in, presses a quick kiss to your cheek, "Please think about it," and walks out the door.

You sit back down, staring at the paper. Then you run a hand through your hair, heart pounding.

A few quiet moments pass.

Then you grab your bag and head straight for the other tower.

*****

“James Buchanan Barnes—you are in so much trouble.”

Your voice echoed through the tower as you dropped your bag with a thud. The team—scattered around the lounge doing everything from eating chips to watching TV—immediately snapped to attention.

A chorus of "Ooooooh!" broke out like a middle school lunchroom.

Bucky stood up fast, hands already in the air like he was facing down a SWAT team. “Okay, doll, don’t be mad.”

You marched forward, hands on your hips. “Don’t be mad? You asked Sam to drop the Avengers name.”

“He’s suing us!” Bucky shot back, already defensive. “We had the name first! Val got the jump on it—we just made it official.”

He crossed his arms like a stubborn teenager. Behind him, his teammates exchanged exasperated looks, a few shaking their heads like, here we go again.

“Are you both five?” you snapped. “You need to talk. Face to face. Not through lawyers. Not through phones. Like actual adults.”

“He doesn’t want to see me,” Bucky muttered. “And honestly, I don’t want to see him either.”

He tried to hold his glare, but it faltered when he looked at you. He could see it written all over your face: this was tearing you up. And he hated that he’d played a part in it.

“I saw Sam today,” you said quietly. “He asked me to join his team.”

The room fell completely silent. Even Yelena put down her snack.

Bucky blinked. “And… what’d you say?”

“I told him no. For now. But he asked me to think about it.”

Bucky scoffed like that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. “Think about it? What’s there to think about? You’re not joining them.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

Every single person in the room physically cringed. Even Red Guardian mouthed oh no.

“You’re not serious right now,” you said, voice low and dangerous. “Did you just try to tell me what to do?”

“I’m saying Sam’s being irrational,” Bucky argued, digging his own grave. “He’s suing us, Y/N. You can’t join them. That’s not how this works.”

You stepped toward him, fire in your eyes. “He’s not being irrational. He’s hurt, Bucky. He thinks you betrayed him. And the truth? Even if it wasn’t on purpose—you kind of did.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“I get it,” you added, softer now. “He shouldn’t have filed a lawsuit. It’s messy. But this—this whole thing—is a disaster. And you’re both too stubborn to fix it.”

Bucky slowly reached for you, pulling you into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “I never wanted to put you in the middle of this. I just... I won’t give up on this team.”

You let him hold you, but your heart was heavy. “I know,” you whispered, then gave him a small kiss. “But I can’t keep being the bridge between you two.”

He pulled back, looking at you. “Then don’t be. Move in with me. You said you were thinking about it. And hell, you could just join us too. We’d be unstoppable.”

You stepped back, blinking. “Are you seriously asking me to join your team right after I told you Sam asked me the same thing? Are you kidding me, Bucky?”

“Not cool,” Yelena muttered, earning a death glare from Bucky.

Then your phone rang—loud and dramatic. Mariah Carey’s voice filled the room. You groaned and answered.

“What, Sam?”

“Figured you were over there,” he said. “So I’ll keep it short. Ross and I have a few new recruits saying yes already. We might fast-track things. So I need an answer. ASAP.”

“You gave me thirty minutes—”

“Thirty minutes for what?” Bucky leaned in, practically pressing his ear to your phone.

“Would you stop?” you muttered, pushing him back.

“Is that Barnes?” Sam asked over the line. “Yo, Barnes—fuck you.”

Bucky blinked. “What did he just say?”

You sighed. “He said—”

“I said fuck you,” Sam shouted, louder this time.

You snapped.

“That’s it!” you barked, stepping between the two of them. “Both of you, shut up.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

“I am so done being in the middle of your pissing contest,” you said, voice shaking now. “You used to be a family. We used to be a family. And you two are tearing it apart like a couple of overgrown toddlers.”

Bucky looked like he’d been slapped. Sam was silent on the other end.

“You know what’s really messed up?” you added. “You both say you love me, you both trust me—but you’re trying to make me pick between you. And I won’t. I won’t.”

Everyone was still, barely breathing.

Then Sam, faint over the phone: “Wait… Did Barnes ask you to join the FAKEngers?”

“We’re the real Avengers, for the record,” Bucky muttered.

“Oh my god,” you said, throwing your hands up. “I’m done. Until you both grow up and get your shit together, I’m out. I’m not picking sides.”

You turned, grabbed your bag, and stormed toward the door.

“Wait—what do you mean?” Bucky called, chasing after you.

You turned back, pointing between him and your phone. “I love you, Bucky. And Sam—you’re my brother. But if you two can’t stop acting like enemies, then you don’t get to have me caught in the crossfire.”

And with that, you hung up the call and walked out.

Back in the room, Walker slowly picked up the paper. “Ouch,” he said, wincing. “Don’t you just hate when they walk away?”

Yelena smacked him in the head. “You’re not helping.”

***********

It had been a few days since everything exploded—and both Sam and Bucky were unraveling in their own ways.

Neither of them said it out loud, but they both felt it: the quiet ache where you used to be. The texts left on read. The silence that said more than any shouting match ever could.

Eventually, they both found themselves doing the same thing—sitting alone, staring at their phones, thumbs hovering over each other's names.

Bucky sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and hit the contact.

Sam’s phone lit up. He stared at the screen for a long second before finally answering.

“Barnes,” Sam said flatly.

“Wilson,” Bucky replied, just as dry.

A beat.

Then Bucky exhaled. “I miss her.”

Sam’s voice was quieter this time. “Yeah. Me too.”

Another pause.

“We gotta fix this,” Bucky said. “This whole thing… it’s not worth losing her over.”

“No, it’s not,” Sam agreed. “We should talk. In person. Try to settle this."

“Tomorrow?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah. Tomorrow’s good.”

“Alright.”

“Cool.”

“…Fine.”

They hung up.

No apologies yet. Not out loud.

But it was a start.

Maybe this whole MegaVengers idea wasn’t so bad after all.

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onetruesirius · 1 day ago

Text

If someone ever says they're not a fan of due process or rights at all for a person who's possibly committed, or even has committed, a certain type of criminal act, I always like to say

"Okay, obviously you would never ever ever commit such a crime, because you hate it so much. But imagine, if you will, that one stupid person in your life who irrationally dislikes you—because we all know one of them, right? They're the sort of petty person who, if given a chance, would in fact try to absolutely ruin your life or maybe kill you if they were in a particularly bad mood that day, just because they dislike you. What if they accused you of that kind of crime? What if they, beyond all odds (because you're innocent, because you woukd never do that, of course), somehow succeeded in a court trial and you were convicted of said crime? Should we do to you what you think should be done to these sorts of criminals, even if you didn't do it?"

Because that's what it always falls down to, doesn't it? Laws regarding checks and balances to what the government can do to the people who live in the place they govern, is fundamentally about this. It's about defense against retaliation, it IS about protecting the accused-but-innocent. What happens when the local asshole who hates specifically you, tries to use the law to ruin your life, when you did nothing of the sort? How far can they take it if they succeed in court? Can they only get you sent to jail for 6 months and then paroled for good behavior with good rehabilitation potential? Or can they get you maimed or castrated? Can they get you killed? Can they get you exiled? Can they get you tortured to death? Just because they hate your guts, and they're petty because you.... idk. Borrowed their hedge clippers for too long.

How far can the person who hates you, succeed at hurting you (because they don't like you), using the system of law?

Usually if pressed, and folks double down, it resolves down to "I hate [type of criminal] so much, that I'm willing to die to hurt them a little more." which.... is an anti-sociality mindset. It is. Not the cutesy "oh I don't like interaction" (which is more akin to asociality) but actions harmful/hostile to the ability to have and maintain an organized society "I want to feel good, even if it hurts a lot of other people".

OR.

"Well that wouldn't happen to me, because I'm [privileged]." and it turns out they're just one of the -ists, and really don't care if minorities (even innocent "good" ones) get hurt. Usually this is racists, but sexists can do this too sometimes, just depends.

Again though. It's all about that. How much can someone ruin your life [or any innocent person's life] by making a single accusation? (There's nuance here, as with everything, but "single false accusation" kind of covers it) If they could kill you with it, maybe don't try to keep things that way?

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chuxmy · 1 day ago

Note

Hello! I really love all your work, especially the Seung Jae one. Speaking of Seung Jae, can I request a one shot smut about him (if you're comfortable to write smut) where reader and him have a private and secret relationship. Then one day, someone was flirting to the reader but reader is so shy and naive that she thinks that he is friendly to her. Then, Seung Jae saw it and felt rage, jealousy, and possessiveness towards her. Btw, their relationship is not toxic but there are times that it can be toxic when Seung Jae can't control his emotion. Thankie 😘

Only mine

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You smiled at the wrong guy.

Warnings: Smut, explicit sexual content, possessiveness, jealousy, praise kink, mdni

A/N: *gulp* it‘s kinda hot in here..

You’ve always been soft.

Polite. Shy. The kind of person who smiles at strangers without thinking twice. It’s part of your charm one of the reasons Seongje fell for you. But sometimes, that sweetness felt like a curse.

Because it made people think they had a chance with you.

And today, someone took that chance.

It was during break, near the vending machines. A boy from another class. You didn’t know him well he wasn’t even on your radar. But he struck up a conversation. Said something about how you looked better every time he saw you, called you “adorable” in this half joking, half serious voice.

You thought he was being friendly.

You smiled. Awkwardly. Tucked your hair behind your ear and said, “That’s really nice of you,” like you always did.

You didn’t see the possessive stare from across the hallway.

But Seongje did.

He saw everything.

You don’t notice his silence until hours later after school, when you meet in the unused music room, like always.

You close the door behind you, expecting his usual smirk, his lazy voice teasing, “Took you long enough.”

But when you turn, he’s already across the room. Eyes dark. Hands in his pockets.

Something is off.

“Seongje?” you ask gently. “What’s wrong?”

He says nothing. Just stares at you.

Then moves.

Fast.

You barely register the way his hand slides behind your neck, how his mouth crashes onto yours, how your back slams into the nearest wall with a gasp. His kiss is rough. Messy. Tongue pushing past your lips like he’s trying to claim every part of you.

You whimper, clutching at his hoodie. “W-wait, what—?”

“You smiled at him,” he hisses against your lips.

You blink. “Who—?”

“That fucker by the vending machines.”

Your breath catches. “He was just being nice…”

He laughs, but it’s humorless. “You really believe that?”

You swallow. “I didn’t think—”

“That’s the problem. You never think when it comes to this shit.”

His tone isn’t cruel, but it’s sharp. Laced with frustration. With something worse.. hurt. As if your smile had cut him in ways you didn’t even understand.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice small. “I didn’t mean to upset you—”

He kisses you again. Harder. Teeth clashing.

“You didn’t upset me,” he growls. “He did. But watching you smile at him like that… like you enjoyed it…”

“I didn’t,” you whisper.

But he doesn’t stop.

His hands are already under your shirt, calloused fingers skating across your ribs, making you shiver.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he murmurs darkly. “You don’t see how guys look at you. You think they just want to be friends?”

Your silence answers for you.

His hand slides up your thigh, under your skirt. You gasp when his fingers brush your inner thigh, the heat of him pressed between your legs.

“They want you,” he breathes, dragging his lips down your jaw, to your neck. “They want to take you from me. And you don’t even fucking notice.”

His touch is rough, almost desperate, like he’s trying to erase the idea of anyone else from your skin.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” you say softly, trembling.

“I know,” he mutters, dragging your panties down. “You never do.”

Then, lower, much lower he rasps, “But you need to remember who this belongs to.”

You inhale sharply when he dips his head, mouth brushing against your core.

“I—I didn’t know someone could be this jealous…”

He looks up, eyes blazing.

“You think this is just jealousy?” His voice drops an octave. “I love you so much it makes me crazy.”

Then he slides his tongue along your folds.

You choke on your breath, hand flying to your mouth to muffle the moan. Your other hand buries in his hair, gripping tightly as his tongue moves with skill you didn’t know someone like him had.

“You’re already soaked,” he murmurs against you. “You liked me getting jealous, didn’t you?”

“N-no, I—”

“Liar.”

He fucks you with his tongue until your thighs shake.

Then he stands, pulling you to him. Lifting you with one strong arm under your thighs, he carries you to the piano bench and sets you down, your legs spread around him.

His pants drop. You barely see it happen, your eyes are half lidded with need, your breath uneven.

He doesn’t ask.

He slides in deep, all at once.

You cry out, your hands flying to his shoulders.

He’s big, he always is and this position makes it even deeper. You squirm, gasping his name.

“I know,” he groans, forehead resting against yours. “I know it’s a lot.”

But he doesn’t stop.

He won’t.

His hips begin to move slow at first, then faster. He grunts softly each time he sinks into you, the wet sound of your bodies filling the small room.

“You’re mine,” he whispers again and again. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

“Yours,” you gasp, clinging to him like a lifeline. “Only yours.”

Your body wraps around him like you were made for him. His thrusts hit deep, dragging broken sounds from your throat.

You cry out when he hits that perfect spot inside you again. And again. And again.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice wrecked. “I want to see your face when I make you come.”

You do.

You look up at him, eyes wide and shining with emotion and he shatters.

“Fuck, I love you.”

Then your orgasm slams into you like a wave, blinding, breath stealing, intense. You moan, body shaking, clinging to him with everything you have.

He follows seconds later, hips jerking as he empties inside you, groaning your name.

When it’s over, he doesn’t move.

He stays pressed against you, arms around your waist, face buried in your shoulder.

You’re both breathing hard.

Your fingers stroke his hair.

“…You okay now?” you whisper.

He laughs quietly. “No.”

You blink.

He lifts his head. “Because I know I’ll feel this again. The second someone else even looks at you.”

You smile sadly. “You can’t keep getting mad at me for being… me.”

“I know.” He kisses your collarbone. “But I can remind you who you belong to.”

You cup his cheek.

“You don’t have to remind me.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into your hand.

“…I still will.”

#weak hero class 1 #weak hero class two #geum seongje x reader #seongje geum #seongje geum x reader #geum seong je #geum seongje #seong je geum #weak hero class 2 #weak hero season 2 #weak hero class x reader #weak hero class one

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cheol-e-kat · 2 days ago

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This ask might be a bit cliche but Im curious on what would you do or write if you and seungcheol are roommates and one day you caught him masturbating naked in his room with his door slightly open cuz he thought you weren’t home.

okay so my actual honest answer as someone who has had roommates and has accidentally gone to close a door that was slightly ajar and saw things i shouldn't - the reaction is to pretend that it NEVER happened and if it did, you saw absolutely nothing at all - you don't even have eyes! duh

but then idk my brain kept going as it does - so let me set the stage:

𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝. 𝚌.𝚜𝚌

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕

so if cheol is your roommate and maybe you've had idk a rocky relationship as roommates - let's say he is always cooking and eating YOUR fucking eggs, like a total prick, and is just generally annoying - takes ages in the shower and uses all the hot water, such a cunt, has people over when you're just trying to have a night in, rude

but also seems to just dislike you for no reason at all - you've literally done nothing but try to be nice and he's just an unhinged human in your humble opinion but you're stuck with him - you did try to swap but 'no'

and you're really fed up with him and all the noises ("noises") that come from his room because it's right next to yours and ewww, ick

so you're leaving your room and walking by his and happen to see the door open, so you innocently go to close it - just a quick pull of the door handle, that's all that's needed

but no, you happen to glance at just the wrong moment and there he is, sweats pushed down, veiny, massive dick in hand, jerking it slowly, like he's teasing himself - his eyes are closed tightly, brows scrunched in concentration, the slightest sheen of sweat forming at his temples, his plump lips pressed into a line like he's holding back a moan as he slows his hand to a stop - all you can hear is his heavy breathing and soft whines as he clumsily teases his slit, precum flowing down his shaft

and you swallow hard because holy fuck what are you seeing - you should be closing the door

but you can't look away - you can't move your hand much less your body

you feel your pussy clench around nothing and suddenly realize how nice it would be to ride him because he would really hit all the right spots - he would leave you a moaning mess of nothingness and the slide would be so good, his gorgeous cock parting your slick pussy lips, teasing your entrance before he really sinks in - and there's no way he would be satisfied unless all of him were buried inside you

and you wouldn't be satisfied either - you would want every millimeter of him filling you, stretching you, you could practically feel your juices pooling in your panties from just a split second of seeing him in all his glory

and then his eyes open and it's like slow motion his thick lashes parting to reveal his beautiful eyes and his gaze immediately finds you

he should be mad, he should be yelling, right?

but, no, seungcheol, the ass he is, just holds your gaze as he starts working himself again

you shiver, feeling the sudden coolness of the air against your hot skin - you should be embarrassed but somehow you aren't - instead, you lean against the door jam, a soft moan escaping your lips as you watch him, your mouth filling with saliva as you imagine the way he would fuck your mouth if you gave him the chance

you lick your lips, wishing they were being stretched by him

without a thought, you slide your hand under your shirt to tease your already pebbled nipples

you hear the way he moans when you do - you can't help but look at him as you tease yourself because the more you do, the more noises he makes and when you pull your shirt up to expose yourself and massage and squeeze your tits, you see the way he bites his plush lips and it fills you with surprise and pleasure to know he's enjoying the sight

you're quick to unbutton your jeans and let him see the mess you've already made for him

his eyes widen and his lips form a smile and he manages to give a breathless grunt to "shut the door" and "come here"

a/n: yea sorry faded to black lol but this was fun - def send more asks/requests - cliche or not ^^

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝒌𝒂𝒕

♡ my [master list] if you want to read more

♡ if you want to be tagged in my posts, go [here]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐥 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞 ^^

angst - [ a ] || fluff - [ f ] || smut - [ s ]

teasers: all but break your heart |୨୧| tonight tonight

fluff: profound, not sudden [ f ]

smut: see bingo series above and random slutty thoughts collection

series: obvious affection [ pt. 1 f ] [ pt. 2 f & s ] |୨୧| 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ] |୨୧| 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇. 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒊 [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ] |୨୧| 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 f & s ] [ pt. 3 f & s ]

omegaverse (a/b/o): alpha seungcheol [pt. 1 s] [pt. 2 s] || never let you go [master list] [part 1 f & s] [part 2 f ] ||

[ taglist ]

☁︎ @syluslittlecrows [e] ☁︎ @gyuguys [e] ☁︎ @tinyelfperson [e] ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] ☁︎ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] ☁︎ @codeinebelle [e] ☁︎ @ateez-atiny380 [e] ☁︎ @mingcouper [e] ☁︎ @hanniebub [e] ☁︎ @perfectiondazesworld [e] ☁︎ @scoupshawty [e] ☁︎ @peachytokki [e] ☁︎ @coupsbestleader [e] ☁︎ @fleurloovin [e] ☁︎ @babybae-shisui [e] ☁︎ @asyre [e] ☁︎ @dcrlingyou [e] ☁︎ @yeosayang [e] ☁︎ @nanabananananabatman ☁︎ @yoongznme [e] ☁︎ @gyuhao365 [e] ☁︎ @jeonghnie [e] ☁︎ @armycarat2612 [e] ☁︎ @shuas-winnie30 [e] ☁︎ @famouspoetrydinosaur [e] ☁︎

☁︎ @living0livia [e - c.sc]

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vonbabbitt · 1 day ago

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ojima loredump from a couple years back i wrote for my staff

i can finally post more of these now yay. tw for ojima things

so ojima, as you may recall, was one of the OTHER people who was abused by a parent! hes also the youngest of three boys with his two older brothers being four and eight years older than him respectively! his family was pretty well-off financially and his dad had a pretty prominent position in the business world, so from the outside looking in, all was pretty good! except that by the time ojima was born, his parents' marriage was already in a rapid downward spiral and his brothers were already regularly seeing the fallout from this in the form of physical and verbal abuse. ojima was supposed to be the sort of "patch" that was meant to fix their marriage because his mom thought that having another kid would force ojimas dad to be more responsible/caring/present etc, except obviously that did not happen because having a new baby in the house just made things way more stressful. his parents ended up staying together regardless, but their relationship was constantly in turmoil and for the first few years of his life ojima grew up in pretty much the same environment as his brothers: abusive and socially high-pressure

enter ojimas uncle, his dad's brother and another fairly relevant man in the world of business. hes super friendly and the boys love him and hes fun to be around and ojima in particular is attached to him because when hes out with uncle kenji, theres no fighting or yelling or hitting and everything is cool and hes only three so he has no concept of the fact that this dude is getting……..a little bit too comfortable around him! so things eventually get to the point where his uncle is taking ojima on outings without his brothers present, and from there, things escalate, and ojimas relationship with his uncle very quickly becomes sexually abusive. ojima is THREE of course so he has no idea how fucked up this is but understands that he does not like it and does not want to be around his uncle anymore except that things dont stop there and nobody really finds out about it for another two years despite it being ongoing.

so at age five ojima is talking to his oldest brother, who is now thirteen (his name is tetsuya!) and has a total meltdown. he knows hes not supposed to tell people about what he does with his uncle but hes completely losing it and he trusts his brother. tetsuya, who actually understands whats happening and is pissed, thinks it wise to go to their dad, which does not end well! dad is pissed that theyd make accusations like that about his brother and refuses to indulge the idea that ojima could be telling the truth in any way. what ensues is his dad doubling down on the psychological abuse that ojima is going through at home, and for lack of a better term, basically gaslighting him into thinking that hes lying and everything is fine, despite the fact that shit with his uncle is STILL ACTIVELY HAPPENING at this age!

so by around age six, ojima has his first experience with blacking out. between what his uncle is doing, what his dad is doing, the fact that he cant even trust his own mind anymore and the pressure of having to present all this as being totally fine because of his family's social status, something in him just snaps and he completely dissociates. hes suddenly in this world in his head where nobody can hurt him, nothing bad can happen, and MOST IMPORTANTLY, he is completely in control. of everything. ojima has never, ever been in control and its something he becomes practically addicted to because its the only way he can feel safe. it goes from dissociating once at a particularly bad moment to dissociating constantly to escape how shitty his life is. when ojima turns ten, his brother moves out and its absolutely devastating for him because thats one of the only two people in the world he can trust. from that point he pretty much never sees him again. tetsuya does literally everything in his power to get ojima and their middle brother (his name is toshiharu!) out of that environment, but hes eighteen and hes not their parent and their dad has a lot of sway, so it doesnt amount to anything meaningful. ojima is told that his brother left because hes a shitty person and he hates their family and eventually he learns to internalize that and blames his confession and his supposed destruction of their family for tetsuya leaving and never coming back. the many many attempts for tetsuya to contact ojima and toshiharu go interrupted by their dad and the two dont speak again.

things basically continue with ojima being abused at home and at his uncle's until he turns fourteen, at which point the next big milestone is that toshiharu moves out and reconnects with tetsuya, and now the two are full steam ahead on getting ojima out of that environment. except that its still basically useless because they have no legal say over him and their dad is really powerful so everything is still mostly the same except that ojima is completely alone. hes dissociated a good 90% of the time at this point because hes just incapable of handling the absolute shitstorm of things happening to him. hes in a living hell and maladaptive daydreaming is basically his only escape and the only thing that keeps him going. because of this, hes seen as weird and stupid by other kids at school and is treated like shit there too. theres pretty much nothing left in his life that could be considered good or redeeming except for the two things he enjoys: daydreaming and drawing.

contact with his uncle starts to break off around age fifteen when his uncle starts losing interest due to ojima being older now. ojima gets tremendously fucked up over this, and while hes relieved that its not happening, his brain is so torn at this point that he gets caught in a sort of spiral of wondering why hes no longer desirable and why people keep leaving him, even when they're bad people that ojima doesnt want in his life. in this time between age fifteen and age seventeen, things start to improve slightly because his uncle isnt touching him and his dad isnt constantly brainwashing him to get him to forget about his uncle touching him so for this brief gap of time, he can almost live comfortably. he starts doing some freelance illustration work because his dad wants him to get a job and it turns out hes pretty damn good at it, and he enjoys it a lot, so he spends a lot of his time illustrating. hes mainly motivated by the fact that he wants to give other kids like him a beautiful and vivid place to escape to, so he depicts all these fantastical and whimsical worlds in kids' books to give them that same sort of escape that he needed. his brothers are still desperately trying to get in contact with him/get him out of their old house, but its been years by this point and all he knows is that they both decided to completely abandon him one day and never look back, something that he entirely blames himself for.

despite things getting a bit better for him, ojima basically never grows out of the daydreaming and it takes over his life to some degree, which honestly? its debatable whether its good for him or not. on one hand, its extremely disruptive to his life and is not a healthy coping mechanism by any means. on the other hand, it was literally the only thing that got him through the past ten years alive and continues to be his only escape from the shitty life he has. anyway ojima is sixteen now! the physical and psychological torment from his dad starts to transition into a more familial/patriarchal pressure at this point - tetsuya and toshiharu are gone and severed, which means ojima is the son thats going to take over his business one day. suddenly his dad is treating him like a grown man when hes ever only been treated like a doll for his entire life - now hes being taught about business and social policy and world affairs and all these things he isnt interested in and doesnt understand. he really just wants to draw and dissociate and pretend nothing bad is happening to him. except even though hes not being tormented anymore, things are not good! because he has, obviously, absolutely massive amounts of trauma that he is not coping with. instead of ever dwelling on this or addressing it, which arent really options for him anyway, he goes deeper and deeper into his own headspace to escape it and pretty much locks himself away in this dissociative world to ignore everything that isnt his own art.

then ojima turns SEVENTEEN and the world flips. his brothers finally manage to get their case in front of a judge and the ojima family business SINKS LIKE A ROCK. his parents are in jail, and hes suddenly out on his ass. his brothers scoop him up pretty fast and do their best to piece him back together, but ojima is absolutely fucked in the head by this point. he lives with tetsuya and toshiharu and continues working because he loves to work, but he seriously struggles to rebuild the relationship he once had with them because in his understanding, they hate him. thats what hes been told for years. they live in this very tense situation where his brothers desperately want to help him, but they are also traumatized and they do not know what to do for him because hes just an absolute mess. ojima bounces around the idea of therapy for a while and frequently registers for therapy/drops out/registers/drops out repeat repeat repeat because he knows his broken and he knows he needs help, but going to therapy means actually thinking about his past and what happened to him and he cant do that. its terrifying and it hurts and he just wants to be in his own headspace. it leads to a lot of very emotional conversations with his brothers who still just dont know what to do but desperately want to get him help somehow.

and then the killing game starts

#von.txt #tetro danganronpa pink #tetro pink #tetro danganronpa #tetro spoilers

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franklyopinionated · 22 hours ago

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People are obsessed with exaggerating Annabeth's flaws while also downplaying her good qualities.

People exaggerate a few snide comments she made to Rachel in botl but no one ever talks about how Rachel would have died a painful death if Annabeth hadn't risked her own life to save Rachel from a crashing helicopter in TLO. Annabeth wasn't even fully sure she could fly the helicopter yet she jumped into it and risked her own death on the chance that she could save Rachel. Mind you, she didn't even like Rachel at this point but she put her feelings aside to save her. She literally could have stood there and let Rachel die and absolutely no one would be able to blame her for it.

People always bring up the fact that she wanted to save Luke as a negative thing while never mentioning that the thing that stopped Luke in the end was his love (familiar) for Annabeth and the promise he made to protect her. Annabeth would not have leaned on that promise to snap Luke out of being Kronos's meatbag if she had completely given up on him like Thalia. Her love and faith that Luke could be save literally was the ace in the hole in stopping the war and she never gets credit for it.

People act like Percy is the only one in their relationship that goes above and beyond while never mentioning that a full year before Percy fell into Tartarus for Annabeth, she actually took a near lethal blade straight to the chest for him and almost died. Mind you, she did this after Percy spent an entire summer hanging out with someone else. But when push came to shove she valued his life above her own because she loved him that much even when it could be argued that based on the state of their relationship at that point it would be understandable if she didn't risk her own life for him. But thats just not who Annabeth is.

People always gloss over the fact that Nico wanted to dislike Annabeth because of his crush yet he could never bring himself to dislike her because Annabeth was one of the few people at camp who was always nice to him. Annabeth has always been canonically nicer to Nico than Percy ever has. Yet people who want to ship Nico with Percy (someone who canonically has zero interest in him) they try to act like Annabeth was a monster. Mind you, Percy is the one who found Nico annoying for the duration of the books and Annabeth is the one who looked for him between TTC and BOTL and who was always so nice to him that Nico couldn't even bring himself to dislike her.

And then you have her family. Despite her being emotionally abused and neglected she still continues to give her family chance after chance to be better throughout the books. And despite fandom trying to rewrite history, that decision has nothing to do with Percy. She canonically has been trying to repair her relationship with her father and stepmother even before she meets Percy in Lightening Thief. She's one of the most forgiving characters in the series and never gets credit for it.

Really sick and tired of this fandom exaggerating Annabeth's flaws (or completely making them up) and straight up ignoring her accomplishments and good qualities. It's getting ridiculous. And we know most of you only do it because you want to ship Percy with someone else so you need to villianize Annabeth to justify it which is ridiculous because you can literally ship whatever you want without being hateful and making things up about another character.

So many of your favs would be dead or worse off if Annabeth really was the monster ya'll try to act like she is to justify your hatred, misogyny and racism (a lot of Annabeth hate picked up with the show casting and it's not a coincidence) against her

#annabeth chase #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #percabeth #luke castellan #rachel elizabeth dare #nico di angelo #thalia grace #grover underwood #tyson #pjo #riordanverse #heroes of olympus

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huntingcupid · 2 days ago

Text

⌗ WOMAN LIKE ME — M.M..

I can tell you're shy and I think you're so sweet spending every night under covers and still I wonder, could you fall for a woman like me?

⌗ MANON — fem!reader, fluff, suggestive, drinking, mentions of dr☆gs, swearing, rich!manon, scholar!reader, etc...

⌗ CUPID — hello! first work ever! I'm very excited for the feedback ill get, anyways i hope you all enjoy this :))

studying in a prestigious school came with its pros and cons — cons? you're a transferee and a scholar meaning you aren't really that rich, pro's no one bothers to bully you, maybe dirty looks but nothing too serious

your biggest problem was not fitting in, while other students wore gucci, prada or dior , you wore a hand me down shirt which probably had a rip in it

either way, you focused on finishing your studies to hopefully work for a better future — you've dreamt about the rich life style, not bothering to look at the prices or could spend thousands on a single bag only to wear it once

who lived this lifestyle you might ask, meret manon bannerman, the ghanaian princess, friends with the most well known people on campus and well respected person to say the least

every year she hosts a party in her multi million mansion, everyone gets an invitation — but there are these so called

vip's, only manon's closest friends, to name a few, lara , sophia and daniela

so when the invitations finally circled the campus, imagine your surprise seeing your name in the “manon's vip” — utter shock

you were just on your way to your last class when you had read it — “what the-” your jaw practically mopping the floor — manon and you barely interacted, and it didn't help that you had a little crush on the woman

you sat your normal spot, second row just behind manon and her clique — your friend and co-loser/nerd yunjin asks you about the party expecting you to get the normal one

“what!?” yunjin screeches, gaining the attention of the class, she quickly apologizes and tones down her voice, “vip? like the vip, did you like suddenly get close with manon without my knowledge or something” she mutters in disbelief

“i also don't know” you laugh a bit, nervous and worried about what may have landed you in this predicament — “well you have to dress well” yunjin replies, you gasp in faux astonishment

“are you saying I dress badly?” you said to the korean, “well…” yunjin trails off, you hit her arm playfully, “okay bully” you replied as yunjin giggles

“seriously, come over tonight i'll dress you up” yunjin then says — you nod understanding the woman, yunjin always looked out for you, especially now one wrong move from you and you will become the laughing stock

see other than being a complete nerd, yunjin was also rich, not manon level rich but rich enough that she casually has her walk-in closet

the school bell rings, signaling the end of your last class — you pack up your items careful with your very old laptop, till you felt someone tap your shoulders twice

“hmh?” you hum asking, you turn around only to see manon towering over you, your heart skips a beat, you unintentionally stare at her glossy lips — which didn't go unnoticed to the woman

“have you read the invitation yet?” she asks her voice naturally sultry which made you subconsciously grip the desk, “yeah i-i have” you stammer, nervous to be in her presence

“good, see you later then sweetie” manon says fixing a stray hair on your face before walking away, you felt like dying just at that moment, she drove you crazy

“okay what was that about” yunjin says in shock at what she had just witnessed, “i swear to god, are you guys fuc-” you hit yunjin cutting her off abruptly, “maybe she's being nice” you say, “or maybe she wants to kiss you” yunjin replies giggling as she runs off

you gasp running after the girl, “get back here huh yunjin!” you shout after her, finally catching up yunjin opens the passenger seat to her car

“so… what's the party theme?” yunjin asks as she drives, “I'm not sure, it didn't say anything on the invite just said dress your best” you replied shrugging, yunjin hums acknowledging it

you stare at the invite, thinking of how you got it — anyone could've gotten it but you did, you sigh overthinking

the next minute yunjin is pulling up to their driveway, you knew her house like the back of your hand — you assumed that her parents were out like usual since yunjin doesn't really bring you over when they are there

you two went straight to her room, as she rummaged through her piles of designer clothes you did your homework – “okay! got it — come here” yunjin shouts calling you to the closet

you walk in immediately sighing seeing 4 hangers with different dresses and accessories to match, “try all of these and ill see if its good” yunjin mutters pushing you to the bathroom with the first hanger

you tried it on mentally noting how much you hated wearing high heels, “not bad, not showing enough though” yunjin comments as she tilts her head assessing the dark blue dress that hugged you perfectly and gave the most coverage

“yunjin” you whine already wearing the final dress, its black and was so tight you felt like your heart was about to pop out, also felt like in any minute you'll flash someone with how pushed up your chest was — “now this is what we want to see y/n” yunjin mutters her eyes liting up excited

“okay take a quick shower and ill get working on your make up and everything” she smiles, “how about your clothes?” you ask, “I've had my outfit planned way before we got the invite” yunjin replies quickly ushering you into the bathroom, you chuckle at yunjins antics

a few hours later you two were ready to leave, you looked so different — like an upgraded version of your usual self

“oh my god, thank you yunjin” you pout hugging yunjin tightly, “anything for you” yunjin smiles and hugs back, you two drive to manons mansion, every year it kept looking better, it looked like millions of cars were parked outside as the bass of the music shook the ground

you gave yourself a pep talk, knowing from this point on your probably gonna not see yunjin, “girl calm your nerves down, manon invited you for a reason be confident okay?” yunjin says squeezing your hand before you two separated

you walk the unfamiliar halls of the mansion, stumbling upon the vip room, you knock hesitantly and waited for someone to open it — lara opens the door and immediately lights up, the room was beautiful — and was pretty loud due to the girls doing karaoke and taking shots

“manon, your girls here” lara calls out almost in a teasing voice — manon tells you to come in and you did, taking a seat next to her — “thank you for inviting me here” you mutter to the girl

“thank you for coming, you look incredible by the way” manon whispers back her hands snaking to you waist as she takes a shot — you take a shot enjoying the burn thag run down your throat

you look around the room but you couldn't ignore how manon was practically staring at you, her hands moving up and down your side — “hey ease up darling, want to taste?” manon ask handing you a dessert from the table, you nod letting her feed you

“woah manon, aren't you too quick there?” sophia gasps in faux surprise, manon flips her off laughing to herself, “don't mind them” manon whispers to you

the room started getting whirly for you, you blame the amount of shots and drinks you have drunk, but you wondered if they spiked some of the drinks since they hit harder than the ones you usually buy

“princess you alright?” manon asks as she notices how you've gone silent, she squeezes your arm, “my head just hurts a bit” you mutter back mustering up a small smile, manon knew you were drunk it was obvious she helped you up and carried you to her bedroom just down the hall

everything in that minute was a blur — your head spinned and you didnt even notice when you were laying on her bed, you open your eyes only to see manon over you

without thinking much you pull in the girl to kiss you, you melted into her lips, she was so intoxicating, manon's hands ran down your waist as she moans into you, her thigh creeps up between yours which made you groan

“fuck, you're so beautiful like this y/n” manon whispers into your lips, no one breaks off even though you two were nearing passing out from the lack of oxygen

manon felt like heaven, and you couldn't ignore how her thighs were in between yours, nothing mattered now, only manon

“shit” you breathe out breaking off to take a breathe — you look up at manon who just smirked smugly, her lip gloss now smudged and some stuck onto your lips

like a silent agreement, you sat on her lap, and held her nape kissing her yet again, manon but your lip making you groan she gained access to your mouth too, her tongue probed around tasting you — her hands were planted on your waist firmly which made you dizzy

you two eventually fell back leaving you on top of the girl, you moaned into her feeling turned on by the second — her hands now trailed down to your thighs, she then detached from your lips kissing your jaw down to your neck, sucking a particular spot which made you whimper

her hands skim your thighs scratching lightly — “f-fuck manon please” you beg in that soft whiny voice that manon just couldn't resist, “tell me what you want sweetie?” manon teases

“hey uhm guys..someone broke the tv in the lounge area” megan awkwardly breaks the session, you groan and manon scoffs annoyed but she had to check it

“ill be back princess, wait for me okay” you nod breathless, you fall back onto the bed, reflecting what just happened in the past 20 minutes — “what the fuck” you mutter to yourself immediately chatting yunjin about it

wc: 1.6k

#katseye #katseye x reader #katseye imagines #manon bannerman #meret manon #wlw #fem!reader #kpop #ઇଓ cupid fics

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trainsinanime · 3 days ago

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Yes! It's so interesting how deeply the show is steeped in class and power and how that means very different things for different characters. Jinshi has the privilege of being almost able to ignore them. If he wants to dote on this low-born maid, even trade places with her for a day, there's nothing really stopping him.

For Maomao, on the other hand, Jinshi is someone who can fuck up her entire life at a moment's notice. She expressed that clearly when she was discussing how she'd like to be executed if it ever came to that: If she oversteps boundaries, Jinshi has almost unlimited power to punish her, have her flogged, even have her killed, whether he wants that power or not. It's his job. She's seen this first hand when a woman admitted to attempted murder, and as a result she got executed, her family got tortured, their money taken away, all government contracts with their business partners terminated, and ultimately 80 women, including Maomao herself, got fired and put in extremely precarious economic positions.

Maomao does not actually believe that nobles are inherently better than her, let alone Jinshi, but she knows their power is 100% real. She loves solving puzzles, but she dreads the consequences of knowledge, and in particular the consequences of letting those with more power know. While she will resort to using Jinshi's authority if she has to, there are plenty of cases where she solves a thing and then only tells the people directly involved, or in some cases, nobody at all.

As pointed out above, it's an interesting break from other protagonists, who may do a single token "refusal of the call". But Maomao consistently keeps her distance from whatever important main plot is going on, and she's smart enough to do so fairly successfully.

maomao’s dedication to ignoring jinshi’s real identity is truly inspiring. the woman who has solved multiple murders based on minor clues in the environment keeps looking at every sign pointing to jinshi being royalty and going “damn, this could add up to something. good thing I can’t do math!”

#the apothecary diaries #sorry for rambling just something I've been thinking about lately

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cutielando · 14 hours ago

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on the stream | lando norris

synopsis: in which people finally found out about you on his stream

a/n: based on this request!

pairing: lando norris x girlfriend!reader

my masterlist

It was one of those quiet Saturday afternoons when everything seemed perfect—peaceful, undisturbed, and calm.

You had spent most of the day curled up on the couch, catching up on shows and scrolling through your phone, while Lando sat at his desk in the corner of the room, eyes focused on the screen of his gaming setup.

His Twitch stream had just begun, and you’d decided to join him for a bit of company.

You weren’t one for the spotlight, so you typically stayed off-camera during his streams, content to let him do his thing while you offered the occasional distraction or just hung out in the background.

Lando had been streaming more lately, and his fanbase had grown significantly. The requests and comments came flooding in as soon as he went live, but Lando took it all in stride, always offering a wave or a friendly greeting to his followers.

He was as charming as ever—fun, spontaneous, and always up for a laugh.

It was just supposed to be a normal day—Lando gaming, you in the background, maybe chiming in every now and then, keeping it low-key.

But things quickly spiraled when Lando’s chat exploded with a question that made your heart skip a beat.

"So, Lando," one of his loyal fans asked, "is that your girlfriend sitting behind you?"

You froze. You hadn’t even realized you were sitting in the frame. In the corner of the room, the angle of the camera captured you perfectly—your face partially visible, your eyes glued to your phone.

You tried to duck out of view, but it was too late. The damage had been done.

Lando, oblivious to the impending disaster, leaned back in his chair with a smirk.

"That’s… that’s my friend, just hanging out," he said, his tone casual, as though it was no big deal.

But as he glanced at the screen again, his eyes widened in realization.

The chat was flooded with comments now.

"Wait, that’s definitely her, isn’t it?" "Is this the famous girlfriend??" "OMG Lando you’ve been hiding her for so long!" "Is she really your girlfriend, or is this just a friend thing?!" "Aww, they’re so cute together!"

Lando’s face went red as he quickly tried to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"Alright, alright, calm down, chat" he said nervously. "Nothing to see here. Just a friend. We’re just chilling"

But even as he said it, you could tell by the way his voice wavered that he was less than convincing.

You had always been good at staying out of the spotlight.

Lando was the famous one, the one with the fans, the one with the spotlight. You were just his private world—someone who stayed behind closed doors, keeping to yourself while he handled the public life.

But today, that boundary had been crossed.

The comments kept coming, faster and faster, as more people recognized you. The whole situation felt like it was spiraling out of control.

"Okay, okay, you caught us" Lando finally admitted, laughing awkwardly. "Yes, she’s my girlfriend. But I’m keeping things private, alright? We’ve been keeping this on the down-low for a reason, guys. Please respect that"

Your heart raced as you glanced at him, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and dread. You weren’t sure if you were ready for the world to know.

The fact that this revelation had happened so unexpectedly, in front of thousands of strangers, made it feel overwhelming.

You weren’t used to being so exposed. In fact, you liked it that way—your relationship with Lando had always been something just for the two of you, far from the prying eyes of the internet.

Lando, sensing your discomfort, quickly turned his chair toward you.

"Hey," he said, his voice softer now, "are you okay with this? I didn’t mean for things to go down like this. I can end the stream if you want."

You shook your head, trying to compose yourself.

"No, it’s fine. It’s just… a little overwhelming" you admitted. "I didn’t expect it to happen like this."

He smiled at you, the reassurance in his eyes enough to make you feel a little less panicked.

"Don’t worry. We’ll handle it. I’ll just answer some questions, clear the air, and we can go back to normal, yeah?"

Lando’s fans, though shocked at first, seemed to rally around the revelation.

The chat filled with heart emojis and congratulations, and a wave of support came pouring in. But you still felt a bit nervous.

The internet had a way of turning things upside down, and while you trusted Lando, the idea of being thrust into the public eye wasn’t something you’d ever really signed up for.

After a few minutes of fielding questions about your relationship, Lando looked at the camera and spoke directly to his followers.

"Okay, okay, I see the hype, but please, just respect her privacy. She’s not in the public eye, and I want to keep it that way. We’re just two people trying to enjoy life, and I’d appreciate it if you gave us that space"

The chat slowed down a bit, but there were still dozens of comments popping up, many of which were asking about how the two of you met, how long you’d been together, and whether you were going to appear more often on his stream.

You sat quietly behind him, biting your lip, trying to figure out how to navigate this new chapter of your life—one that was no longer just shared between you and Lando.

But Lando, always the calm and collected one, seemed determined to put you at ease.

He turned back to the game, focusing on it for a few moments, then called you over to his side.

"Come here," he said with a warm smile, holding his hand out to you. "I’ll make you feel better. Let’s finish this round together."

You hesitated for a moment but then walked over, sitting beside him on the edge of the gaming chair.

As soon as you were close, Lando pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist. His fans went wild in the chat, but you didn’t mind anymore.

Lando’s touch was the grounding force you needed.

"See?" Lando whispered in your ear, his voice only audible to you. "We’ll get through this together. It’s just a little bump, nothing we can’t handle"

And for the first time in a while, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. Lando, ever the protective and caring boyfriend, wasn’t going to let anything shake you.

No matter how many people were watching, you were still his—and that was all that mattered.

The rest of the stream passed by with a few awkward moments, but mostly fun and lightheartedness as Lando managed to steer the conversation back to his usual antics.

As the stream ended, and the camera was turned off, you finally let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

"That wasn’t so bad, was it?" Lando teased, his fingers gently brushing your hair.

You smiled at him, finally feeling the weight of the situation ease. "I guess not. But I still can’t believe you just exposed me like that."

Lando laughed, kissing the top of your head.

"Hey, I’m sorry! But I figured it was time to let the world know about you. You’re too special to keep to myself"

"You're ridiculous" you smiled, but leaned down to kiss him nonetheless.

And in that moment, just the two of you in his home, you knew that your relationship was going to be different now that it was in the public eye, but you didn't care.

As long as you were with Lando, everything would be okay.

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perseephoneee · 23 hours ago

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꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ reckless driver [frank langdon x f!reader]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange information ↳ taglist

synopsis: we all need a little bit of healing (or frank patches you up after an accident)

a/n: i got really badly injured at a waterfall and then proceeded to write this while holding back tears. also i binged the pitt and i'm so deeply in love with frank i love my wet rat babygirl.

thank you to @eurydiceauxenfers for being the best beta a girl can ask for <3

tagging @mayfieldss and @a-house-of-endless-fandoms for suffering through my pitt tangents

This wasn’t out of the norm for you.

Not the type of injury, of course, just ending up injured. You were prone to tripping, falling, hitting something, pretty much any accident under the sun. You woke up with bruises and cuts you didn’t remember receiving, and aches that weren’t there before. As long as you weren’t bleeding, you considered it fine. Take some ibuprofen and call it a day. As befits a doctor, you were horrible at taking care of yourself.

It was that flippant attitude that ended with you in this situation. You took the bus to work, like every morning, getting off at the closest spot to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. It was still a 10-minute walk, but the sun was out, so you didn’t mind. Until you saw a dog run out into the road in front of a car, and then decided to run and push the dog out of the way. You always did have a soft spot for animals.

Of course, the car didn’t stop. You would consider the treatment you got a love tap. Sure, you landed flat on your back on the pavement, but no broken bones. You weren’t dead. You weren’t bleeding too badly. It took you all of five minutes to tell people that ‘yes, I’m fine’ and ‘I’m a doctor, I would know’ before they’d leave you alone. It took you another five minutes to (calmly) chastise the driver for their negligence.

You were late to work and unhappy about it.

A couple of minutes into your walk, the adrenaline wore off, and your leg started to hurt. Like, really badly. Your head kinda swam too, but you ignored that. The driver did hit your leg straight on, so you shouldn’t be surprised. But you really didn’t want to worry your colleagues.

Robby would make you go home; he was overprotective like that. Dana would follow you around like a mother hen. And Langdon would…be Langdon.

You never knew with Frank. He was one year ahead of you in his residency and usually full of snark and a boundless energy you couldn’t match. You thought he was cute the first day and hid that info by being as sarcastic as he was. Using humor to deflect your feelings was one of the best ways to avoid getting hurt. Especially when the inevitable would be nothing happening and him finding someone else.

(It would absolutely devastate you anyway.)

But the few times you got hurt to the point of it being a problem, there was a switch in Frank. He would become worse than Dana, but a whole lot more argumentative. Part of you liked to think he cared, the other part wondered if it was exasperation in his tone.

(You would keep getting hurt if it meant you could feel his touch on you.)

You made it to the hospital by slowly limping as fast as you could. You entered the ER, slowed to a stroll to hide your leg, planning on waiting until you could corner Samira to help you out. She always was good with confidentiality.

You were never that lucky. You took approximately ten steps, said hello to Robby, who was waiting at central, before getting called back by him. He had taken one look at you and known something was wrong.

“Morning, doc,” you saluted, hiking your bag up on your shoulder. He narrowed his eyes.

“What happened.”

It wasn’t a question the way he said it.

“Nothing happened.”

“Bullshit. What happened.”

Robby was like a bloodhound when someone he cared about was hurt. It was very annoying. Probably what made him a good doctor.

“Just had a run in, not a big deal,” you shrugged. He still didn’t believe you. Footsteps behind you made you inwardly curse.

“What’s up?” Frank asked, jogging up. He looked like he had his morning Red Bull and was raring to go.

“Dr. L/N was going to tell us how she got hurt this morning.” You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“What? You’re hurt?” Frank immediately stepped toward you, tone serious and brows furrowed. You glared at them both.

“No, I’m totally fine. See?” You twirled on your feet, clenching your teeth as your leg protested. Robby noticed.

“I want you to walk normally in a straight line,” Robby crossed his arms, looking you up and down. You blinked back at him. You walked slowly until Robby narrowed his eyes, and you were forced to pick up the pace. You felt tears prick your eyes. “I’ll ask you again. What. Happened.”

Robby had this tone he got with his residents, like they were unruly children lying about their report card, and you hated to hear it. It made you feel like you should be in time out.

You mumbled about the car.

“I’m sorry?” Robby leaned forward.

“I maybe accidentally, perhaps, been hit by a car,” you rushed out, taking a step back as if you could escape to the lockers.

“What?!” Robby and Langdon both said at the same time. You flinched at the noise.

“Room 2. Now,” Robby snapped, grabbing your arm and dragging you forward. You dug your heels in despite the pain and refused to budge. “Y/N.”

“I’m fine! I don’t need medical attention!” You seethed, trying to wrench out of his grip.

“Langdon. Grab her.”

Frank immediately stepped up behind you, blocking your escape.

“Sorry, princess,” he shrugged, picking you up when you wouldn’t move. He ended up throwing you over his shoulder when you proved to be difficult. “Would you stop hitting me?!”

“Let me down or so help me God—“

“You’ll what? Limp toward me in fury?”

“Motherfu—“

Langdon plopped you on the patient bed in a huff. Robby closed the door, and you knew that you had lost this battle. No way getting past these two.

“Why are you so stubborn?” Robby sighed.

“I don’t like bothering people,” you crossed your arms, leaning back on the pillows. Before he could examine you, one of the nurses knocked on the door, telling Robby they needed him. He looked between you and Langdon, running his hand over his head.

“Langdon, take care of her. I’ll be back,” Robby stated, nodding at you before leaving.

This was a nightmare.

“You don’t have to be doing this,” you murmured. Langdon checked your eyes and vitals, ignoring your statement.

“How did you even get hit by a car?” he asked, putting on his stethoscope. You tried to mellow your heart, but it was hard when he was close.

“I…was saving a dog.”

He looked at you in disbelief for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Only you,” he chuckled. “I’m going to order a CT, because I don’t trust that there isn’t something wrong with your head. Roll up the pants for me.”

You did as instructed. He touched along the calf, and you hissed. He pulled his hands away.

“Any other injuries you’re refusing to show me?”

You stuck your tongue out at him but reluctantly offered up your palms, which were scraped from supporting your fall. He pulled up a chair and grabbed some first aid, sitting close to you as he grabbed your hands. His touch sent electricity down your spine, even as he cleaned the wounds with antiseptic spray.

“You really don’t have to do this,” you whispered. He looked up at you, that one lock of hair falling into his eyes and driving you mad.

“Why do you do that?”

��Do what?”

“Pretend like I shouldn’t care,” he responded. He wrapped your palm in gauze, not letting the hand go, even when it was bandaged. He traced your fingers with his thumb, staring down at your hands. “I do care. Why is that weird?”

“Because you’re usually an ass.”

You watched him suppress a smile at that. He finally looked up at you, blue gaze steely. You felt like you fell into the deep end of the waters and couldn’t get back up. You wondered if you’d even want to.

“Y/N, do you want to go on a date with me?”

The question caught you off guard. So off guard, you actually just stared at him, blinking for several seconds. Then you remembered you had to answer.

“I, uh, yes, um…I do want to date. Go on a date with you,” you stammered.

“Really?” He looked so hopeful that it made your heart hurt.

“Really,” you smiled, honestly. And then your heart flipped as Frank kissed your palm, returning your hand to you. He was a tease, and both of you knew it.

“Kisses make everything better, medical fact,” Frank smirked.

“Are you kissing your patients? Because that seems like an HR case,” you jibed, your voice dying out as he kissed your other palm. He ignored your teasing.

“Any other injuries?” He inquired. You narrowed your eyes at him, thinking.

“I think I scraped my lip.”

“Did you now?”

“Yep, totally. Happened when I face planted the pavement.”

“I think I have something for that,” Frank smirked, before leaning in and kissing you. His hand cupped your cheek, so gentle and yet so firm in his affections, it made the butterflies in your stomach go on overdrive. He tasted like caffeine and spearmint, and you wondered if you could survive on him alone.

“Jesus fuck, I asked you to take care of her not hit on her,” Robby groaned, stepping inside the room. You both broke apart, you with heat rushing to your cheeks and mortification in your eyes. Frank, with a sort of smug satisfaction. Bastard.

“I was providing care.”

“Sure,” Robby rolled his eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Just need a head CT,” you coughed out. You still couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Then get on that,” Robby sighed. “Now, break it up, lovebirds. Langdon, I need you now.”

Lovebirds. That’s all you thought of as Frank left with a wink.

Maybe you should get hit by a car more often.

#frank langdon #frank langdon x reader #frank langdon imagine #patrick ball #the pitt #the pitt x reader #my writing #wet rat

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lila-lou · 2 days ago

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✨The night you gave in✨

Summary: You resisted Soldier Boy for weeks. One night, you stopped—and he made sure you’d never forget what giving in felt like.

-requested-

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 8290

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The mansion was alive with chaos. Bodies tangled in hedonistic pleasure, music pulsing through the walls, the air thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and something darker. You had no business being here, really. This wasn’t your scene. It never was. But Soldier Boy had insisted.

“Come on, sweetheart. You’re my assistant, aren’t you? Fucking assist me”.

So here you were, navigating through the mess of superheroes indulging in excess. You had done a damn good job of keeping your distance all these weeks, resisting his persistent advances with nothing more than a scoff, a roll of your eyes, or a sharp retort.

But tonight? Tonight, something was different. Maybe it was the way he looked-his cocky grin a little less smug, his eyes a little darker, as if even he was getting tired of the chase. Or maybe it was the way the liquor burned in your throat, loosening the grip of your stubborn resolve.

You felt him before you saw him. His presence thick in the air, radiating heat and power. A heavy hand landed on your hip, pulling you back against something solid, unmovable.

“You been runnin’ from me all this time”, Soldier Boy murmured into your ear, his voice rough and edged with amusement. “But you still came when I called”.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering as his fingers trailed lower. You could still walk away. You should walk away. But when you turned, meeting those deep green eyes filled with something dark and knowing, you realized, you didn’t want to. Not today.

Still, you pushed against his chest, your hands pressing against the hard armor, but he barely moved. Just stood there, smirking down at you like he had you right where he wanted.

“It’s my damn job”, you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than him.

Ben let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through your body with how close he was. “That why you’re pressed up against me right now, sweetheart?”. His grip on your hip tightened just slightly, enough to make your breath hitch.

Your eyes darted around the room. The debauchery continued, grunts, moans, laughter, but you felt the weight of a few stares. A handful of supes had noticed you. And you were only human.

Even if Soldier Boy was an arrogant bastard, you’d rather deal with him than be left to navigate this place alone.

One of the supes, a woman with glowing violet eyes, licked her lips as she trailed her gaze down your body. Another, some muscle-bound asshole with obsidian-black skin, was already making his way closer. You weren’t naïve. You knew what this night was about. And you knew exactly what happened to people who weren’t careful here.

Soldier Boy noticed too. His fingers flexed on your hip before sliding lower, possessive, a silent warning to anyone watching.

“That’s what I thought”, he muttered, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re safer with me, doll. Always have been”.

You should have hated how much that statement felt true in this moment.

“Fine”, you breathed, forcing yourself to relax into his grip.

His grin was smug, but there was something else in his eyes, something darker. He was enjoying this way too much. “Atta girl”, he murmured, guiding you through the room like he owned you.

It wasn’t that you didn’t find Ben attractive, because shit, you did.

The sharp jawline, the unruly hair, the broad shoulders that looked like they could take a missile and not budge. And the way he carried himself, cocky and self-assured, like the whole world was a joke and he was the only one in on it. It was irritating as hell, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you smirk sometimes.

You actually thought he was funny too, in that asshole kind of way. The kind that made you roll your eyes but secretly bite back a laugh.

But attraction wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that Ben wasn’t just some guy. He was a supe. And you’d never been with a supe before.

Deep down, that was what really stopped you. Not his arrogance, not his persistence, not even the fact that he was a walking, talking pain in your ass. No, it was the fear,the quiet, gnawing fear that if he didn’t pay attention, if he got too into it, if he lost control even for a second, you wouldn’t be walking out of that room in one piece.

You’d heard the stories. Everyone had. Supes who got too rough, who didn’t know their own strength, who crushed ribs with a single thrust or snapped necks just trying to chase their own pleasure. The kind of stories that got whispered behind closed doors and covered up by Vought’s PR team before the public ever got a whiff of them.

And Soldier Boy? He was worse than most.

You’d seen him fight. You’d seen what he did to people without even trying. And if he got carried away, if he forgot for even a second that you were just huma… A shiver ran down your spine, and Ben must have felt it because his grip on you shifted, steady but firm. His lips were still close to your ear, his breath warm as he spoke.

“You’re thinking too much”, he muttered.

You swallowed hard, keeping your voice even. “No. I’m just not stupid”.

He let out a low chuckle, his hand sliding to the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. The other supes had lost interest now, either picking up new playthings or getting distracted by the chaos around them. But Ben didn’t let you go.

“You really think I’d break you?”. His voice was quieter now, more serious than you expected.

You hesitated. Yes. Maybe. I don’t fucking know.

“I think you don’t always know your own strength”, you admitted finally.

That made him pause. Just for a second.

Then, he exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Geez, sweetheart. Give me a little credit”. His grip on you tightened—deliberate, controlled. “I might be a lot of things, but I don’t fuckin’ break my toys”.

You weren’t sure if that was supposed to be reassuring. But the way his hand lingered on your hip, firm and grounding, made it hard to care.

The noise of the party faded as Ben guided you upstairs, his grip never loosening. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was leading. The hallway was dimly lit, the muffled sounds of pleasure and chaos still vibrating through the walls, but up here, it was quieter. More intentional.

He pushed open a door at the end of the hall. A private room, untouched by the mess below. Dark wood furniture, a massive bed, and a bar cart stocked with top-shelf liquor. This wasn’t some random guest room. It was his.

The door shut with a firm click.

You turned to face him, pulse thrumming in your ears. He stood in front of the door, watching you with that unreadable expression, the one that always made your stomach tighten.

“This your way of getting me alone?”, you asked, keeping your tone light, though your body was wound tight.

Ben smirked. “Worked, didn’t it?”.

He moved past you, grabbing a bottle from the bar, pouring himself a drink like he had all the time in the world. Like he hadn’t spent weeks chasing you down just for this moment.

You crossed your arms. “So, what now? You finally got me here. What’s the grand plan?”.

He took a slow sip, watching you over the rim of the glass. “That depends, sweetheart. You still think I’m gonna snap you in half?”.

Your breath caught, but you didn’t look away. “I think you’re reckless”.

His tongue flicked over his lower lip as he set the glass down with a soft clink. “I can be”. He took a step closer. “But not with you”.

You didn’t know if you believed that. Not fully. But the way he was looking at you now, like he was waiting for you to make the call, sent a different kind of shiver down your spine.

For weeks, he’d been pushing, teasing, hunting you down with that relentless charm. And now? Now he was giving you the choice.

Maybe it was the heat of the night, the tension that had been building between you, or maybe it was the fact that, deep down, you wanted to believe him.

Either way, when you finally spoke, your voice was quieter than you intended.

“Then show me”.

Ben’s smirk deepened, but his eyes darkened with something else entirely.

Ben let out a low chuckle, sitting down and leaning back against the couch, his legs spread wide, making himself comfortable. The dim lighting cast deep shadows across his face, but his eyes, those dark green eyes, never left you.

He took another slow sip from his glass, swirling the liquid before tilting his head toward the massive mirror wall in front of him.

“Strip”, he muttered, like it was nothing. Like he was asking you to pass the remote instead of something that made heat coil low in your stomach.

You let out a dry laugh, arms still crossed. “Are you fucking kidding?”.

Ben exhaled, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, do I look like I’m kidding?”.

You glanced at the mirror. It reflected everything—the couch, the bar, the massive bed in the background. And him. Relaxed, confident, waiting.

Your heartbeat kicked up a notch.

“This what you do?”, you asked, narrowing your eyes. “Make girls put on a show while you sit there like a king?”.

Ben just smirked. “No. You’re special”.

You scoffed, but the way he said it, low and easy, sent a shiver through you. He was playing a game, pushing to see if you’d bite.

And the worst part? You kind of wanted to.

“Come on”, he coaxed, voice smooth as honey. “You been running from me for weeks. I finally get you alone, and you’re just gonna stand there?”. His gaze dropped, lazily dragging over your body like he could see through your clothes. “That’s a damn shame”.

Your fingers twitched at your sides.

It wasn’t the stripping that made your breath catch—it was the watching. The fact that he wanted to sit there and just look, to make you stand in front of that mirror and see yourself the way he saw you.

Your skin burned at the thought.

Ben arched a brow, amusement flickering in his gaze. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Scared?”.

That did it. Your chin lifted. Fuck it.

You reached for the hem of your top, gripping it tight before slowly pulling it over your head. The cool air hit your skin, but the heat in Ben’s gaze made up for it.

He didn’t say a word. Just sat there, watching. Waiting.

You swallowed hard, fingers trailing to the button of your jeans. The mirror reflected everything back at you. The rise and fall of your chest, the tension in your shoulders, the way Ben’s gaze darkened with every inch of skin you revealed.

The denim slid down your legs, pooling at your feet. You stood there, breath unsteady, heart hammering, waiting for him to say something.

Ben took his time. Finished his drink. Set the glass aside with deliberate ease. Then, finally, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, eyes locking onto yours in the mirror. “There she is”, he murmured.

A startled gasp left your lips as he grabbed the waistband of your panties and yanked you back toward him. The force knocked you off balance, sending you tumbling against his lap.

“Ben—”.

The sharp sound of fabric tearing filled the air. Your breath caught. The cool air brushed against newly exposed skin, and for a split second, all you could do was stare at yourself in the mirror, eyes wide, lips parted, heart pounding.

Ben let out a low, satisfied hum, his fingers grazing over your hip where the ruined material used to be. “These were in my way”, he muttered, completely unapologetic.

Your pulse thrummed under your skin, every nerve buzzing with anticipation.

He didn’t let you go. Instead, his hands splayed wide over your waist, rough and warm, grounding you against him. The heat of his body burned through the fabric of his suit, every inch of him solid and dangerous.

Your throat went dry.

“You should see yourself”, Ben murmured, his voice dark with amusement.

Your eyes flickered up, meeting his gaze in the mirror. He was watching you, studying the way your breath quickened, the way your skin flushed under his touch.

Cocky bastard.

“I swear, if you just ripped my underwear for no reason—”.

Ben let out a sharp laugh, fingers tightening on your waist. “For no reason?”. His grip shifted, guiding your hips down just enough for you to feel the evidence of exactly why he did it.

A small, involuntary noise caught in your throat.

“Yeah”, Ben murmured, dragging his lips against your bare shoulder, his voice dropping to something low and dangerous. “That’s what I thought”.

Your back was still pressed to his chest, your breath unsteady as you watched the scene play out in the mirror. His hands roamed, slow, teasing, trailing over your thighs, your waist, before moving up to the clasp of your bra.

His fingers hooked around the band, ready to undo it. But you stopped him. Your hands flew to his wrists, gripping tight.

Ben froze.

You didn’t say anything right away, just sat there, keeping his hands at bay. Your nails pressed lightly into his skin, and for the first time tonight, he actually hesitated. A muscle ticked in his jaw. His breath was warm against your shoulder. He didn’t ask why. Not at first.

Instead, he loosened his grip, his voice dropping low. “What’s wrong?”.

Your chest felt tight. You hated this. Hated that after everything, after weeks of pushing him away and finally giving in, this was the thing stopping you. But you couldn’t shake the feeling.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what kind of women Ben was used to—bombshells with perfect curves, the kind who walked into a room and commanded attention with just a glance. Women who didn’t hesitate, didn’t overthink, didn’t sit here second-guessing themselves while wearing nothing but scraps of torn lace.

And you? You’d never felt like enough.

You kept your eyes on the mirror, avoiding his gaze. “It’s nothing”, you muttered, trying to shift out of his grip. “Forget it”.

Ben didn’t let you go.

His hands didn’t force, didn’t push, just stayed, steady and unyielding. “Nah”, he said, voice quieter now, rougher. “Not how this works”.

You swallowed hard. “It’s stupid”.

“I’ll be the judge of that”.

His reflection stared you down, his gaze dark, unreadable. The weight of his hands, the warmth of his body against yours, it was too much, but not enough.

You inhaled sharply, forcing the words out. “I just… I don’t exactly have a lot going on up top”. You let out a humorless laugh, but it sounded hollow. “Sorry if that’s disappointing”.

Ben was silent.

For a long, agonizing moment, you thought maybe he’d agree, maybe he’d laugh, brush it off, confirm every stupid insecurity that had ever sat heavy in your chest.

But then he exhaled sharply, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly, grounding you against him. His lips brushed against your neck, his breath warm as he let out a low, almost disbelieving chuckle. “That’s what you’re worried about?”.

You stiffened. “Forget it—”.

His hands moved, firm and slow, dragging up your sides, fingertips teasing the edge of your bra. Not pushing, just there, like he wanted you to feel how much he wasn’t letting this go.

Ben leaned in, voice dropping to a low murmur. “Sweetheart, I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you since the day you rolled your eyes at me”. His fingers flexed, his palms spreading over your ribs, his touch hot against your bare skin. “You think I give a shit about size?”.

Your breath caught as his hands moved again, trailing higher, stopping just beneath your chest. Waiting.

“Y’know what I like?”, he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “That I can do this”.

His palms slid up fully, fingers spanning over your chest, covering you entirely. A low, pleased hum rumbled from his throat as he squeezed just enough to make your stomach tighten.

Your face burned.

“You fit perfectly in my hands”, he muttered, almost to himself, his thumbs stroking over sensitive skin. “Bet you never thought about that, huh?”.

Your fingers curled into his forearms, not pushing him away, but not quite pulling him closer either. “Ben—”.

“I love this”, he cut you off, his voice rough with something dark and sincere. He wasn’t teasing anymore. He wasn’t just trying to get under your skin. This was real.

He let his grip linger, let you feel how much he meant it before he finally leaned back slightly, meeting your gaze in the mirror. His hands still held you, his fingers splayed like he wanted to memorize every inch of your skin.

“Don’t ever say that shit again”, he murmured, lips curling into something wicked. “Or I’ll have to remind you every damn time”.

Your breath was unsteady, your heart pounding, but this time, when he reached for your bra clasp, you didn’t stop him. You let him.

The clasp of your bra gave way with a soft snap, the fabric slipping down your arms. You shivered, not from the cold, but from the way Ben inhaled sharply behind you.

His hands didn’t move right away. He just looked. The mirror reflected everything. The slow rise and fall of your chest, the way his rough palms framed you, the heat in his darkened gaze.

“Fuck”, he muttered under his breath, his fingers flexing over your ribs.

Your body tensed on instinct, but Ben only smirked, his lips ghosting over your shoulder. “You really thought this was a problem?”.

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into his wrists. “Ben—”.

He cut you off with a slow, deliberate squeeze, his thumbs brushing teasing circles over soft skin. His touch was warm, reverent, obsessive. “This?”, he muttered, dragging his lips down your neck, his hands still palming over you, like he was committing you to memory. “This is perfect”.

You exhaled shakily, heat blooming low in your stomach.

“Y’know what I like about small tits?”. Ben murmured, his voice dark and amused. He squeezed again, just enough to make your breath hitch. “They fit in my hands just right”.

Your skin burned.

“Doesn’t matter where I am”. His smirk deepened, his fingers kneading you slowly, possessively. “Like ‘em in my hands…”. He flicked his thumbs over your nipples, making your breath catch. “…in my mouth…”. His teeth grazed your neck, his tongue flicking out to soothe the bite.

A shudder wracked your spine.

Ben chuckled against your skin, smug as hell. “See? Perfect”.

Your head fell back against his shoulder, your body melting into his. His hands never left you, mapping over your skin like he was proving a damn point. And maybe he was. Maybe he was trying to erase every doubt, every insecurity, every stupid thought that had ever made you hesitate.

Because when Ben wanted something, he made damn sure it knew it belonged to him. And right now? You were his favorite fucking thing in the world.

Ben’s fingers pinched at your nipples just right. A slow, deliberate roll that sent a sharp jolt of pleasure straight down your spine. You gasped, your fingers tightening around his wrists, but you didn’t push him away. Didn’t want to.

He felt it. Knew it. And the bastard smirked.

“Now”, he muttered, his voice thick with amusement, his breath hot against your ear, “tell me again you’re fucking insecure”. His grip tightened, just enough to make you shudder. “Or that you think I don’t know my own damn strength”.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

His hands moved again, slow and confident, teasing and claiming all at once. He played you like he knew exactly what you liked, like he had all the time in the world to pull every little reaction out of you.

“You feel fragile to me?”, he pressed, his voice lower now, rougher. “You think I don’t know how to handle something precious?”.

Your heart pounded in your chest.

Ben huffed out a low, knowing laugh, his mouth brushing along the curve of your jaw. “You’re mine right now”, he murmured. “And you’re still breathing, aren’t you?”.

Your breath hitched.

“Still in one piece?”. His thumbs flicked over sensitive skin again, sending another wave of heat rolling through your body. “Still sitting pretty in my lap, letting me touch you however the fuck I want?”.

Your body answered before your mouth did, melting back against him, your hands trembling where they gripped his arms.

Ben felt it. Felt the way you caved, the way your insecurities crumbled beneath his touch, beneath the way he made you feel. He smirked against your skin, voice dark and satisfied. “Yeah”, he muttered, his lips trailing down your throat. “That’s what I thought”.

Ben let his hands linger a moment longer, squeezing just enough to make you shudder before he suddenly let go.

“Up”. His voice was rough, commanding.

Your dazed mind barely had time to process before his hands gripped your waist, lifting you like you weighed nothing, setting you on your feet in front of him. Your knees wobbled slightly, the loss of his warmth making you unsteady.

Ben leaned back against the couch, arms spreading lazily along the top as he looked up at you with dark, unreadable eyes.

“Your turn”, he muttered. He nodded toward his suit, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Undress me”.

Your pulse kicked up.

He just sat there, watching, completely at ease, like he wasn’t the one who had been chasing you down for weeks. Like this was your game to play now.

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching at your sides.

Ben huffed out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly. “You had all that attitude before”, he mused. “What happened to it?”. His gaze dropped, flickering over your body, slow and deliberate. “You scared to touch me?”.

Bastard.

Your fingers curled into fists before you exhaled, stepping closer, standing between his open legs. You met his gaze, refusing to let him see how much he was getting to you.

He was testing you. Fine. Two could play that game.

Your hands moved to the zipper of his suit, pulling it down slowly, savoring the way his chest rose and fell beneath your touch. You pushed the fabric aside, your palms skimming over his shoulders, dragging the heavy material down his arms.

Ben let you.

Didn’t move, didn’t help, just sat there, watching you with that smug, knowing smirk, like he was waiting to see how far you’d take it.

You tossed the suit jacket aside, your fingers moving to the hem of his undershirt next. You hesitated for half a second before gripping the fabric and peeling it upward, revealing warm, scarred skin, hard muscle that tensed beneath your touch.

His breath deepened as you pulled the shirt over his head, exposing all of him.

Your hands ghosted lower, trailing toward his belt, but before you could reach it, his fingers snapped around your wrist.

Your breath hitched. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was firm. Deliberate. You met his gaze, heat pooling in your stomach at the way he looked up at you now, less smug, more hungry.

“You like what you see, sweetheart?”, he murmured, voice low and rough.

Your throat went dry.

Ben smirked, his grip on your wrist tightening just slightly before he pulled your hand lower, pressing it against the buckle of his belt. “Then keep going”.

Your fingers hesitated at his belt, brushing over the thick leather and cold metal buckle.

Ben’s suit was heavier than you expected, the material thick and damn near impenetrable. It had been designed for war, built to withstand anything, and right now, it felt like it was snatching him in, trapping all that raw power beneath reinforced fabric.

And you? You were about to unleash it. The thought sent a shiver through you.

Your fingers worked the belt, struggling slightly against the reinforced metal clasp. The damn thing was a box of fucking Pandora. A maze of loops, heavy-duty straps, and fastenings designed to keep everything locked in.

Ben let out a low chuckle, his voice deep and rough. “You need help, sweetheart?”.

You shot him a glare. “Shut up”.

His smirk deepened. “Cute”.

You bit your lip, focusing. With a final tug, the buckle finally gave, the belt coming undone with a satisfying snap. The weight of it made it drop heavily to the floor, the thick leather coiling at his feet.

Ben let out a slow exhale, his body relaxing slightly as the last restriction came undone.

But you weren’t finished. Your fingers moved lower, tugging at the zipper of his pants, working them open inch by inch.

You peeled the last layers away, revealing all of him, the raw strength he’d been holding back.

Ben exhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders, finally free. Then, in one swift motion, his hands shot out, gripping your hips and pulling you back onto his lap. You gasped, hands bracing against his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the way his muscles flexed beneath your fingers.

Ben smirked up at you, his grip firm, possessive. “Now”, he murmured, voice thick with something dark and starving, “let’s see if you can handle what you just let out”.

Ben’s grip on your hips was firm, unyielding, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. You barely had time to process the feeling of his bare skin against yours before your eyes drifted downward. And froze. Your breath caught in your throat.

There, pressed between your bodies, was him. Thick, heavy, straining up against his stomach, the sheer size of it making your mouth go dry.

Ben felt the way you stiffened.

His smirk curled slow and lazy, amusement flickering in his dark green eyes. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”. His voice was all gravel and heat, teasing but edged with something darker. “Didn’t think that far ahead?”.

You swallowed, words refusing to form.

Ben let out a low chuckle, his fingers tightening around your hips, dragging you just slightly closer. The motion made you feel every inch of him, heat coiling low in your stomach at the pressure of him pressing right against you.

“Cat got your tongue?”, he murmured, his lips ghosting along your jaw.

Your hands curled against his chest, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts. “I just…”. You trailed off, not trusting your own voice.

Ben huffed out a laugh, tilting his head to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your throat. “You just what, sweetheart?”. His teeth grazed your pulse, his grip shifting, guiding you just a little more against him. “Didn’t expect me to be packing?”.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, heat flooding through you. “I—”.

Ben smirked against your skin, his hands trailing lower, tracing the curves of your body with deliberate ease. “Relax”, he murmured, voice deep and steady. “I know what I’m doing”.

Your heart pounded, your body caught between anticipation and something dangerously close to fear.

Ben felt it. And the way his grip tightened, the way his lips dragged along your jaw with slow, teasing precision, told you he liked it. Liked knowing you were teetering on the edge. Liked knowing he was the one pushing you there.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared now”, he murmured, voice like honey and sin.

"You’re gonna hurt me", you mumbled, barely above a whisper.

Ben’s smirk faltered.

You didn’t even look up at him. Your wide eyes were glued to the sheer size of him, the reality of what you were about to do slamming into you like a freight train.

"Dead by dick", you whispered, voice laced with something between panic and genuine concern.

That did it.

Ben threw his head back and laughed. A deep, full-bodied sound that rumbled through his chest and shook through you, like you had just said the funniest damn thing in the world.

Meanwhile, you were still staring at the very real problem sitting between you.

Ben’s grip on your hips tightened as his laughter died down, amusement still gleaming in his eyes as he tilted his head, studying your expression. “That what you’re worried about, sweetheart?”. His voice was lower now, teasing but edged with something softer.

You finally ripped your gaze away to glare at him. “Are you looking at this?!”. You gestured wildly, still sitting in his lap, still feeling every inch of him pressed against you. “This—this is a lot to take in, Ben”.

His smirk returned, slow and knowing. "Yeah", he muttered, his hands sliding up your waist, tracing over your ribs. "You’re tellin’ me".

You smacked his shoulder. "Not funny".

Ben only chuckled, his grip shifting as he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against the curve of your jaw once more. “I ain’t gonna hurt you”. His voice was steady, the humor slipping into something deeper. "I know what I’m doin’".

His kisses trailed lower, slow and deliberate, his hands sliding down to squeeze your thighs. But none of it, not his touch, not the heat of his body, nothing, eased the nerves building in your chest.

Ben must have noticed, because he exhaled sharply before leaning back to look at you fully.

"Sweetheart", he murmured, his smirk softening just slightly, "I told you—I don’t break my toys".

Your stomach flipped.

His hands squeezed again, firm but reassuring. "You trust me?".

You swallowed, your fingers twitching where they rested against his shoulders. Did you?

Ben had been a pain in your ass for weeks, relentless and cocky and impossible. But he had never—not once—pushed you past what you were willing to give. And right now, despite the teasing, despite the arrogance, there was something solid in his eyes.

Something real.

You exhaled shakily, still very aware of what was pressing against you, but forced yourself to meet his gaze. “…Yeah”.

Ben’s smirk returned, but this time, it was different. Darker. Hunger flickered in his eyes, but it was controlled, his grip shifting, pulling you even closer.

“Good”, he muttered, his voice like a slow drag of whiskey. His lips brushed against yours, teasing, promising.

Ben’s grip tightened around your ribs, and before you could even think, he lifted you. Effortless. Like you weighed nothing.

A startled gasp left your lips as he pulled you up, his fingers digging into your sides, his strength undeniable. You barely had time to process how easy it was for him before he settled you just above him, his hands keeping you steady, your legs straddling his hips.

“Fuck”, he muttered under his breath, his gaze dropping between your bodies, his tongue flicking over his lips in anticipation.

Your breath came in short, uneven bursts. This was real. This was happening.

His grip on you didn’t waver, his fingers spanning over your ribs, holding you in place—like he was savoring every second before taking what he wanted.

“C’mon, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice low, edged with something dark and starving. “Line me up”.

Your stomach flipped, nerves tangling with something hotter, heavier.

You hesitated. Just for a second.

“You got this”, he murmured, teasing but genuine. “Ain’t gonna rush you”.

His lips dragged lower, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your throat, his patience taunting.

But you felt him. Felt every inch of him straining beneath you, hot and heavy, his body coiled tight as he waited. Waited for you.

Your hands trembled slightly as you reached between your bodies, your fingers brushing over the heat of him. Ben sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his grip flexing on your ribs.

“There you go”, he murmured, his voice rough. His tongue flicked over his lower lip again, hunger flashing across his face.

Your fingers tightened, positioning him just right. Ben exhaled sharply, his hands tightening just enough to remind you who was in control. His gaze locked onto yours, dark and unreadable. “Now, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice thick with anticipation, “take your time—but don’t make me wait too long”.

You sucked in a breath as you slowly, so slowly, sank down onto him.

Ben’s fingers dug into your ribs, his grip tightening just slightly, like he was forcing himself to stay still, to let you take your time. His chest rose and fell in deep, controlled breaths, but his eyes, fuck, his eyes, told a different story. Dark. Blown wide. Ravenous. He didn’t just watch, he devoured every second.

His gaze flickered between the tiny, involuntary wiggle of your breasts, the way your lips parted in a silent gasp, down to where your bodies were finally connecting.

A sharp inhale hissed through his teeth, his jaw clenching as he felt you take him in.

Fuck. Ben had almost forgotten how good a human felt. How much better it was. Way better than any supe. No unnatural strength, no engineered enhancements, just raw, real heat. Tighter. Warmer. Squeezing him in a way he hadn’t felt in decades.

A low groan rumbled in his chest, his head tilting back for just a second before his gaze snapped back to you. “Fuckin’ shit”, he muttered, his voice strained. His fingers flexed against your ribs, grounding himself, his usual cocky confidence flickering into something rougher. “You—fuck”.

Your breath hitched, your hands bracing against his chest as you took more of him, inch by inch, stretching way more than you were used to.

Ben noticed. He felt it. The way you squeezed around him, the way your body fought to adjust, the way your breath trembled against his skin.

And fuck, if that didn’t drive him insane. His eyes dragged back down, watching the way you took him in, watching himself disappear into you. His smirk wavered, his lips parting as his grip tightened.

“Takin’ me so slow”, he muttered, his voice rough. His hands flexed again, resisting the urge to help, to pull you down the rest of the way. “You scared, sweetheart?”.

Your nails bit into his skin. “You’re big, Ben—”.

A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, but there was no teasing in it—just pure satisfaction. “Yeah”, he muttered, dragging his lips against your throat. “And you’re takin’ every inch of me”.

His breath shuddered as you slid down another inch, his head falling back, his fingers twitching against your skin. His control was hanging by a damn thread.

“Goddamn”, he groaned, his voice rough and wrecked, his lips curling against your skin. “You feel so fuckin’ good”.

His hands squeezed tighter, his chest heaving, his body fighting not to move.

Your breath came in short, uneven bursts, your body trembling as you tried to take the last few inches of him. But you couldn’t. You were already shaking around him, stretched beyond anything you’d ever taken before, your thighs burning from the slow, agonizing pace.

“You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Your nails pressed into his shoulders, frustration warring with pleasure. “Ben, I—”.

“I know”, he cut you off, his hands trailing higher.

And then, without warning, he moved. Not pushing you down. Instead, he shifted his grip, his warm, calloused hands cupping your breasts, fingers splaying wide as he took his time feeling every inch of you.

A deep, satisfied hum rumbled in his throat. “Fuck”, he muttered, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive skin, teasing just enough to make you shiver. “Look at these perfect little things”.

Heat crawled up your spine. “Ben—”.

“I fucking love ‘em”, he rasped, his lips trailing over your collarbone, dragging wet kisses along the curve of your neck. “Love how they fit in my hands”.

His thumbs flicked over your nipples, slow and deliberate, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight through you. His mouth trailing lower, his lips ghosting over your chest. “Bet you never had someone pay ‘em enough attention, huh?”.

Your fingers curled into his hair. “Ben—”.

“Mm”. His tongue flicked over sensitive skin, teasing, savoring, worshipping. “That’s a damn shame”.

He sucked at one of your nipples, rolling the other between his fingers, a deep groan vibrating against your skin as he felt the way your body reacted.

You gasped, your thighs trembling around his hips, the sensation making your body clench tighter around him.

Ben felt it. His breath shuddered. His fingers dug into your waist. And suddenly, his patience snapped. His hands grabbed your hips, his grip firm, possessive. “No more holdin’ back”, he muttered, his voice dark with hunger. His lips curled against your skin, his eyes flickering up, dark and wild. “Let me in”.

He’d been patient. Too patient. Letting you take your time, letting you adjust. But now? Now he knew you were ready. And Ben didn’t wait for permission when he already had what he wanted.

He pulled you down the rest of the way.

A strangled gasp left your lips as the last few inches finally stretched you fully, your body molding around him, taking all of him.

Ben groaned against your skin, his hands flexing on your waist, holding you still for a moment, forcing you to feel every inch of him, completely buried inside you. “Fuck”, he muttered, his voice strained, head tilting back, his eyes fluttering shut for half a second. “That’s it, sweetheart. That’s fuckin’ it”.

Your nails bit into his shoulders, your breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps as your body struggled to adjust, full in a way that made your head spin.

Ben felt it. Felt the way your body squeezed him, hot and tight and fucking perfect. He gritted his teeth, his cocky smirk wavering as he exhaled sharply, his restraint snapping like a thread stretched too thin.

His hands moved. One slid up your back, gripping the nape of your neck, tilting your head just enough for him to claim your mouth in a rough, hungry kiss, his other hand still holding your waist, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

His hips rolled up, slow at first, teasing, taunting.

Your body shook, your fingers fisting in his hair as he pulled you down harder, making you take all of it.

Ben groaned, his smirk returning, dark and wicked against your lips. “Knew you could take it”, he muttered, his voice gravelly, dripping with satisfaction.

“You’re mine now, sweetheart”, he growled, his lips trailing down your throat, his teeth grazing over sensitive skin. “And I’m gonna ruin you”.

He gripped you tighter, and before you could react, he moved. In one fluid motion, he rolled you onto your back, pressing you into the couch, his body towering over you. He settled between your legs, his weight pinning you in place, his chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths.

He caught your chin between his fingers, his grip firm, commanding. “Look”, he muttered, his voice dark and rough as he turned your head toward the massive mirror against the wall.

Your dazed reflection stared back at you—your body flushed, your lips swollen from his kisses, your thighs spread wide with Ben’s body pressing between them.

And him.

His broad chest, the way his muscles flexed with every movement, the raw, unrestrained power in the way he hovered over you, owning every inch of your body.

Ben grinned at the sight, his gaze flickering between the mirror and you, watching as realization dawned in your wide, lust-drunk eyes. “That’s a fuckin’ view”, he muttered, licking his lips, his grip on your jaw tightening just slightly. “See how good you look wrapped around me?”.

You swallowed hard, your breath shuddering, your body still adjusting to the fullness of him.

His hand trailed from your jaw, gliding down your throat, his fingers grazing your collarbone before finally settling over your chest. His smirk deepened.

Ben's lips trailed down your throat before settling on your chest. He took his time there, worshiping every inch of you. Kissing, sucking, dragging his tongue over sensitive skin, as though this was what he’d been chasing all along.

His hips didn’t stop.

The deep, rolling rhythm he set was unrelenting. Slow enough to make you feel every inch of him, deep enough to knock the air from your lungs. Your legs trembled, spread wide beneath his body, your fingers tangled in his hair as he moved lower, his mouth catching one of your nipples between his lips.

Your back arched off the couch. “Ben—”.

He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your chest as his hips rolled again, hitting a spot that made your breath catch and your vision blur.

“Yeah”, he muttered, pulling back just enough to drag his teeth lightly across your skin. “That’s it. That’s what I want”. He wanted your shaking thighs, your gasps, your complete surrender. And he got it.

Your body began to coil, tension building so fast it was nearly unbearable. Every thrust, every flick of his tongue, every growled praise in your ear pushed you closer to the edge.

The mirror reflected all of it. His broad body moving above yours, the sweat-slick curve of your stomach, your eyes half-lidded in bliss and disbelief.

You weren’t running from him anymore. You were falling into him. “Ben—oh my—”.

Your whole body locked up beneath him as the pressure finally snapped. Your climax hit hard, a wave that rocked through you with such intensity you couldn’t even find your voice. Just breathless, broken gasps as your body writhed beneath his.

Ben didn’t slow. He watched you fall apart in the mirror, his mouth still dragging hot kisses across your chest, his voice low and rough.

“Just like that, sweetheart”, he murmured, dragging his lips across your collarbone, hips still grinding deep. “You feel that?”. He thrust once, deep and slow, sending aftershocks rolling through you. “That’s what you were made for”.

Ben didn’t stop. Not after your first climax. Not after the second. He kept going. His stamina was inhuman—because, well, he was. And for the next hour… then another… he had you beneath him, stretched out across that damn couch like his personal plaything.

You lost track of time somewhere between the heat of his skin and the way he never let you fully recover. Every time your body started to come down, he found a new angle, a new rhythm, a new way to push you higher.

By the time your body started to shake from exhaustion, your mind fogged, your limbs barely responding, you could barely form words. Your head lolled to the side, cheek pressed against the warm cushion, lips parted as you tried to catch a breath that never fully came.

Ben was still above you, chest gleaming with sweat, jaw tight, eyes locked on you.

He leaned down, dragging his mouth along your collarbone before whispering against your ear with that low, cocky rumble: “Shit, sweetheart… didn’t think you’d last this long”.

You tried to glare at him, but it came out more like a whimper.

“Two hours”, he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “And you’re still here, all fucked out and twitchy under me”.

His hand moved slowly over your chest again, he never seemed to get tired of that. Fingers splaying, palm covering one breast completely like it was molded to fit him.

He let out a low, satisfied hum. “Look at this”, he muttered, mostly to himself, brushing his thumb over your nipple, now too sensitive to do more than make your breath catch. “Fuck, I don’t know how anyone looks at these little tits and doesn’t lose their fuckin’ mind”.

You groaned softly, too tired to push him away, too drunk on the feeling to really want to.

“These days, girls always got these big, overinflated knockers”, Ben said with a lazy grin, clearly riding a post-orgasm high of his own. “Fake, heavy… all show, no fun”.

His other hand moved in, cupping the other breast, giving both the kind of reverent attention that made your overstimulated body spark again despite the exhaustion.

“But you?”, he said, voice dipping low, rough with affection wrapped in his usual arrogance. “You fit right in my hands. Cute, soft, fuckin’ perfect”.

You whimpered, cheeks burning, eyes barely able to stay open, but your body still arched for him, still craved the contact.

He chuckled darkly, leaning down again to brush a kiss between your breasts, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin. “Tiny tits”, he murmured, “but you took me like a fuckin’ warrior”.

His eyes met yours, lazy and smug but with something real beneath the heat. “You got no idea what you do to me, do you?”.

You wanted to say something, anything, but your voice had long since given out.

Ben just smirked. Pressed another kiss to your chest. Then one to your jaw. And pulled you tighter against him like you were the prize he’d been fighting for.

Ben let you rest against him for a while. Your body wrecked, boneless, your skin slick and glowing from every place he’d touched. His breathing was calm. Yours was ragged.

Eventually, you stirred just enough to shift, your cheek brushing against his shoulder. For a second, the silence between you almost felt… peaceful.

But Ben wasn’t built for peace. “Damn”, he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Didn’t think you had that in you”.

His hand slipped from your waist and dragged through his hair, still damp with sweat. He looked down at you. Not with softness, but with a kind of impressed detachment. Like a soldier admiring the aftermath of a well-executed mission. “Guess you’re more than just a mouthy little assistant after all”.

There it was—him.

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t, really. You were half-asleep, still trying to figure out if your legs remembered how to work.

Ben stood, stretching with a grunt, his muscles rolling beneath his skin. He didn’t help you up. Didn’t ask how you were feeling. He just grabbed the nearest towel from the dresser, wiped himself down like he’d just finished a workout, then reached for what was left of his gear.

“You’ll be fine”, he said, voice flat now, all business. “Just don’t pass out here. That’d be embarrassing for both of us”.

You rolled your eyes, dragging in a shaky breath as you tried to push yourself upright. Every muscle in your body screamed in protest, your legs barely responding, like they weren’t entirely convinced the night was over.

“Yeah, yeah…”, you muttered, voice hoarse. “I’ll be out of your way in a sec”.

You stood—or tried to. Your knees buckled almost immediately, the room tilting on its axis as your balance gave out.

Before you could hit the floor, his strong arm snapped out and caught you by the waist, hauling you up with the same ease he’d thrown you around for the last two hours.

You blinked up at him, caught somewhere between embarrassment and disbelief.

Ben just raised an eyebrow, smirking down at you like it was all part of the show. “Geez”, he muttered. “Didn’t think I actually rearranged your spine”.

You glared, weakly. “Asshole”.

He helped you steady yourself, but only just long enough to make sure you weren’t about to faceplant into the carpet, then let go like it never happened.

Ben grabbed his last piece of gear and headed for the door. But just before he stepped out, he turned slightly, looking at you over his shoulder. “That mouth of yours better be just as sharp tomorrow”, he said, the corner of his lip curling. “Wouldn’t want you getting soft on me now”.

Then he was gone. No goodbye. No look back.

Just the silence of the room, the ache in your bones, and the echo of his boots down the hall, leaving you with nothing but a ruined couch, shaky legs, and the knowledge that whatever just happened?

It was very Soldier Boy. And it was never happening again…Probably.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

#jensen ackles #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys soldier boy #ben x you #ben x reader #soldier boy #soldier boy the boys #soldier boy smut #soldier boy x female reader #the boys smut #the boys

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neeeooon · 2 days ago

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Harooo

Really love ur writing so I wanna see this idea of mine written down by u

Since the boys basically never skip leg day, (barou, rin, chigiri, Nagi, kunigami, hiori, bachira, yukimiya, karasu and kurona) I have a feeling they'd be strong enough to lift reader and place them on their feet when they ballroom dance with her.

So basically I just want ballroom dancing shenanigans or just romance with the above boys when reader cannot dance and they place her atop their shoes and dance XP (if there's too many boyos you can remove some of them off the above list)

🍭

thank youuuu (i’m sorry it took so long my brain was dead for half the boys 😭)

ballroom dancing with them

bf bllk x fem!reader who can’t dance. crack, fluff, cussing

barou shoei

-> “here,” barou’s grip tightened around your waist as he hoisted you up onto his shoes. you paled. “what are you doing?”

-> his sisters’ school was having an event, and all the families were invited. the problem was, it was a ballroom dancing event, and you cannot dance for the life of you

-> “i’m helping,” he said in reply as he took a step to the side. your leg followed, feet still standing on his. and you were off, gliding across the floor with the other couples, who were completely oblivious as to why you were suddenly a few inches taller

-> you tried not to giggle as he led you around the room, looking very serious as you wiggled around every time he took a step slightly too long for your legs. “we look ridiculous.” “so?” “… nothing. let’s make your sisters proud.”

itoshi rin

-> gets frustrated with you when you step on his shoes for the third time

-> “i’m sorry!” you gasped, thankful for the low lighting and its efforts to hide your embarrassment. without comment, rin picked you up and set you to stand on his feet. “r—what are—hello?”

-> he looked at you through his bangs. “follow my steps.” “i can’t not follow when i’m standing on your—“ he didn’t let you finish before dancing, forcing you to follow

-> it was surprisingly easier than you thought, and rin didn’t look pained to have you standing on his feet. “okay?” he asked, and you nodded. “okay. let’s hope your brother doesn’t catch us. he won’t ever let us live it down.”

chigiri hyoma

-> you panicked when chigiri asked you to stand on his feet. “i’m sorry?” “just do it. people are staring.”

-> he wasn’t wrong. the fancy ballroom event was for your mom’s work, and apparently you were the only one who didn’t know how to waltz. even your boyfriend, who never mentioned anything to you about dancing, knew how

-> you listened to save yourself from any future embarrassment. “how do you even know how to do this?” you asked as chigiri swept an arm around your waist. he gave you a deadpanned look. “i have an older sister.” “ah.”

-> you made a mental note to thank koyuki (his sister) as chigiri made you look like you knew what you were doing, your dress covering your feet

nagi seishiro

-> “what the fuck?” “don’t ask.” “but how do you—“ his eyes looked almost pleading, so you shut your lips and let your question die in your head

-> you didn’t know anything about nagi’s family, and he never talked about them until asking you to the ballroom event. you’d never seen him so hesitant and felt bad turning him down, even though you can’t dance

-> “here,” nagi softly said before guiding you onto his feet. his movements were a little sloppy, a little lazy, but he didn’t let you fall as he danced you around the room

-> you let him, continuing to keep your questions to yourself as you followed along the best you could. “you’re good. i’m surprised.” “it’s a hassle…”

kunigami rensuke

-> “wait, your—what about your feet?!”

-> kunigami’s lips pulled into a sweet smile at the concern in your voice. “leg day, babe. trust the process.”

-> and you were in his arms, his feet carrying you to the ballroom music playing from the speaker. “you said you wanted to learn, so… i took a few classes for you. so i can teach you.”

-> you nearly melted in his arms. “you learned?” “mmh.” “and you want to teach me?” “mmh.” you beamed and snuggled against his chest as his feet continued guiding you. “okay. teach me, then.”

hiori yo

-> hiori always looked princely to you, so the fact that he knew how to ballroom dance wasn’t a surprise

-> “i’m sorry about this,” he sighed while pulling you into his chest. his mom was having an event where guests were expecting to ballroom dance and invited you knowing you had no experience

-> you shook his apology off and smiled. “it’s okay. i can leave if you—“ a gasp left your lips when hiori pulled you up onto his feet. “yo—“ “trust me. i won’t let her embarrass you, okay?”

-> your dress covered your shoes as he led you around the room. you made sure to flash his mother a sickly sweet smirk when you caught her eyes mid-twirl. the glare she shot at you made it all worth it

bachira meguru

-> “i do!” “no, you don’t.” “watch me.”

-> you and bachira were arguing, him in his suit and you in your dress, over his claim that he knew how to ballroom dance. “i really do!” he said while taking your hands in his. “my mom and i used to dance around the house all the time!”

-> you hummed. sounds plausible. “show me, then.” “fine!” you gasped when bachira suddenly picked you up and dropped you onto his feet before taking your hand in his and dancing around the room

-> “okay!” you laughed. “i was wrong—you can dance!” “exactly. i’ll accept my apology in kisses!”

yukimiya kenyu

-> you were tired from work and school and missed your boyfriend. when you got home, he quickly noticed your slumped shoulders and jumped into action

-> “here.” he held a hand out for you and pulled you into his chest when you accepted it. “dance with me.”

-> you smiled softly. “you know i can’t…” yukimiya pulled you close. “come here, then.” he lifted you just enough to balance you on his feet and kissed the corner of your mouth before you could protest

-> he swept you around the room, smiling when you laughed. he held you close and shook his head when you asked if it hurt. “we should dance like this more. i like it.” “mmm, i like you.”

karasu tabito

-> “yer crazy,” karasu said with a grin when you suggested sneaking into a rich people party. the signs suggested ballroom dancing and the outfits were so gorgeous you wanted nothing more than to attend

-> you and karasu thrifted some appropriate clothing and hid behind masquerade masks for easy entry. you’d been so excited about the idea of dressing up and breaking in that you forgot you can’t dance

-> “tabi,” you tugged his tux sleeve. “our cover’s blown. i can’t dance.” he casually slipped a hand around your waist, settling on the small of your back. “i got this, darling.”

-> you nearly laughed when he explained the plan, but you couldn’t think of anything better. with you on karasu’s shoes, you took to the center of the room and let him lead you around until you were blushing and giggling like a madman. “where did you learn to dance like this?” his only response was to smile and kiss you

kurona ranze

-> “let’s dance!” you cheered when the only ballroom song on your playlist randomly came on. “i don’t know how to ballroom dance, so we can just—“

-> “got it, got it,” kurona hummed as he pulled you onto his feet. “i can dance.”

-> your eyes widened. “you what?” he hummed again and began swaying you to the beat, laughing when you squealed in excitement. “since when?!”

-> kurona twirled you. “jin.” you laughed. of course. “teach me, too.” “‘k, ‘k.”

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cinnamanz · 1 day ago

Text

# MAMMA MIA — chapter thirty-one!

there’s always been one rule in the group: don’t bring up y/n. no one really knows why, but it’s clear sophia would rather leave her ex-best friend in the past. once inseparable, their friendship dissolved after a summer camp that no one talks about, and y/n vanished, moving god-knows-where without so much as a goodbye. some say it was a fight. others say it was something more. only sophia knows the truth—or maybe not even she does. now, as the third year at dream academy begins, sophia is blindsided by y/n's unexpected return. gone is the familiar, easygoing childhood bestfriend she remembers. in her place is someone sharper, colder, and—unfortunately for sophia—hotter than ever. (who gave her the permission to look so fine?)

wc: 813 (pls read it)

PARTY ON YOU

3am.

your phone buzzes against the nightstand like it’s mad at you. it’s 3 am., and you’re two minutes away from ignoring it until you catch the name—yunjin. great, a drunk call. again.

you answer with a groggy, “what?”

“y/n,” she practically yells over the music in the background. “please. come get sophia.”

you sit up. “what happened?”

“she’s wasted,” yunjin says, dragging out the word like it physically hurts her. “two drinks. two! and now she’s dancing on the coffee table and i don’t—”

you’re already pulling a hoodie over your head. “text me the address.”

you hated parties. too many bodies crammed into too little space, everyone sticky with sweat and trying too hard to forget whatever they're running from. the smell of spilled beer, the throb of music that isn't even that good, people you don’t know getting too close, too loud. it's never been your thing.

but it’s sophia.

so you're in your car, driving too fast, jaw clenched and music low because any louder and your thoughts would swallow you whole. you're annoyed. you're tired. you're dreading this. you don’t want to go.

and still—you go.

you shoulder through the front door of a house that reeks of cheap alcohol and regret. the bass inside is shaking the floor. bodies are packed wall to wall, swaying under lights that flicker like they’ve given up. a group is singing off-key in the kitchen, someone’s crying on the stairs, and there’s a random guy passed out in a bathtub full of ice.

you hate it here.

but your eyes keep scanning, searching—until they land on her.

sophia.

dead center of the living room, where the crowd parts just enough to let her move. hair wild, cheeks flushed, the mess of strobe lights dancing across her skin like a kaleidoscope. she's laughing so freely, like nothing in the world could touch her. no distance. no history. no heartbreak you’ve unknowingly caused her.

and in a way—it does.

for a moment, the whole house fades. the sound dulls. the lights slow.

you're not here anymore.

you're back in your childhood bedroom. the abba playlist is skipping from years of overuse. sophia’s jumping on your bed, a glittery pink hairbrush in one hand, screaming mamma mia! at the top of her lungs. you’re laughing, trying to sing along between breaths, the two of you spinning until you fall into a tangled heap of limbs and joy.

but that was another life.

now, you’re just someone who’s been watching her from afar. someone who doesn’t get invited to those kinds of moments anymore. rightfully so.

and yet, you’re here. you still came.

your body moves before your brain can catch up. you push through the dancers, the sweat, the noise, until you’re standing just in front of her. you reach out and curl your fingers around her wrist.

she stumbles slightly, eyes blinking open, and when she looks at you—really looks at you—the air stills.

the memories flood back—first in a trickle, then like a storm. scraped knees and sidewalk chalk. sleepovers that stretched until sunrise. secrets whispered under shared blankets. the soft hum of safety, of knowing and being known. even through the haze of alcohol and pulsing lights, something cuts through it—you.

not the version of you that came back all sharp edges and unreadable stares, but you. not the stranger she’s had to relearn in glimpses.

but you.

the you who held her hand when thunder made her flinch. the you who made sure she ate when she was too distracted to remember. who knew her favorite snacks without asking. who memorized all her tells—nervous habits, guilty smiles, the exact moment she was about to cry.

the you who said she sang better than abba themselves, even when she was off-key to make you laugh—not that she'd ever tell you. you who smiled like the sun. who laughed like it was a secret only meant for her.

and for a breathless, blinking second, she sees that girl again. and wonders if maybe—just maybe—you never left.

you see her soften.

your voice, low and steady, breaks the moment. “let’s go home.”

and as she nods, still swaying slightly, her hand tightening around yours—the music floods back in like a wave. but in your head, it’s still just that same chant, looping over and over, a soft, aching echo:

“party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you party on-party on you, party on you.”

masterlist ✮⋆｡˚📽️ next

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munsonsmixtapes · 2 days ago

Note

Maybe the reader and ghost are childhood best friends who lost touch after he joined the military and one night he’s at a bar off base that the force dragged him to on night off and they run into each other and reconnect and he confesses that he was always in love with her but couldn’t say anything and she admits the same??? And maybe after a confession where the both feel stupid for not saying anything sooner they hook up in his truck or something maybe 👀

This was so much fun to write!

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) public sex, grinding

The bar is pretty empty when Ghost enters it. The guys forced him even though he didn’t want to come. He just wants to curl up in bed and read one of the emails you’ve sent him over and over again until he falls asleep.

And the thing is, he knows it’s pathetic. That he’s making so much out of nothing but he can’t help it. Right now, that’s all he really has to keep him going. He misses you more than he’ll ever admit because then he’d have to tell himself that he’s in love with you. But he’d never do that. You’re just friends.

The kiss you shared before he left has taken over every inch of his brain, so much so that there’s not room for anything else. And he’s not so sure that he’s upset by that. Part of him wants to tell you exactly how he feels but that’s not exactly something could say in an email. He wants to do it in person, not that he could get himself to do that either. He just misses you and is counting down the days until he can see you again.

What he doesn’t know yet is that you’re there too. You’re standing at the bar, nursing a beer, already writing out your next email to Simon. Your friends are caught up in conversation and you can’t even get yourself to participate. Ever since he left, there’s been a hole in your heart that can’t be filled with anything other than him coming back into your life.

You’ve been thinking about him and the kiss every day since, but you can't get yourself to say anything about it, though, because you’re scared. You know you’ll just end up telling him the truth, that you want to be much more than you are. But you’d never do that. You’re just friends.

You miss him. So much so that you see him everywhere. Even right now at one of the tables where a group of men in uniform are sitting. He’s facing you, laughing at what his friends are saying and that’s when you realize that he’s real.

You set your drink on the bar and make a beeline for the table, having to squeeze by multiple people in your path, somehow making it there without a scratch considering that he was the only thing you were looking at.

“Simon?” You ask as you get to the table and when his eyes lock on yours, you instantly melt, all of the feelings you have for him, rushing to the surface, driving you absolutely mad.

His eyes widen as he takes you in but he’s quick to stand from the table, pulling you into a hug, squeezing you tight because he’s so afraid of letting you go again. You fit in his arms just like always and it takes everything in him to let you go even though all he wants to do is hold you for the rest of the night.

“I missed you,” you tell him and he can sense the hurt in your voice. He still remembers the tears streaming down your face when you said your goodbyes. Just seeing you cry almost made him stay there with you. Leaving you like that was the hardest thing he ever had to do. He knows you would have forced him to go anyway so he didn’t even bother putting up a fight. Now he wishes he had.

“I missed you too. So much.” He knows how desperate he sounds but he doesn’t care. It’s taking everything in him not to lay it all out on the table when he pulls away.

“Oh my god, you’re the girl,” one of his friends pipes up which just leaves you confused. Simon’s talked about you? Well, of course he has. Your friends.

“Yeah, the girl from his wallet,” another adds. Simon’s cheeks go bright in pink at that and you think it’s adorable. You love seeing this side of him.

He has a picture of you in his wallet. You gave it to him to remember you and he keeps it in his wallet? This is the best news you could have ever received.

“He stares at it all the time, don’t you Simon?” His name is said in a teasing tone and he would love nothing more than for the floor to swallow him whole. This is not at all how he was expecting your reunion to go.

He was hoping for love confessions and kisses, not being embarrassed in front of the only woman he’s ever loved. You probably think he’s a freak now and he won’t blame you if you walk out that door.

“He reads your emails too,” another one speaks up. “Every night before bed.”

Your heart warms with every confession from his friends and when you look at Simon, he’s staring at you, his eyebrows pinched together, his cheeks and ears a bright shade of pink which you can’t help but giggle at. He’s so adorable.

“Do you want to get a drink, Simon?” You ask, sensing his unease and need to get away from his friends for a little bit.

“I’d love a drink,” he replies with that bright smile you know he reserves specifically for you and you grab hold of his hand, leading the way to the bar where your friends are still sitting. They all know him very well and they are all happy to be able to tease the two of you again.

Everyone in your tiny little town has been rooting for you to get together since you were kids and as much as you wish that could happen, you just don’t think it will. If it was meant to be, it would have happened by now, right? You’re both grown adults with your own lives. No longer attached at the hip, no longer sharing everything with each other anymore.

Whenever something exciting happened, you’d always run to Simon, but now that all of his time is taken up, all of the reactions-albeit, still matching yours-are way after the fact when the moment has passed.

And you feel guilty when you get upset because it’s not his fault. And you encouraged him to go when he was asking for any reason to stay so you suppose you really don’t have any right to be upset.

“Well look who’s back,” one of your friends speaks up. “You’d have thought you died with how upset y/n was.” Now it’s your turn to be embarrassed. Your cheeks heat and you see Simon trying his best not to laugh out of the corner of your eye.

You turn to look at him and his eyes are already on you, that warm look in them that’s always reserved just for you. You missed this. Even though things seem very different than they were last time, you’re still so happy that he’s here and now that book you were looking forward to finishing tonight is long forgotten on your bedside table.

You want everything to go back to the way it was. There’s tension where there never used to be and now it all just feels so weird. You both know you need to talk about it, but it’s clear that neither of you wants to be the one to make the first move.

You turn back towards him and sip on your drink, not missing the way his eyes drop to your lips as they wrap around the straw, almost like he wants them to wrap around something else. He steps forward and you set your drink down on the bar, letting him take your hands in his. He holds them gently as he leans forward, his lips right by your ear and his hot breath sends a chill down your spine.

“Can we talk?” He asks and all you can do is nod before he leads you towards the front doors of the bar. Rain is pouring down so Simon is quick to take off his jacket and hold it over your head as the two of you race into the parking lot where his truck is conveniently parked out front.

He opens the passenger door for you and helps you into the seat before rounding the front to get into the driver’s seat. As soon as the door is closed, he leans over the bench to reach into the back for something and once his attention is captivated, you shamelessly look over just in time to see his shirt ride up, the wet skin making your mind swirl with the dirtiest things.

He sits back in the seat and hands something to you. Once you hold it up, you realize that it’s the hoodie he always lets you borrow. You bring it to your nose and just as suspected, it smells like a mixture of laundry detergent and his cologne that he always sprays on it for you. You immediately unzip it and when he sees that you’re taking off your damp shirt, he clears his throat and turns to face the window, closing his eyes so he’s not tempted by the reflection.

Once he hears the zip, he turns back to face forward as the two of you both unknowingly replaying the exact thing you’re intending to talk about in your heads over and over just like you have been this whole time.

“I guess I should just be honest,” he says, taking a deep breath, turning to face you as his tongue runs along his bottom lip before chewing on it- a nervous habit he’s had since you've known him. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you nor that kiss since I left and it’s been driving me crazy that I haven’t been able to see you.”

The pit that's been in your stomach for months suddenly disappears and you’re so happy at Simon’s confession that you can’t help but let out a laugh. His cheeks go bright pink and he suddenly feels sick now that you’re laughing at him. Now he wishes he had the power to rewind and not say anything else.

You seem to sense his unease because your laughter fizzles out and you scoot closer to him, taking his face in your hands. His eyes widen at your closeness and he has no idea what’s happening but he decides not to question it.

“I love you too, Simon,” you tell him and he can’t help but grin, a little chuckle falling from his lips. “And I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at the fact that we’ve been in love with each other so long and somehow neither of us picked up on it.”

The more he lets the words sink in, the more he feels the urge to laugh as well, laughter bubbling up inside him and pretty soon, the two of you are cackling about the whole thing even though it’s not nearly as funny as you think it is.

Once you both sober up, you realize how close you got in your fits of laughter and now your thighs are pressed together, holding onto each other, your hands still on his cheeks that are aching from how much he’s been smiling tonight and his hands now on your waist, the two of you now in the perfect position.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers and you smile wider, your own cheeks hurting now.

“I’d be really disappointed if you didn’t,” you reply and Simon is quick to lean in, his lips capturing yours in a sweet kiss. This is so much better than either of you remember, and now that you know there will be more in your future, you take your time to explore each other’s mouths.

Your tongue flicks into his mouth and as he pulls you into his lap, Simon swears that he’s going to lose his mind. You taste like the margarita you’ve been sipping and he’s still so surprised that you’re in his truck and willingly making out with him. This is something he’s fantasized about for so much of his life and part of him still can’t believe what’s happening.

He feels you grinding against him and he can’t help but let out a moan at how good it feels. You feel yourself getting even more wet at hearing it as well as feeling his bulge hitting against you. His hand slide up your hoodie, pressing against your bare back your grinding picks up, your heavy breaths progressively fogging up the car.

You push his still wet hair from his forehead as your fingers thread through it as his hips buck against yours. He decides that he needs you and needs you now so his hands move up to the zipper of your hoodie and he slowly unzips it, pushing it off your shoulders and only pulling away to get a glimpse of your naked torso. You’re even more beautiful than he imagined and he takes a moment to look at you, the woman he’s been in love with his whole life. The only woman for him whom for whatever reason he’s still unsure of is in love with him too.

He helps you lie back on the bench as his own shirt comes off, though this is a struggle since he got most of the rain. You pull him down onto you, going for another kiss as you both attempt to finish undressing each other, various clothing items flying around the front of the truck until you’re both naked.

Simon’s hands reach for yours, threading your fingers together as he slowly slides inside of you, both of you moaning and whining as he thrusts in and out, having no barrier feeling so good. You both fit so perfectly together and neither of you can believe that you haven’t done this sooner.

Simon takes his time, slowly moving in and out of, wanting the first time to be soft and sweet. He gently squeezes your hands as he tells you how much he loves you over and over which you return before he goes back to complimenting you any chance he gets. He just feels so free and now he feels the need to tell you everything that he likes about you that friends definitely shouldn’t tell other friends.

“You look so pretty like this,” he says as he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “In fact, I think this is the prettiest you’ve ever looked.” Your once freezing body is now on fire as his lustful gaze roams all over it.

“I feel the same way about you,” you reply, letting your eyes roam over his body too. You slowly take in his tattooed arm, the very tattoos that you’ve traced with your fingers over and over while you’ve been cuddled up on the couch.

Simon picks up the pace just a little bit but that seems to do the trick as your moans get louder and louder with every thrust. You can feel your orgasm approaching quickly and Simon is quick to encourage you, talking you through it with his sweet words.

“That’s it,” he says. “Just like that, sweetheart.” Your name falls from his lips in a loud moan and he can see that you’re going dumb on him so he’s quick to pull out before grabbing some napkins from the glove box to clean the two of you up.

He grabs your clothes and helps you put them back on, pressing a kiss to your lips as he zips up his jacket for you.

“Did so well, sweetheart,” he compliments against your lips. “Think you’re willing to go for round two at your place?” All you can do is nod as he gets himself dressed before buckling your seatbelt for you. Once your all set, he pulls out of the parking lot and heads to your place that he still doesn’t need directions for as he drives much slower than usual since he’s got precious cargo as well as his favorite passenger princess in the front seat.

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