#I seriously have no idea who else to tag on this....

[pretentious-blonde]

stay for dinner?

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: a stupid conversation, past insecurities, and a boy who thinks he isn’t enough—until you show him he always was

warnings: steve self-sabotaging, crying

a/n: part 4, can be read as a standalone too. PLS give me ideas for these two if you liked them!! they currently have my heart <3 (may or may not write nsfw, if i get an idea for that, so be on the lookout!)

series masterlist

Steve set a freshly rewound tape on the countertop. The sign on the wall stating: Be kind: Rewind, clearly had not been making an impact on the general public. And if that wasn’t enough, he was desperately trying not to roll his eyes as a certain curly-haired boy to his left, perched on the desk as if it was a lounge chair. 

Dustin had been pleading with him for the past ten minutes—some elaborate scheme involving a comic book store in the next town over. Steve had already told him “no” at least four times, but the word didn’t seem to register in the boy's vocabulary. He became aware he was fighting a losing battle as the kid refused to budge. 

“Please?” Dustin implored again, swinging his legs idly as he watched Steve rewind the day’s returns.

“For the last time,” Steve muttered, eyeing a slightly worn Back to the Future case with mild dismay, “I already told you no.” 

He was trying to figure out how he could make his declaration any clearer. 

Dustin huffed, crossing his arms. “I can’t drive yet, remember?”

“Yeah, well, that’s not my problem,” Steve shot back, sliding the VHS into its designated slot behind the counter. 

“I’m telling you, it’s only like a fifteen-minute drive. Tops.” Dustin glanced at the clock pointedly. “Plus, your shift ends soon. What else are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know—go pick up my girlfriend?” Steve flashed him a wry smile, letting the term roll off his tongue with pride. 

Girlfriend.

It still felt new, but it also felt good. He thought it would take longer for him to assimilate to his new title as boyfriend, but he fell into the role as easily as breathing. Something that felt completely natural.

No longer was he the designated driver for his friends after work, he did the stuff that boyfriends do. And that included spending most evenings with you.

There were a few times you insisted he needed to spend time with his own friends, but he still wished you were there. Hopefully, you would be comfortable enough to tag along with them in the future. God knows he was more than willing to show you off. 

“Oh yeah?” Dustin sat up, his posture straightening. “So it’s official now?”

A tiny grin tugged at Steve’s mouth. “Yeah.” He closed a drawer of tapes and rested his hands on the counter, staring at Dustin with a slightly smug expression. “It’s official.”

“Good for you, man. Seriously. That’s nice.” He said, seemingly out of obligation rather than pure interest. Then, snapping back to the real topic at hand. “But I’m not leaving until you agree to take me to the comic book store.”

“That’s like—” Steve glanced at the clock above the television sets for rent, “an hour from now.”

“Yep,” Dustin said, unabashed. “I’m persistent.”

“Look,” Steve sighed, massaging the tension in his temples. “She’s coming here once my shift is over. I can’t just bail on her to drive you around.”

Dustin’s face lit up. “Then bring her along! Maybe she’ll like it!”

“Yeah, no. That’s not happening.” A short laugh escaped Steve before he could stop it. “I’m not dragging her to a comic book shop just so you can blow your allowance on some special-edition nonsense.”

“Hey, it’s not nonsense!” Dustin protested. “They have the rare issues I can’t find anywhere else. And who knows, maybe your girlfriend’s into comics!”

“Why do I even argue with you?” Steve groaned to himself, returning to the stack of tapes in front of him—anything to have an excuse not to keep looking at Dustin’s pleading face. “You just keep going and going. It’s exhausting.”

“That’s because I know you’ll give in eventually,” Dustin quipped, flashing that self-assured grin that made Steve want to either adopt him or toss him out a window—possibly both.

“Yeah, well, not this time,” Steve insisted, though the conviction in his voice wavered slightly.

Dustin was right about one thing: Steve did have a tendency to cave when it came to the kids, especially the ones he’d practically helped raise. But, as he filed away the last of the returns, a pang of guilt rippled through him. 

He didn’t want to let you down. Truly, he didn’t. You were swinging by just to see him. It was a Sunday after all, so he was finishing early, and he wanted to spend as long as he could with you. 

Unfortunately, he did feel a little regretful about letting his friend down. Perhaps he was spending a bit too much time with you—which wasn’t a crime—but he was struggling to recall the last time he spent alone time with Dustin. 

The kid must have caught the trace of hesitation in Steve’s expression. Finally, a crack in his armour. 

“Look,” he said, in a rare moment of sincerity, “just ask her, okay? If she says no, I’ll drop it.”

Steve mulled that over, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Fine,” he relented, not hiding his exasperation. “I’ll let you pitch your case when she gets here.”

Dustin pumped a fist triumphantly. “Yes! You won’t regret this.”

“I regret a lot of things, Henderson,” Steve muttered under his breath. “Now let me finish up so I can actually clock out at a decent time.”

“Deal,” Dustin agreed, but he made no move to vacate the desk. Instead, he just kept swinging his legs, watching with interest as Steve tried to busy himself with the returns.

The kid was relentless—he had to give him that.

He was half-leaning against the counter when you walked in, the lazy Sunday light spilling through the windows, making him look almost golden.

You instantly spotted him, features slightly fatigued but nonetheless tender. The boy who inserted himself into your daunting new life, making you feel less alone. The boy who made you feel safe whenever your eyes met—warm, reassuring, sometimes bashful if you caught him at the right moment. 

Your gaze drifted to the curly-haired kid perched on the front desk, chattering away while Steve fiddled with cases. You hadn’t met him yet, but had an inkling as to who it might be from you and Steve’s many conversations. 

The second Steve caught sight of you, the slight crease in his brow eased, and a genuine smile lit up his face. He straightened, set the tapes aside, and practically melted as you approached, arms opening to fit you just right.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling you into a warm hug. His vest brushed against your cheek. You tilted your head just enough to feel the soft press of his lips against your temple. 

Even though the two of you were official, your cheeks still reddened at his action. It often seemed he didn’t mind that you had company, or maybe he just didn’t care. Or perhaps he didn’t realise how brazen he could be.

Either way, you weren’t going to stop his displays of affection. You enjoyed knowing he was proud to call you his.

“Hi,” you said quietly, relishing the way he lingered in that hug, not quite wanting to let go just yet.

“This is Dustin,” he turned, gesturing to the boy with the curly hair. “I told you about him, remember?”

“Right!” You offered the boy a friendly smile, glad your assumption was correct. “So great to finally meet you. Steve mentions you all the time.”

Dustin stared for a moment, then blinked like he was recalibrating. 

“Um… hey,” he said, his tone surprisingly timid. “Yeah, you too.”

That made Steve grin even wider. 

Dustin, rendered speechless? He never thought he would see the day. He looked at his awestruck expression and glanced over at you smugly. 

Yeah, he did that. He isn’t quite sure how, but he did that.

“You ready to go?” you asked, glancing up at him over your shoulder. At your question, Steve let out a slow breath, raking a hand through his hair nervously. 

“Apparently, someone wants me to be their personal chauffeur,” he said, with a pointed look at Dustin. “Says I need to drive him to a comic book store.”

“A comic book store? But there’s one like four streets over, right?”

Steve spread his hands in exasperation. “Exactly what I said!”

Dustin threw his hands up. “That one sucks! Their selection is terrible and they get new shipments like once a month!”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. He sounds like a tiny professor with the fervour in his voice. Steve shot you a look of abject guilt, like he was already imagining leaving you hanging.

“Would I be the world’s biggest jerk if I did this?” he asked, the uncertainty evident in his tone. He hated to be the one to make decisions like this, picking sides and disappointing someone in the process. 

“No, honestly, it’s fine.” Gently, you shook your head. “It’s still early, right?” You gestured to the clock on the wall—three o’clock, give or take a few minutes. “I’ve been all over the place today, honestly an hour or so just to get everything in order would be amazing.”

“I mean…” Dustin started, looking between you and Steve, not sure if you're just being nice or actually had something to do. “You’re welcome to come with?”

But you waved him off with an apologetic smile. “Thanks, but seriously, I’ve got a lot to catch up on at home. You two enjoy, please, don’t let me stop you.”

Dustin beamed at you, grateful for the positive turn of events. Steve, on the other hand, still looked torn, torn between not wanting to inconvenience you and also not wanting to bail on his friend. 

“Alright,” he relented, exhaling in relief when he realised you were genuinely okay with this. “I’ll… yeah, I’ll drop him off, and we’ll probably poke around for a bit if they really have something he’s looking for.”

“No worries.” You leaned forward, reaching for his hand, not missing the smitten glaze in his eyes as you squeezed it. “Swing by mine after, okay? I should be done by then.”

Steve’s posture relaxed, gratitude colouring his eyes. “Okay,” he murmured, “deal.” 

He leaned in, cupping your jaw and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips this time—a sweet, unhurried gesture that made your cheeks flush—again.

There was a shuffle behind him, and you could sense Dustin being extremely polite (or maybe just temporarily stunned) enough not to comment. Steve pulled back smiling, as you made your way to the exit.

“See you, Steve,” you said, backing toward the door. You cast a quick wave at Dustin. “Later, Dustin.”

“Uh, bye,” Dustin managed, raising a hand in farewell.

And with that, you slipped outside, leaving Steve to shoulder his shift into driver mode—though, judging by the fond look on his face, he wasn’t half as annoyed about it anymore. 

He just got to rub it in Dustin's face, that yes, he had a sweet girlfriend. And yes, she really was that nice. All the time. Probably when she shouldn't be.

As far as he was concerned, if you needed it, he could haul Henderson around for an afternoon to give you some free time. 

“You,” Dustin said, pointing at Steve once you were gone, “are one lucky dude.”

Steve snorted, but it came out more like an affectionate laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmured, casting a glance at the door you’d just left through. “Yeah, I am.”

Steve drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he cruised down the main road, Dustin rambling away in the passenger seat. The kid’s feet bounced on the floor mat, all brimming energy. Steve had to admit—it was nice to see him so pumped. But that didn’t stop him from cringing slightly at every new question that spilled out of his mouth. 

Right now he was the subject of a very intense interrogation, and while he had mentioned he was seeing someone new, clearly that was not enough information for the teenager sitting next to him. 

“So,” Dustin said, leaning forward, “this girl—your girlfriend—what does she do?”

“She’s writing for the paper in town.” He said, feeling a surge of pride in his chest as he got to gush about your achievements. “Gonna be a big-shot journalist someday. That’s what she wants, anyway.”

Dustin let out a short laugh, amused in a way that made Steve raise an eyebrow. “Why’re you laughing?”

“I’m not, I’m just—” Dustin shook his head, lips quirked in a grin. “You and your… type.”

Steve gave him a side-eye glance. “My type?”

“Oh, c’mon,” Dustin scoffed, half-exasperated, half-teasing. “Smart writer girls. You know—the go-getter, brainy ones.”

Steve’s initial instinct was to shrug it off, but something nagged at him.

He felt a twinge of déjà vu that he didn’t love. 

“Yeah, okay, I can sorta see what you mean.” He spoke cooly, but the heat rising in his chest was anything but. 

“Admit it,” Dustin pressed on. “You like girls that are just a little… out of your league.”

Steve bristled, tightening his grip on the wheel. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, think about it." Dustin shrugged, apparently not noticing the defensiveness in Steve’s tone. "The girls you’ve dated. They’re super smart, super driven. It’s cool how you have managed to pull this off twice.”

Steve forced a laugh, though it felt hollow on his tongue. 

Pull this off? That the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Right, yeah, thanks for the vote of confidence, Henderson.” He cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to shake off the uneasy feeling creeping into his stomach. “Well, if they like me, then I must be doing something right.”

“For sure. No denying you’ve come a long way.” Dustin nodded, tapping the dashboard with one finger. “Remember how you used to act at Scoops? Man, you were just—”

Steve groaned, cutting him off as he steered into a small parking lot beside a rundown building with a neon sign advertising Comics & Collectibles. Not wanting to relive failed moments from his youth any longer than he had to. 

“Alright, we’re here.” He put the car into park, his posture now rigid. “You’ve got thirty minutes, max. Then we’re outta here.”

“Thirty minutes?” Dustin repeated, eyes bulging. “But—”

“Non-negotiable,” Steve said flatly, giving him a pointed look, suddenly in a sour mood. “I’ve got places to be.”

“Fine.” Dustin grumbled under his breath but ultimately acquiesced, grabbing his backpack and popping open the door. “Thirty. Starting… now.”

He hopped out, the door slamming shut behind him. Steve exhaled, jaw still tense. He watched the kid dart across the lot and pull open the shop’s glass door with excitement.

Alone at last, Steve let his head fall back against the headrest. 

Are you really that much out of his league? The question looped around in his mind like a broken record.

He could laugh it off—he had enough practise doing that—but he started remembering how he felt so inadequate around Nancy. 

You made him feel needed, cared for, that much was certainly true. But how long would you need him, really? 

The notion stirred up old insecurities he’d thought he’d buried. 

The rational side of his mind told him he had nothing to worry about. If you liked him—chose him—that was enough, right?

Sighing, he pulled out his watch and glanced at the time. Twenty-nine minutes until he could drop Dustin off and head straight to your place. He suddenly wished the clock would run faster. 

Because if there was one thing he couldn’t wait to do, it was lose himself in you. If only for the evening.

Your familiar doorstep was supposed to feel welcoming, as it had so many times before, but Steve’s mind was a bundle of half-formed worries as he stood in the familiar space. 

He hated to admit when things got to him, but Dustin’s teasing—albeit lighthearted—had, indeed, gotten to him. The doubts clouding his mind like a soft static he couldn’t push away. 

The one statement he kept circling back to was the whole "out of his league" idea. I mean, yeah, from the outside looking in, it could be the case. But he had something to offer, right?

If nothing else was true, he at least had a decent enough face, and his personality had come a long way from high school. Hopefully, other people could see that too. 

He forced his mind into silence as he took a deep breath, knocking twice in quick succession. 

When you opened the door, dressed in soft, comfortable clothes that looked unfairly adorable on you, he felt something in his chest unclench. Even on a lazy Sunday—one where you had every right to be tired from your own job—you still radiated a classic warmth, one that he was selfishly drinking up, grateful to be the one basking in it. 

“Hey,” you said, smiling so easily that a bit of the tension in his shoulders melted.

“Hey, angel” he echoed, stepping inside when you ushered him through the threshold. The air hit him first—warm and fragrant, hinting at something savoury on the stove. “Wow, it smells amazing in here.”

Little did he know, you had already taken care of most of your errands that morning. Knowing you’d be spending the afternoon with Steve, you’d gotten up a little earlier than usual to make sure everything was in order. But when you saw the desperate look on Dustin’s face as he pleaded with your boyfriend to take him to the store, an idea sparked. A little surprise for him—one you hoped would land well.

“Figured I’d make dinner.” You gave a pleased little shrug. “We don��t always get Sundays like this, and I know you had to work, so…”

“Wait,” he said, blinking, “you made dinner?” 

His eyes softened as he took in your words, letting them settle in his chest. He tried not to feel indebted—but God, he wished he stopped to pick up flowers or something.

“Yup,” you confirmed, leading him toward the kitchen. “Nothing fancy. Just has to reduce on the stove for a while longer, but I wanted it ready for when you came by.”

Steve’s heart twisted in two directions at once. On one hand, it was the sweetest gesture, and certainly one that should have put his mind at ease. On the other, his mind kept whispering to him. He questioned if he was even worth this kind of effort.

The bluntness of the thought shocked him a little, but he couldn’t render it completely false. He felt like he owed you something. 

“You didn’t have to go all out for me,” he murmured, smiling at you in an almost apologetic manner.

“I know.” You reached up to brush a stray bit of hair off his forehead. “I wanted to.”

He swallowed, nodding. “Thanks, angel,” he said softly, the pet name rolling off his tongue with more tenderness than he intended. Like he wasn’t supposed to be using it. “Seriously.”

You tugged him gently into the living room, where he sank down onto the couch, exhaling a sigh of relief. The day had felt so long—the slow hours, Dustin’s energy, the drive out of town—but now, in the familiarity of your apartment, it all felt calm. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t quite right. 

You curled against him, fitting neatly at his side as he draped an arm around you. The soft haze of a lamp cast a cosy halo over the bookshelf across the room, the very one he’d helped you build not long ago. He couldn’t help but notice the extra row of spines he didn’t remember seeing before.

“Hey,” he teased, nudging your head and gesturing to the neatly lined novels. “I thought you said no more books until you’d read all the ones you owned.”

You lifted your head to follow his gaze, a faint grin tugging at your lips. “I did read them. Which means I’m allowed new ones.”

“All of them? In, what—two weeks?”

He barely finished reading Salinger in senior year, and that took him months to work through. 

“About that,” you said, sounding almost sheepish. “They were good, and I got on a roll. You know how it is when a book just sucks you in?”

He didn’t really, but now he felt as though he should. 

“That’s…impressive.” He replied safely, not wanting to bring down your mood with his lack of literature knowledge. Especially when you seemed so pleased that he was there in the first place. 

You used that moment to shift closer, your cheek pressing against the broad line of his shoulder. He felt the warmth you emitted, and if he allowed himself, he could imagine that maybe you enjoyed his company as much as he loved yours. 

“So,” you said, glancing up at him with genuine curiosity. “How was work? How’s Dustin?”

Steve hesitated, momentarily tripping over the idea that you’d be interested in the mundane details of his shift or the kid’s comic book haul. But the way you were watching him—like you actually cared—made him sigh and lean into it.

“Pretty standard, y’know?” He ran his free hand over his jaw, trying to sound casual. “Dustin got what he wanted, as usual. He’s like a force of nature—hard to say no.”

You smiled, amused. “That kid seems unstoppable.”

“Definitely unstoppable,” Steve agreed, a soft chuckle escaping him. 

Eventually, after his debrief of today's events, you got up to check on dinner, stirring the pot and releasing another wave of that delicious smell. He watched, heart clenching again with gratitude and guilt. 

He could see how careful you were, minding the heat, adding a pinch of seasoning, taking the time to make something special just for him.

He wondered if he could do anything to help, something to be useful again. 

It felt so domestic that for a second he let himself imagine a future where this could be the norm—where the two of you shared little traditions, teased each other about groceries, woke up side by side. Equally happy with what the other had to offer. 

Soon enough, you both ended up at the small kitchen table, plates filled with a hearty meal that made him groan with delight after each bite. You just laughed, pleased by his genuine appreciation. 

“Good?” you asked, grinning as he nodded enthusiastically, mouth still full. 

It was good. Really good. Made only better by the fact that you made it for him.

Why didn’t he think of something like this?

At this rate, he was going to have to pull a screw loose from your bookshelf just so he could prove himself again. 

When you’d eaten more than enough to satiate your hunger, you cleaned up together, bumping hips in the process, trading playful glances as you washed and dried the dishes.

He followed you back to the couch, happy to follow where you dragged him hand first. You spent the rest of the evening chatting aimlessly about books, random gossip from your workplace, and his occasional run-ins with Robin or the kids. 

There was nothing particularly grand or momentous about it; just a gentle closeness. Though he was worried it was too mundane, if his crappy jokes were enough to keep this thing going. 

All too soon, the clock on the wall struck a sober reminder: Monday morning was lurking around the corner, and you gave him an apologetic look.

“I hate to kick you out,” you said softly, “but I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” He pretended to huff in annoyance, though the corners of his mouth twitched in a small smile. You were the one with a real job, after all. “Responsibilities and all that.”

At the door, you hugged him, chin hooking over his shoulder. He could smell the faint scent of laundry detergent on your jumper, mixed with the lingering aroma of dinner. It felt safe in your arms—safer than he’d felt all day.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your hair, voice thick with more emotion than he intended to reveal.

“For what?” you asked, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes, sensing his unease.

“For dinner,” he shrugged, trying to hide the lump in his throat. “For letting me hang out… for, y’know, being you.”

A smile lit up your features, and you rose on your toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

It should’ve been reassuring, but that old worry nipped at him once again. 

You gave him a playful nudge out into the hallway. “Drive safe, okay?”

“Always,” he promised, mustering a half-smirk. But the moment the door closed behind him, the warmth drained away like someone had shut off a heat lamp.

By the time he slid into his car and started the engine, he was already thinking about Dustin’s words, "girls out of his league." 

Mentally, he scolded himself. But the thought stuck like glue, stubborn and unmoving. He glanced at your apartment window—light still glowing from inside—and his chest ached with longing. 

You liked him. You even cooked for him, fully aware that he would have been just as content with a crappy pizza or diner fries. 

So why couldn’t he let himself just be happy?

With a quiet sigh, he pulled away from the curb, leaving the comfort of your home behind. And as he drove through the sleepy streets of Hawkins, he couldn’t quite loose the hollow sense that he was missing something.

Good things always had a way of escaping him, and he couldn’t imagine how this would be any different.

You’ve never felt unsettled since moving to Hawkins—at least, not until now. 

Work at the Hawkins Post can be demanding, but those pressures were somewhat tangible: deadlines, edits, the joyous feeling of being undermined for basic input. You can handle all that. But suddenly finding your supposedly devoted boyfriend slipping through your fingers for reasons you don’t understand? 

That feels far worse than any work stress could ever be.

All week, you’ve told yourself not to overreact. Steve might just be busy or tired or dealing with something personal. You didn’t want to pry, and after coming clean about your own struggles, you assumed he would do the same thing. Take his own advice or whatever. 

But the excuses keep piling up, and you can’t ignore the changes in his behaviour. It started with some half-hearted reasons to hang up the phone in the evenings—when he used to plead with you to stay just little longer—usually ending up with one of you falling asleep on the line, listening out for the others breathing to steady before ending the call. 

The whole week he didn’t even mention spending the weekend together. Usually that was sacred time, with him arguing with Kieth and Robin to please let him have the evening shifts rather than the morning. He enjoyed waking up lazily next to you, not rushing out the door before he had his fill. 

By Saturday, you decide you can’t wait for answers any longer. You head out, crossing the familiar street, eventually pushing open the door to Family Video. Robin’s face pops up from behind the counter, the bell signalling a customer. 

“Hey,” Robin calls, stacking tapes. “If you’re looking for Steve, you just missed him. Morning shift—he took off like ten minutes ago.”

“I know.” You attempt a polite smile. You were already aware of his absence, watching his BMW speed away from the store, feeling even worse when it turned the opposite direction to your place. “I actually, uh… came to see you.”

“Me? Really?” She seemed half-surprised, half-intrigued.

“Yeah. I… I think I need your help.” The words spill out in a rush. You don’t realise how anxious you sound until Robin sets aside her tapes, giving you her full attention. “I’m sorry for springing this on you, but I’m kind of at a loss. You’re Steve’s best friend, and—” You pause, cheeks warming. “I don’t really know many people here yet.”

Robin’s expression softens. “Hey, hey, no need to apologise. What’s going on?” Her eyes narrow, the smallest spark of protectiveness lighting behind them. “Did Steve do something stupid? Because I can give him a good slap if—”

You lift your hands, shaking your head quickly. “No, no, it’s not that. Or… not exactly?” Your voice wavers. “I just—wanted to know if he still… likes me? Because he’s been distant, and I can’t think what I did wrong.”

Robin’s mouth opens on a short laugh, but then she sees you’re serious. 

“Oh. Wait—you’re for real?”

Heat pools in your cheeks. It sounds so ridiculous when you say it out loud, but you press on. You were here already, so if she knew something, you would rather just get this over with. 

“He’s barely returned my calls, and this weekend he hasn’t even tried making plans. Last week I cooked for him—nothing fancy, just dinner—and he acted so weird about it, almost like he wanted to be anywhere else. I keep replaying it in my head, wondering if I came on too strong or something.”

She watches you carefully, reading the tension in your posture, the way your hands keep twisting into your sleeves. 

“Okay, okay,” she says, gentler now. “I promise I’m listening. You think you scared him off?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” You look at the floor, biting your lip. “This past week, he’s barely tried to see me at all. Usually he’s so—well, so Steve, you know? But now it’s like he’s ignoring me, except he’s still in town.”

Robin sets aside the tapes completely, leaning her elbows on the counter. Yes, she knew how Steve had been acting, practically besotted with you. So this fast turnaround was odd, but then again, Steve had his moments. Though they usually came with more of an explanation than this. 

“That’s… not good,” she concedes. “But trust me, from an outside perspective, he’s been head over heels for you since day one. My guess is he’s the problem, not you. It might be in that thick skull of his, you know? It doesn’t help that it’s covered with all that hair.”

“I feel so stupid, but I didn’t know who else to ask." You let out a shaky laugh. "I’m just… worried I messed up somehow. I know it’s weird—”

“Hey, you’re not weird.” Robin shakes her head, reaching over to squeeze your arm gently. “You’re worried—totally normal. Let me talk to him, okay? I’ll figure out what’s going on.”

Your eyes widen. “No, you don’t have to do that. I don’t want to cause drama—”

She interrupts you with a wave of her hand. “Drama is my middle name, apparently, thanks to Steve. Let me handle him. I’ll be subtle. Trust me.” 

A mischievous grin tugs at her lips. You have a feeling she’s never been subtle in her life, but you’re too tired to argue.

“Alright.” You sigh. “Only if you’re sure. And please, maybe don’t mention I… came here? I don’t want him thinking I’m this desperate, clingy girlfriend who needs constant reassurance.”

“Desperate? Clingy? He’s been the clingiest guy I’ve ever seen—until now.” She snorts. “Don’t beat yourself up. I know he adores you. He’s probably just… freaking out about something. He’s good at that. Self-sabotage is his specialty.”

The tight knot in your chest loosens just a bit, but her words set you on edge a little. You instantly think that you are the one freaking him out, coming on too strong. But you decide that silence is the best option here. 

“Thank you,” you say, voice still unsteady. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” She offers a supportive smile. “Hey, you’re welcome to drop by anytime, you know? If you wanted someone else to talk to or something, but no pressure.”

“I might take you up on that.” You tell her, relieved. 

“Good. Now go home, put on some music, try to relax. I’ll handle the Harrington situation.”

You’re not entirely sure what that entails, but her confidence is reassuring. After one more grateful nod, you thank her again and head back outside. Not quite feeling relief, but certainly not feeling any worse.

Steve juggled a soda cup in one hand and a stack of tapes in the other. He had the evening off yesterday and had spent it binge watching crappy rom coms while trying to ignore the nagging feeling in his chest. Trying to find some solace in those mundane guys managing to snag the unattainable, popular girl. They never showed what happened after the whole kiss and get-together thing. Life imitates art in a way.

He also had the day off today—normally something that would have him beaming from the inside out—but he made the decision to spend it alone. A decision that had been laced with anxiety, which now leaked into a mild depression. His nerves overshadowed any relief he felt about his schedule. 

He unlocked the door to Family Video, hoping he’d be able to stash the unchecked tapes and slip out before Robin noticed the cloud hanging over him. No such luck. 

She was early for her shift, waiting at the counter, arms crossed, jaw set. Her eyes locked on him the second he stepped inside.

“You.” She spoke the word like it was a challenge. “Explain yourself.”

He paused, heartbeat picking up, not expecting this level of hostility.

“What did I do now?” he asked cautiously, setting the tapes down. “I planned to bring them back before opening, I swear, I just—”

Robin cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. “Not that. Your girlfriend came in here yesterday, totally distressed. She thought she did something wrong. Actually asked if she might’ve scared you off by, and I quote, ‘making you dinner.’”

Steve’s stomach flipped. A wave of guilt slammed into him, sharper than he’d expected. He swallowed, remembering how you’d stood in your apartment, smiling so warmly, how you’d carefully stirred a pot of sauce just for him. 

God, he’d been such an idiot.

He thought that you would have been too busy with work this week to notice his silence. He thought he hid his emotions better than that. 

“She thinks that?” he managed to say, voice tight. “She really asked that?”

“Of course she did.” Robin slammed her palm on the counter. “Now, are you freaking out, or what? Because if you are, just say so.”

“Me? Freaking out?” A shaky laugh left Steve’s lips. Freaking out was putting it mildly. “I’m fine, Rob.”

She shook her head. “You’re clearly not,” she persisted. “Last week you’re gushing about your new relationship, and now it’s radio silence. What’s up with you? Spill it.”

He knew there was no getting out of this, well, unless he literally turned and ran out the store. But that seemed a bit extreme and would likely only delay this conversation. 

He dreaded this part. The whole talking about his feelings and his subsequent inadequacies. 

“It’s going to sound dumb,” he muttered, gaze dropping to the floor. 

“More so than usual?” She teased.

“Robin.” 

“Right, no.” She muttered. “Wrong time. Sorry.”

She sighed and walked round the counter so she was standing directly in front of him. Both so she could gauge his reaction and bring him some semblance of comfort. “Talk to me.”

“It’s like…” He trails off, looking away from her pitiful expression.”She’s going places, you know? Really going places. I’m just… here.”

Her expression softened a fraction. “What brought this on?”

Steve felt the memories swirl—Dustin’s pointed remarks, the creeping sense of déjà vu reminding him how Nancy once left him behind. 

“Dustin,” he admitted after a beat. “He said some stuff… about me only dating smart girls who are outta my league. It got stuck in my head, okay?”

“Henderson?” Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “Steve, he’s a kid. A kid with zero concept of normal relationship drama. You’re really letting that get to you?”

He tried to muster a shrug, but his chest felt tight. No matter what angle he looked at it, it was a statement that he couldn’t disprove. 

“He’s not entirely wrong,” he mumbled. “I don’t have a big plan or anything. My job’s okay, but it’s not exactly a career, and I’m certainly not saving big money—there’s no future path. Meanwhile, she’s got all these ideas, ambitions, everything.”

Robin stared, seeming torn between wanting to hug him and wanting to smack him upside the head. 

“God, you’re self-sabotaging again.”

“I am not—”

“Yes, you are!” she insisted, stepping forward. “Textbook Harrington behaviour: good thing’s happening, so you panic and decide you don’t deserve it. I just watched her walk out of here looking like someone kicked her puppy. She literally thinks she scared you off.”

Steve’s gut twisted further. He pictured you, eyes glassy with worry, probably replaying every moment you’d spent together. After your heart to heart the other day it became clear that you tended to overthink, he didn’t realise you could be doing that because of him. 

The notion that you blamed yourself made his chest ache. 

“I… I didn’t mean to make her feel that way,” he said, voice hollow.

“So don’t.” Robin pressed her lips together. “Fix it. You’re good at that sort of thing.”

He exhaled shakily, setting the soda on the counter before he spilled it with his shaky hands. “How?”

“You have today off, right?” Robin asked, folding her arms.

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“She does too,” Robin replied pointedly. “And it’s not even 10 a.m. yet. So do something nice for her. Show her you’re not running away. Because, believe me, if you keep pulling back, it’s gonna look like you are.”

Steve nodded, trying to will away the tightening in his throat. “What do I even plan? Something big? Flowers? Fancy dinner? She’s already done the cooking thing—”

Robin let out a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes. “You’re not exactly wooing the queen of England. Just do something that says ‘I appreciate you and want to be around you.’ Could be a picnic, a drive, a movie—whatever. Don’t overthink it.”

He let out a short, humourless laugh. “But that’s kinda my specialty these days.”

“Clearly,” Robin muttered, though her tone was gentler now. “Look, the point is, she’s into you. She made that super obvious. The only person doubting it is you. So cut it out.”

Steve paused, letting her words settle. A small seed of hope unfurled in his chest, reminding him why he’d fallen for you in the first place.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, gaze locked on the floor. Then he lifted his head, determined. “I’ll, uh… yeah, I’ll figure something out.”

Robin’s tense posture eased, and she gave a curt nod. “Good. Because if you break that girl’s heart over your own insecurities, I’ll murder you. In a loving, best-friend sort of way.”

Steve managed a small grin. “In a loving way, sure.”

“Get out of here before Keith shows up.” She smirked, waving him off. “And don’t forget to call her, for God’s sake.”

Snatching up his soda again, Steve headed for the door, heart still pounding but a faint sense of relief settling in.

From the moment Steve picked up the phone at ten that morning—voice shaky with nerves—he knew he was taking a gamble. 

He could feel the cautious edge in your tone, the coolness that suggested you were bracing yourself. Still, he invited you over to his place for that evening, willing the dread in his stomach to subside. He told himself it would be okay, that he’d find the right words. 

Robin had told him to talk, so talk he would.

Meanwhile, you spent your Sunday feeling a dread so heavy it threatened to pin you to the floor. 

Why else would Steve have been so distant all week? The only logical conclusion was that he’d decided this wasn’t working. After all, you’d had that conversation with Robin—maybe she’d reported back to him, told him something that sealed the deal. 

It made sense in a heartbreakingly logical way.

By the time five o’clock rolled around, you felt like you’d gone through every stage of grief. You dragged yourself to your car and made the drive toward the Harrington residence, a place that had once felt so exciting in its promise. 

Now it loomed large in your mind as the site of an upcoming breakup. When you arrived, you saw plenty of parking space—his parents, you recalled, were almost never home. You turned the keys of the ignition and exited the vehicle. 

At least no one will witness what’s about to happen. 

You made your way up the steps, breath tight in your chest. Just as you lifted a hand to knock, the door swung open, revealing Steve, hair meticulously styled, smelling faintly of aftershave. The pang in your heart only sharpened. 

Did he seriously dress up for this?

“Hi,” he managed, the word catching slightly, like he was just as nervous as you.

“Hi,” you replied curtly.

Steve cleared his throat, looking awkward in a way that tugged at your heart—no matter how resigned you felt. “Uh, I think you should come in.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “All right.”

Inside, the house felt cavernous, every footstep echoing. He led you to the living room, and you couldn’t help but glance around, remembering how you used to marvel at this place—huge, yes, but also warm with the potential of summer get-togethers, that pool you’d joked about wanting to try. Now, the thought made your stomach twist. 

Guess you won’t be swimming here after all.

You both settled on the couch, an awkward space between you. Steve’s fingers twitched at his sides, and he couldn’t quite meet your eye. The hush was almost suffocating, until finally he spoke, voice low and unsteady.

“Look, um… I think we need to talk.”

Your heart thumped. So this is it. You drew a shaky breath, forcing yourself to sound calmer than you felt. 

“Okay. Sure.”

He tried not to grimace at the coolness in your tone. You’d never sounded so distant before, and it killed him to know he caused it. Robin’s words about “explaining himself” rang in his ears, so he opened his mouth—only for you to beat him to it.

“Listen, Steve,” you began, voice thick with tension. “I… I get what’s going on here.”

Steve frowned, something twisting in his chest. “Huh? You do?”

“Yeah," you nodded. "I kind of guessed it.”

“Really?” A flicker of confusion passed over his features. “You did?”

Exhaling, you steeled yourself, trying to keep your composure. 

“Look, I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Maybe you didn’t appreciate me crying about my job the other day, or maybe I was too forward cooking dinner for you. I get it. I just… I can’t think of anything else I did wrong.” You forced a hollow laugh. “So I assumed it must be that. Maybe I scared you off.”

Steve’s brows shot up, genuine shock colouring his face.

“What you did wrong?” he echoed. “Wait—what are you talking about?”

You swallowed. 

Get it over with. 

“Aren’t you… breaking up with me?”

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin. Every worst fear he had about you feeling hurt was now a reality. 

“What? No! No, I’m not breaking up with you.” He spoke in quick succession. “Are you crazy? I’m not doing that.”

The wave of relief that swept through you was immediate but fleeting.

“Then what is this?” you asked, voice unsure. “It’s obvious you’re not feeling this anymore. You’ve been ignoring me all week, and I’m not gonna force you to stay if you don’t want to. I just… I figured there’d be a reason.”

He grimaced, running a hand through his hair and messing up that careful style. 

“There is a reason,” he admitted. “But trust me, it’s not you.”

“Yeah,” you snorted, a weak attempt at humour that came out more sad than anything. “That’s what everyone always says when they break up with someone.”

Steve let out a frustrated breath. He had never been good at this. You were the one who was good with words, not him. 

“No, really. It—fuck, just let me talk.” He paused, gathering himself. The realisation that you thought you caused this somehow made his heart twist painfully. If you only knew how not your fault it really was. 

God, what a mess. 

He stared at the floor, feeling the weight of all his insecurities. 

“Listen,” he started, voice shaky, “I’m not good at this, so just give me a moment.”

You watched him, a pang of sympathy slipping through your self-protective shell. He looked… rattled, more so than you’d ever seen him. Despite your own heartbreak, you nodded, letting him gather his courage.

“Okay,” he said, exhaling slowly. “So, I don’t have the best track record with relationships. Or even friendships. I thought I’d gotten better, but apparently not.” He let out a short laugh, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second—only to dart away when he saw the concern there. 

It was hard to think when you looked at him like that. Like he was something to be pitied.

“What I’m trying to say is… I always seem to get left behind. My first girlfriend left me for someone else. My old friends ditched me as soon as I wasn’t cool anymore. My parents ignored me because I sucked at school.” He swallowed hard, voice thickening with old wounds. “Then I met you, this super smart girl who clearly has the world at her fingertips—you’ve accomplished so much already, more than I ever could. It made me think: how could I hold onto that? How could I keep you interested in my life when I work at a video store and spend my free time with a bunch of teenagers?”

Your heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in his words. For a second, you just stared, feeling tears prick the backs of your eyes at how wrong he was about himself.

Without thinking, you reached out and slid your hand into his, the contact gentle but resolute.

“Steve,” you whispered, voice unsteady but filled with honesty, “how can you think that about yourself?”

His gaze snapped to yours, confusion etched in every line of his face. 

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing, running a thumb along the backs of his knuckles. 

“You really don’t see what others see, do you?”

He frowned, looking lost. “I… I’m not following.”

Blinking back tears, you gave a soft, exasperated laugh. 

Of course he couldn’t see, your sweet, stupid boy.

“Steve, the first time we met, you literally lugged and built me a whole bookshelf—remember that? You practically passed out hauling the thing up the stairs.”

“Shit,” he muttered, cheeks tinging pink, “you noticed?”

“Yeah, I noticed,” you said, remembering the moment you started falling for him. “And I saw you freaking out over the instructions, but you tried to act like you totally had it under control.”

“Damn…” he hung his head. “Not as smooth as I thought I was.”

Not in the slightest.

A weak smile tugged at your lips. 

“Maybe not, but that’s overrated anyway.” Taking a breath, you tightened your grip on his hand. “Steve, you’re a giver—through and through. So you don’t have some swanky office job—who cares? You have something better. You’re selfless, you help people, you care. That’s worth more than anything else, trust me. Whenever you talk about your friends, it’s like a never-ending list of names. You’re rich, Steve. Richer than money.”

He felt tears burning behind his eyes. This was not part of the plan, for him to be openly crying while you praise him repeatedly. That should have been his job tonight. Making you feel better. 

“Shit, sweetheart,” he croaked, “you’re gonna make me cry over here.”

“Me too,” you admitted, voice thick with emotion. “We’re both lame.”

“Yeah,” he managed, a watery laugh escaping, “the lamest.”

A heartbeat of silence passed, and then he lifted his eyes to yours with a shy, almost bashful smile, one you hadn’t seen all week. It looked like him, the real Steve you fell for.

“Come here?” he asked, sounding almost boyish in his nervousness.

You couldn’t move fast enough.

He leaned in, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the big house, the rolling ache in your gut. His lips pressed to yours, soft at first, hesitant, then deepening as relief coursed through both of you. 

He couldn’t quite stop smiling against your mouth, which made the kiss a bit clumsy, but neither of you cared. The tenderness overshadowed any awkwardness. It felt like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. When he finally pulled back, he let out a shaky exhale, one hand still cupping your cheek. 

“I missed doing that,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip.

“Me too,” you breathed.

He swallowed hard, glancing away as guilt resurged. “I’m really sorry I made you feel like you messed up. Like I didn’t—like I wasn’t into you anymore. I am. I really am. Probably too much”

“You should have told me,” you scold him, his brown eyes still glassy. “Aren’t you the one who preached about sharing problems?”

A choked laugh tore from his throat. “Yeah, well… ‘do as I say, not as I do.’”

“You’re impossible,” you teased, though the affection in your voice was unmistakable.

Suddenly, a shrill beeping noise cut through the charged atmosphere, making you both jump. 

“What is that?” you asked, pulse still fluttering from the kiss.

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Oh, crap, the timer!” He scrambled off the couch, practically tripping over the coffee table. You followed him with a bemused smile as he disappeared into the adjacent kitchen.

Seconds later, you found him shutting off the buzzer, cheeks flushed. 

“I, uh… made dinner,” he confessed, looking adorably sheepish.

Your eyebrows shot up. “You cooked?”

“I mean, I stole your idea,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Rob said I should do something nice, so… here we are. My parents were never around much, so I learned a few things. It’s probably not as good as yours, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

A laugh rose in your chest, part delight, part lingering emotional exhaustion. “Robin told you to do this? I gotta thank her.”

He set a potholder aside, shrugging with an embarrassed smile. “She said I had to make it up to you, so… yeah. I guess I’m returning the favour.”

“You’re full of surprises,” you said softly, stepping closer. 

Steve let out a quiet breath, a small, relieved grin curving his lips. As you moved into his space, he reached out, fingers ghosting along your arm before settling at your waist.

“And you, deserve it.” He murmured, voice brimming with affection. “Really sweetheart, you deserve the world.”

Something in his tone made your heart clench. Before you could respond, he leaned in again, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow, tender—altogether mesmerising. 

He cradled your face like you might vanish if he wasn’t careful, as though keeping you close was the only way to convince himself that this was real. You tasted the faint salt of his earlier tears, felt his almost giddy smile against your mouth, and the mix of sadness and relief and overwhelming softness made you cling tighter to him.

It was the kind of moment that made the ache worth it, the kind you knew you’d replay in your head a thousand times.

You finally broke apart, just enough to catch your breath. Foreheads touching, you could see the hint of a shaky grin still hovering on his lips. 

“I guess this means we’re not breaking up?” you asked playfully.

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head vigorously. “But hey, you might change your mind after you try my cooking.”

“Hey!” you protested, giving his shoulder a playful shove—no malice behind it at all. “I’m not that cruel. Even if it was terrible, I’d never tell you.”

“And there you go being way too good for me,” he chuckles, but this time it feels more like the joke he was aiming for. 

One that he knew deep down was not true.

[justauthoring]

The is the Beginning [3/?]

Summary: You never thought you'd be able to escape Buggy, and yet, a boy with a straw hat, a man with three swords and a girl with orange hair somehow manage to free you. The journey that follows afterwards is your chance at freedom and maybe something more.

A One Piece Live Action Rewrite

Part One - Part Two - Part Three

Pairing: Live Action!Zoro Roronoa x F!Reader

TW for this chapter: canon typical violence, jealous!zoro, self-depricating talk, angst but fluff too! & Sanji content because I love him

Word Count: 10,710

A/N: I am so excited for this chapter. Literally so much happens in this chapter and AHHH I hope you all enjoy <3

Tag List: @emmaiscool22 - @bethleeham - @veryunoriginal - @sun-rae04 - @medievalfangirl

Chapter Three - Together

“Did you just call that guy grandpa?”

Mouth still left parted in shock, you stare at the back of Luffy’s head, waiting for him to answer Zoro’s question. Or, at the very least, clarify what exactly he meant by calling the Vice Admiral of the Marine Corps grandpa—because surely he was not actually related to your captain; your captain of a pirate crew.

Though, you’re at a loss to think of what else Luffy could have possibly meant.

Meeting Zoro’s gaze, the two of you stood directly behind Luffy, his expression matching your own.

“Hit the deck!”

You barely have time to register Usopp’s warning, only seeing something black and something very much like a cannon heading straight your way, before arms are grabbing you and pulling you down. You’re tucked into a chest, your own arms coming to protect yourself as you try to ignore the ache the sudden movement pulls on your stitches.

The rumble of the cannon hitting the ship fades, and slowly, you pull away, meeting Zoro’s gaze first, realizing then he’d been the one to pull you down (you don’t have time to think about how that makes you feel), before both of your gazes fall on the broken fence of your ship deck. 

Pressing a hand to your waist, you move to stand, Zoro shuffling back to give you room. He offers a hand, to which you take, letting him help pull you up to your own feet.

“Everybody okay?” Luffy calls, and your eye falls on him in front of you.

“I think so,” Nami calls back, breathless. Both her and Usopp were further back from the explosion, up on the helm deck.

“No,” Usopp cries, popping up beside her. “Not okay. Not even close to okay.”

You shake your head, trying to ignore your own panic that’s bubbling inside of you. “We need to do something,” you urge, facing back towards the marine ship. “They’re just gonna keep shooting at us until we sink.”

Meeting your gaze briefly, Luffy nods. “Usopp!” He calls, pointing directly at the marine ship and his grandpa. “Fire back at them!”

“Or how about we sail away as fast as we can?” Usopp offers.

Luffy turns to look at him, looking bewildered that he’d even offered the idea. But Nami only extends a hand towards Usopp, clearly in agreement.

“Run from the Marines?” Luffy breathes, “no. Never! Nami, trim the… the sail thing. Let’s sink their ship.”

Usopp, probably despite his own fear, comes to meet Luffy with the cannon ammo.

“You want to sink a marine ship?” You echo in disbelief. “That’s… insane.”

“Not to mention, we don’t have time!” Nami argues, “they’re stealing our wind. If they pull up alongside us, we’re finished.”

Luffy just ignores her. “You’re the navigator. Do something.”

Turning to her, she meets your gaze. You offer a helpless shrug.

Nami huffs. “Zoro,” she calls, shifting her gaze past you. “Sheet in and hard to port! Y/N, stay there and don’t get more hurt.”

Feeling useless, you huff, but listen to Nami regardless. You knew you’d only pay worse if you didn’t.

“You know how to load a cannon?” Luffy asks Usopp, who chuckles nonchalantly in return.

You seriously doubt that.

“Yeah, of course. I’ve loaded thousands of them.” Almost as soon as he says that, he hesitates with the cannon in hand. “Uh, this just must be a different model than I’m used to.”

Huffing, you shuffle forward. “Load the cannon in the barrel,” you explain, pointing at the barrel as he turns to look at you helplessly. “Light the fuse and then get out of the way.”

Nodding at you, he shuffles forward, moving to the front of the cannon. Only, before he can load the barrel, he drops all the cannons in his hands. 

“Usopp!”

Eyes widening, you rush forward to help, but Luffy holds a hand out to you, shaking his head as he moves to run after Usopp and the cannons which have gone down the stairs.

Pressing a hand to your forehead, you sigh.

“We’re so gonna die.”

-

Somehow, you don’t die.

After Luffy somehow manages to deflect a cannon with his belly, Nami quickly makes the five of you disappear into the thick of the fog. The second you’d gotten away, Luffy had crawled up to the bow and taken a seat. He hadn’t said a word since. 

Nami had taken to steering, and since she was probably the most qualified person, you’d left her to it. You instead decide to lean against the railing, letting your eyes stay focused on the back of Luffy.

It wasn’t like him to be quiet, and you had no doubt it had something to do with the fact that his grandpa had nearly just destroyed his ship and killed him and all his friends. With how Luffy was, you figured he probably hadn’t come to terms with that reality yet and he would probably continue to ignore it until forced to otherwise.

“How’s the ship looking?”

Inhaling sharply, you glance over your shoulder, eye falling on Zoro as he shakes his head at Nami. “Broken railing,” he answers, “minor damage. Could’ve been a lot worse.”

Nami rolls her eyes; “could’ve been better.”

“Can’t see the Marines anywhere,” Usopp assures.

“Can’t see anything in this soup,” Nami corrects. “What we need is a place to lay low, wait out any reinforcements they send after us. My charts are useless in this fog.”

Zoro nods. “What did Luffy say?”

You sigh; “he’s on the bow,” you point ahead of yourself. “He hasn’t said anything since we hightailed it. I’m…” Hesitating, you chance one glance at his back before turning back to the three. “I’m worried about him.”

“Somebody needs to talk to him,” Nami says. “About this and that other thing.”

Zoro frowns. “What other thing?”

“Oh gee, I wonder,” Nami says, obviously sarcastic.

The expression on Zoro’s face tells you he really doesn’t know what.

“The Vice-Admiral-of-the-Marines-is-my-grandfather-thing.” Nami explains, looking at you all like it’s obvious.

You offer a shrug; “I’m confused too… but it feels wrong to interrogate him about it. Especially after the guy tried to kill us.”

Nami just blinks over at you.

“Yeah…” Usopp drawls, “I don’t really know the guy that well, so…”

Zoro nods; “doesn’t seem like a big deal.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that it isn’t a big deal…” You say tentatively, wary of Nami’s reaction and unable to deny the curiosity you feel. It did beg questions and it was a little wrong that Luffy had chosen not to tell any of you. “I just don’t know…”

Nami hesitates a moment, before shaking her head, turning to Zoro. “You’re his first mate,” he reminds, “kind of seems like that falls under your job description, hmm?”

He glances at you and Usopp, probably hoping one of you will do it instead of him. Usopp sends him a sheepish smile, holding the straps of his overalls and rocking on his feet, making his answer clear. When Zoro meets your gaze, you press a hand to your waist and smile nervously; “I’m injured?”

You were worried, but you also had no idea how to breach a conversation like that with Luffy of all people.

It’s obviously an excuse, but Zoro doesn’t argue. With a blink, he turns; “fine.”

You watch him leave, before meeting Nami’s gaze.

“You’re aware that Zoro is probably the worst person to check in on Luffy, right?” You raise a brow, “no way he’s actually gonna find anything out.”

Sighing dramatically, Nami presses her forehead to the helm.

Sure enough, a minute later Zoro comes back, shrugging; “seems fine to me.”

“Did you even ask him?”

Before Zoro can respond, if he even was going to, Luffy suddenly stands; “hey!” Pausing, he sniffs, raising his finger. “You guys smell that?”

Your brows furrow. “Smell what?”

Luffy’s quiet for a moment, taking in the air, before he breathes out; “there’s something on the breeze.” Sniffing again, his eyes widen. “Smells like butter. Soy sauce. And meat.”

He grins back at the four of you.

“I can’t smell anything,” Usopp frowns, moving towards Luffy. He seems almost disappointed he can’t smell anything.

“Think he has brain damage?” Zoro asks you and Nami.

Nami huffs, crossing her arms; “I think that every day.”

You let out a nervous laugh.

“Look, Luffy,” Usopp scratches his head. “Playing follow the smell is fun and all, but we really got to get out of this fog.”

“I know,” he calls back, “but I smell food, which means that there’s someone somewhere cooking.”

-

You’ll never doubt Luffy’s nose again.

Turns out what he was smelling was a whole restaurant, and without having anywhere else to go and needing food, you’d all decided to dock there and get something to eat. Luffy and Usopp had been roaring to go the second the ship docked, barely able to stand still, which made Nami eager to get off the boat just so she didn’t have to deal with two idiots. You’re pretty excited yourself, but just as the ship docked, you’d noticed a bit of red on your shirt. You very quickly deduced it was your wound and obviously, after the excitement of nearly being hit by a cannon, you’d aggravated your stitches.

“You sure you don’t need help?” Nami frowns, hesitating to follow Luffy and Usopp off the ship. Zoro was hanging by the plank too, you couldn’t help but notice. He wasn’t offering to stay, of course, but he seemed concerned.

Shaking your head from the thought, you smile at Nami. “Positive.” You assure, sending her a thumbs up. “I just gotta change the bandage and my shirt and I’ll meet you guys there. Just let the host know I’m coming.”

Hovering for only a moment longer, Nami nods. “You can borrow one of my shirts again,” she offers. “Remind me next time we’re on an island to get you some clothes. When we’re not being chased by Marines.”

You laugh, nodding at her and turning to head to your and Nami’s shared room. You pause, however, when your eye catches Zoros’ once again. He looks like he wants to say something, and for some reason you find you can’t offer anything in return. It takes Nami, who’d seen the rather obvious and embarrassing display, to grab Zoro by the arm and pull him with her to get either of you to move.

Cheeks burning, you rush down to the room, trying to ignore the flutter of your chest or the nerves flooding through your entire body.

Seriously, it was starting to get too much. Before, you’d at least be able to brush it off as being intimidated by Zoro since he was, well, a pretty intimidating guy. But since the whole Kuro incident and you getting hurt, every time Zoro’s eyes seemed to fall on you, that narrowed and heavy gaze lightened into something soft. It was hard to ignore or not let get to you when he’d already made you all hot and flustered before.

He was attentive in a way you hadn’t experienced or expected from him. Everyone had been worried when you’d gotten hurt. You distinctly remember being surprised by how bothered Nami had seemed by it and even Usopp, who you’d just met, had checked in on you. But Zoro? Zoro had been concerned in a whole other way. Rather than just asking you or checking in like Luffy had, he’d hovered. He stayed near when Kaya had cleaned and stitched your wound for you, helping you walk there and then back to the ship even when you assured you were fine.

You’d never had someone so worried about you, let alone a man you were clearly attracted to.

You didn’t know if Zoro had any idea of what he was doing to you, but he was killing you. Your heart was always racing when he was near, which was always, and he made you feel like a fumbling fool, mind short-circuiting to the point of silliness whenever his eyes fell on you.

You’d never forget what he’d said about your eye. How he’d made you feel about it. Luffy and Nami had been endearing too, you would never deny that, but Zoro had spoken up first. And the look on his face…

Pressing your hands to your cheeks, you try to cool the heat you feel and your racing mind. This was silly. You were being silly. Zoro was just being nice and he probably just saw what a helpless fool you were and felt pity. There was nothing more to it. 

Zoro was a strong swordsman, a renowned bounty hunter and Luffy’s first mate and you were… you.

Swallowing thickly, you sit down at the desk in your and Nami’s shared room, pulling up your shirt and glancing down. As expected, your wound has bled through your bandage. Momentarily, you worry that you’ve ripped your stitches, but the second you pull the bandage off, you’re assured that isn’t the case. You clearly just aggravated the wound and, pausing to clean the blood and apply the salve Kaya had given you, you place a new bandage on.

You take a moment more to find a shirt to wear, thankful Nami was being so generous with her clothing. You could tell the girl took her fashion seriously and you felt bad enough borrowing her clothes, but now you were ruining them with blood. You’d have to make it up to her somehow.

Cleaned with a new bandage on, you smile to yourself, feeling your stomach rumble almost as if reminding you.

Without a second more of hesitation, you make your way up and off the Going Merry. The Baratie is buzzing with people and you can’t help but let your gaze wander across the millions of different people going on with their lives, each in their own world. You continue to do so until you find the front entrance to the restaurant, and with a simple explanation to the host that you were here with friends and a small description of some friends, you’re led to the table.

You pause, however, when you realize the waiter is already taking your friends’ order.

The host leaves your side and with only a second more of hesitation, you make your way to the table, not having realized you’d taken so long.

“Do I still have time to place an order?”

Everyone's eyes fall on you at your question, and coming to a stop on the left of the waiter, right in front of Zoro. You frown when you notice the tense look on his face, concerned, but before you can ask, your captain is beaming at your arrival.

“Y/N!” Luffy calls, grinning. “You’re just in time! I ordered one of everything for us!”

You shouldn’t be surprised, but his words still pull a laugh from your lips. Of course Luffy would order the entire menu.

“I didn’t know I would be greeted by two beautiful maidens today. And one with such an infectious laugh.”

Freezing, it takes you a second to realize that the words had come from the waiter and that he was talking to you. Eyes widening, you turn to him, meeting his eyes with your left one, only to see him smiling at you. One hand is shoved into the pocket of his dress pants as he turns towards you with a certain suaveness.

Cheeks warming in embarrassment, your hands rise. “Oh, I—”

But before you can finish, the waiter is taking your left hand in his, pulling it up to his lips and pressing a kiss there. No longer just warm, your cheeks burn.

“Such beautiful eyes too, madam,” he grins, “I’ll never forget either of them.”

You’re hyper aware of the fact that your entire crew is watching this happen and that you’re standing there, gaping like a fish. You’ve never had anyone flirt with you, especially not someone so… persistent. 

The waiter continues to stare back at you, never once looking upset by your lack of response.

An achingly long minute passes.

“Y/N.”

You don’t even have time to turn to Zoro at him calling your name before you feel hands fall on your hips, tugging you forward. A small yelp leaves your lips in response, stunned stupid, as Zoro pulls you in front of him, practically on his lap for a brief second, your hand slipping from the waiter's grip. Zoro moves you so you’re sat next to him, in between him and Nami who sends you a knowing smirk as you try to ignore your racing heart and flaming cheeks.

“Oi,” the waiter calls before you can, again, say anything. “Don’t be so rough with her.”

Zoro glares right at him. “Don’t be so handsy,” he growls back, not missing a beat. “Y/N doesn’t even know you.”

“She can get to know me,” the waiter challenges, curling a brow at your swordsman before his eyes shift back to you. “I’m sorry our introduction got interrupted, my name is Sanji. It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N.”

You’re sure you look as stupid as you feel.

“N-Nice to meet you too, Sanji,” you echo back, voice small.

Sanji grins just as Zoro leans forward, cutting you off from view. “Shouldn’t you be getting our food and drinks? The ones we ordered, waiter?”

The smile on Sanji’s face tenses, but he holds back whatever he clearly wants to say to Zoro, side stepping to meet your eyes once again. “Certainly, but first… what would you like, madam? Water like your lovely friend or something else? A sweet wine, perhaps? I can recommend some to you.”

You meet Nami’s eyes who just scoffs, obviously having received similar attention as you were now.

“Water,” you squeak. “Like her.”

“Not sparkling? Mineral? Ice or no?”

“Just water,” you nod, noticing the tick in Zoro’s jaw.

“Coming right up, Y/N,” he winks at you, smirking, before he turns away.

Silence follows, thick and heavy.

“Don’t worry,” Nami is the first to break the ice, lightly nudging you. “He was the same with me.”

Usopp snickers next to her, meeting your eye; “looks like you and Nami have got a boyfriend.”

Rolling her eyes, Nami just laughs quietly to herself. “Yeah, well, I don’t think it’s me we should be worried about.” Her eyes shift to Zoro, as does everyones, even Luffy who looks a bit lost, and finally, you turn to look at him too.

Your cheeks are still warm with embarrassment, mainly from Sanji’s flirting, but also the way Zoro had grabbed you. It wasn’t that you minded, because really, you didn’t, but—what the hell was that?

Meeting her gaze, arms crossed over his chest, Zoro huffs; “I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Nami drawls, smirking. 

“I never seen you so angry, Zoro,” Usopp teases, grinning ear to ear. “Jealous?” He sings the word, wiggling his brows at the swordsman as you sink into your seat further.

“Of a waiter?” Zoro scoffs, careful not to glance your way. “Of course not.”

You don’t fail to notice the fact that he hadn’t denied he’d been jealous because of you.

With a little bit more laughter, the conversation drifts off as Luffy starts to ramble about the food. Once the attention is thoroughly off you and Zoro, you turn to him.

“Are you okay?” You ask in a soft voice, concerned and perhaps wanting to know more about why he’d done what he had.

Finally turning to look at you, you watch as Zoro swallows thickly. “Fine,” he says gruffly and you flinch, frowning. Seeing your reaction, Zoro sighs. “Just didn’t like the way he touched you…”

He says it with a grumble, and if you hadn’t been right next to him, you wouldn’t have heard it.

Lips parting, you blink; “oh.”

“No guy should touch you like that.” He adds.

You turn to him but he’s already looked away, clearly done with the conversation.

You can’t help but think to yourself, however, that he’d touched you like that.

And that you liked it.

- 

“So… how long do you think the owner will make Luffy work for him?”

You glance up at your friends at your own question, curious. Instead of mirrored curiosity staring back at you, you find blank faces instead.

Frowning, you huff. “Is no one concerned?” You ask, genuinely worried. “We all ate that food… and he’s the one working for it.”

“I didn’t eat,” Zoro shrugs, “I just drank some beer.”

You glower at him.

Turning to Usopp, you hope maybe he’ll say something. Of course, he doesn’t and instead, he continues to slurp up the fancy fruity cock-tail drink he’d ordered, promptly avoiding your eye. You already know that Nami won’t be any help since she seemed rather hurt by Luffy lying about his grandpa, and while you couldn’t fault her for being hurt, you were frustrated at all of their lack of concerns.

Sighing, you push yourself to a stand, taking a step forward. Zoro catches you by the wrist before you make it two full steps.

“Where are you going?”

You glance down at him. “To find Luffy,” you gesture forward, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. Which it should’ve. “I don’t feel like drinking or…” You let your eyes drag across the bustling crowd of the bar. “...dancing. Maybe I can talk the owner into going easy on him.”

You go to do that, except, Zoro still doesn’t let go of your wrist.

“We should probably stick together,” Zoro says, never taking his eyes off of you. “In case the Marines come.”

You shake your head, pulling at his grip. He lets go easy, but the frown on his face makes it clear he’s annoyed by your persistence. “I’ll be fine,” you brush off his concern. “The worst thing I’ll be doing is washing some dishes, I reckon.”

Zoro looks like he wants to argue, but it’s clear he isn’t sure how.

You just sigh; “stay and relax. I’ll be fine.”

And then you turn before he can say anything else.

Shifting your way past the crowd of the bar, you make your way back down the steps that lead out into the outdoor bar. It isn’t hard to get back into the restaurant, but you’re careful not to catch the attention of any of the chefs or staff. Instead, you carefully slink your way towards the employee section.

At the sight of a chef with blue hair coming towards you, you’re quick to duck behind a wall. You hesitate, hovering, trying to listen for his footsteps to grow distant. Except, your ears pick up on something else.

Luffy.

Turning in the direction of the noise, your gaze falls on the hallway in front of you, seeing a door at the far end. With one more glance behind you to make sure no one was there, you make your way down the hall, eyes brightening when you see the word ‘KITCHEN’ labelled at the top of the door. A glance through the small circular windows only confirms your suspicions, lips curling into a smile at the sight of Luffy.

You also make note of the waiter from before standing in front of him and… it looked like the two were talking to a man you didn’t recognize. Sanji is ushering the man out the back entrance of the kitchen, and you use that as your chance to sneak in.

Pushing open the door, you pop your head in.

“Luffy?”

He turns at the sound of your voice, face brightening at the sight of you.

“Y/N!”

You wince when he all but yells your name, confident you were definitely not supposed to be back here. With one last glance back, you slip inside, letting the doors swing shut behind you as you make your way over to your captain.

“What’re you doing here?” He grins, confused. “I thought you and the rest went up to the bar.”

“We did… but I left.” You explain, frowning slightly. Setting your hand on his arm, you glance up at him. “It was a little awkward, Luffy. Nami’s pretty upset about the grandpa thing.”

Luffy’s face wavers at that, the same way you noticed it had during dinner when Nami had brought it back up then. Frowning at the sight, you squeeze his arm reassuringly.

“But mainly I came because I was worried,” you smile. “I didn’t know how hard that owner guy was working you.”

Luffy instantly eases at that, and his lips curve into a genuine smile.

“I’m okay. He just has me doing dishes,” he juts his thumb behind him, and you eye the stack of dishes with a grimace. “Though, I think I found—”

“Y/N?”

Startled at the new voice, you glance over Luffy’s shoulder to see the waiter back from wherever he’d escorted that man you’d seen before. He seems baffled at the sight of you, while you freeze at the sight of him, worried he’ll be mad you snuck in.

“Hello, S-Sanji,” you greet, offering a small wave. “I know I’m not supposed to be here but I was worried about Luffy—”

“I’m not mad you’re here, love,” Sanji grins easily, making his way over to you and Luffy with a shake of his head. “I just hoped you were having fun upstairs in the bar.”

Still not used to his charm, you flush. “Oh, well…” Eye trailing, you turn to Luffy. “I was actually going to ask Luffy if he needed help with—”

“Absolutely not,” Sanji cuts you off for the third time, leaving your lips parted in bafflement. He’s crossing the distance in the kitchen over to you two in two seconds, and before you can even realize it, his hands are on your shoulders, gently turning you towards the door to the kitchen. The one you’d just come from. “A lady like yourself should not be getting her hands dirty at all.”

“B-But…” Words trailing in your bafflement, you glance back at Luffy who grins back at you, unbothered.

“The chore boy will be fine.”

“I should really…” You reach weakly towards Luffy who just raises his hand in an eager wave, completely unbothered by Sanji who is all but shoving you out of the kitchen.

Before you realize, the two of you are back out in the restaurant and Sanji, still with his hands on your shoulders, is easily maneuvering you up the stairs and out of the restaurant completely. In fact, he doesn’t stop until he’s outside the restaurant, far away from anyone.

When he lets go of you, you turn to him, nonplussed.

He grins down at you, sincere and wide.

“Do you always drag girls you just meet to secluded areas to get them alone?”

He seems momentarily stunned by your words, as if not even realizing where he’d lead you, before his face eases and he leans back against the wall of the restaurant. You watch as he reaches into the pocket of his dress pants, pulling out a pack of smokes. “Not usually, but I thought this was the perfect opportunity to get to know each other. Like I’d offered before.” He sends you a wink that has your cheeks warming, eye watching as he places a cigarette between his teeth, lighting it.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you curl a brow at him, ignoring your flush. “Very… forward of you.”

He just grins, taking a puff of his smoke. “You don’t seem to mind it.”

“Only because Luffy didn’t seem bothered by you leading me away like that,” you shrug, moving to lean against the wall next to him. “Anyone Luffy trusts, I do too.”

Sanji raises a brow. “You sure have faith in him.”

“He saved my life,” you explain, thinking back to that moment he’d offered you to join his crew. Even before that, in that pub… you had no idea then how much Luffy and the rest would change your mind. “They all have.”

Sanji’s smile turns more soft at that, and he turns his gaze up to the sky. “That’s sweet.” You turn to look at him, and sure enough, a moment later, he’s adding with a smirk; “just like you.”

You scoff. “It seems you can’t control yourself.”

“Not when I’m around you,” he laughs, taking another puff of his smoke.

“Sure,” you drawl, snorting.

A second of silence passes, before Sanji speaks up again. “So, what’s going on between you and that moss head?”

Almost instantly, the light flush you’d had before burns into something more intense, as you jump, facing Sanji as you wildly shake your hands in front of you. “No-Nothing!” You squeak, unable to control the pitch of your voice.

Sanji eyes you for a moment, then, he chuckles; “sure.” He drawls, matching your previous tone.

“Seriously,” you argue, trying to calm your voice to sound more sure. “There’s nothing going on between me and Zoro.”

“Beautiful, anyone who gets jealous like that over a little flirting doesn’t think there’s nothing going on.” Sanji shakes his head, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “Or, he hasn’t man-upped enough to tell you the truth.”

You’re positive you’re on fire with how hot you are in embarrassment.

“Zoro does not like me.”

“Okay,” he pauses, “but do you like him?”

Lips left parted, you blink up at Sanji.

“I-I… It’s none of your business.”

Humming, Sanji takes another puff. “Seems like you want to get it off your chest, love.”

You pout. “You’re annoying.”

He leans towards you, smirking; “I’m right, beautiful.” 

Shoulders falling, you kick your leg out at a random pebble. “Fine,” you huff, glancing at your feet. “Maybe I like him… a little bit!”

You don’t see the way Sanji’s face softens down at you, and you almost think something’s wrong when he doesn’t say anything. But when you glance back up at him, he’s turned his gaze back up. “Shame,” he sighs, almost soulful. “You truly are enchanting.”

Eyes widening, you bite your lip. “Shut up.”

“It’s true,” he pushes, looking unbothered by your embarrassment. “You deserve far more than that moss head.”

“You don’t even know Zoro.”

He shrugs. “I can tell.”

“I—”

Whatever you’d been about to say falls silent on the tip of your tongue when you see a familiar Straw Hat run by in front of you. Stepping back Sanji, you glance past his shoulder, you watch as Luffy and Usopp run towards the Going Merry.

“Where’s Y/N?” You hear Luffy yell distantly.

“I thought she was with you!” Usopp calls back.

You frown.

“Something wrong?” Sanji asks, hand falling on your shoulder and your gaze turns up, realizing he’d seen the same thing.

“I don’t know…” You breathe, concerned. Stepping back from Sanji, you turn to him apologetically, lips parting to explain.

“Don’t worry about it, love,” he brushes your apology off. “You should go make sure everything’s okay.”

Face easing at his words, you smile; “thank you, Sanji.”

Cigarette in his lips, he glances at you out of the corner of his eye. You send him a genuine smile and a wave, before turning around to run off in the direction Usopp and Luffy had gone.

You’re quick to pick up the pace in your step, reaching the Going Merry in now time. You can hear the distinct voice of Nami and heart racing at how upset she sounds, you’re making your way down the stairs and towards them in seconds flat.

“But you are not better than him!”

Coming to a stop right at the bottom of the stairs, everyone’s eyes fall on you.

Nami instantly turns on you; “there you are!” Reaching you, she tugs you forward, and as she does, you see Usopp glance at you helplessly and Luffy softly smiling which gives you very mixed signals. 

Finally, you turn to Zoro, who is… getting his swords ready?

“What’s going on?” You ask, helpless.

Nami huffs next to you. “Will you talk some sense to him?”

Lips parting, you shake your head at Nami. “Sure… but for what?”

“He’s challenged Dracule Mihawk, one of the Seven Warlords, to a duel.”

It’s like you can hear your heart plummet to the pit of your stomach. Nami, who is too busy turning back to Zoro in frustration, doesn’t notice the way your eye shifts, something distant flooding in. Usopp and Luffy don’t see it either.

But Zoro, who’d chanced a glance up at you, nervous for your reaction, sees it. His face falls briefly, everything else fading as he watches you closely.

“Y/N,” Nami presses, voice pitching in distress. “Tell him how reckless he's being.”

Still stunned, your mind a reckless bout of realization and terror, your gaze finally shifts towards Zoro. He quickly turns away and the sight makes dread flood you. “Z-Zoro,” you breathe, feeling as if your voice sounds like an outside extension of yourself.

Distantly, you realize that you’re not helping Nami and most of all, acting suspiciously. Swallowing thickly, you lean forward on the table. “You cannot fight… h-him… fight Mihawk.”

“Yeah,” Nami nods. She looks relieved you agree with her and you figure, even in the midst of your racing mind, the boys hadn’t been much help. With a frown and a huff, she throws her hand in Zoro’s direction; “he wants to go through with it! Even though it’ll get him killed.”

Zoro turns to her, still avoiding your gaze, and asks bluntly; “why do you give a shit?”

Nami visibly blanches, head jerking back in hurt. Her lips part, twisting to say something, and then, blinking back the betrayal in her eyes, she breathes out; “because you’re my friend, you idiot.”

“You said it yourself. You don’t have any friends.”

You see it in her eyes. His words are harsh and even though you’re still reeling from the realization of what was happening and clearly having walked into the middle of something, you see as the walls she’d slowly let fall around you all come back up. Brick by brick.

She glances around the room, meeting your eye last and then, she leaves without another word.

All of you, except for Zoro, watch her leave.

No one says anything, and then, Usopp is following Nami out, meeting your eye with a nervous panic before slipping out. Luffy follows him a second later, patting your shoulder.

You stay standing there, as if glued to the spot. You can’t bring it in you to chase after Nami even if you were concerned, but you also can’t find the words to say something to Zoro. You want to tell him off for being cruel to Nami like that, you want to tell him he was being an idiot that was going to get himself killed and you want to tell him…—

It takes Zoro a minute to speak up. “Not going to try and convince me like Nami?”

Swallowing thickly, the lump in your throat remains despite. With your hands hanging helplessly at your sides, you try to blink back the tears that well in your eyes. It was all too much at once. Your heart was aching with this anchor that had been thrown at you and it was too much to bear.

Still, deep in your heart, you know; “it wouldn’t stop you,” you whisper, voice cracking at the end.

You could beg and plead, get on your hands and knees, and you know nothing could stop Zoro from doing this. The only thing that might… you weren’t sure if you were ready to admit.

Zoro pauses, hands hovering. Then, he agrees; “probably not.”

Your breath hitches. “You could die.”

He turns to look at you. You don’t meet his eyes. 

“He’s my goal.”

Fists clenching, you shake your head. “Zoro, please listen,” you cry, “you cannot fight Mihawk. He’s… He’s…”

But you can’t form the words.

“He’s what?” Zoro pushes, leaning towards you. “Say it, Y/N. I saw your face when Nami told you. Mihawk is what?”

You flinch, stepping back. You can’t look at him even as the guilt and panic tears you apart inside. You couldn’t.

Your mind races for something, something else, and then you remember your conversation with Sanji before. You remember your feelings. “W-What about me?”

“What about you?” Zoro’s tone is even, careful, but his blunt question hurts all the same.

Finally, you look up at him. His eyes are already on you, face flat and expressionless. 

You come to terms then it’s pointless. Zoro wasn’t going to cancel the duel and nothing you were willing to say would change his mind. Anything more, and you’d just get yourself hurt. You think once again, in that moment, back to your conversation with Sanji. 

You’d known of your feelings all along, just hadn’t been able to realize it. But you’d finally let yourself admit how you felt about Zoro. Finally let the truth out and the relief you’d felt in that moment, to a man you’d only met that day no less, had been imminent.

You’d gotten ahead of yourself then. Forgot that you were the only one who believed in Luffy’s wish to be a crew. Forgot that all the people you’d met had their own goals and you were someone just drifting alongside with them until it came time for them to leave.

You forgot that your life wasn’t just being a part of Luffy's crew.

You forgot that even if Zoro felt anything of what you felt for him, you were still just some girl he’d rescued from a pirate and nothing more than that. Zoro had his own goals and dreams, and you weren’t part of them.

What about you?

Answer made clear, you turn and walk without another word.

Zoro doesn’t see the way tears fall from your face the second you’re out of sight and you don’t see the way his leg kicks out in frustration at himself for being so stupid. 

-

It was clear Mihawk didn’t know who you were, despite being your father.

You couldn’t blame him, though. He’d never met you. He didn’t even know that the random woman he met that one day eighteen years ago and spent the night with, had ever gotten pregnant. It wasn’t like Dracule Mihawk to stick around places for long, after all.

And the only reason you even knew he was your father was because your mother had told you the day she died. In her deathbed, with your hand clutching hers, she’d whispered his name and told you if you ever needed help, to go to him.

Something told you he wouldn’t be helping you here.

You watch him best Zoro in every single one of his attacks. He dodges his attacks without even having to lift a finger. It’s a fight unlike anything you’ve ever seen before, and the reality of watching Zoro unable to land any attacks is cruel and unforgiving.

Everything about this is cruel.

With your heart racing and your palms sweaty, you visibly flinch when Mihawk stabs Zoro with the tiny sword he told Zoro was the best match for their duel. It hits him directly in the chest, and you watch the flicker of pain in Zoro’s eyes as he stares his goal down.

And as you listen to Zoro refuse to give up, you can feel your heart tear into two.

Mihawk brings out Yoru. You watch as he unsheathes it from his back, heart plummeting. And you watch as Zoro places the Wado Ichimonji in his mouth, bringing the two black-handle katanas into either of his hands. This is it, you realize. This is the final attack.

After watching Zoro be unable to land one hit, you know this final one won’t be different.

There’s a moment of stilled silence, no one moves. And then, Zoro is running forward and Mihawk watches his pace. They clash, the sound of metal hitting metal reverberates in your mind, rattling your insides.

Zoro slides on his knees across the deck in front of Baratie, stopping just a few feet in front of you. He’s breathless, silent, and you feel your friends around you as you all watch with bated breath.

The two black-handle swords shatter into pieces.

The sob that wretches from your throat is beyond your control. It rips out of you, body shuddering in the reality you’re forced to face, watching as Zoro stands to his feet and turns to face Mihawk.

“You’re defeated,” Mihawk shakes his head. “Why do you persist?”

Sheathing the Wado Ichimonji, Zoro says without hesitation; “wounds on the back are a swordsman’s greatest shame.” Raising his arms in defeat, he holds them to his sides, waiting for Mihawk to make his final move.

“Magnificent.”

Tears welling in your eyes, you feel a hand slip into your own.

Glancing down first and then following the arm, you find Nami’s similarly tearful eyes staring back at you, squeezing your hand. You don’t know if it’s to comfort you or herself, but you appreciate it nonetheless. You turn to your other friends, seeing that Nami is holding Usopp’s hand too and he’s looking at you with concern. The final person you turn to is Luffy.

He meets your eye, and your whole body trembles.

You turn your head back in Zoro’s direction, and the second Mihawk’s arm swings to attack Zoro, you turn away again.

Your head tucks into Nami who startles at your movement, but her hand slips from your own to wrap her arm around you. You can’t see, but you hear the slice of skin and the sound of Zoro’s body hit the ground a minute later. You feel Nami’s body jerk in response.

“Zoro!”

-

Hugging your knees to your chest, you stare at Zoro. You let your eye drag across his sleeping figure, every curve of his face, the dip of his nose, all the way down to his chest, where his wound is tightly bandaged.

It was thanks to Sanji and the Baratie owner, Zeff, that Zoro’s wounds had been cleaned, stitched and dressed. It was thanks to them that Zoro even had a chance of surviving.

Talk to him. That’s what Zeff had said. The only thing any of you could do for Zoro now was talk to him and hope that that was enough to pull him from the purgatory between life and death. 

You’d offered the first watch and no one had argued. Everyone was worried about Zoro in their own way, but the tears streaming down your cheeks and the visible mess you were in left no one willing to argue with you. One by one, everyone had left the room, with Luffy only glancing back at you one last time, before it was just you and Zoro.

You hadn’t moved from the spot since then.

That had been hours ago. Nami had come in at one point and asked if she could read to Zoro. you’d nodded without a word, sitting back but never leaving the room. Nami didn’t say anything and even if she had, you would’ve refused to leave. Luffy had followed her in shortly after and that had turned sour quickly when it was apparent that Nami felt Luffy held some responsibility for not telling Zoro to back out of the duel. You watched them argue, not saying a word. Then, Nami left.

“You should eat,” Luffy had said a minute after she walked out the door.

Never taking your eye off Zoro, you’d shaken your head. “I will when he wakes up.”

“Y/N, you—”

“When he wakes up.” The words had come out sharper than you intended and instantly, you’d felt guilt when you’d seen Luffy jerk at the sound. But you didn’t get up nor did you say anything else, and a minute later, Luffy left too.

That had been an hour ago. No one else had come in since.

You’d moved back to the chair next to Zoro, and let your hand slip into his and you hadn’t moved since.

Talk to him. How were you supposed to talk to him? What could you possibly say to him after everything that happened? 

Head falling, you let out a shaky sigh.

“This is all my fault,” you whisper, barely even registering you’d said the words aloud. And as you breathe the words into existion, you realize that that was the only thing you could say. 

Raising your head, you glance at Zoro’s face.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, squeezing his hand. “I should’ve… I should’ve told you the truth.”

Your chest feels tight, your body heavy. You know what you want to say, but you don’t know if you have the courage to speak the words. Mihawk was your father, it was true, but he meant nothing to you. That isn’t what made it hard to say. Not even seeing him in person for the first time today could make the feeling of indifference toward him fade. Mihawk didn’t even know who you were and he never would.

Today would’ve been your chance to tell him and it hadn’t even crossed your mind.

What you found hard to admit was that you’d been too scared to tell Zoro the truth and that cowardness is what got him hurt. If you had just been honest with him, maybe none of this wouldn’t have happened. Zoro wouldn’t have gotten hurt and nobody on the crew would be upset.

Why couldn’t you have just been honest?

“I was scared,” you tell Zoro. “Scared because there’s so much about my life I don’t know and the only thing I do know is so unimportant.” Breathing in sharply, you force the words out. “So what if Mihawk is my father? It hadn’t mattered before. But it mattered last night and I should’ve told you… If I told you, you wouldn’t be hurt and the crew wouldn’t have to be worried about you not waking up.”

Pressing your free hand to your forehead, you shake your head. “I’m so sorry, Zoro,” you sob, feeling your eyes water as curl into yourself. “I’m so sorry because you’re hurt and because I think I may love you… and my life is so utterly unimportant that you deserve better than someone like me… Someone who will just ruin your life.”

Your hand leaves his, pressing against your lips as you let yourself cry. You let yourself cry out the anguish in your chest that weighs you down and hurts. You cry and cry, stifling your sobs behind your hand, letting it all out.

Until, eventually, you fall asleep from the exhaustion.

The exhaustion of not sleeping the night before, of being tense and terrified for Zoro, for the guilt that feels like it might eat you alive.

You stay like that for a while, until soft hands gently shake you awake.

“Come on, love. Wake up.”

Letting out a soft groan, your eyes flutter at the voice, hands moving instinctively to rub at your eyes. It takes you a second to wake yourself up, confused as you slowly straighten out. You first see Zoro before your head turns, and your eye falls on Sanji who’s standing behind you.

“Sanji?”

“You need to eat,” Sanji says, ushering you. “Come on.”

You turn back to Zoro, licking your dry lips. “I shouldn’t leave him.”

Your eyes are puffy and your eyelids ache. The last thing you remember is crying, and it occurs to you you’d fallen asleep in the midst of your break down. 

“Luffy can watch him,” Sanji offers, gesturing behind him.

Turning towards the door, Luffy smiles at you warmly.

“I’ll watch Zoro for you, Y/N. I promise I’ll take good care of him.”

Dazed and still a little sleepy, you let Sanji pull you to your feet, not fighting his grip as he guides you towards the door. You glance back at Zoro one last time, feeling that crushing guilt stab at you, just as Luffy squeezes your shoulder.

“He’ll wake up, Y/N,” Luffy grins at you. “I promise.”

You nod at him, finding his words reassuring and comforting despite the doubt festering inside you.

“I’ll whip you up something tasty, Y/N.” Sanji smiles softly down at you, “okay?”

He’s incredibly gentle the entire time. You relish in it.

-

“Can I have a moment alone with him?”

Meeting Nami’s eyes, you nod, moving to stand. She sends you a smile, though it seems off, as you walk past her.

Letting the door fall shut behind you, you make your way into the kitchen. You bite your lip, trying to ignore the nerves rattling your body. After Nami had come running into the kitchen where you and Sanji were, you eating after he’d made you a meal like he promised, it was instantly clear something was wrong. She had been going on about some pirate named Arlong, calling for Luffy in between explaining to you. Most importantly, she looked terrified.

Turns out Arlong was attacking Baratie looking for Luffy and the Grand Line map.

Nami’s attempt at getting Luffy to take the Going Merry and run had been fruitless and he, Sanji and Usopp had gone to confront Arlong. Luffy had told Nami to stay behind to protect the map, before turning to you and telling you to watch over Zoro for him. When you’d tried to argue and say you could help, he’d just shaken his head and said you were still healing from your last fight and Zoro was more important.

So, for the last twenty or so minutes, you and Nami were in the Going Merry. She’d disappeared elsewhere on the ship the second the three left, so you assigned yourself back next to Zoro, opting to read to him like Nami had before in the hopes that maybe that’d get him to wake up. 

You had, at least, until Nami had popped her head into the room.

You hoped everything was going well. Honestly, you did want to go out and check on them, but you knew Luffy was right. Even if he hadn’t said it in that way, it was clear he didn’t want you coming because you didn’t know how to fight. You’d be more of a hindrance than any help and that reality left a sour taste in your mouth.

Hearing footsteps approach, you turn, face easing when you see Nami coming out of the room.

“Everything okay?” You ask, despite knowing in fact nothing was okay.

She nods, stepping out of the room and you smile at her as you walk past her, squeezing her shoulder in an attempt to comfort both her and yourself. You think nothing of the look on her face, chalking it up to everything that had and is happening just making her a little off.

At least, until you hear the door slam shut behind you.

Stilling right next to Zoro, your head snaps towards the door. You hesitate for a moment, baffled, before your feet instinctively carry you towards it, hand falling on the knob. Maybe she’d shut it by accident? Or maybe she wanted to give you privacy as you had for her?

Except, the door won’t open when you turn it.

“N-Nami?”

You know she’s by the door. You can see her shadow through the small opening at the bottom. You can hear her heavy breathing.

“Nami,” you call again, voice louder. “Why is the door locked?”

There’s a moment that passes before she answers.

“Sorry, Y/N. I can’t let you out.”

“What?” You breathe, bewildered. There’s something awful twisting in your chest. You try the door again, it doesn’t open. “Nami, what the hell is going on? What are you doing?”

“I’m doing what I always planned to do.”

Her voice is muffled through the door, but the low tone scares you all the same.

Using your left hand, you slam it against the door. “Let me out, Nami. Now.”

“You’ll be safe in there.”

You hear her take a step toward and your heart lurches, yanking on the door as you start to pound against it more aggressively. “Nami?”

“I’m sorry.”

You see her shadow disappear and soon, her footsteps are gone too. You stand there, stunned, before you start to yank on the door again. You pull at it, trying to twist it. But it’s clearly jammed shut.

Nami had made sure you weren’t going to be able to get out.

Minutes pass of you banging on the door, with no luck, until eventually you tire yourself out. 

Head hanging in your hands, you try to ignore the shake of your body as you sit there, forced to wait.

At the first sound of footsteps, you jump to your feet.

“Hey!” You call, banging on the door. “Luffy? Usopp?”

“Y/N?”

It’s Usopp.

Yanking on the door, you call out to him; “let me out!”

It takes him no more than a few seconds to open the door, yanking it open as you meet his eyes with relief.

“Usopp,” you breathe, “you have to listen to me. It’s Nami. She—”

You move to ramble out what had happened, but fall silent the second you see the look on Usopp’s face.

“Usopp?” You question, voice quiet. “Why are you…?”

Just then Sanji comes stumbling down the stairs of the kitchen, with Luffy in his arms, the latter looking beat up and hurt. Both of them are sopping wet.

Your eyes widen.

“Nami, she…” Usopp speaks up, looking nervous. “She betrayed us.”

-

“Y/N, seriously!”

Shaking your head, you stumble behind Usopp. “Seriously what, Usopp?”

You’re mildly annoyed, but you figure he has a good reason—whatever that reason is. He hasn’t elected to tell you yet. 

You’d been getting some sleep after Luffy had practically forced you to, letting you sleep in his and the rest of the guys’ cabin since Zoro was currently occupying yours and… Nami’s. After everything that has happened, it was clear you all needed some time to digest and recoup. Even though you’d been reluctant to leave Zoro’s side, you also knew you needed some sleep or you were going to make yourself sick.

And a twenty minute sob-induced cat nap hunched over a bed didn’t count.

Only, your sleep had been cut short but Usopp all but ran into your room, yelling your name with a wide grin on his face. You couldn’t even possibly begin to think what he could be smiling about given that everything was the worst it could be, but you didn’t get the chance to ask either before he was yanking you to your feet and dragging you with him.

“Usopp—”

Whatever you’d been about to say falls silent, however, when you realize where Usopp is leading you. Body freezing, you turn to him, him already grinning at you, letting the two of you come to a stop. You glance at him, then the room, and then realize you hear a very familiar voice speaking.

Your feet move before you can stop yourself.

All chatter stops the second you come running into the room, and sure enough, still on the bed, Zoro stares back at you, but awake.

“Y/N, look, Zoro’s—!”

You don’t let Luffy finish. You don’t even really hear him speak. You run over to the other side of the bed in seconds and practically fall onto Zoro. In your excitement, you forget about his wounds, to which Zoro groans in response to your hug. Your eyes widen, your first word to him about to be ‘sorry’, as you scramble to pull back. 

His arm falls around your waist before you can.

Stilling in his hold, and now careful to not let your weight fall on him, he holds you for a moment, the entire room distinctly quiet.

Then, his arm leaves and you pull back, staring down at him.

“Hey,” you breathe, unable to stop the curl of your lips. Despite everything, that short greeting is what feels right.

It’s all you can manage.

His lips curve into a soft smile; “hey.”

-

Raising your hand, you softly knock on the door.

Zoro’s head snaps towards you, easing when he realizes it’s you.

You step into the room with a gentle smile, and nod at him; “let me.” You offer, gesturing loosely to the bandages surrounding him. “I got pretty good at it after…” You let your voice trail, and Zoro huffs.

“I’d bet. You never let anyone help you.”

Sitting next to him, you shrug. “I could do it on my own.” Laughing quietly, you pick up the bandages that are wildly thrown about the bed. “Unlike you.”

Zoro scoffs but he doesn’t stop you as you start to unwrap the bandages he’d loosely wrapped around himself, redoing it.

Silence echoes for a moment, before Zoro speaks up.

“I can’t believe the waiter is joining us.”

Huffing a laugh, you roll your eye. “Sanji is nice,” you defend. “And a good fighter I hear from Luffy.”

Zoro frowns. “He’s a waiter.”

You just shake your head, snorting to yourself.

Then, you hesitate, hands hovering. You can't help but ask, since it’s been weighing on you since she’d left. “You think Nami meant it all? That she never actually cared about us?”

“Don’t know,” he shrugs. “Maybe.”

Biting your lip, you frown. You don’t want that to be the truth.

“Y/N.”

His voice is serious as he calls for you, and it makes you freeze.

“I heard you.”

Your muscles tense, and you refuse to let your gaze wander from your hands, fiddling with your fingers.

Zoro doesn’t let you. In the next second, his hand is falling over your own, pulling them away from what you’d been doing. Your lips part as he does, heart fluttering as he shifts his hand so his fingers threads through yours instead of just being wrapped around your wrist.

Your cheeks warm instantly.

“Y/N. Look at me.”

His voice is raspy from being asleep for so long. It sends shivers down your spine.

Still, you listen, raising your head and meeting his eyes.

“I didn’t think you could hear me,” you whisper.

“I could,” he nods. “About your father and…” His voice trails.

Swallowing thickly, you choose to focus on the first thing first. “I… Does it bother you?”

Zoro’s lips part, stunned at your forwardness and you realize your mistake.

“About… Mihawk.”

“Oh,” he breathes. “No.”

It’s not what you’re expecting. He says it so bluntly, so sure of himself.

“It… doesn’t?”

“You have your reasons,” he shrugs, still holding your hand. “And it wouldn’t have changed my mind. Defeating Mihawk is my goal, that won’t change.”

His words hurt you, but you also know that you have no right to argue otherwise.

“I’m still sorry you got hurt.”

Zoro shakes his head. “It wasn’t your fault.” Then, when you don’t respond, he squeezes your hand. “It wasn’t.” 

His voice is sharp and leaves no room for argument.

You nod. “Thank you,” you say, “I’m… so relieved you’re okay.”

Zoro breathes in sharply, and then he lowers his hand, taking yours with him.

There’s a beat of silence, then; “I think I love you too.”

It seems that Zoro is just full of surprises at that moment.

Body turning rigid, you blink at him.

His cheeks have a light flush and he’s now the one turned away. “I… You were wrong… I don’t deserve someone better than you. I… I want you.”

“Zoro…”

He turns back to you, quickly, as if the words are both hard to speak but leaving him before he can stop himself. “But I… I don’t know how to be… I don't know how to be with you,” he explains, the words awkward and forced. You can tell he’s trying, words stumbling off the tip of his tongue. “I’ve only had one friend in my life and she’s dead. Before you guys, I had no one. I don’t know how to be someone you can depend on.”

You let his words sink in and you take in the look on his face. He’s embarrassed, you can tell, but he’s waiting for you to respond, patiently. You realize he’s leaving the decision up to you.

You think of, once again, your conversation with Sanji. You think of how you felt when Zoro had been unconscious in that bed. You think of everything that’s happened.

“I…” You start, voice soft. “I don’t know how to either,” you explain, shoulders dropping with the weight of your confession. “I’ve been alone for so long too, Zoro. And at first I wasn’t going to say anything. I didn’t understand my feelings so I was just going to ignore them. But then… seeing you fight like that and get hurt… waiting for you to wake up… I know that it can happen again. To either of us. I know that neither of us will ever be completely safe. I know you will never give up on your goal.”

Zoro frowns, and there’s a flicker of disappointment in his gaze.

It’s you who squeezes his hand this time, pulling his attention back on you.

“But I don’t want to do any of that without you,” you finish. “I… want to do this all with you. I want to save Nami with you. I want to explore the Grand Line with you. I want to help you complete your goal. Not just as your friend but more.”

The second you finish, breathless, Zoro is pulling you towards him. His actions speak louder than words and it seems his instincts allow him to act without any fluster of embarrassment. It pulls a gasp from your lips but you don’t stop him, hands falling on his shoulders as you lean into his touch. You’re careful of his wounds as he tugs you into his lap, his hands settling on your hips as his forehead falls against yours, breathing heavily.

“Fuck,” he inhales sharply, before shuddering a breath. “Can I kiss you?”

You smile at his response, thinking it’s so very Zoro, and nod. “Please.”

His lips are on yours instantly, pulling you close to him as you cup his cheeks, letting your hands thread through his hair. Your stomach flutters at the kiss, feeling your insides turn to jelly at the sensation. His hands on your skin feel like fire in the best way possible, molding your lips against his as he tugs you closer and closer even when there’s nowhere else for you to go.

You let your nails drag across his scalp, his lips warm and soft against your own.

And then, just as your lips part to allow his tongue to slip inside, a voice calls out;

“Zoro!”

You both pull back, startled. Zoro groans softly as he twists his body wrong, agitating his wound while your head snaps round to see Luffy.

He pauses, hovering at the door, at the sight of you two, you on Zoro’s lap with the both of you looking thoroughly flushed. 

Luffy looks confused.

“Luffy,” Zoro huffs, pressing his hand to his forehead, one still gripping your hip, as you laugh quietly to yourself. “Leave.”

Oblivious as always, Luffy just nods; “sure thing, Zoro.”

You’re positive you’ll be getting an earful from Usopp later.

His footsteps fade and you turn back to Zoro, giggling.

“He never knocks,” Zoro groans, pulling at his hair.

You pull his hand away, moving instead to hold it. Zoro flushes at the action.

“That’s okay,” you shrug. “I imagine it’ll be like that a lot.”

Zoro only groans further at the thought, but he knows you’re right.

You move to stand, slipping off his lap and panicking when you realize you didn’t finish bandaging him properly. Zoro laughs as you fuss over him, moving when you tell him to and watching you with amused eyes.

Just as you sit down next to him, though, he whispers out;

“Together, then.”

You blink at his words, cheeks still a light flush, before you remember your earlier words. 

You smile; “together.”

-

End of Chapter Note: I know that I’ve made the reader Mihawk’s daughter who is canonically light-skinned. I have left the readers mother open to try and be as ambiguous and inclusive as possible. Apologies to anyone that finds this detail stops them from being able to “insert” themselves into the story.

[shalom-iamcominghome]

As much as I appreciate and admire my family's religion because it brings them comfort and strength, there really isn't anything else like being told to youtube search for videos about atheists going to hell and then coming back to life, and knowing that, functionally, you are the same as an atheist because you aren't xtian to them. Like!!! Being told inadvertently and in a roundabout way that I'm going to hell by my dad is very odd, and the only thing to say in his defense is I have never delved into my religious beliefs and practices at all once. I'm just in awe about the idea of hell frankly

[letstrywritingmaybe]

1+1=2, x2?

No I’m not forcing y’all to do math, don’t worry. This is the official announcement that the wonderfully talented @vordark and I are collaborating on another fic!

Summary: One plus one equals two. Double it and it equals four. A simple equation, but apply it to people? It becomes complicated…

Let’s try this again. Shinichi plus Conan equals two Kudo brothers. Then there’s also Shiho plus Ai, the Miyano sisters, so a total of four. Simple right?

Wrong. When the Kudos and Miyanos are involved, there is no such thing as simple.

Aka the sibling verse @vordark and I have been obsessing over. Welcome to another collab, I hope you enjoy the ride. We’re taking the long way home.

Chapter One: So It Begins (available on ao3 <3)

[callixton]

idr if i already posted abt this but i have been in a little phase of feeling sad abt being aro bc i’ll be reading things abt happy couples and go oh that sounds nice :’) but i am literally currently in a stable and good relationship and i fucking hate it so like. no it doesn’t ur deluding yourself :(

[beastsovrevelation]

Ch. 2 of And the Sea became Blood will probably take it's time, I mean, more scenes than not are still pretty much skeletons.

But, we must appreciate a supportive brother. ❤ Especially after she called him Dr. Phil.

Also, I'm seriously thinking about Charlize Theron as Lucifer's faceclaim.

They'd look great together, no?

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

the ratio of complimenting someone to being complimented is super skewered. yes I do regularly give compliments because its literally like making a comment about the weather. it's just true. yes you are beautiful. yes you are intelligent. yes you are outstanding. yes i do love you even if I haven't met you. yes i do find your opinion and your existence important. yes your thoughts do matter. it's just a fact.

[simpjaes]

SWEET LITTLE MONEY MAKER. ― S.JY

When your best friend quite literally gifts you an entire man, you realize that you’re in no place to pretend that you don’t love it.  or the one where you’re very much an “i don’t need a man” type of person, and Jake shows you that you do, in fact, need a man….him, you specifically need him. Only because he needs you. 

MDNI! reblogs help writers, so please show your support through a reblog! PAIRING ― stripper!sim jaeyun x rich!afab reader

WORDCOUNT― 13.6k

CONTENT―  he’s a switch and desperately wants to be ur sugar baby, you’re a boring rich bitch who has no interest at first, masturbation, reader is kind of power-hungry, jake chokes her NOTE ― if you’ve read this before, specifically for jeno, hi. that was written by me back in 2022 except now it’s way better and not an absolute trash-fire. enjoy! not proof read kind of.

nsfw tags under cut::

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

NSFW TAGS― jake is a stripper so obv dancing and stripping, HE’S VERY SWITCH BUT MOSTLY SUBBY HERE, hand job, masturbation, choking without permission, finger fucking, making out, protected sex omg GASP, slight nipple play, riding, lil bit of stomach bulge, sensitive cock continues to get fucked lmfao

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It was a gift, or rather, he was the gift.

A downpayment of six hundred dollars told you enough about the man. It’s obvious he offers his services to lonely, sad, rich women who have no one else to spend their money on. A parasite, a leech, is what he is. Yet, still, your best friend has been taunting you with the idea for months in an attempt to have you give the guy a try.

She had apparently heard of the infamous Jake through various means. All rich women, all lonely and unsatisfied women. Which, to you only seems like a fucking insult to be taunted with the very idea of hiring this man. What is she implying? That you’re lonely and unsatisfied? Please.

Some best friend. Then again, she has since experienced Jake herself, and now her taunting feels more like…promises. 

“He’s so clean, toned, and oh god–” She had paused with a flush across her cheeks as she thought back to the heated night. “The way he moves, shit, he teases so much. I could have died right then and there if he were to–” 

The expression of disinterest on your face did not halt her doting, nor did the blatant grimace you eventually shot at her. Genuinely, you cannot take her seriously. Already you know too much about her, which is nice and all, but you could do without the details of her little stripper friend and how “wet” he left her. 

“I even heard that sometimes he even gives special treatments with his services…” She had rolled her eyes after she said that, almost looking offended. “Not that I'd know or anything, he took my cash and left when our session was up.” 

You recall knowing exactly what that “treatment” probably entailed, and the reason your best friend didn’t get it was likely due to the fact that she’s, well, not that rich. You’d assume such an expensive man wouldn’t give special treatments to women who wouldn’t end up being repeat customers anyway. Or, maybe, he just wasn’t trying to drain her dry. 

And even with all of the information being dangled in front of your face, practically force fed to you, the image should be more delicious than the century-old wine you have every night at dinner– for the entire duration of her doting compliments of Jake, you are simply not fucking interested. There’s other things to do in life, more to worry about than getting your body excited for someone who will never finish the job. 

Last week was when your bestie told you all about her single night with him. In fact, her entire visit was just her speaking of him, of how great he is, of how alluring he is. Arguably, you see that she’s a bit obsessed. Does it make you curious? Maybe a little bit, but not enough to actually give him a go yourself. And so, after that visit, you watched her leave with a menacing, evil little glint in her eye. You ignored it, as per usual considering she’s always up to something, unaware that the visit she lends to you today is not a complimentary marketing campaign of a male stripper, no, it’s a fucking ambush. 

When she appeared at your doorstep, she said nothing. She didn’t even look you in the eye, actually. Weird.  She did, however, have an envelope in her hand and you were almost offended at how she threw it at you and trotted away without a single greeting or goodbye. No afternoon lunch over champagne, no gossip, no advertising. Just an envelope. 

Suspicious.

Upon opening said envelope, you find that your bitch of a best friend dropped that six hundred dollar down payment, likely in an attempt to force you out of being the stick in the mud that you always are. There’s a note. Your name in bold letters, a date, a time, and a signature of none other than “Jake Sim” with a fucking website on the back. 

Shortly after huffing and rolling your eyes, about two seconds from tossing her six hundred dollars in the trash, you feel your phone ping to show your best friend texting you. 

Best Friend: I paid for it, you just have to tip him. a lot. tip him a lot. You: why the fuck would you buy a stripper for me?

Best Friend: you need it, trust me. 

So, now here you are waiting for that knock on your door and wondering why you even tried to look nice for some dude that’s about to swing his meat in your face. Appearance, reputation, whatever. Fucking unbelievable, you think, that there’s a stripper out there that only does private parties and your own best friend thinks you need it? You could have any dick you want, why the fuck should you have to pay just to look? 

He’s going to be expecting more than just you here, alone in your house. Surely, he won’t be expecting to waltz into someone’s home all oiled up only to find one very disinterested woman. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

To your dismay, Jake has apparently already been warned of you. Your best friend probably told him that you’re a nightmare, too difficult to fluster or gain an interest from. The first words out of his mouth when you opened your door was “She said you’d give me that look.”

Still, even so, your best friend wasn’t lying to him. You played the part of yourself all too well as you watched him saunter into your home as if he owned the place. You’re impressed actually, with the way he doesn’t seem to feel out of place in such a lavish room. He looks…comfortable here as he scopes out his stage for the night, like he belongs. 

“Big place, looked smaller on the outside.” He says casually, filling the silence in the room since you make no attempt yourself to greet him. 

You watch as he tosses his bag beside your living room couch and eyes the spacious area just in front of the large fireplace. His eyes flick to the windows, to the walls, counting the outlets and looking for shelves with space. 

“The smaller the better, sometimes it feels too big in here for just me.” You finally speak, admitting a small weakness of yours almost immediately. You are lonely, despite never wanting to admit it. And you watch as he shrugs, now crouching to grab wires from his bag. 

“Oh yeah?” He glances at you. “Must get lonely. What a good friend to purchase me to help you with that.”

You bite the inside of your cheek at that, noting his calm and cool tone as he talks his business. The little smirk at the corner of his lips is charming, but it’s all for show. He’s just a pretty man, that’s all he’s got going for him and you guess you can respect the hustle. 

“This was not my doing.” You cross your arms, pretending to be unimpressed. 

“Yeah, yeah–” He waves you off as he begins to set up, making space for small lights to set the mood, looking to see if you have a sound system he can use. “I already know that you’re new to this.” He’s still calm, still collected.

“Lucky for you, first-timers are my favorite to entertain.” He smirks again, now looking directly at you as he, now, fluffs some of your couch pillows. 

Your curiosity spikes again only for a moment. You really did think that the initial meeting would be different, less casual. You half expected him to waltz in cock swinging. Wasn’t he, like, supposed to pretend to be a cop or something? You know, show up and press play on a magical stereo that didn’t exist beforehand and start vibrating on you? 

Instead, he’s just setting up…fully clothed in a ratty sweater with jeans that hug his thighs. He doesn’t appear at all to be a man that gets paid to take his clothes off. It makes you wonder. Makes you want to ask questions. Then again, you still have no interest in learning about him considering you already know exactly what he will be doing soon enough. 

“You’re good with the mood lighting, yeah? Or do you prefer the morgue lighting?” His eyes shoot up to the bright white lights on your ceiling as he goes for his laptop now, presumably to connect it to your very obvious sound system.

You only take slight offense to his comment on your living room lighting, considering you have a control panel that can make them way less blinding, but– he’s right. And now you’re a little insecure that you prefer such a drab color in your home. You make your way to the wall, clicking the buttons on the panel just to prove you have warm lighting too, and that you can adjust the brightness. 

“Ah, perfect.” Jake hums from across the room, eyes focused on his laptop screen before glancing to you and your extravagant light switch. “A little lower.” He guides you, knowing exactly which lighting accentuates his toned body the best when paired with his own little LED colored lights. 

You turn the knob slightly, wondering just how good he must be at dancing in houses like this one. 

“Little more.” He smiles

You dim the lighting more, looking at him and his relaxed posture. 

“Right there.” He finishes in a more gentle tone, eyes focusing back on his laptop as he prepares not only the playlist but the mood lighting from his end too. Red. Lots of red.

And you just watch, his voice ringing in your ears as you try to pretend that your best friend wasn’t right. Even with just this casual set up…he’s…goddamn, he’s alluring. In that ratty old sweater, with his messy hair and pretty smile. 

Stunning. 

This motherfucker is stunning. 

“Go and sit–” Jake says now, nodding to your couch as he places his laptop down, presumably done with the set up. “Just tell me where I can get myself ready and I’ll be back out shortly.” 

You point towards the guest bathroom as you take your seat on the couch, unsure as to why your hands feel so clammy. And by the time he rounds the corner and you can hear the bathroom door shut, you attempt to make yourself comfortable. 

And goddammit, no matter how many times you’ve napped here on this plush and soft surface, you can’t find the comfort here right now. The curiosity of why you’re okay with this burns in your gut despite knowing exactly why. Despite the fact that your best friend can always see straight through you and know exactly what you are. 

At the end of the day though, why the curiosity exists isn’t what matters. It’s the curiosity itself. You want to know how much money Jake makes doing this, if he likes doing it, how he got started, what he does to advertise himself in a way to only find women like you, and many other things. Countless things. He’s hot as hell, actually, and how he’s come to do this kind of work is either one of two things. One being that he’s using what the Gods gave him to the fullest. Two, being that he had no other choice. 

If he’s going to be paid to give you attention, the least you can hope is that he does it because he enjoys it, not because he has to do it. And if it does end up being because he has to do it, then perhaps his tip would be even larger than what you’d give for the ladder. 

You’re uncomfortable. 

The fact looming that you genuinely could go out and find a man at any given moment, yet here you are with a man forced upon you because you simply won’t do it. The implications of this man being here, why he’s here, how he ended up in this situation. 

You’ve never been one to care, so why start now? 

“You overthink too much.” Your best friend had said to you once, twice, hundreds of times during your friendship.  Maybe she’s right, maybe you should just enjoy the show without feeling entitled to a slutty man’s life story.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake remains in the bathroom for a good thirty or so minutes, each of them passing like a nightmare in your head. Back and forth your brain goes, from not wanting to be in this situation to fighting yourself for being such a fucking bore. A very, very attractive man is primping himself for you to look at, he’s going to come out and do his best to turn you on, the least you can do is let yourself enjoy something for once. Enjoy him. Gawk and fawn over him. After all, at least you know there’s no promise to be had after he leaves. 

No missed calls, no blocked numbers. This is business. 

Fucking thankfully, the moment he comes out of your bathroom your mind has adjusted itself into the correct state of mind for this. A torturous adventure of thoughts, but you made it nonetheless. You actually can’t even look away from him now that he’s revealed himself, even when you tried. He isn’t dressed in anything that looks tacky or cheap. Hell, he doesn’t even look sexual. He just looks…

Expensive. 

Jake genuinely looks like this is a place where he belongs. He smells like he belongs here, walks and murmurs like it too. 

You feel yourself physically react to him in his blazer and dress pants. Business is what got you to where you are today, but never have you found the attire sexy in any way until now. The suit looks much like what your team would wear day to day in the office. Always all those shy men coming into your office, stuttering through their questions and need for approvals. Jake isn’t stuttering in his suit though, he’s standing confidently at his laptop as if he hasn’t even noticed you staring yet. 

One look from him though is all he needed. Choosing this attire for someone like you is sure to mix both business and pleasure. It was a gamble of course, to bring your work home for you, but he does have the slight hope that you’ll never look at a man in a suit the same way again after this. 

And goddamn the way his abs were glistening in the dim lighting before he had turned away from you. His blazer was partially open revealing nothing but skin when he walked into the room, and you honestly wonder if he even needed to do that. He could be fully clothed at this point and you think the room would still feel hotter than usual given your mind-state. 

The way his belt held his pants on his hips was enough to have you thinking, looking as if it’s begging to be unbuckled just so the sound of it could fill your ears. The way the blazer widens his shoulders much more than the sweater from before. He looks bigger right now, both physically and in aura. 

The scent of him wafted off of him in an even prettier way when paired with his image. He smells like a sweet type of musk, something you’d be interested in drinking alongside your dinner on special occasions. And under the assumption that the scent is why his abs are fucking glistening– fucking body oil. He uses body oil for this.

His hair rustles about when he turns to face you again, this time with the bass of whatever song he’s playing accentuating each step towards you. So…the talking is done then? Your cheeks heat up at how quickly he starts his session with you, even without a single roll of his body. Already, you could eat him alive, the smirk on his face leading your eyes straight to him. 

Trailing down, down down. To his neck, that small glimpse of exposed chest, to the even more exposed lower abdomen section. His belt.

“Good?” He asks, leaning over you and placing his hands on either side of your head as he grips the couch.

You can’t look up at him, eyes training on his chest that you can now fully see through his single buttoned blazer. That same sweet musk assaulting your lungs. 

Watching you from up here, Jake can tell you’re going to be fun to play with. A woman with such a harsh exterior now melting at the mere image of him when he’s got the right lights on him. To be fair, he really was warned and prepared by your friend, which didn’t seem the type to afford him on more than one occasion.

He thought it was nice that she paid for another session, shocking him to learn that it wasn’t for herself at all. What a wonderful friend, and what a bitch you’d be to have turned him away. 

Finally, you nod to him, still eyeing his body in a shameful show of how much you genuinely did need this. What’s so bad about paying to look? Especially when the man is Jake, and he’s presenting himself like this.

“Rule number one.” Jake smiles, swaying in front of you as his grip tightens against the couch, wanting you to feel trapped and hopefully mesmerized by him, “I only accept bills of twenty, fifty, and one hundred. If you toss a fucking dollar, I’m leaving.” 

That’s clearly not an issue you could fathom having, despite your internal protests. You only carry bigger bills anyway so you nod to him, quickly forgetting he even shared that ridiculous rule that would never apply to you by means of watching his hips swirl rather than sway. You see the heaviness in his pants, and you wonder if he gets himself hard for these little shows. 

You fear looking up at his face now too, because you know he’s staring down at you, watching your every breath, every move. 

“Rule number two,” He lends down now, lowering his voice and blowing against your ear in a short breath. “Don’t touch me without being invited, or without asking.”

Now, that’s a rule that applies to you only because you immediately want to defy it. There’s a knee jerk reaction almost that makes you want to reach out, to grip his flexing body and pull it closer. You wanted to feel how slick his skin is with that wonderfully scented oil. You wanted the scent on your fingers for later, you wanted to feel how warm he must be. 

He doesn’t wait for your nod this time though, already noticing a familiar look on your face that he gets from most, if not all, of his clients. This is why he’s so in demand, after all. If he plays hard to get, sometimes he gets more out of his sessions. Sometimes he even gets a repeat client. 

“And rule number three–” He continues, this time pulling back and positioning his face in front of yours. This rule appears to be an important one, the rule where you need to look at his face rather than his body. As if it needs to be heard. “I won’t touch you unless you ask– or beg.” 

What you’re not realizing at this moment is that rule number three isn’t something he often speaks of. Sometimes, very rarely, Jake is in a mood when he goes out on a job. Condoms are always with him, just in case, but he never intends to use them or utter rule number three until meeting said client. They pay to look at him, not to touch him, however…if they pique his interest he surely offers the third rule. 

And if a client never hears of it, they know that even if they ask to touch, he would never. Even if they want him to touch, he wouldn’t touch anywhere too pleasurable. 

Meaning, you were right to assume what he was doing in your bathroom for so long. His hand felt better than usual against his length for the split second he had of tucking it into the most attractive position. He knew instantly that tonight was one of those nights, and you were to be a point of his own desire too. He played with himself for a bit, allowing himself to get half hard before coming out of the bathroom.

The way you looked at him finished the job, allowing his cock to grow to full attention at the mere sight of you fawning over him in silent discomfort. So– yeah, the third rule being for you was a given. 

And when you swallow around a lump in your throat and look dead into his eyes, he thinks you know exactly what he means too. You’re lucky his cock is acting up, hell, he’s lucky it’s acting up. Look at you, fuck. Those tired eyes look ignited, and what luck the two of you have to have ever known your best friend. 

“Deal?” He finally says, tilting his head cutely and waiting for you to nod. And you do nod, just as he suspected you would. Slowly, before glancing down at his body again. 

He knows now that it’s time to start moving. Really moving.

“Is the song okay?” He asks, now pulling back and bracing himself against the back of your couch with all of his strength. “It was picked specifically for you.”

You’re not entirely what he means by that, but you assume your friend must have told him what she thinks you’d like. 

“It’s fine.” You say, glancing away from his direct eye contact and suddenly feeling like a love-struck puppy in the way you feel so incredibly fucking shy because of him.

Jake notes that you didn’t ask what he meant by the song, but he doesn’t push. He’s better at talking with his body anyway. So, he begins to focus. Opting to start slowly and work his way up, specifically to work you up. 

He steps back and away from the couch, centering himself in your living room as he closes his eyes and stretches his arms up to loosen his body a little more. Most of his clients love to see the way his muscles move as he stretches, and he suspects you’re of the same mind. 

This entire playlist is chosen for clients like you. The ones he intends to let see all of him if they so wish to. The music is slow, the bass is strong, and each beat runs through the body in a way that makes him shiver. He can move as if he’s fucking you even from across the room without so much as a touch, and he knows you’ll realize it.

He’s at his best too, when this sort of thing happens to him. The eye contact is more intense, his hips are more pointed for a reason other than payment, and arguably he feels he’s most attractive like this too. Considering the countless times he’s been paid to dance and expose himself to women he’d never even look at twice, it always hits differently when a client is just his type. 

And when he looks at you through the start of his dance, you appear to be painfully stiff against that soft couch. He smirks, a small chuckle rumbling from his chest. If only you knew how lucky you are, knowing his clients would be on their knees for a chance to experience him like this. 

The fact that it’s your first time doing this…he’d be smart to not pull this shit on you. He’s never tried this with a new client, after all but–fuck, just look at you.

Jake’s hips move on their own for the most part, he doesn’t have to think much when he’s getting into it. He easily dances along to the music for you, as if it’s second nature to him despite not yet removing any clothing. It’s the build-up for him now, and he thinks it may be that for you too. Of course, if he leaves your house tonight with a large tip in his pocket and a hard, untouched cock, that’s fine too, though not preferable. 

You watch him the same way he watches you, after all, the electricity for this to play out is there. It’s rare that he can feel goosebumps raise on his skin by a mere look from a woman that looks far too powerful despite sitting there helpless. He’s making you helpless, the dim lighting of this room accentuating his body is making you helpless. 

And truly, you find yourself understanding with each shadow on his stomach as to why he’s so favored in the groups of lonely women. Arguably, you’re shocked your best friend decided to share him.

As the song begins to fade, Jake readjusts himself. He watches you during the brief silence, a sort of fondness in his eyes making you wonder if he’s looking at you or if he does this for everyone. It feels intimate with the way his eyes slowly scan your body in the quiet room. As if the silence doesn’t need to be filled with anything other than eye contact.

For him though, a woman has never met his eye between songs. Typically, their eyes are glued to his chest, cock, hands, and neck– never his eyes. They’re muttering, moaning, or shouting for him to hurry up, that the clock is ticking and they want to see more. But not you. Even as the next song plays, your eyes stay focused on his until he looks away and starts closing the distance. He skews his body now, allowing you to see him in profile. 

In some ways, you have him feeling a bit flustered in the way you keep meeting his eye despite his body making a show for you. He’s never had to act with his face more than he has with you, even as he drops to his knees during a particular part in the song, thrusting his hips forward in an attempt to make you imagine yourself bent over on the floor in front of him. 

He glances to his side, and still you’re searching his face.

He, now, looks back down for a moment, finding himself trying to guide yours somewhere else. He knows his job is to be looked at, to be seen, but this is far too seen for his liking. Thankfully, your eyes do follow his, and you gasp at the way he moves. 

Your mouth falls open, gripping the hem of your dress as you imagine exactly what he intended.

The fact that this is your first time, Jake realizes this is new ground for him too. Typically, he speaks with his body and it appears now, he needs to portray some form of sexuality to you with his eyes. Like the roles are switched, he has to do to you what you’re supposed to be doing to him.

This is new, but warranted. Easy, even, for him to do it because he does want you.

You watch him intently, not fully realizing that you’re barely watching him fuck the air in front of him. Yeah, you see that too, but your eyes always go back to his and now, his own gaze is meeting yours. His gaze is searching your body, watching you move in reaction. From the way your fingers grip at the clothes he’d like to see on the floor later, to the way you slightly rub your legs together in a way that is almost too easy to miss. This alone is enough for him as his eyes burn their gaze into you. Much like you’re supposed to be doing to him.

He’s supposed to be able to look at you and know exactly what you’re thinking. So be it, the least he can do is let you know what he’s thinking. 

Jake’s dance is more intentional now when he leans back on his arms, throwing his head back but keeping his head turned towards you. He tries to show you specifically what he would do to you. That bulge in his pants is large and blatant as he thrusts forward and back to the music. You glance to it, offering the same jittery reactions of arousal. 

And this is when he allows his blazer to slide off of his shoulders, reaching to unbutton that single clasp for it to go sliding to the floor. He continues his movements through it, watching your eyes move to his arms and the strength used to hold himself up, his skin more and more visible to you. You do try to keep eye contact but…well, the way his abs flex when he presses forward, going concave with each inhale of those sensual lips that constantly smirk at you. 

It’s a shame, really, to know that the bulge in his pants will remain there, unseen. 

With his blazer now pooled at his wrists, he regains his focus. He wants you so badly by this point that it’s driving him crazy how hard he’s having to work for it. You’re supposed to be feeling this way, not him. Even if he can see that his routine is causing a reaction from you, he’s practically masturbating himself against the inseam of his pants just to get you to say something to him. 

Meaning, he needs to work harder. The current song is soon to be replaced with another, his favorite to dance to, his favorite to fuck to. And to be fair, by the time this playlist gets to this song on this specific playlist, usually his clients are already shaking under him. Not you though, you’re holding yourself back and he can fucking see it.

He ignores the fact that it’s technically not time for him to move on to his next set of dancing, mostly because he almost never has to get to this part, he leaves his blazer on your floor as he positions himself back on his knees, turning towards you this time and looking you straight in the eyes. The fact that he’s hard and horny is enough to amplify the way he’s looking at you, confidence so high that he’s fine with being seen in any way you want.

He’s slow when he does it, crawling a few steps closer to you. You watch the way his shoulders move in the light, his eyes rounded and cheeky, his hair falling in front of them with a charming movement. It’s not intentional when you rub your legs together at the image yet again, very much wanting to spread them the closer he gets to you. 

You can’t help but think he looks smaller on his hands and knees, eyes looking up at you as if he could eat you whole. You do wonder if your face reads the same for him, with the nervousness hitting you off and on. 

“You’re hot when you look down at me like that.” Jake mutters out of nowhere under the veil of his music, stopping in place in front of you, planting himself right at your feet. “I’d like to touch you, is that okay?”

Nevermind the fact that Jake has never actually had to ask to touch a client before, he really can’t help it at this point. His cock is aching in his pants and he isn’t quite ready to wait an entire playlist worth of songs just to put his clothes back on and leave the door with pain between his legs. He very much wants to fuck something right now, preferably someone.

You.

On the other hand, he’s pleased to see how fucking fast you accept his request. Yes, he can touch you. Fuck, you want him to touch you.

And the whole idea that this is just him doing his job is so far in the back of your mind right now that you almost forget that he probably does this to most of the women he’s paid to entertain. Quite frankly, you don’t give a fuck. You can pretend that he only does this for you, you can live in a fantasy just for a night. 

Jake lends you a smile as the current song finally fades out, the silence back except this time, you’re not looking into his eyes when you nod. 

He’s slow when he places his hand on your knees, rubbing up, up, up until he’s able to lift himself and hover over you. He intentionally pushes your dress up your thighs, solely because he wanted to see you rub them together in full, shameless view for him. He wants to know what his body does for you. What it does to you. 

And he stands, hovering over you for a moment with his hands glued to your thighs before he stares down at them. You just do as he expected, you rub your legs together, you look anywhere but at his eyes now, your hands grip the couch beneath you.

“I’m going to get on top of you,” Jake says now, dipping his head into your line of sight and forcing eye contact again, now gripping the back of the couch rather than your thighs, Just as he did when all of this started. “Would you like that?”

“Do you do this for all of your clients?” You suddenly ask with a smaller voice than you gave him upon opening your door. You breathe in sharply when he moves instead of answering your question immediately. 

He spreads his legs, propping himself right on your lap, facing towards you, letting you feel the warmth of his chest radiating near your face. 

“What kind of answer are you looking for?” He laughs fondly, grabbing your hands and placing them on his chest. “You should touch me, by the way.” He foregoes his own rule with that one, not wanting to wait any longer for you to maybe ask him yourself. “Just pull away if you don’t want to.” He adds, guiding your hands over his chest and down his abdomen.

“You didn’t answer my question–” You interrupt him, feeling the warmth pool and drip into your panties. “It’s a yes or no question.”

He chuckles sweetly, stopping your hands at his abs and holding them there. 

“No,” he admits, moving his focus to the music now that he’s got your hands on him. “I don’t do this for all  of my clients.” 

Jake isn’t sure why he does it, but now he can’t bring himself to look at you. The eye contact feels more intimate than it should with you asking him such a question and demanding an answer. Even as he swirls his hips, feeling his clothed cock rub up and against you every few seconds, it feels almost too intimate. 

“Oh, yeah?” You nervously chuckle back, feeling his muscles move beneath your hand as he thrusts his hips forward. 

“You know,” He mutters, guiding your hands a bit lower despite his own confusion at how much he’s enjoying this moment with you. You feel the cold metal of his belt buckle against your palm and you think he’s going to stop there, like maybe this is just something he does to amp up the show or something, but no. He drags your hand down further until you feel the warmth of his cock under his pants..  

Your pulse quickens as your ears start to ring. Your eyes avoid where your hand is right now, taking in a deep breath and looking up at him with question. He’s not looking back though, instead, his head is dropped and he’s staring at his pathetic bulge against your hand. He’s dancing into it, against it.

“I’ve never gotten this hard over a client that doesn’t want me.” He admits shamefully in a pathetic little laugh, bucking against your palm again to the beat of the song. “I can’t tell if I’m doing my job well enough.”

You feel shocked at that. A client that doesn’t want him? Is he fucking insane?! Then again, you need to be honest with yourself sometimes. You’ve tried to appear as uninterested as possible until he started crawling to you. There is clear attraction, obvious needs swirling in the air right now. You force yourself now to look at your hand with the hefty bulge rubbing desperately against it. The sheer size of him is something entirely different from what you were expecting out of him. This feels forbidden.

Wrong, even, But goddamn. The man is masquerading his dance solely so he can fuck against your right now. Maybe you should show some interest. 

“You’re doing well, Jake,” You finally mutter to him, the first compliment you’ve given since he got here. 

“Yeah?’ He sighs out, relieved as his hips press harder into your palm. Arguably, he’s not even dancing at this point, just trying to get off. “How well?”

Yeah, he’s a little desperate at this point for you to do something on your own. It’s so out of character for him to do all of this just to…well, get off.

“Show me,” He raises his brows, now removing his hands from yours and running them up his chest. His hips continue to move on you, and he watches you as you hold your hand in place. “Come on, the buckle is right there–” he nearly pleads. “You don’t have to be shy.”

Like a book, the two of you read the other at this moment. You’re not a woman of many words and he seems to understand that now, taking your single compliment and running with it. You do as he says, unbuckling his belt and now, sliding your hands up his body to meet his. 

“There you go,” He stresses through another relieved sigh. Leaving your hands where they are against his chest and sliding the belt from his loops on his own. He tosses the belt behind him, relishing in that lost look in your eye.

You clearly have no fucking idea what you’re doing, but you seem to like it. And god, does he fucking love it. Especially when he motions his head back down, forcing your hands back to where they belong and helping you unbutton his pants. 

“Take it out, go on.” He says in a rush, “I’m asking you to do it.”

To be fair, you’re going to do it despite the nervousness in your gut. It’s been so long since you’ve touched a man, and even longer since you wanted to. You could half argue that you feel like you’re about to lose your virginity right now despite all those hook-ups in college. Still, you don’t even nod at him when you do it. Carefully tugging his pants down and watching the weight of his cock do the rest of the work for you. 

His legs spread wider as he points it up at you, a lewd scene, one that feels both disgustingly sexy and very, very, straight forward. You’ve never been like this with any other person. Or rather, no one has ever blatantly shown themselves like this to you. 

And still, Jake just looks at you. So much eye contact becoming more and more comfortable as he learns what you seem to like. He can feel the air in your apartment against the head of his cock, the cool air rushing past his shaft and causing him to shiver with a very quiet moan. He still only looks at you during this moment, wondering why you’ve let your hands fall to his thighs. Then he sees a new look in your eyes.

Are you…waiting to be told what to do? 

For some reason, he keeps forgetting that you’ve never had a stripper in your home before, let alone been seduced by one. Honestly though, he assumed you’d catch on by the point his cock was out. This isn’t for show anymore, he wants you. 

“Touch me?” He asks gently, reaching back down to your hands and urging you to grab his cock. “You don’t even have to move, I can do the rest–” He chokes out a groan mid-sentence as he feels you grasp him in your fist.

Such a silent woman beneath him. He can only read you in specific moments, this one not at all being one of them. You’re hesitant but willing, perhaps? You leave him questioning himself and his own motives, still wondering if that compliment you gave him was genuine or just part of your own little show. 

Yet still, you’re gripping him tightly and allow him to focus his hopes. Dancing beautifully into that little circle your hand creates for him. The best part is that when or if he ever actually dances to this song, it’s when he’s blatantly fucking someone. So the movements come naturally, just as they would if your legs were buckling and your pussy was spread open on him. So, basically, this dance is nothing short of fucking your fist, pretending to keep up an act that he so wishes you’d see through. 

He keeps his face intense, moving his shoulders and arms as if it’s easy for him to turn the tables and position you to where your legs are on his shoulders and he’s rubbing his cock against your, hopefully, soaked panties.  

It’s a struggle though, to not moan out in desperation when you tighten your grip on him. He watches your pupils blow out, and can see the way you’d now probably ask him to do just that. To put it on you, to shove it in you. And so, he slows his hips a bit and catches his breath, staring down at you in wait. 

“You’re really expecting me to get off all on my own?” He finally says in an exasperated breath to your stillness and silence. He really is, trying to act as though he can’t see the look in your eyes and how it’s changed since he started dancing. “Baby, don’t you want it?” He adds, now waiting to see if you’ll move your hand away from him.

You don’t though, to his surprise, you actually start moving your hand on him. You’re jerking him off, staring up at him like you want it, squeezing the head of his cock before dragging those pretty fingers back down. 

Instantly his eyes roll back. “Fuck, that’s good,” He compliments your hand, shaking a bit and shivering at the fact that you really just did that. “Can I stop pretending that I’m still dancing for you now?”  

You find it in yourself to chuckle now, nodding with a confident sort of smile. It hit you fairly quickly, actually, as you watched him chase his pleasure all by himself. He’s so hard, and so incredibly thick in your hand, you’d be stupid to say it didn’t turn you on. It’s that fact that you’ve barely said anything to him and he’s begging you to look at him, to watch him, to touch him. All of your nervousness slowly disappeared because it was being replaced with power. 

Now, that, you’re used to. You know what power feels like in all aspects of the working world, but never at home. Never when sex is involved. You’re always expected to play the part of a desperate woman in need of love, and that’s just not you. No, you’re a powerful woman with nerves that could kill you. And the way Jake parallels your working world, it’s almost too perfect. You’re used to men being beneath you, begging for your money, giving you all of their attention, apologizing for normal human errors. 

Jake isn’t exactly begging you for money, but he’s still begging for your hands. 

“No.” You finally say, relishing in the shock on Jake’s face. “Keep dancing, it’s what you’re being paid to do.”

His eyes fall a bit now as he nods his head. You almost feel his cock falter at the same time at your response, but you move your hand a bit faster. You grip a bit tighter, urging him to do whatever it is that’s on his mind. You want to see if he will actually do as he’s told now, considering you’re the one with the money to bring him back here. 

It’s endearing how he does his best, and honestly, his best probably far surpasses some of the most notable dancers on the market if you had any idea of how they were. It’s just a bit hard to continue this act for him when you’re gripping his cock in such a beautiful way. 

“You’re–” He pauses to hold in a moan, feeling the way you drag your hand in time with his dance. “You’re not going to ask me to touch you?” He finally adds, meeker than before, far less confidence. 

In fact, he’s hiding his face.

You smile in response, looking up at him with dark and wide pupils as you swallow each movement his body makes for you. Your ears are still ringing, unable to comprehend the music blasting in your sound system. Your focus is solely on him, your hands are on him, your confidence is because of him. 

The answer to that question should be a given, after all, shouldn’t he be well aware considering this little stunt he pulled that actions truly speak louder than words?

“No wonder she liked you so much.” You start, now loosening your grip on him just to see the way his hips frantically chase the warmth of your palm.

“Wait–” He asks slightly out of breath, cheeks flushed and bashful. “You really thought, I let her get me off like this?” 

It almost pisses him off that you’d say that to him, then again, it’s not like you knew that this specific instance is rare and reserved for very few clients. 

“You couldn’t even look at me properly thirty minutes ago, now you think you can make assumptions?” He argues, pushing away from you.

Your response is skewing an eyebrow at him, watching him fight for control as he pulls his hips back and shuffles off of you and onto his feet. You glance down at his cock and the way it stands painfully erect, twitching at the sudden lack of friction. 

“Is it wrong to assume when you very clearly want me to make you cum?” 

He stills himself, a blank expression turning to that of a devilish smile, eyes narrowing at you as he leans over you. 

“Are you suggesting that you’ll get me off?”

You smile, spreading your legs a bit and feeling the stickiness drip through your panties now. 

“She did tell me that some clients have gotten special treatment from you,” You mock him slightly, watching his eyes glue themselves to your thighs. You make a show to spread your legs a bit for him. “I also know that she was no such client.”

A small moment of silence as he devours you with his eyes, seemingly interested in the attitude you have towards him now.

“I also didn’t imagine your clients would be the ones getting you off.” 

Honestly, it’s like he hit the fucking jackpot with you. Challenging him, mocking him with his cock out in front of you. If you so much as wiggled your cunt in front of him, he would instantly be back on his knees, letting you soak his face in whatever way you please. 

“Normally they’d be jumping at the chance, you though–” Jake very nearly growls at you with a deepened voice. “You look like you’re the one who needs to get off, if anything to get that snarky grin off your face.”

“Go on then, dance.”

It’s almost like a game now, he feels. You know he’s trying to seduce you and it seems you’re enjoying the fact that you haven’t let him yet. He knows that you intend to let him, so yeah, fuck yeah, he’s going to play along. 

He raises a brow at you as he steps back once more, trying to ignore the fact that his cock is aching to be touched again. You still want your show? Good. He’ll fucking give you a show.

Jake does as he’s told, finally kicking his pants off in full and keeping his eyes on you the entire time. He watches the way your legs spread when he rubs his hands down his naked chest, straight down to his cock where he only briefly tugs at himself. He can almost see under your dress as you continue to spread your legs more and more, but the lighting is far too dim to see what his act is doing to you just yet.

When he saunters behind you, dipping his head by your neck and whispering the dirtiest part of the song into your ear, he can see your sharp intake of air, and he watches the way your breasts move with each breath he forces out of you, and the way your nipples perk through the fabric.

So, he stays here behind you with his hips pressed to the back of your couch, ghosting his hands over your neck, moving down your arms, and then to your chest. He doesn’t touch, because you still haven't asked yet, but he knows hovering alone is enough. It’s like he can feel the electricity beneath his fingers somehow reaching your skin. 

  And he continues to sing against your ear, leaning further forward to plant his hands on your thighs again, mostly because he’s already been given permission to touch you there. 

“More,” He gently demands between lyrics. “Spread them all the way.”

Jake watches for a moment from behind you, pressing his cock against the back of the couch the moment he sees your legs stretch open, your dress hiking up past your waist, enough now that he can at least see a glimpse of the skin closest to your pussy. 

“Ask me to touch you.” He pleads against your ear, trailing his fingers up your thighs enough to where he would need you to tell him to stop otherwise. “Just tell me you want it.” 

It’s silent save for the music playing, and his cock is aching so badly by this point that each time he rubs against the couch he’s almost breaking down to fucking beg you to let him touch you. That alone could make him cum, but god, you’re so good at playing hard to get even if it’s blatantly obvious that he’s already got you. 

You’re fucking playing with him, and he can’t decide if he loves it or hates it. 

Your silence is so damning to his dripping cock, and his skin feels so hot right now that he’s almost forgotten that he was paid to be doing anything that’s not this. 

“No.” You playfully respond, dangling yourself just out of reach. You breathe in deep though, knowing you can’t keep denying him for much longer with the way his hands are rubbing at you. “I like it better when you’re the one asking for it.” You lean your head back and rest it against the cushions of the couch, and he instantly moves from your neck to look down at you. 

Oh. 

“Cute.” He says, having no issue at all to be the one to ask, beg, plead, or cry. Whatever it takes to get a feel of you at this point. It’s just…new to him.

Another long moment of eye contact has him trailing his hands higher than before, almost to the point that there’s no skin on your thighs to touch that doesn’t involve your panty line. 

“May I?” He asks, leaning down a bit closer so that his face is mere inches from yours. “Will you take my fingers?” 

You could mistake this distance as something that should not be crossed between the two of you. Barely hearing his question at this moment, the only thing you want to do is to kiss him, and it hit you so fucking fast that you almost forgot he’s doing anything you ask of him. 

“Come again?” You smile, blinking up at him. 

He breathes in, seemingly frustrated.

“My fingers. Take them.” He says rather than asking this time, already moving his hands to trace up your panties and feeling the wetness seep through onto his fingertips. “You’re already dripping–baby,” He stops to moan at it, amazed by how fucking soaked you are. “I can imagine they’d slide right in.” 

Typically, you wouldn’t allow anyone to call you that. “Baby.” but coming from his mouth, it sounds fitting. It sounds seductive, sexy. It has your stomach in knots, actually, your hips bouncing up just slightly at his words with the pet name attached. Finally, you let him. Finally, you grind yourself against his fingers. 

“I’ll make you feel so good–” He groans at your movements, loving how desperate you suddenly appear despite pretending you weren’t going to work for your own pleasure. He continues to trace his fingers up and down just to feel the mess of you, the one that he created, and the one that he intends to make messier. 

“Moving your hips isn’t the answer though, baby.”

You swear he can read your mind, there’s no fucking way he would say it like that without knowing how you just internally admitted to liking it. 

“Yes,” You let out shortly, darting your eyes away from him. “I’ll take them.”

That breathy laugh he releases sounds sweet, almost dripping like syrup when he lays his head beside your neck. His soft singing picks back up as he listens to you now more than the music, his fingers continuously ghosting where he promised to put them, not yet moving your panties. 

Paired with it, his abdomen stays tense as he humps against your couch, his muscles locking up at the pleasure running through him in this position. Your hips lightly chase his fingers, up when his fingers move down, and he can’t help the shy smile that spreads across his lips. It’s one you don’t see, but the constant shift in your personality is something that keeps him on edge. Keeps him wanting more, to know more, to see and feel more of you. 

And when he finally reaches around you with his other hand, pulling your panties to the side and exposing your pussy, he watches you take over for him and push them down instead, offering far more than he anticipated. He watches as you kick them off your ankles almost elegantly, as if you could do this job of dancing better than he can.

“Eager?” He teases, knowing you won’t respond to that. And you don’t. It pleases him to know that at least by now, he can kind of read you. Yet, still, there’s nothing more at this moment that would please him more than getting to see you in full. To wander back around this couch and get a real good, close up look at what he’s doing to you. 

“You’re so wet right now.” He groans, knowing that you were soaked before and only hoping you’re dripping more and more for him now. His cock is weeping as much as he’d like for you to be, chasing any amount of friction he could have. And he can see his fingers slip and slide through your slick into places he wasn’t even attempting to touch just yet solely because of how wet you are. 

“You held out for so long,” He coos now with a soft breath against your neck, feeling your cheek nuzzle against his flexing arm. “Look at that,” Two of his fingers tease at your hole before– “they slipped right in.”

Your breathing is labored by this point, feeling him play with you as if he has all the time in the world to fuck with your head. Which is…nice. No rushing despite the time limit on his session, proving time and time again that you’re getting more than others get from him. Lucky you, that you can moan out without shame for him. 

And you do, grabbing his hand and practically fucking yourself with his fingers. That takes him by surprise as the warmth and sheer tightness envelopes his digits. You are excruciatingly sexy to him, he doesn’t even attempt to stop you.

In fact, he doesn’t even hold back now, meeting each chase of your hips with the force of his fingers plunging into you deeply, with full intention. He scissors them open, feeling your hole stretch around them beautifully enough to fit in a third. And god, you’re so fucking wet. He can hear the slapping of his soaked fingers inside of you pushing more and more of that arousal out. 

He moans blatantly against your ear now, easing you into talking back to you. 

“Bet you could take cock so well–” He murmurs, feeling you shiver against his grasp. “How long has it been? Hm?”

He’s talking to you, yes, but hyping himself up at the same time. The scent of your hair forcing a slight obsession with you in his mind. The way you feel, look, smell, move when you’re just inches from him like this. He knows you won’t respond to a goddamn thing he says too, but it doesn’t matter too much to him at this point. Because now, you’re whimpering.

Such a confident, well respected woman…fucking whimpering.

“What was that?” He asks playfully, running his other hand up your body until he gets to your neck. “Has it been that long?”

And for the first time, you were going to answer. For the first time, he doesn’t leave room for you to answer. Instead, you feel his palm resting flush against your neck, now pressing in and practically holding you down by the neck as he fucks his fingers into you faster. 

Painfully faster.

“Cry for me again,” He encourages you, wincing as his own hips frantically chase the back of your couch. “You’re allowed, come on, do it again.”

And because he’s working for it, because he’s doing so fucking well, you let out another choked moan. His hand straining your neck so tightly that any sound coming out sounds strained and desperate, even the sound of yourself right now ignites a fire inside of you. You can feel that grasp tighten each time his fingers fuck into you with a painful jab, his palm placed so perfectly that you can feel your clit being rubbed each time he pulls his hand back.

It’s…overwhelming.

“Yes, fuck- again.” He groans, bucking his hips forward and frantically lifting his head from your shoulder, all so he can look down at you. He’s heard you, now he wants to fucking see how desperate you are when you cry out. 

When you open your eyes again, wincing every few seconds at both the pleasure and pain of his desperate hands, all you can see is his face. All you can feel are those same long fingers threatening more and more cries from your chest. He’s hitting spots inside of you that haven't been touched in a long time. Feeling it now almost burns, even with the cold metal of that single ring on his finger against your neck. 

And when he tightens that hand on your neck once more, not only do you cry out, but he matches you with his own stuttered gasp. You strain to keep your eyes on him through this moment, watching the way his teeth appear to scrape at his bottom lip when the sound of you envelopes his ears. So, you do it again, and again, and again. 

His fingers only continue their aggressive assault inside of you, his palms still hitting your clit, and that other hand around your throat…honestly? You could fucking sing songs to him at this moment if he so wished it. 

“You’re shaking.” He comments, eyes flicking to your body. “Can you even breathe right now?”

His smile looks so fucking mean, knowing full well that you can’t breathe and only tightening his hand harder against your throat. Nevermind the fact that you never discussed this type of thing with him, fucking wasn’t even in the agenda. But now? Fuck it. You do like it. Maybe you even love it. The way you’re moaning for him is all either of you need to know. 

This time though, when you moan out and it’s sounding particularly raspy, he releases his hand from your throat and instantly leans down to your lips. He’s a bit shocked that you immediately strain your neck to kiss him. What he was going to do was degrade you. Now though, he’s just tasting the way you’re so desperate to kiss him. As if you’re wanting this to be real, to be intimate. 

Arguably, your idea was better than his own because now he can’t bring himself to degrade you. In fact, he was stupid to even consider such a fucking thing. Despite never kissing his clients, things with you have already lasted far longer than he’d normally allow. Things have already surpassed the intimacy level he allows too, even with the very few lucky women who get to touch him. He’s never asked for it, and he’s never gotten this much of his own pleasure out of finger fucking them. Not once has he ever fucked himself against a couch to hold himself back for a woman either. 

Maybe just this once, he can want it to be real too. Even if he leaves with a pocket full of cash, the fantasy right now is enough for him to accept it as is. If you want him to kiss you, he will fucking kiss you.

His pupils grow as his eyes close, slowing his fingers unintentionally as he focuses on your lips and tongue. Even his body against your couch relaxes and his hips slow to that of a sensual thrust forward, one that offers a long and painful drag against his already raw and reddened cock. You kiss him back better than he’s even been kissed before, and falling into it was terrifyingly easy. 

His brain nearly short circuits at the softness of it, allowing his hands to move on their own accord, cupping your jaw with one hand and emptying your pussy to rub your clit with the other. He’s intentionally deepening the kiss far past his own comfort level.

But he is comfortable, and that’s precisely what’s uncomfortable about it. 

“You can take it–” Jake mutters between kisses, more focused on your lips than the words he spilling to you. “You want more, right?” He continues, only now pulling back in a breath and waiting for you to adjust your eyes on his. 

Immediately, when you open your eyes they widen at him. Goddamn, was he this sexy before? Did he even look this into you when he was on your lap fucking your fist? Out of all of his begging, this…this right here. Are you really about to fuck a stripper? The man you were so against meeting just this morning? The man who has $600 in his bank account from your lovely, fucking adored and beautiful best friend? 

The man that you’re probably going to give the entirety of the contents in your purse to the moment he packs up and moves on as if this never happened?

Yes.

“I want more–” You say to him, blinking at his pretty eyes and intentionally rubbing your clit against his fingers, mostly because it appears as if he’s stopped functioning all together.

And before you can even blink, his fingers are pulled away and his presence is gone. You lift your head to watch him, cock still erect and heavy against his thigh as he goes directly to his bag. As if he knew it was going to happen, as if this was his plan before he even met you, he pulls out a condom and slips it on without so much as a sigh of relief.

After all, he does have to take precautions to be fucking an absolute stranger like this.

“Oh.” You huff in disappointment, not entirely meaning for him to hear it. 

He raises his eyes to you as he pulls at the end of the condom, offering plenty of space for whatever release he intends to have soon, but his eyes don’t seem concerned nor bothered. 

“What? You want it raw?” He asks playfully, wiggling his eyebrows briefly before making his way back to you. “That’ll require a bit more discussion, you know.”

Discussion that neither of you are willing to have solely because your pussy is throbbing and his cock appears to be more pathetic than it already was being strangled in that thin layer of latex. And without another word, allowing both of you to put that to rest for now, he’s right back over you, lifting your dress up and off of you. 

“Fuck.” He breathes out as your tits falls from their perfect place within the dress. The sopping wet couch beneath you only soaking up more of your slick as his words force more out of you. God, you feel so wanted. 

You keep your arms lifted to help him ease the dress entirely off of you, leaving you bare beneath him as he instantly goes to grab both tits, pressing them together before flicking both nipples with the tips of his fingers. 

Your body jolts at the sensation, feeling it run through you and swell your clit more than it already was. The ache is worse, your hole is pulsing, yearning, wanting to be filled. Still though, he takes his precious expensive time, leaning down and sucking one erect nub into his mouth and flicking it all the same with his tongue. 

“Right here?” He mouths from around your tit, eyes closed and tongue still focused elsewhere. “You want to be fucked here?” He mumbles again, realizing that his question will likely go unanswered. It’s very likely that he is going to fuck you right here, on your living room couch. Asking you such a thing was stupid, borderline cringe-worthy. 

To his surprise though, you lend him a small “no.” as you lace your fingers in his hair, pushing his lips to your other nipple just to feel the warmth of his tongue.

“No?” He questions, blinking up at you from your chest before biting gently around the sensitive bud against his mouth. “Where then?” 

To his dismay, your smile is still beautiful but the way you close your legs and sit yourself up from the slouched, relaxed position you were in disappoints him. Mostly because he’s now forced to stand up too, and even more so because he has to keep his head dipped in order to keep his mouth on that perfect nipple of yours. 

His disappointment fades as you hold his head there, feeling your legs almost buckle against him when he moans around it, sending vibrations through your chest. You remain gentle though, wobbling on your legs and shuffling forward, allowing him to continue his antics. Slowly but surely, you turn him around and back him up against the couch.

Only now, when you push him back and his teeth graze your sensitive nub do you realize that he’s so, so much needier than you expected. Even with his begging, his little disappointed sound didn’t go unnoticed. His brows are still furrowed now, not even paying attention to the fact that you’ve just shoved him down so that you can be the one straddling him. It’s cute, actually. Noticing how he was so intimidating when he came into your house, walking with confidence, dancing with intention, finger fucking you and choking you as if he had a right to do it…only to now look at him and the way he’s melting.

The way he’s needy, borderline puppy-like to be near you.

His eyebrows shoot up from that little face of disappointment though, when you pull yourself from his mouth and instead plant yourself right on his lap, letting your pussy lips envelope the underside of his cock as you grind up immediately.

It’s the first slippery touch his cock has felt all night and honestly? He’s been on edge this entire time. You grind so fucking beautifully, and it’s a first for him to realize that he’s entirely speechless.

You’ve rendered him incapable of speaking. 

“You’re cute, I don’t think you realize that.” You comment, gliding against his cock and watching his hands reach out to grip your waist, “Really cute.”

He doesn’t falter at your compliments, instead he just melts into it even more. His cheeks are permanently blushed as he leans forward to try and get your tits in his face again, and all you can do is grip his hair and let him. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt the head of a cock bumping your clit, and you’d never forgive yourself for not letting yourself have this kind of fun more often. 

And Jake just gets whinier. His cock pulses and twitches to be inside of you all the while despite the discomfort of that latex layer likely needing to be replaced already. Still, his hands keep moving your waist, pushing and pulling you faster against him until– ah.

You angle yourself perfectly when he slides your upwards again. All you had to do was perk your ass out and wait for him to push you back down. Finally, he slides in without fully realizing that’s what was going to happen, and goddamn the sound he makes, fuck.

“Mmfuck,” He winces, digging his nails into your hips at the speed of which he bottomed out. The breath is knocked out of him and all you can do is stare down. Look at him now, so docile and sweet like he wasn’t fucking your livingroom floor prior to this. 

And the grip of you on him, so strong. The slide was so easy, so fast, that he genuinely is seeing stars at how good you feel wrapped around him. The velvet walls inside of you pulsing, pushing and squeezing his cock all over. He can’t help the sounds he makes, grunting and feeling that grip you have in his hair intensify his pleasure. 

Both of you now let out a long winded breathy groan at the sensation of your body adjusting to his, in all fairness, you had to grip onto something and his hair just so happened to be the best thing at the moment. He seems to love it though, so when you finally regain your senses of being absolutely fucking full, you pull at it again, tilting his head back so that you can see the expanse of his neck and the way it moves when he swallows. 

“Bounce.” He croaks out at you, eyes glistening with pure fucking hope that you will. 

And, well…when you feel his length pulse in place inside of you, you do exactly as he asked. You bounce, taking his full, thick cock each and every time. Not allowing a single inch of it to be neglected. All he can do in response is squint, trying to keep his eyes open through each breathy groan of praise and encouragement. He does lose himself entirely to the feeling of euphoria and the pain of how harshly you keep his head tilted back. 

He really didn’t think you could get any sexier, honestly, and as far as he’s concerned…if he moves right now he’s going to cum. So, he doesn’t. Instead, he just lazily smiles at you and lets his eyes finally close so that he can fall right back into the state of seeing nothing but stars.

Frustrated, yet incredibly turned on by the way you’ve just completely lost him, you bounce harder, then you sit flush against him, twisting and swirling your hips. Grinding forward back, counting how he moans each time you do something that feels particularly sensitive for him. And you hang onto that, repeating those actions, lifting your ass and sliding back down. Again and again, until your legs shake and your fingers threaten to pull his hair too hard.

“Look at you now,” You half-chuckle out of breath, hearing the wet slaps of skin on skin paired with his blatant and sensual moans drowning out the playlist that has been long forgotten. “You can’t even move.”

All he does is nod his head, that same lazy and cocky smile appears as if to insinuate that you’re damn fucking right he can’t. Like he’s proud of it. And you’re not going to ignore the fact that his hands are still on your waist either, gripping onto you so tightly that you fear he could draw blood if you move the wrong way.

“Keep going, baby–” He somehow manages to say to you. “Don’t stop.”

There it is. This entire time he’s been begging to fuck you, and now he’s finally begging you to fuck him. His voice still sounds like honey, with that impressively hard cock inside of you pulsing so constantly that you could probably feel him in your stomach if you were to press against it. 

“Mhm,” You answer him, promising that you won’t stop through just a half-moan and a long winded intake of air. Honestly? At this very moment, you feel like you’re sitting on a throne. Jake, obviously, being said throne but whatever. The fucking power he’s making you feel is nothing short of alluring. 

And now, as that power goes to your head, you opt to grind rather than bounce for him now. Your hips aren’t as erratic, yet still he tenses up for you, forcing his cock to somehow feel even harder as you fuck it into yourself through lazy drags of your clit against his pelvis. 

If you keep going like this, you could cum in an instant. But before you can even finish that thought, you look down at him on instinct due to his sudden silence. 

His eyes are squeezed shut tightly, and his mouth is open in a silent moan. You can see that he’s not breathing, seemingly holding his breath even after you release his hair. His head lolls back with that same expression, and that’s when you feel his fingernails dig.

“Oh,” You moan, now resuming your grinding much harder now, making a point to bump your clit repeatedly against him. “Fuck, are you cumming right now?”

Still he doesn’t respond, you can only feel his hips stutter under you despite trying to remain entirely still and stiff for you. You know that now is when you need to be chasing, because you’ll be damned if you’re not going to cum with him inside of you. 

You want to be full like this, you want to squeeze him, to play with his sensitive cock even if it starts to soften. He’s too pretty, too fucking pretty when he whimpers. And so, you continue grinding, up until you’re on the brink of your orgasm but not quite there yet. To the point his cock is only half in you with the way you’re angling your clit against him, chasing your own high so aggressively that you barely feel his fingers tightening on you again. 

Jake shoots his head back up, eyes opening as the sensitivity hits him quicker than he would have liked, but you don’t relent. The pain is intense from how hard you’re riding him, but he can see how close you are, the image alone compliments that sensitivity he’s feeling right now. 

He seethes out painful praises to you as your desperate cunt finally reaches orgasm, squeezing against his softening length so tightly that he can’t help but whimper with you. Still, he studies your face through his own winces, shuddering at the way you close your legs around him despite them being forced to stay open in this position. You try to curl into the pleasure, as if you wish you could disappear completely alongside it. 

And god, the way you grip at his arms for leverage as you shake through it. Dare he say…he’s fond of you. It still hurts, but it kind of hurts more when he knows it’s over. Mostly because it feels like he’s been in this room with you for days, knowing that’s not true. Surely he’s stayed longer than your allotted time with him, but you seemed to have given him something worth staying for at least.

When you slump over him, he almost wants to cry from how fucking sensitive he is right now. Thankfully, you seem sensitive too as you wince before he does, remaining as gentle as you can when you reach down to the base of his cock and hold the condom, allowing him to slide out of you at his own pace. 

And then, the playlist comes to an abrupt end at just the wrong moment, because it forces Jake to realize that he hadn’t stayed at all over his paid time frame. Now, all he can hear is the way his breath is entirely too uneven compared to any of his sessions with prior clients like this. He’s breathing much too fondly for you, or rather, not breathing well because of you. He can’t just…go home can he?

“You okay?” You ask to the slight panicked look on his face, seeing how he stares straight up at the ceiling, not blinking, no readable expression. “Jake?”

He shakes himself out of it, eyes slowly moving and blinking to look at you.

“That–” He tries to talk, genuinely, he does. “Um…”

The change in atmosphere almost freaks you out. Isn’t this what he wanted? You saw the way he lost himself there briefly though, you can admit. None of this was even that rough or kinky, so you’re a bit confused as to why he’s acting like this.

Maybe you even feel a bit guilty. Like you’re the problem. So, you silence yourself and lift onto weak legs to stumble and find your dress. You throw it on quickly, hiding your shame that he so wanted to see just fifteen minutes ago. Then, you head for your purse and grab every single bill you have folded neatly inside. 

Just like that, you place the money in his shaking hand and can’t bare to look at him.

“Wha-” He starts, licking his dried lips and sitting up a bit too quickly. “Why are you giving me so much?”

“It’s your tip.” You try to say casually as you clear your throat. “You can shower too, if you’d like.” 

Jake holds his breath, hoping you don’t genuinely think he did all of that for the money. He was already paid to be here, the whole…you know, fucking thing, was his doing. What happened was because he wanted it, and…he still does. Are you truly just strictly back to business like this? You literally just handed him his rent for the month and then some, it kind of amazes him. The audacity. As if he’s never been handed handsome sums of cash from drunken lonely women. You aren’t a woman who needs him, and yet you pay like you did. 

“Shower with me?” He forces himself to ask, because he knows he’ll regret it if he doesn’t. After all, this tip feels like a rejection of what just happened. Hush money, even. 

He doesn’t know what just crept into this room through the fucking silence, but he doesn’t like it. And it seems you don’t either, because you instantly comfort him with a smile and a step forward. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He didn’t intend to spend the night, free of charge no less, but he did. All of that including some embarrassing talk involving the seriousness of how this is not normal for him. 

Surprisingly, you believe him. 

After the shower, the mood had shifted into something that felt natural and less rehearsed. He wasn’t just some stripper you could call over with a downpayment of $600, he was Jake, a man trying to make ends meet in a city far too expensive even for you if you’re being honest. 

Jake, a man wanted by several women. You, on the other hand, feel the need to mend your lonely and stone-cold heart with him, however much that may cost. Not to fall in love, or to fill any type of voice. If anything, you want to be taken care of in specific ways, and you’d like to take care of him in turn. 

So, when he grimaced at your joke, saying that he would practically be your sugar baby and that you’d run off all of his other business out of need to continuously be fucked by him and him alone, you almost stopped pressing the matter.

Because you would run off all his clients solely for keeping him too busy with you to go to them. You would be paying him every time, making damn sure he’s well taken care of and financially stable. 

Jake did notice how you looked disappointed, quickly backtracking his grimace.

“Wait, you’re serious?” 

You nod shyly, blinking at him.

“It’s not like we have to sleep together every time, you won’t even have to dance for me anymore.” You argue, knowing that’s at least a half-lie. “All I ask is that you don’t fuck your other clients if you’re still seeing me, and intending to..you know–”

Jake nods happily, without question even.

“So, what happens if I’m horny and you’re not available then?”

You narrow your eyes at him. 

“Jerk off like a normal person?”

Fair enough.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

man, i forgot how lame this fic is but yknow what? good for me. jake is so fuckin’ fine fr I DON’T EVEN CAREEEEEEEEEEE. pls reblog and leave feedback on my work :D

[sunnami]

the 5 times you did (not) love each other and the 1 time you did.

summary. as the title suggests. this one was a request! i hope you enjoyed my version of this anon.

pairing/s. poly!marauders + lily / reader.

wc. 4.1k

tags. hurt/comfort, angst, peter pettigrew mention, not proofread, like seriously, fluff, happy ending.

cws: brief mention of violence and blood.

note: i am alive?? crazy. i began this fic, whilst sick, around august, nursing the worst headache ever. i wrote the middle of this fic, sick. and i think it's only fitting that i finished this fic. sick... honestly, i did not proofread any of this, i just know i lowkey love it. after the first one-thousand words, i just spiral and become delirious, so i don't even know what happened here. my first request finished! yippee! and thank you all for 2k :< i love you all so much.

i. 

SIRIUS BLACK did not love you—not even close, not even a little bit. Not even at all.

After Peter Pettigrew’s slight against his family, Sirius would never hold warmth or pity for the skittish mouse ever again. He was played for a fool. And, he did not know which betrayal had hurt more. Peter’s—or yours. (Had you known all along of your adoptive brother’s plans? Did you not think for one second that Sirius would, without a sliver of hesitation, put himself in the way of a killing curse to keep you safe? He’d have died before ever letting the fire in your eyes wither to ashes. Clearly, you did not share the same sentiment.) 

He wanted nothing to do with you. Ever. And if the rat-bastard dared to show his face, not even Death would know where to put Peter’s body to rest. Sirius would keep him alive until he begged for death—until the idea of living frightened him more than dying. And for you—beholder of his heart, captor of his soul, and co-possessor of his mind—he could only hope that you stayed far away. You had wrecked him—all of them. 

He wanted—

He did not know what he wanted. 

For when it came to you, Sirius Black was reduced to a man wandering the deserts—mistaking clouds for water, and the sands for grass blades. You had ravaged every fiber of his being; consumed his every thought and word. The most ironic part of all was that if you had been the one standing there—Sirius would have let you Avada him. Dumbledore could scold him in the afterlife—Sirius could care less. He’d have snapped his wand in half and asked someone else to fight you because Sirius had vowed from the moment he met you that he would never harm a hair on your head. He would never be the reason that tears stained your pretty cheeks. 

Well, apparently, trust and promises were not worth a damn thing nowadays. 

No, he did not love you—even as you stood on the steps of Grimmauld, your hair ruined by the downpour of rain. Your lips bruised and bitten from a nervous habit Sirius had yet to break out of you. 

“I didn’t know, Sirius,” you whispered—your voice the only sound falling on his ears amidst all the thunder and lightning. He only saw you. “Y-You have to believe me. If I knew—Gods, I would have told Dumbledore in a heartbeat. Fuck. I thought you knew me better than that.” 

He thought so, too. 

“Did you know?” Sirius began, taking a step forward and into the storm, a demeaning sneer on his lips. “That when Voldemort stood in our home, your portrait was right behind him? That was all I could look at. If I had died—you would have been the last thing I saw.” 

You had not replied. 

Sirius grit his teeth. “Go,” he said, voice hoarse. 

“Go!” he yelled, grateful for the rain as it masked his own tears as you flinched from the sound of his voice. Not the thunderclap, the lightning strike—but it was him who scared you. 

(But you had done so first.) 

When you apparated away, Sirius crumbled to the ground and pounded his fists against the asphalts where you were moments ago, screaming and cursing until he saw blood flowing with the rainwater.

It was laughable, really. The way he did not love you. 

It was not love that drove him to madness, pummeling Gideon Prewett into a bloody pulp for mentioning your name during a meeting with the Order. He had presumed you to be a Death Eater alongside your brother—Sirius instantly saw nothing but red. (He condemned Bellatrix, his own cousin, for becoming a madwoman. Yet, here he was, unraveled by the very thought of you. The very whisper of your name.) 

But whatever it was that had turned him into a fool and a hypocrite all at once, it was not love. 

ii. 

JAMES POTTER had no love for you—make no mistake about that. He loved love, and he did so fiercely and truthfully. But you and Peter had broken his trust—defiled his loyalty from the moment your brother had brought Voldemort to his doorstep. (Did you know that as he begged and screamed for Lily to hide with their son, Harry—he thought of you? For a fleeting moment, he saw your face, marked by fear and tear-rimmed eyes. And James knew straight away that he would spit on Tom Riddle’s bare feet if only to keep his family safe. If only to see you once more. Alive and well. But, you must not have thought the same—if you had conspired with Peter to sell him and Lily out to the Devil reborn.) 

The thought of you breathing was enough to keep James alive. 

But, that was not love. It was a mockery of it. 

No, he did not feel so much as a twinge of emotion for you. Not even as Mad-Eye Moody brought your limp body back to Grimmauld. It was not love that threatened the magic in his being—that simmered in his blood until the painted walls saw an indent of his fist. (“Poor thing,” McGonagall cooed as she pressed her palm over your forehead. Despite some of the members’ growing distrust for you, you still took an Unforgivable in their stead. “We can only wait. . . Four Cruciatus curses. . .”) 

What more did James need to want to rip Peter apart limb by limb? 

It was not love that rooted his feet by your side. Sitting hunched on a chair too small for his height, bags beneath his eyes, and the pale of his lips becoming noticeable to everyone who spoke to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to you lovelessly—hands desperately clutching your own. Sirius stood across the room, arms crossed over his chest, dagger-like eyes waiting for so much as a twitch of your finger. “I’m sorry.”

It was a plea this time.

He only hoped you did not ask him to love you. For James could give you the world, hand-pick the stars, and burrow his body deep beneath the ground if you had asked for it—but he could not love you. 

Everyone had told him not to hope that you would wake up. That your pretty eyes would not flutter open, and you would no longer look at him as you had before. But James was stubborn. He was selfish as he was stubborn. He did not love you—but he needed to hear the sound of your voice. And James would take it any way that he could. The soft cadence of a whisper, or a rough utterance of a single word. Molly Weasley told him to accept reality for what it was. (“You need sleep, dear,” the matriarch fussed. “There’s nothing we can do. Look at the Longbottoms. . . We can do no more for this one as we had done for them.”) 

In the still of the night, he left his reveries on the cold of your skin. “Wake up,” he demanded. 

“Wake up or else you’re the traitor everyone thinks you are,” James hissed. 

But his words held no heat—and his heart held no love for you. 

Make no mistake about that.

Then, when you finally woke up, disoriented and throat parched—a hazy recollection of the weeks before—James made sure that no more than four people could enter the room. He did not care if a hurricane, or if Voldemort himself—James had faced him once already, after all—threatened to break the door down. You were theirs to protect.

 (But not to love.) 

“We need to begin the questioning, James, you know that,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt, almost exasperatedly; weary lines written across his face. James would not allow even a toe beyond the doorway. An interrogation meant you had something to do with the attempted murder of James and his family. Whether or not you were innocent, James did not care—he just wanted you safe. 

(And a small part of him already knew that you were not your brother’s keeper. Just as they had absolved Sirius of his family’s sins. It would be unfair to not show you the same grace. But before his mind knew that, James’s heart and soul had known the truth all along.) 

He found Sirius gently tending to your every need, and already James knew that was Padfoot’s way of begging for forgiveness. The ebony-haired man hung onto your every word. He winced when you flinched, and pressed his apologies to your forehead, rasping for a kindness he did not deserve. Not after what he did. How he turned you away and cursed your name. How they betrayed you. 

James did not love you. 

But what else could he call the manacles that bound his hands and forced him to his knees when it came to you? 

Not. Love. 

iii. 

REMUS LUPIN could not bring himself to love you. But, he could not love Sirius, Lily, and James either. He was undeserving of such a privilege. But he was not allowed to love you; Remus could only hope that you saw even a shred of worth in him—to wrest each word from his lips and every breath from his lungs. But, he did not love you. No. 

Because loving you meant he was to tell you of your brother’s crimes. And Remus could not hurt you like that. 

“P-Peter?” you had asked, wearing the eyes of a fretful sibling. Remus lifted his hand to tuck a strand of hair gone astray behind your ear. Bellatrix had done a number on you—just as she had done to Alice and Frank. Remus was fairly certain that Sirius was off on a hunt for his cousin, his mind toyed with by the barbarity of war. What they could not do for the Longbottoms, they’d wring themselves dry to do for you. After the Lestranges’ attack, you suffered damage to your throat and memories. Remus could not bear to see you in such pain. 

He could not give you love, but Remus would offer up to you his every limb, and the weary skin upon his bones. 

“They. . .” Remus grimaced. How could he act as the bearer of bad news? He’d rather dive headfirst into shark-infested waters. Be anywhere else but here. In fact, Remus would rather snatch you away from the funereal walls, and hold you in his arms in the quietude of dawn, than be the one to bring anguish to your eyes. “They’re looking for him at the moment, love.” 

One question lingered in your eyes: Why? 

Luckily, Sirius was always the better one at sharpening a blunt knife. “He was a traitor,” he spat like acid. “A traitor to the Order. A traitor to us. He’s no friend of ours. Not anymore.” 

But Sirius knew—better than anyone else—how difficult it can be to truly hate little brothers, especially once they’ve gone. 

“No. . .” You trembled, almost retching as you sobbed into your palms. 

Remus held you then, the front of his shirt soaked in your tears, eyes firmly shut as you trembled and heaved in his arms. The sound of your guttural screams bounced off the four walls, and Remus had to bury his nose in your hair. You were alive. Safe. Breathing. But you felt cold as ice; an empty husk stripped bare for grief to take over. And Remus could do nothing but hold you. (He just hoped that wherever Peter Pettigrew was, Remus would not be the first one to find him. Otherwise, they would not be able to recover even a fingernail from his remains.)

“Hush, love,” Remus whispered into your ear as you cried yourself sick. Mourning the loss of your brother, reeling from the betrayal of a bond that was supposed to be stronger than blood. Remus would make him pay, he vowed as much to you. No, Remus and the wolf in him did not know how to love. But he knew how to hurt. And, that, he’d gladly do for you. His body was for you to use as a shield, his soul for you to strip bare, and his heart for you to thieve and never return. 

“Don’t cry,” said James, a shadow cast over his frames. “Not for Peter. Never. Fucking bastard will get what’s coming to him.” He laid on the vacant space of the bed, gently untangling your hands that were pressed over your heart. “I’ll make sure of it.”

They all would.

But not because they loved you. 

It was not out of love, Remus had to remind himself in the coming days, when he stayed diligently by your side as you recovered. Daily sessions with the best healer St. Mungo’s could offer—as if James would allow anything else. There were days your eyes would glaze over, your words rough and sluggish, and Remus would try his damndest to make you smile. 

It was the least he could do. 

For failing to protect you. 

But that was not love. 

(It was hope. Wretched, disastrous hope as he fell to his knees, and your name in between his teeth.)

iv. 

LILY EVANS was a fighter in all the ways that mattered. 

And from the very first moment she held Harry in her arms, eyes raking over his wrinkly, bloodied skin; all ten fingers and toes, her soft cries over his loud screaming—Lily knew she would trade her life for his in a heartbeat. Little, lovely eyes that would soon see the world in his own time. Lily adored him. Cherished every tear, snore, and giggle. She knew then, that a mother’s love was entirely different from any emotion she’d ever felt before. 

This was proven the first time Harry had gotten seriously ill. A few weeks after the attempted murder on the Potters, Harry was ceaselessly crying—screaming, even, every night—red-faced as he fussed every breakfast and dinner. Lily found herself at wit’s end. Her protectiveness had gone up a hundred measures; wouldn’t let anyone besides family or Madam Pomfrey see Harry. Yet, even with all the draughts and silly-flavoured syrups, Harry wasn’t getting better. 

“Lily dear, you cannot actually be thinking about this,” worried Molly Weasley as Lily stood in front of your door, holed away in the room where you had been recovering for the last few days. It would be the first time she saw you since the incident. More than anything she was afraid. Frightened that you would look at her differently. Whether or not that fear stemmed from love, Lily was not concerned. “We can call for another Healer from Mungo’s to have a look at Harry. . . Who knows what might. . .” 

Lily held Harry closer to her, lips firmly pressed, attempting to ignore the way his temperature was unnaturally high. “Might what, Mrs. Weasley?” She knew Molly was only talking out of concern, from a mother’s perspective at least. But she knew you better than anyone else. You would never hurt her, or Harry, that much she was certain of. And if you were the traitor everyone else was afraid of accusing you of, a sentence delivered by association to Peter—then let the guillotine fall, Lily would carry your crimes for you. 

She remembered ever-so clearly in her sixth-year, you with dreams glistening in your eyes. (“I’m going to be a Healer, Lils! Minnie said I’d be a great one. . . I want to protect those I love. . . I know I can do it. . . Oh, I can’t wait to tell Peter that I’ve gotten recommendations already to work at Mungo’s after graduation.”) 

And Lily recalled at that moment, she had felt a different kind of emotion that she had never experienced before. It was not love, of course. Tuney said she was too young and too stupid to know what real love was. But, at sixteen, what else could describe the way her heart fluttered and the way her lips threatened to break out into a smile whenever you lit up talking about your future? (It was just a crush, young Lily told herself.)

Only to be crushed and cast aside in the face of the war, where fighters took their place at the forefront of the lines, mothers and children hid; healers stretching themselves thin to be here, there, everywhere; where traitors walked in plain sight. 

“There is no one else I trust more with my life,” replied Lily. 

And that was that. 

Lily skirted around Molly and opened the door to your room, where Sirius, James, and Remus all stood at attention at the sight of her and Harry. She ignored them, and headed straight to your side. 

“Hello, love,” she greeted with all the gentleness she was made of, a smile creeping up to her eyes as Lily watched you turn your head at the sound of her voice. Truth be told, she did not know what her end-goal was in coming here. But being by your side had always made life a little more bearable, like all the illnesses in the world could not bring her down. And so, her magic had instinctively summoned her person to you. She, at least, was relieved to see colour returning to your cheeks, though the red in your eyes had dulled the hues she adored so much. 

“Is that. . .?” you croaked. 

Lily nodded. “Harry, meet—” 

One of the loves of my life, the most loyal and pure witch anyone ever has the privilege of meeting, someone I want to stay in my life forever. 

Lily’s smile wilted. “A friend.” 

Later, she would place Harry in your arms—her little hope embraced by her dream—and Lily would wonder if it was by pure magic that Harry calmed in your presence. 

For if love could hurt and destroy, could it mend and heal the broken as well?

But what a shame, for not one in that room carried an ounce of love for you.

(She would die for Harry, yes—but she would live for you.)

v. 

YOU did not love them, either. 

The very idea, thought—insinuation—was absurd. (Why, they deserved much better than you, after all.) With hands that failed to protect them, were you even allowed to hold them anymore? Did your heart have the right to breathe for them? You had failed as a sister and a friend—how much more would you have failed as their lover? Well, you’d never know. 

Because you did not love them. 

Merely wished them happiness and for the world to extend them kindness. For the sun to look brightly down on them, and for time to heal their scars and wounds. For if they were in pain, the earth would stop spinning. But such a request was not borne from love. 

Surely not. 

Because, then, that would have meant that it was love that teared you apart when Sirius cursed your name, when James turned you away, when Remus could not look you in the eyes, or when Lily—for all your history together—called you a friend. 

The whole of you was made by the parts of them. Each memory welded into the crevices of your soul. From the moment you had all found each other in the same train compartment, same common room—there was a shift in the fates that bound all five of you together. (The ties were red, but the thread was not of love.) You did not believe in Professor Trelawney’s talks of providence and destiny. 

Because if you did, then why was the universe so cruel? 

Falling—not in love—for four people who could very much do without you in their lives. Lacking severely as a sister to the point you had not noticed your brother fading and fading away into the shadows. 

Was love that unkind? That merciless? 

Then, you did not want to love at all. 

Oh, but magic or not, every creature on this earth selfish. 

You were no different. 

You wanted. 

Oh, how you yearned. 

“I LOVE YOU.” 

You barely had enough time to react before Sirius pressed his lips to the side of your head, arm covertly sneaking around your waist. The sound of the train whistling as parents yelled their goodbyes filled the station. You stood in the midst of the crowd, eyes never leaving one window in particular as you waved at Harry, now eleven-years-old and now off to Hogwarts. 

“Quite a random thing to say, husband,” you murmured, leaning into his warmth. “What for?” 

“Just because,” he replied in turn with a fiendish grin. “Well, perhaps for choosing us, for choosing me despite all my fuck-ups. For existing. For being the beautiful, wonderful, kind, precious you. I could keep on going, my darling. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” 

You wrinkled your nose, eyes rolling from fondness. “I love you too, quite unfortunately.” 

He only laughed and pulled you closer to him. “Let’s go home.” 

–

“I love you.” 

In the house built by new memories, warded by stronger protection charms, and filled with warmth and love—James said this to you each morning before he left for the Ministry, promoted after the war as Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Not one foot out of the door until he had showered you in kisses and the symphonies of his heart. James had always been loud, even in his time at Hogwarts. The war had not taken this part of him, and you figured James was too loud to let it be taken from him. He was unapologetically and unabashedly him. 

And you had loved him fiercely for that. 

“I’ll be home early tonight,” he said, a quiet intimacy washing over the both of you. The early birds of the cottage. “Wait for me?”

“Of course,” you answered without an ounce of hesitation, delicately chasing after his lips. “I love you. Be safe.” 

-

“I love you.” 

“Are you saying that to me or are you reading from the book?” you teased from where you laid on Remus’s chest, hours after James left for work, the afternoon bringing you two together in the living room. Lily was in the gardens, and Sirius was in the shed working on his motorbike. It was perfect. You felt the rise and fall of Remus’s chest beneath you, his heartbeat close to your ear. He was perfect. It was a miracle you had not fallen asleep to the tender lull of his voice. 

“Both,” he responded, hand coming up to trace the bare of your skin—a miracle you did not crumble or burn instantly from his touch. 

You hummed. “Then, I love you, too.” Then, you grinned, lifting your head to stare up at him. “You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you.” 

And, oh, how photographs could not capture the beauty in Remus’s smile as his eyes regarded you with such fire.

“My heart, my light, my desire,” Remus began, one finger ever-so softly tracing the curve of your cheek. “In vain I have struggled, it will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” 

–

“I love you.” 

Said Lily as she lied in your shared bed, red-nosed and her cheeks pale, sluggish. The Christmas holiday was generous enough to gift her with an unfortunate cold that had been going around the wizarding world. “But, please, go,” she commanded weakly, gesturing for you to join Harry who was stood by the door. “It’s a lovely day outside for making snowmen with carrots as noses and snow angels. Not for taking care of poor old me.” 

You rolled your eyes as you sat by her side, swiftly pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And I love you, which is why I would rather much be here, taking care of the prettiest snow angel to ever exist,” you countered, bringing a spoonful of broth to her lips. “Besides, Harry here has something to tell you. He’s made friends at school. One of them is Molly’s little one.” 

“Oh, you did?” Lily cooed, before sniffling weakly. “That’s lovely, darling. Tell me all about them.” 

“That’s not all, Lily mine,” you began mischievously as Harry’s eyes narrowed at you through his glasses. “This friendship apparently formed after fighting a troll.” 

“You what?” Lily croaked, emerald eyes shimmering with concern and near-dread. 

“Did you really, Harry?” James popped his head in the doorway, clapping his son on the shoulder before ushering him inside the room. A spitting image side-by-side as they took the empty space by the foot of the bed. “Good boy. Father approves.” 

“Of course you would,” Lily shot at him weakly, melting when Sirius then entered the room and greeted her with a kiss to her cheek. “And where are you all coming from?”

“Outside,” announced Remus, tugging his tie from his neck. “Sirius and I took a quick trip to Diagon Alley to get some things that’ll make you feel better, Lily love.” 

And as the snow fell outside, lazy winds against the window, your little family gathered in one room, there was one thing you knew for certain.

You loved them. 

And they loved you. 

a/n: i wrote all 4k words while sick. crazy. but anyway, i wanted to believe in love again so here i am. thank you all so much for being patient with me. i promise to do even better in the next fics!

[nereidprinc3ss]

strange perfections

in which spencer reid and fem!reader meet by accident at a coffee shop. and then they keep meeting there. they've really got to stop meeting like this. (no, seriously. hotch is pissed.) / do you believe me now? bonus chapter!

series masterlist

fluff! warnings/tags: meet cute:) some dark humor, romantically inexperienced reader, spencer reid graduated from caltech, mit, and the derek morgan school of rizz a/n: this can absolutely be read as a standalone BUT it was written as a prologue for my series do you believe me now? to explain how spencer and r met! completely optional, if you're only here for the smut no worries! reading this bonus chapter might make the next chapter better though as it contains discussions of how they met:) anyway, I LOVE YOU!! let me know if you like this silly little random thing! kisses

The café door opens again. A blustery wind raises goosebumps on your arms and makes your bones ache again. You look up at the latest intruder—a hobbling elderly man in a newsboy cap and a knit red scarf. 

Stupid scarf, you think. 

Stupid door. 

Stupid wind. 

Your mug is empty, and the table you’re sitting at is sort of sticky and rickety, and there are so many papers in front of you that you wonder why the hell you thought it’d be a good idea to print the PDF out and annotate it that way instead of just doing it on your laptop like a normal person in the 21st century. Nothing is going right today. It’s the third café you’ve tried in the past few weeks as you attempt to find some place that feels homey, lucky, but this one just feels… inconvenient. 

You look at the stack of papers and sigh. 

Stupid Lord Byron. 

Stupid cafe. 

Usually, cafés are relatively quiet and peaceful—a refuge for the overworked to bask in the luxury of quiet jazz and the smell of dark roast as they continue to overwork themselves. This particular establishment, however, today hosts a group of teenagers—presumably playing hooky—who have commandeered a big booth in the back and keep walking right past your table because apparently they couldn’t have just ordered their drinks at once and they all have to do it separately and loudly. 

One of them has an incredibly irritating, gratingly pubescent laugh, and they think everything is hilarious. This whole situation is unbearable. 

Just as you’re gearing up to go, of course the fucking door opens again. This time, it’s accompanied by a particularly strong gust. 

Strong enough that Lord Byron doesn’t stand a chance. 

Your printed copy of his works blows off the table, at first page by painstakingly annotated page and then before you can even process it, all at once. 

Yeah. This is definitely not your lucky café. 

As you curse and go to stand up, you run into one of those dumb kids. His huge ceramic mug goes flying, careening against the edge of your table and completely splattering you and all your stuff in 16 liquid ounces of scalding espresso and milk. 

It’s silent for a second, save for a few drips from the puddle on your table to the floor, before the kid is apologizing profusely and turning red as a tomato. You can’t even respond—you look down at your ruined favorite sweater, and then around at the pages of Byron littered with color-coded sticky notes, overflowing with angry and purposeful red ink that you spent so much time on, scattered all over the floor. 

Eventually the boy catches on that you’re not going to forgive him and he skitters away, back to his friends, who whisper and giggle profusely. Only a few of them get up to start gathering the fallen pages with you. Several other patrons end up helping as well, so the sheets of paper are gathered and returned into your sticky hands fairly quickly. You thank each person without looking up as they hand you their respective stack. All you want is to get out of here. 

“Here—I’m really sorry about this,” someone says—a tenor-ish male voice, distinctly sympathetic as he holds out a rather larger stack of papers than anyone else had bothered to pick up. 

“I’ll live,” you sigh, straightening up. “But thank… you.”

The man standing in front of you is the kind of man who makes you want to untuck your hair from its usual spot behind your ears, and to stand up straighter, and to try and not stare even though you want his attention. He’s gloriously beautiful in a way that repels and attracts you. He’s the type of man who wouldn’t have given you the time of day in high school and probably wouldn’t now. Instantly you feel both insecure and reduced to a former version of you who would simper and fawn over boys who wanted nothing to do with her. You feel like going to the other side of the café and sitting in the best light and staring out the window poetically and hoping he’s looking at you. 

“On the one hand, I feel bad for being the person who opened the door and let the wind in. On the other… I feel compelled to say at least they’re not covered in coffee like the rest of your table is?”

You laugh vacantly, a second too late, positively coveting the awkward smile on his angular face. Then you make eye contact, and his eyes are so the opposite of angular—they’re huge and inviting and the warmest golden-brown you’ve ever seen, and they’re looking right back at you—and you have to look down. Fuck. You hate when you do that. 

Think of something normal to say!

“Yeah, true. Now I just have to reorder 264 pages. That… that don’t have page numbers.”

You shuffle through the papers. They are hopelessly scrambled. Your heart sinks just a bit.

“Um… I might actually be able to help with that, if you want?”

You frown, glancing up. What kind of sex trafficking ploy is this?

“That’s okay. Might be easier with just one person.”

He laughs—it’s similarly awkward, similarly endearing. 

“Do you mind letting me just… try? It’ll only take a minute.”

Only take a minute? Is this beautiful man deranged? Why are the hot ones always crazy?

But, perhaps because you’re a pushover who can’t stand up to people, much less beautiful people, much less beautiful men who are paying you undue attention, you find yourself giving in. You hold the stack out. 

“Sure. Give it your best shot. I’ll be impressed if you can even figure out what page one is.”

He’s already flipping through the papers with a drawn brow, walking away with them, and barely looking over his shoulder as he mutters, “I have Byron memorized. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

You follow him, because hello, he has all your annotations. He’s definitely insane, you think, as he sits down at a table and starts rapidly sorting the sheets into separate piles. 

All you can do is stand awkwardly behind him as he stacks papers seemingly at random, barely glancing at them before deciding where they go. 

Maybe a minute, maybe a few go by, each of which have you progressively more flabbergasted, before he’s tapping the edges of a stack of paper on the table and standing, handing them to you with his lips pressed into a thin pleasant line. There’s almost a glow about him—like he couldn’t be more in his comfort zone. 

“There you go. Should be in order now.” You sport a frown bordering on a grimace as you take the stack and flip through it a bit. Sure enough, it seems that everything is in order. You keep looking between the man in front of you and the papers, incredulous as you wait for something to be in the wrong spot. 

“How did you do that?” 

His cheeks turn slightly pink. 

“I know Byron really well. I know how each passage ends and begins so I put them together like puzzle pieces.”

“How did you read that fast?”

“Uh. I’m a speed-reader?”

You scoff, taking another look through the stack. 

“I think that may be underselling it.” A thought occurs to you as you’re grazing over one of your longer annotations—full of expletives and strong opinions. “Oh, god. You didn’t… you didn’t read my notes?”

The man’s eyebrows raise as if he was waiting for you to mention that and he smiles like he doesn’t quite know how to break it to you gently. 

“Maybe a few,” he eventually decides, laughing under his breath. “I appreciated the commentary on his relationship with Augusta. It was… colorful.”

Heat rises in your cheeks as you mumble. 

“Yeah, I had a hard time appreciating the romantic poems. They’re less cute when there’s like a fifty percent chance he’s writing about his sister.”

“Half sister,” he corrects. You give him a look. 

“Does that make it better?”

“… no,” he realizes. “Not even a little bit.”

You laugh, relieved that his face looks as warm as yours feels. 

“Well… thank you, for the help,” you say after a silent second. 

“Of course. Sorry, again. I, um—I hope your day gets better?”

“Yeah, well. I feel like statistically it has to, right? It’s kind of a low bar.”

He smiles, a perfect, perfect smile, and gives you a little wave as he leaves. Without coffee. Checking the clock on the wall, you realize it’s approaching one in the afternoon. If he’d been here on his lunch break, he sacrificed it to organize your stupid Byron texts. You smile to yourself. 

He was totally in love with me. 

And he can’t prove me wrong because I’ll probably never see him again. 

All things considered—this coffee shop does seem pretty lucky. Maybe you’ll stick with it for a while. 

The next time you see the mysterious sexy speed reader is four days later—though you’ve been here every day since. He catches your eye right as he walks in, and his brows jump in pleasant recognition. You smile. He smiles back, before going up to the counter and ordering a coffee with a ludicrous amount of sugar in it. 

I should take note for when I make him his coffee in the mornings, you think to yourself, and then you snort at your own delusions, shaking your head at your book. Obviously you’re not that divorced from reality, but you’ll entertain the fantasy forever until one of you stops showing up to this café. 

What you’re absolutely not expecting is for him to walk up to your table with his to-go cup. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi!”

Jesus. Tone it down, girl scout. 

He gestures to your stack of papers: now secured in a three ring binder. The cup says Spencer. 

Spencer. Spencer. 

It feels important. 

“I see you’ve upgraded.”

“Yes! Yes, I did,” you laugh self-consciously, still struggling to meet his eyes. “Thank you for the help the other day. I would still be sorting through all of this if it weren’t for that, so… yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course! I’m glad I could be of use.”

“Spence!” Someone calls from the cafe door. You both look up to see a stunning blonde beckoning him away. 

Ah. Naturally. The girlfriend who is one trillion times prettier than you. 

Spence. 

Reality sets in. 

“Coming!” He replies, with all the eager compliance of a child, before turning back to you. “Um… well… I’ll see you?”

It’s an awkward way to say goodbye to a stranger, but you suddenly don’t care enough to dwell. Instead you nod once, less enthusiastic now that you know he has a 10 waiting for him on the sidewalk. 

“I am a creature of habit.”

Another wave as he walks away. 

The two disappear from the doorway, but the perpetual breeze seems to carry a snatched bit of conversation your way. 

“Who was that?” 

“Uh… I don’t actually know.”

Yeah. Reality definitely sets in. 

Over the next few days, you break your café streak. Life is busy. There’s not always time to artfully ponder Romantic poetry and drink a six dollar coffee while waiting around for certain people to show up. 

Okay, so… maybe it has more to do with him than you’re letting on. But you’re not going to do that thing you do again, where you become limerently obsessed with a man you don’t know and who is way out of your league just because you can’t form an actual attachment to anyone to save your life. Besides, you remind yourself; we probably wouldn’t be compatible anyway. He’s probably a huge loser. Or secretly a douche. Or chews with his mouth open. Obviously nobody that attractive can also have a good personality. 

Not to mention he has a girlfriend. That should put you off, too.

But you hadn’t been lying when you’d proclaimed to be a creature of habit—you return to the café once you feel sufficiently detached from this Spencer character. 

He’s there. Of course he’s there. Why had you been expecting for him to not be there? It’s not like he was a figment of your imagination. 

This time he’s accompanied by a different blonde woman—a bespectacled blonde with a big floral headband and a patterned dress and a red cardigan and tights and heels that look self-injurious. She’s quite eye-catching; you want to keep looking at her, but you seem to draw her attention, too. Her big eyes widen minutely and briefly you wonder if you’re supposed to know her, but certainly you’d remember meeting a person like that. She doesn’t seem easily forgettable. Both of you look to Spencer at the same time, who’s looking between you with an almost panicked expression. 

“Oh! Th—” the woman whispers, cutting herself off when she realizes how loud she’s being in the otherwise silent establishment. “Ah! Okay, right. Never mind.”

 Spencer sighs. You want to laugh, but you’re baffled by the whole thing. So you go back to reading. 

Ten minutes later, they draw your attention once more. 

“Go, go ahead! It’s more problematic for you to be late than me. I’ll be like, thirty seconds tops.”

You don’t look up as Spencer leaves the café—but are you supposed to gather that these two eccentric individuals are coworkers? And what of the first blonde woman, who you’d presumed to be his girlfriend? Where is she?

While you’re wondering all of this, the new blonde teeters her way over to your table. 

“Hi!” She says pleasantly, waving a purple-tipped hand and wearing the biggest grin. 

“Uh… hi?”

“I’m Penelope. You’ve met my friend Spencer. He just left.”

“Oh—sort of,” you smile weakly, closing your book. “Not formally. I didn’t know his name.”

That’s a lie, but maybe feigning non-chalance will make it real. 

“Well, I just wanted to come over and say I love your bag. And your jewelry and your coat. I love your whole look. I bet you’re a really cool person.”

“Um—thank you!” You perk up, smiling genuinely now. The compliment warms you—you didn’t think your look was all that interesting today. “You too. I love your outfit.”

“Great! You’re—you’re great. This is good information. Um… just out of, like, sheer curiosity, could I get your name, age, and occupation? Oh—and your zodiac sign?”

What kind of convoluted sex trafficking ploy—

“Garcia!”

Spencer is at the doorway again, looking adorably miffed. 

Adorable? Get a grip. 

“Wh—I’m just making a new friend! Is friendship illegal, now?”

“This is the kind of friend-making that gets you a restraining order,” he urges. 

You look up at Penelope Garcia, enamored by their whole dynamic. They clearly care for each other, despite the squabbling. What kind of job do they have where they talk to each other like this?

“It’s fine,” you smile, introducing yourself to her.

“That is such a good name!” She says, and you’re getting the sense she’s kind of always this enthusiastic. “So now we know each other’s names—we should probably definitely be friends, right?”

“Yeah! Um, definitely!”

“Yes? Oh my god! I love this! Okay, um—we work at Quantico, so, we’re like, 10 minutes away—but this is better than the coffee shop that’s closest to the building, so we come here all the time. Usually it’s just us and five grouchy old men, which makes this is really exciting.”

“Quantico… that’s the FBI academy, right?”

“Other stuff, too,” she nods, still smiley. 

Oh! Cool. So they’re FBI agents. 

So that’s cool. 

You’re cool with that. 

Her phone starts ringing—she locks eyes with Spencer. 

“Hotch?”

“Ooh, we are in trouble,” Penelope sing-songs, leaning down to write her number on your notebook without asking. Not that you mind, of course. She adds a little heart and a smiley face next to her name before capping your pen and toddling away. “Bye, new friend!” She calls over her shoulder, waving goodbye with just her fingers. 

“Bye,” you manage, though it’s probably too quiet. 

Spencer flattens his mouth into an approximation of a smile and waves again. 

You accidentally find yourself mirroring his goodbye, facial expression and all. Fuck. You hope he doesn’t notice. You hope he doesn’t read into it. 

Nah. Boys are dumb. 

You text Penelope later that afternoon—a simple greeting so that she can save your number—and then you forget about it. 

It’s not until five days go by without sign of any of them—the two blondes, Spencer, this mysterious and foreboding Hotch figure—that you start to seriously question your sanity. Did they drop off the face of the planet, or what?

But of course, just as you’re sitting at your usual table, Spencer walks in. Alone. 

He sees you immediately, but instead of the wave you’d come to expect, he immediately flushes, looks down at his shoes and hurries into the small lunch-rush line. 

Weird.

You corner him at the coffee bar, where he’s adding more sugar to his coffee. How are his teeth so nice if he does this to himself every single day?

“Hey,” you say, affecting casual confidence as you bus your empty mug. “… Spencer, right?”

It’s comical how you’re pretending you haven’t turned that name over and looked at it from every angle hundreds of times since the first time you heard it. 

He nods, only glancing up at you as he stirs. To your surprise, he knows your name, too. When you give him an odd look, he smiles almost apologetically, finally looking at your face for longer than half a second. 

“I heard you introducing yourself to Penelope. Sorry if that’s…”

“No, no! Is she around, today? I texted her last week, but she never responded...”

“Today is operating system update day, so I don’t even really have a way of knowing if she’s alive in her office.” It’s funny to him, but you just smile, baffled. He notices your silence and catches on, scrambling to explain himself. “She’s our tech analyst. There are 243 computers in our building and she has to update them all remotely, which requires getting every agent to agree to not touch their computer at the same time for an hour or so.”

“Oh… does the FBI not have, like… an IT guy, or something?”

He laughs again—the way his eyes crinkle when he does it makes you a little breathless. 

“You should say that to her. I think you would become her favorite person.”

It’s hard not to smile when he’s smiling because of you—however indirectly that may be. Quickly you realize you’ve both been standing in front of the coffee bar for too long. 

“Alright, well… tell her good luck, for me?”

“I would, but I’ve been kicked out for an hour while she does the updates.”

Your brow furrows and you laugh. 

“From the whole building? You just can’t keep your hands off your computer for an hour?”

“Not if I want to do my job, no. And I am kind of obsessive about my job. I’ve been the reason she had to start the whole process over again before and I’d rather not be that person again.”

You say it before you can think too hard. 

“Well, if you have an hour to kill… there’s an open seat at my table? No pressure, obviously.”

And that was the first of thousands of hours you would come to spend with Spencer Reid. 

After that, it sort of becomes a regular thing. He comes almost every day—except for occasional week or so long stretches, which you have discovered are a part of his absolutely fucking insane job—and sits with you, sometimes with Penelope, once with the other blonde, JJ, who you’ve since deduced is not his girlfriend, most often alone. Usually he can’t spare more than ten minutes, but he begins pushing it, little by little, until thirty minutes go by and you think surely his boss (the great and all-powerful Hotchner) must be beginning to notice. 

One day, during your usual lunchtime rendezvous, his phone rings. He talks right on through it, like it’s not happening.

It ceases. And then it starts again. 

Your head drops to your shoulder, something like pity or regret softening your features. He catches your eye and melts slightly, mid-sentence—like he knows you’re about to tell him to be responsible. 

“Do you think you should…”

His hands drop from where they’d been enthusiastically positioned mid-air. 

“They’ll be fine if I’m late from lunch one time. I’m usually more punctual than any of them.”

You roll your lip between your teeth—it’s not that you want to tell him to go; in fact, those delusions you’ve been harboring about your future life together are only getting worse with each inexplicable minute he entertains your company. 

But his job is important. 

“What if you have a case?”

“Then I would have gotten more calls from more people by now.”

Your head tips back as you laugh lightly at his unwavering insistence.   

“I’m flattered that you so enjoy my company that much. But I can’t with good conscience keep taking up your work hours like this.”

As the laughter fades, he just… watches you, lips slightly parted, eyes intense but not entirely present. 

“You’re probably right,” he finally breathes. “Maybe… you should start taking up my other hours, instead?”

Spencer Reid, you unexpected charmer. 

You balk.

“Like… we would hang out? At a different time of day? Not here?”

“Those are the basic premises, yes,” he chuckles, nodding affably. “I’ve never actually seen you anywhere else. For all I know you could be a ghost eternally tethered to this building.”

“Where would this hanging out take place?”

Fuck, you’re totally being weird. His brow knits. 

“I don’t know. Where else do people hang out?”

He’s not genuinely asking you, he’s gently turning you in the right direction. You charge forward blindly. 

“Restaurants.”

There’s that pretty smile of his again, the one that makes all the thoughts drain from your head like cold bathwater. Though, there’s a sort of mischievous edge to it now that you haven't seen before.

“That’s certainly an option. If I asked you to hang out with me at a restaurant... would you say yes?”

You look down. God, your face feels warm. 

“Would you be asking me out on a date? In this hypothetical scenario that we’ve constructed, I mean.”

Spencer seems to think about it for a moment, which fills you with unexpected panic. When you look back up anxiously, he has the same smile on his face, but his eyes are a little softer now. 

“I would.” 

More panic sets in—just a bit. But you don’t let what is undoubtedly a tidal wave of anxiety break through the emotional guard-dam. Keep it together. This is a good thing. This is what you wanted. 

Unfortunately, you are perhaps more transparent than you’d realized. Spencer begins to look slightly worried, leaning forward in his chair. 

“You don’t have to say yes. I know we don’t know each other very well, I just—”

“No!” You find yourself assuring him, though you curse yourself because you kind of want to know what he was going to say. “I would say yes. I’ve just, um—god,” you laugh gustily, self-consciously. “Sorry I’m being so weird. I’m out of my depth. Nobody’s asked me on a date before. I don’t really know the etiquette.”

Spencer chuckles. 

“You’re doing great. Don’t worry about it.”

Not, what?

Not, you’ve never been on a date before?

Not, that’s crazy, or that’s weird, or how have you gone your whole life without being asked out?

With the implication being, you’re odd. Different. Maybe not in a good way. 

He says none of that. 

“But I should probably actually ask you, huh?” His cheeks turn pink as his laughter is redirected inwards. 

“Sounds like a good first step.”

Spencer is still smiling as he says your name and it sounds so good from his mouth. It makes you sound so real. 

“Will you go on a date with me?”

Butterflies in your stomach doesn't begin to brush what you're experiencing—your entire abdominal cavity is like a Monarch sanctuary.

“I’d love to.”

He seems genuinely relieved as he beams, slumping back in his chair. 

“Oh, thank god. I was so nervous you’d say no. I never do that. Thank you for not saying no. Not that you couldn’t have said no—it would have been completely fine and obviously within your rights to—”

His phone rings again. Both of you are relieved that he was interrupted—but admittedly you thought his rambling was super cute. 

“I should—”

“You definitely need to go.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a still-breathless smile. “Um—what’s your number?”

You look around fruitlessly for pen and paper. 

“I don’t—”

“Just tell me. I’ll remember.”

He’s so weird. 

A breeze hits your skin as he opens the door. You’re already writing your wedding vows in the back of your mind as you watch him go. 

-

part four

[salemlunaa]

what the hell is up with you guys?

no seriously what is you guys’ problem?!?!

so i was scrolling thru my timeline and i come across this stupid post this stupid post which was an a adjacent to this other stupid idea this person decided to tag me and a bunch of other bloggers including my lovely moots accusing us of being selfish for not inducing pure consciousness for others

if you think the void is so hard you can’t do it yourself, you don’t understand what it is and i’m not saying that to be mean.

their idea is that: we should join a pact and “step up” to induce pure consciousness for others

RESPONSE: do you know how this works, i physically can not induce pure consciousness for someone else because i will go to a different timeline. “I have seen success stories where people manifest for others” false. idc what you saw. You can’t have someone else include the “I AM” state for you. Why do you think it’s called that. It’s a state of consciousness where YOU can step into a state where time and the 3D do not exist which is why it’s personal to you.

The void pact can not exist, because there is no such thing as entering the “I AM” state for someone else, you shift to a different timeline as your desires come into fruition in the 3D. The void pact cannot exist because you physically cannot bring everyone into the timeline with you.

a stupid comment i saw under that post: i agree, these bloggers need to understand how hard it is for us with circumstances

RESPONSE: fuck you, no seriously fuck you. do you realise you are not the only one with shitty circumstances, we try and tell you that circumstances don’t matter because they aren’t real along with time and you still aren’t getting it. There are people with horrible circumstances taht have done it.

if you keep focused on time and the 3d you will NEVER progress.

if you had the assumption that’s it’s so hard you need other people to help, that is what will stick

It’s effortless and not hard, if you can’t understand that you’ll never progress. Instead of spending time to reprogram your mindset and apply, you’re spending time doing this?? “but i’m trying and it just doesn’t work” then you’re wavering not actually doing anything. learn. the. difference. Instead of spending time ignoring the 3D and indulging in the facts that you’re a void master in your 4D you’re doing this?

You are not special, you are not exempt from inducing pure consciousness, you have all the information on here and you’re still demanding to have shit done for you.

If you think the void needs effort, you don’t understand. If you’ve been “trying” and failing you don’t understand. If you think that someone can do it for you, you don’t understand

if you don’t get it you’ll NEVER have progress.

˚. 𖦹 ⌨️ .ೄྀ ∘˚

And you wonder why so many bloggers are upping and leaving. How entitled do you have to be, you are getting this information for FREE, information that so many others don’t have access to and you’re using the platform to beg demand that others induce for you.

I try to be patient with those who still ask the same questions over and over and over but this is too much, you losers are seriously asking us bloggers not to be selfish and do it for you. Something that takes no effort.

yall made me hop out of an impromptu break for this dumb shit. but i have to warn you don’t not follow these entitled people. it will get you no where and it will show when it’s 2028 and they’re still asking bloggers not to be “selfish” and help out. do not follow this foolish shit i’m begging.

and before you call me rude, i’ve had patience with so many of you. but then again some of you are allergic to anything but coddling so i’ll take those comments with a pinch of salt

ONLY YOU can induce pure consciousness, ONLY YOU can be “I AM”, it can’t be done for you why do you think it’s called “I AM”. ONLY YOU can have your desires and YOU DO HAVE THEM ALREADY.

This mindset will have you here until 2030. And honestly i’m not mad about that.

@void1finder here’s your answer boo

[joonberriess]

teeth. ☆ j.jk

⋆ TAGS — ghostface!jk, breaking in, TW: non-con to dub-con (oc does NOT consent verbally even if she does participate hence the dub-con), brief knife play, cunnilingus, degradation, misogyny(?), objectification, blow jobs, brief face/skull fucking, fuckin in the woods, unprotected sex, nasty talk by jk, possessive!jk, hints of kidnapping/captivity, fear play, facial, jk is lowkey yandere, iconic what’s your favorite scary movie scene but my style, DEAD DOVE, slight praises, ass n coochie worship cause jk is a ass man certified LMAO, cheerleader!oc, college setting

⋆ WORD COUNT — 4.2k

⋆ now playing: teeth - 5sos ⋆

“Color me your color, baby, color me your car, color me your color, darling, I know who you are,”

The music blared loudly, you hummed under your breath while lining over your lips with a dark lip pencil. The hour was getting closer and you realized you had to speed things up if you wanted to meet with your friends on time (you had been stuck in your cheer uniform ALL DAY). You moved around your room quickly while tossing articles of clothing onto your bed, no outfit in particular on your mind.

You uncapped the red lipstick and ran it over your lips slowly, filling in the blank spaces and blending the two colors to perfection. You decided a white long sleeve tucked into your mini jean skirt would serve as a perfect combo. If you were lucky, maybe that cute college senior Kim Seokjin would give you his jacket to wear. The idea has you smiling like a dummy.

Before you can slip out of your skirt the phone downstairs begins ringing loudly. You could have very well ignored it but you don’t feel like listening to your parents nag at you for not picking up the phone if it happens to be them. “Ugh, seriously.” You mutter and quickly run downstairs to the kitchen.

“Hello?” You softly sigh while twirling a piece of your hair around your finger.

“Hello,” some guy’s deep voice greets you, he says nothing else and you tilt your head in confusion muttering a soft ‘yes?’. “Who is this?”

Immediately you frown in confusion and balance the phone between your ear and shoulder, “Who are you trying to reach?” You pop a piece of chicken from your mom’s leftover casserole into your mouth.

“What number is this?”

“Uhh..what number are you trying to reach?”

“I don’t know.”

You hold back a deep sigh and check the time behind you on the clock, you really don’t have patience for this nonsense. Especially for some weirdo who’s either prank calling or just doesn’t know how to work a phone. “Then you have the wrong number,” you eat another piece of casserole, “it happens, take it easy though.” You hang up quickly before he can utter another word to you.

You had just set the phone down when it began to ring all over again, “Ugh…hello?” You stare at the decorative ceiling in annoyance, “Hello?” You say loudly when the other person doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“Why don’t you wanna talk to me? Just wanted to apologize, ‘s all.” He says with a teasing lilt, but it sounds more condescending than anything, “Just wanna..get to know you.”

You ignore the nasty little shiver you get down your spine when he talks to you like that, a deeper part of you is literally drooling over how this guy’s voice sounds but too bad he’s a weirdo though.. Your gut twists uncomfortably as your eyes dart to the side to look out the patio doors. “Okay..well you’re forgiven now, bye.” You go to hang up.

“Wait–if you tell me your name I’ll tell you mine.”

You can’t help your scoff, “Yeah, right. I don’t think so, why the hell would I give you my name? You sound like a total creep right now, you know that?” You huff and open your fridge up for a drink, “Besides, what’s your deal anyways? You keep calling and I’m obviously not who you’re looking for.” You complain while uncapping a bottle of water.

“Because,” he calmly starts, “I wanna know who I’m lookin’ at right now.. Pretty red lips and a tight little uniform on,” he draws out huskily.

You immediately go still, “W-What…how do you..?” you look around the empty kitchen and living room. “This isn’t funny.” You quickly head down the hall to the front door, making sure the locks are set before you go back to the living room and make sure the patio doors are locked as well.

“Never said it was babydoll.” He muses, “Though I do gotta admit, red looks spectacular on you, wonder if you got more around here in your drawers.” He trails off, the sound of drawers slamming close and another opening could be heard on the other side of the line.

You wait with a bated breath listening carefully, you slowly turn your head to look up at the ceiling. There’s a low thumping noise that follows the sounds you hear from the phone. Your eyes slip shut as you try to control the sob that’s about to come out of your throat, “What do you want from me?” You croak in a tiny voice.

“What’s your favorite scary movie sweetheart, hm?” His footsteps are heavy as he starts walking around upstairs in your room.

You blink your tears away and stumble towards the hallway to your only escape route: your dad’s office. “I-I don’t like any scary movies,” you whimper quietly, “p-please, I don’t wanna die.” You sniffle. You can hear him humming in the hallway upstairs now, causing you to duck into the office as silent as you can.

“That wasn’t my question. Time’s ticking babydoll, I’m not exactly a patient guy you know.”

“H-Halloween..!” You whisper-yell, “I like Halloween.”

“Which one?” He asks, you can hear him loud and clear at the bottom of the staircase, “Hm?”

You sniffle softly and back away, “Rob Zombie’s version,” you utter softly and hear him pause in his footsteps. He stands there for a few seconds before he slowly draws nearer and nearer. Your eyes squeeze shut as a terrified whimper escapes your lips, before you can plead with him the door slowly creaks open and a hooded figure stands in the doorway with the phone held up to his ear. You stare at him, the phone slipping from your trembling hand as it slams to the floor with a loud thud.

He tilts his head to the side and raises his gloved hand to wave at you. “Hey there sweetheart,” he purrs from under the mask.

You scream out in fear and knock over the desk chair, you’re lucky as hell your dad has a set of patio doors himself. You slip through the doors and run down the small hill, looking back and forth in time to see the hooded figure chasing after you.

The sounds of leaves crunching and branches snapping fill both sides of your ears. Adrenaline kicks in like never before and has you running the fastest you’ve ever moved in your entire life. If you can lose him in the woods you’ll make it to your neighbors’ in five minutes tops, might even get lucky if you detour to the main road but the hill to climb up will only slow you down.

“Don’t be like that babydoll!” He calls out from your left? Right? You don’t know where his voice is coming from, and quite frankly you’re too scared to look. You hear his heavy footsteps (now) directly behind you before a hand tangles itself in the back of your uniform top, gripping it tight as he stops you from going any further.

The force itself is enough to send you flying to the ground, knees scraping hard against a tree stump. You break your fall with your hands, crying out from the pain that erupts in both palms as tiny twigs and rocks dig into your soft skin. “Gotcha.” He chuckles and squats down to your level to admire your bruised form. You must have gave him a run for his money with how hard he’s breathing under the mask.

“P-Please!” You crawl backwards, back hitting the tree stump, “I don’t wanna die,” you pathetically cry, “I promise I won’t tell anyone if you let me go.” Call it cliche but it was worth a shot to plead with your killer? Stalker? You don’t know anymore.

He tilts his head, “Heard that one before, you’re not the first to beg so sweetly like that babydoll. Almost melts my poor little heart,” he coos mockingly, “but don’t stress your pretty little head over that, you’re not meant to use that brain of yours—meant to sit and look pretty for me.” He purrs and reaches out to run a gloved hand over your dirt stricken thighs.

You curl away and try to escape his touch, “Why are you doing this?” You whimper quietly, watching as his hand rubs circles over your bruised knees. A tremor runs down your spine as his leather gloves run over your shaking thighs, his touch feels scorching hot despite the cool material of his gloves pressing against your skin.

“Been watchin’ ya for a while,” he murmurs, “night n day—just imagining allll the different ways I could have you. Bet you’d look pretty with a mouth stuffed full of cock, wonder how pretty you’d look with cock deep inside your little cunt baby,” he trails off while giving your thigh a rough squeeze, “always did wonder how that pussy tastes.” You can practically picture the shit eating grin he must have under the mask.

You hate that his nasty words have a bubbling heat building in your lower stomach, it shouldn’t be that arousing to you yet here you were in the middle of the woods being fondled by your stalker while he talked about how much he wanted to fuck you. His voice even sounds hotter in person vs the phone.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He chuckles.

You land a harsh kick to his arm with a loud, “Get off of me!” You quickly turn over to stumble to your feet while he curses under his breath and stands to chase after you.

He’s not so gentle this time with the way he snatches you and slams you right up against the tree trunk, letting the chips and splinters bite into your skin unforgivingly. “Thought we were over this,” he growls, “was gonna treat you nice and sweet but by the looks of it you just wanna be tossed around like the filthy little slut you are,” he hisses in your ear while pressing you tight against the tree.

You whine loudly and push back against him in an effort to get him off of you, “Let me go—let go!” You growl angrily, “you’re a fucking psycho creep!” You grit your teeth while trying to turn to look directly at him.

He doesn’t shy away from hurting you to get you to become docile again. He pins both wrists behind your back in a tight grip, squeezing both of your hands until you hear a low threatening pop. A pained little whimper escapes your lip as he forces your head against the bark, “You gonna sit still like a good girl or do I have to tie you up?” He growls menacingly.

“I-I’ll be good!” You cry out as the pain starts to become unbearable.

“What was that?” He whispers in your ear, “Couldn’t hear ya.” He smirks.

A quiet sob slips from your lips as you slump over in defeat, “I-I’ll be a good girl.” You softly reply, too hung up on the pain to reply with the unbridled anger you feel right now. “Just please—let me go.” You sob.

He ignores your cries and instead brings out a rather intimidating looking hunting knife, it cuts into your skin almost right away with the slightest little touch. “Please no—” You immediately begin, thighs shifting as they slide against each other in an attempt to block him from either cutting or stabbing you. The only thing you achieve is the blade running into your thigh and slicing a small line downwards.

“None of that now babydoll,” he whispers while letting your wrists go and setting his big hand over your hip, “just sit still and look pretty for me yeah? Don’t need to think, just feel.” He breathes out as he guides the knife up your skirt, letting the sharp tip (which you noticed was slightly curved like a hook or something) hook under the side of your panties.

Your poor heart hammers in your chest as you begin to hyperventilate, “W-What are you gonna do to me?” The blade tugs at your panties, no doubt already piercing through the flimsy little material.

“Fuck.” You hear him whisper from behind, “You’re driving me fuckin’ crazy you know that?” His tongue clicks in annoyance as he suddenly yanks the knife down, a loud riiip following in suit, as well as your terrified scream/sob. “Gonna have a taste now babydoll, put your hands right there—yeahhh, good girl. Keep ‘em there baby,” he has you bending over with your legs spread wide apart and your hands over the tree, “ ‘s like a fuckin’ dream back here, fat little cunt n a nice ass.” He whistles while smacking his hand against your poor cheek.

You bite your lip as the cool air fans over your moist cunt, at this point in time you have long given up making any excuses as to why your pussy was drooling for this weirdo. Still didn’t mean you were less scared but you figured if you complied the faster things would go over. “Look at this slutty pussy, already leakin’ like a bitch in heat. Does a scary man like me chasing you through the woods get you goin’ sweetheart? Maybe you’re a little more fucked than I thought.” He chuckles.

There’s a brief pause and you wonder what he’s doing back there, so you turn your head to look at him when you gasp softly. He has the mask thrown off to the side, his face in all his glory—messy black hair and a lip ring with an array of piercings on his ears— he sits there with a shit eating grin, “Guess the cat’s out the bag huh?” You eye him with distaste before turning back around, you had at least hoped he was ugly or something.

“God,” he groans, “can’t get over this ass,” he mutters to himself while smacking both cheeks and pulling them apart to expose both of your holes to him, “wanna see it wrapped ‘round my cock, gonna have you squirting and messy babydoll. Might even have to get you on your knees to clean up your mess,” he whispers as his hot breath fans over your pussy lips, “you’re gonna be lookin’ at me with those sweet little eyes of yours too, gonna bust my load all over that pretty face of yours.” His tongue dips between your soft folds, licking from your winking hole down to your swollen little clit hiding under its hood.

Your eyes squeeze shut as his hands steady you by the hips, his face is practically smushed against your cunt as he slobbers over it with his greedy tongue. He sucks on your inner folds, getting every nook and cranny as he slurps up the mess he leaves behind before lapping over your clit with his tongue. Your thighs shake a little, you’ve never had anyone this eager to eat your cunt out like this. He’s a fucking menace and you hate how good he is at this.

“Fuck,” he pants softly, “can’t get enough baby, could eat this pussy for days.” He all but moans while latching on to your clit.

A shocked cry leaves your lips, you dig your nails into the tree bark and hold on tightly as your swollen bud throbs in his mouth. He doesn’t let up, suckling on your clit like a lollipop with just the right amount of pressure around the bud. A new wave of slick gushes from your untouched hole, loud mewls and whines leaving you as you subtly rut back against his face. It’s pure heaven.

He spreads your cheeks apart and pulls back to harshly spit on your cunt, “There you go, get nice n wet for me babydoll.” His hot breath fans over your empty little hole, “Good girl.”

You shouldn’t like the way he’s talking to you, but something about him calling you that has a delirious little whimper leaving you. He dips his tongue into your pussy, the sensation definitely welcomed as you sigh in bliss. His tongue wiggles around and curls upwards to brush over your sensitive walls in a flicking motion.

He jiggles your ass in both hands, moaning at the sight of the fat slipping through his fingers from his tight grip. He flicks his tongue back and forth over your swollen bud, you nearly double over as his tongue traces letters on your clit. “W-Wait,” you bite your lip as your eyes shut and you reach behind you to tangle your hand in his hair.

You freeze when you realize what you’re doing, but instead of getting angry with you he leans into your touch with a low moan. Clearly he loves it so you keep your hand in his hair, occasionally pulling just a tiny bit. When he pulls back to catch his breath, audibly gulping as he sits back on his haunches, “Turn around.” He says breathlessly.

From behind you can hear him shuffling around, the sounds of a belt being unbuckled fills your ears. “On your knees babydoll,” he rasps out while fisting his cock, sliding his thumb over the mess of precum he’s made at the tip of his cock. He’s watching you with dark lust filled eyes as you slowly fall to your knees in front of him, eye contact never wavering.

“Shit—when you look like that you make it harder for me to hold back.” He groans while licking his lip, “Exactly how I imagined you’d look.” He purrs as he brings the head of his cock to smother his precum over them, “Stick your tongue out for me baby—there you go, just like that.” He grins softly.

You lay your tongue flat under his fat cock, delighting in the delicious weight over your tongue. You can’t help but flick the tip of your tongue upwards causing it to brush over a throbbing vein. He releases a quiet hiss, fisting the shaft as he roughly slaps it against your tongue in repeated taps.

“Will you look at that, ‘nother little filthy slut we got here, how many other cocks you sucked huh?” He pushes into your mouth and holds the back of your head with one hand tightly fisted in your hair. You gag around his cock and fruitlessly claw at his thighs, “What’s the matter? Can’t take it? Poor baby can’t handle having a cock stuffed down her throat? Pathetic little thing you are, can’t even do what you were made for,” he rasps out while rolling his hips against your face.

His balls press snug against your chin as spit and drool dribble from the corners of your mouth. Your tears run freely no doubt ruining your makeup for the night, you probably look a hot mess right now. Your stalker moans and pants freely above you, he doesn’t bother hiding how good he feels right now as his cock twitches occasionally. You really lose it when he forces your head down and keeps you still, pelvis pressed right up against your nose as he rolls his hips in quick grinds.

“Oh shit,” he breathes out, “feels so fuckin’ good babydoll, knew you were the one when I first saw you.” He whispers out while slipping his cock out of your mouth, relishing in the gasping noises you make, “Gonna make you into my little cock sleeve, don’t need you doin’ anything else..belong with me right on my cock.” He shoves himself back into your mouth and begins fucking into your throat roughly. You cry and gurgle while weakly slapping your hands over his thighs. He doesn’t let up and only fucks your throat more eagerly.

“Fuck baby, c’mere,” he yanks you off his cock and brings you up to him.

He doesn’t waste time bending you back over the three and shoving his fat cock into you. You let out a loud cry and dig your nails into the tree from the pressure and slight twinge of pain from the size of his girthy cock. It sits nice and snug against your walls, curved slightly upwards to press into your g-spot, not quite hitting it but brushing over it.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper out as your toes curl from inside your shoes.

When a couple more seconds pass of him just idly rocking into you, he pulls all the way out until only the head remains before slamming back in with a loud slap. You jolt in pleasure as a tiny scream escapes, he doesn’t let up and keeps the same harsh pace he started with. His cock punches deep into your pussy, poking at your cervix painfully as you yelp out in pain between your moans.

“Fucking hell,” he moans out while moving his hands from your hips to your bouncing tits, “got a nice little pussy n a pair of pretty tits just for me right sweetheart?” He slaps one of your tits before taking your pebbled little nipple between his fingers and meanly pinching it.

“Mm!” You arch your back and try to twist away from his bruising grip. He manages to grip your other tit and knead it in his big hand.

Loud squelching noises fill the space around you in the woods, some of your slick even drips down onto the ground with tiny wet splats. The sound is filthy and has your face burning up in embarrassment as you hide in your hands with low whimpers and whiny moans. He suddenly changes the angle and begins grinding his fat cock right up against your g-spot, pressing insistently as he hits it over and over again.

“Oh you like it there don’t you sweetheart,” he grins while rolling his hips in slow circles, “go on then, fuck yourself on my cock like the little whore you are. Get that pussy nice and soaked for me.” He growls quietly in your ear while pinching your nipples once more.

A quiet squeal erupts from your throat, you shakily manage to knock your hips into his in a sloppy pace. “Please,” you slur out as your eyes slip shut, “c-can’t do it,” your pace is nowhere near the same as before.

“Can’t what?” He moves one hand down between your thighs, “Hm?”

You press your forehead against the tree bark in defeat, sobbing quietly as you wiggle your hips side to side, “ ‘s not the same, need you to f-fuck me.” You shamefully admit.

“Like this?” He slaps his hips upwards, “Or like this sweetheart?” He purrs and begins plowing into your drenched pussy, stuffing his cock deep inside with every thrust.

You throw your head back with a loud moan, “Yes, yes!” More drool begins slipping from your chin as you part your legs a bit wider and arch your back.

He swears at you from under his breath while rolling your swollen clit between his fingers. The sounds of skin slapping against skin begin louder, his balls collide with your swollen puffy folds and your ass ripples from his pelvis from his harsh thrusts. “Little fucking slut,” he grits out through his harsh punishing thrusts, “fuckin’ mine you hear that? So help me you ever think of looking at someone else I’ll fuckin gut them like a fish n fuck you over their dead body.” He hisses, “Better yet covered in their blood.” He roughly smacks your clit.

You mewl loudly and go still, your pussy pulses like crazy as you feel your orgasm hit you at full force. You cum with your clit trapped between his fingers and his cock stuffed deep. The orgasm is so strong it knocks you off your feet as you wobble and shake like a newborn lamb. “P-Please,” you sob out.

“On your knees,” he growls while slipping from your drenched cunt, “fuckin’ look at me.” He aims his cock at your face and strokes himself with loud slick noises. You stare up at him with a dazed expression, too fucked out to reply. He cums with a low moan, making sure to coat your lips and face with his cum as he taps the head against your cheek, “Fuck…” He sighs in bliss while lazily flicking his wrist.

You blink slowly and the last thing you see is him picking his knife back up.

+

Jungkook hums under his breath while he lazily digs through his bowl of popcorn, he’s been switching channels for a couple of minutes now. Nothing good is ever on these days, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head while flicking through the channels.

“Oh,” his face lights up in joy, “baby come look at this,” he grins and turns the volume up all the way high, “found somethin’ perfect for movie night.” He turns to look behind him, eyes wild and filled with sadistic joy.

“She was last seen Friday in the evening by her parents who were only going a few towns over to visit family. Her friends have all stated she was supposed to be meeting them that night but never showed, one even said they had spoken to her hours prior about their plans to meet. They said she wasn’t acting suspicious or anything—”

A muffled sob erupts, the sound of a cage rattling heard next as Jungkook slowly turns to look at your cowering form. You look so adorable all curled up in the cage like that, mascara streaking and lips wiped red from your lipstick. “Don’t like that movie?” He pouts, “Pity.” He turns back around and replays the entire missing persons ad.

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @gukiebaby @babycandy111

[halloween m.list]

[lilacgaby]

˗ˏˋjealousy, jealousyღ

pairing: boyfriend!megumi x reader

summary: after overhearing a conversation, you get seriously annoyed with megumi. he makes it up to you in his own way.

tags: fem!reader, assumptions, kissing, pet names, one phrase from jjk270, cursing, she/her pronoun use, no proofread

wc: 1k

after a hard day, you decided to get some milkshakes for you and your boyfriend. you'd looked all around for him, finally hearing his voice down a hallway. you saw him and called out to him.

“megum–”

“when shall we have the ceremony?” hana mused, clapping her hands. a moment of silence passed in the hallway, both you and megumi shared the same expression of disbelief. he turned and noticed your presence, reaching a hand out.

“[na–]”

you walked off before he could finish, leaving him with an embarrassed hana who had realized she'd jumped the gun.

but before she had the chance to apologize, he went after you. you were leaving, quickly. going to find your car and ditch this place, arms crossed and annoyed.

was it probably nothing? yes, but why would she even say that?? it pissed you off to no avail.

you sipped on your milkshake in annoyance, throwing it out in the nearest trash can to you. the taste was ruined and now sour like your mood.

the sound of megumi's' footsteps behind you made you rush to get the keys out of your purse quicker, unlocking the door with antsy hands. you slip in, only to realize you got in the passenger seat out of habit.

you cursed in silence as he slid into the driver’s seat besides you, rolling your eyes at the hand on your thigh. “whatever you heard, it's not what you think.”

“mhm.” you stared out the window, letting him take the keys out of your hands to start the ignition and the a.c, your car just got so hot. “baby, it wasn't like that.”

“sure it wasn't.”

he groaned in frustration, still holding your thigh as you felt his green eyes on you. “look at me.”

“why? need advice for your ceremony? i'd be great flower girl.” he palmed his face, annoyance evident in his features. “it wasn't like that and you know it.” you turned on the radio, not wanting to hear his excuses. but that honestly just pissed you off more. changing through the channels, it seemed everything just sought to make you mad.

“(jealous), just leave me alone, (jealous), just leav–”

“toss your dirty shoes in my–”

“yo no soy celoso, ¿pero quie–”

“i need to get her out the picture, she's really fuckin–”

you turned it off, the sound of the fan the only thing you heard. your eyes were closed but you could feel him looking at you. his hands moved to grab yours. he spoke gently. “are we gonna talk now?”

“maybe.”

“she got the wrong idea babe, i don't– i don't even think of a future without you, let alone talk about it with someone else when it doesn't involve us.”

“but why didn't you say anything?” you opened your eyes now, facing him as you pouted. “you shouldn't have even entertained the idea.”

he tried to stay serious, but he couldn't help the smile that spread out across his face. you just looked so cute while you were trying to be angry, like a mad bunny stomping it’s feet. “i didn't, i walked after you right after. i didn't even look at her, just at you. always you.” the smile of his face had to be hidden under his other hand, you were so annoyingly pretty.

“really?” your eyes were glossy as you looked over to him.

“really.” your faces inched closer, megumi leaning in first. your lips meet in a sweet kiss, the tension and jealousy fading as you melt into him. his arms wrapped around you, caging you into him.

your hands found themselves around his neck, deepening your kiss. the both of you could almost taste your desire for each other. well, he could taste the flavor of your milkshake, but that was besides the point. as his hand moved up to cup your face, tapping your jaw to wordlessly ask for permission, you tilted your head and let him in.

as if memorizing the cavern of your mouth, he explored it. you tasted so sweet, you felt so sweet against his hands too.

he finally pulled away. “mine.” he whispered in between kisses, “m’ all yours.” chaste kisses were peppered on your face, making you laugh and hit his chest.

you both were breathless at the end of it, faces dusted with pink. his pupils had hearts in them, holding your hand tightly with a soft smile over his face. “it really was nothing, i promise.”

“i know.. sorry.”

“id be mad too if someone said that to you, don't worry too much.” he kissed your forehead, before having a moment of realization.

the car felt hot, yes it was because you just had a romantic moment together, but it was also because you didn't have tinted windows. meaning,

“babe.”

“what?”

“i think.. everyone just saw us right now.”

your eyes widened. “you're.. holy shit you're right! drive megumi drive!”

you rushed him and simultaneously you covered your face. sorcerers, people, and in particular yuuji, nobara, hana, and gojo were jaw dropped outside the car. gojo had a hand over his heart.

“well, at least nobody will hit on either of us, right?

…i'll be quiet.”

“that's for the best.”

[bluejeanstrash]

rule no. 1

summary: you have a no-contact rule going with your ex, choi seungcheol, but fortunately unfortunately for you, he’s not really the type to follow them.

tags: ex! seungcheol x reader, seungcheol’s kind of toxic and doesn’t know how to let go, tit sucking (both cheol and reader), piv sex, protected sex, then unprotected sex (stay safe out there), pet names (daddy, good girl), cheol is written based off EXACTLY how he looks in these pictures | wc: 2.7k

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

8:11 PM

[choi seungcheol] hey

[you] what

[choi seungcheol] can we meet today?

[you] i don’t think that’s a good idea

[choi seungcheol] just to talk. nothing else. i swear.

[you] dude, what are you doing? you know we’re supposed to be going no contact. plus, it’s raining

[choi seungcheol] i’ll come to you

[choi seungcheol] and don't call me dude ever again or i'll seriously kill myself

[you] NO. do not come here. it’s late. let’s talk tomorrow okay?

11:17 PM

[choi seungcheol] i’m downstairs

[you] seungcheol..

[choi seungcheol] you want me to leave? i drove all this way though?

[you] fine.

[you] just talking.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

his shock red hair. that’s the first thing you notice after opening the door, followed by just how good he looks with it. stop.

seungcheol walks straight in, fishing his car keys out of his pocket and dropping them in that little bowl on your shoe cabinet. then he looks at you. no, he checks you out, his eyes slowly sliding up your body to see what you’re wearing.

god, he has no self control. you knew he’d do that, which is why you’d worn your frumpiest PJs. a clear visual indication that nothing was going to happen tonight.

‘just talking’ you reiterate, drawing an imaginary line on the floor with your foot.

seungcheol laughs, extending his arm, signaling you to walk ahead and lead the way. the thing is, he wants to check your ass out. though you may think this is your frumpiest pair, there’s something in the material which makes it cling to your cheeks, making them look extra juicy.

seungcheol follows behind you, maintaining the “line” until you pause abruptly and he takes a step too close. just like that, he’s already crossed it, and then, he’s already kissing you, already taking off his glasses, already tossing his beanie aside, already grabbing your ass, already carrying you to the bedroom.

‘t-this is a bad idea’ you stutter, trying to find some of that self-control you keep asking him to show.

‘i know. so bad’ he breathes into the curve of your neck, sucking on the skin hungrily until it breaks. ex-seungcheol was obsessed with leaving marks of himself on you — hickeys, bites, hand prints.

he stumbles into the bedroom, leaving the lights off, and sets you down on the edge of the bed. no, you can't be doing this again.

‘seungcheol, i really don’t think-’

‘shh, don’t say anything, just kiss me. look at me' he grabs your chin, angling your face up ‘kiss me’ he says like it’s just that simple. seungcheol snakes his long tongue into your mouth, kissing you, his hands busy unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down just enough to let his cock breathe. as you kiss, he lays you down on the bed, driving a knee in between your legs to spread them apart.

‘do you still like it when i do this?’ he asks, as if there’s any answer apart from fuck yes, and presses his knee to your core, grinding hard, sending pulses of pleasure straight through you. you answer with an involuntary moan, stifling it just in time so he doesn't hear.

you see, seungcheol doesn't need an answer from you. he can already guess from your erect nipples which are poking through the thin fabric of your t-shirt, asking to be sucked on. who's he to deny them that? so, he pushes your t-shirt up, above your tits, grabbing and pressing them together, and buries his face into the valley of your breasts.

‘fuck’ he inhales ‘missed this’

ex-seungcheol was all about missing you — missed your smell, missed this pussy, missed your pretty little mouth, missed you. you know seungcheol. you know once he latches onto your tits, he's not leaving till you both have finished. so, you make a last-ditch attempt.

‘you know that article i sent you?’ he cups a breast in each hand, rolling, teasing, and tugging your nipples in between his fingers.

‘it-’ god, that feels good ‘it says the best way for us to do this is to go no-contact. really’

‘yeah?' you nod, surprised he's even listening.

‘fuck that article’ and with that he takes you in his mouth, swirling his tongue around your areola before latching his soft lips onto your hard nipples. fine, just one last time then, you pacify yourself and let go. you sink into the feeling of your breasts being sucked on, while your fingers sink into his thick hair, tugging on tufts of red.

‘the red looks fucking hot, by the way’ your compliment sandwiched in between soft moans. seungcheol pulls off your breast, looking up at you, a sudden hunger in his eyes.

ex-seungcheol loves compliments. loves them. — compliment his face, his hair, his built, and definitely compliment his cock. he needs to be desired by his exes.

he leans back, ripping his overshirt and t-shirt off, his hair falling wildly over his face. seungcheol runs both his hands through his locks, slicking his hair back. ‘take your clothes off’ he’s got a little gruff in his voice ‘now’

you undress hastily, and it’s not until you see a cocky grin spread across his face, you realise what he’s noticed.

‘just talking, huh?’

you’re wearing those panties — the ‘pull aside pair’ as he called it. seungcheol loved these on you, it was his favourite because firstly, they just about covered your cunt and secondly, they would ride right up your ass giving him the best view. you and him both knew that if you’re going to wear these panties, he’s going to fuck you with them on.

of course you’d prepped incase he did come over, which had happened one too many times before, but the optics of this really don’t help your no-contact agenda.

‘let’s talk then’ he pulls his jeans and boxers off, his cock springing out. yummy.

‘why don’t we talk about how you’re wearing these, hhmn?’ he cocks an eyebrow, snapping the band of your underwear hard ‘you know what happens when you wear these’ you can’t count the number of times he’s cum on your ass while you were in them.

he pulls your panties to the side, and there, another surprise. ‘oh, fuck me’ he groans needily. not only have you shaved down there, but you’ve trimmed your hair just the way he likes it.

‘fucking hell’ seungcheol curses again, licking and sticking a finger inside you, feeling your wet warmth pull his finger right in. ‘or no, let’s talk about how i can already fit one. no, two. oh? three?’ yes, three.

‘three of my fingers inside your pussy so easily’ he slides them in, all three coming out with a glossy sheen. and then, in a sickeningly sensual move, his runs his flat tongue over all three, licking them clean.

‘you taste like you need a dick inside you’ seungcheol grabs his, slapping it hard against his cupped palm. it’s like every thought in your mind turns into mush at the sound, and suddenly you’re just a hole. an empty hole.

‘cheollie’ you shouldn’t be calling him that ‘please put your big fat dick inside me. i need you so bad, cheollie’ you know exactly what to say to seungcheol to make him tick. ex or not.

he groans, pulling down a pillow and placing it under your lap to lift your hips. then he positions himself, lining himself up to your entrance.

‘wait’ you pause, much to his dicks disappointment, to grab a condom from the bedside table, your body twisting on its side. fuck, that ass looks good, seungcheol thinks, giving it a tight slap. ‘mmm’ you bite your lip, looking back at him.

‘again, daddy’ he slaps it even harder, the force of his palm making ripples on your skin. he looks at you now, so full of lust, and he can’t remember why he ever let you go. stupid fucking decision.

‘be a good girl and put it on for me’ it was one those odd things that really turned him on. he watches now as you rip the condom wrapper with your teeth, slowly rolling down its slippery edges onto his fat dick.

‘now come to daddy’ you lay back down as he grabs your legs and slides you towards him, a little squeal spilling out of you.

‘tell me what you want’

‘i want your fat dick inside my tight wet pussy’

‘that’s my girl’ he hooks two fingers under the ribbed fabric of your panties and pulls them aside, sliding his tip up and down your slick folds a few times before pushing just his fat mushroom head in. ‘fuck’ you both curse at the same time, and in the same breath as he penetrates you little by little until he’s all the way in.

‘shit, missed this pussy so much’ and you don’t say it out loud, but as he starts thrusting you’re reminded of just how much you missed his cock. no amount of vibrators and dildos could do for you what seungcheol is doing right now. it’s like he’s been able to scratch an itch deep, deep inside you. literally.

seungcheol repositions himself, leaning a little lower, angling his strokes a little higher, his cock teasing the roof of your pussy. once he’s satisfied with how he’s buried inside you, he slides his big hands up your arms before gripping your wrists tightly, shackling them in his palms, and slams down, pinning you onto the bed and fucking you.

‘oh fuck, yes’ you moan, in that nasal little way you do, which he finds stupidly hot.

‘that’s what daddy likes to hear’ he grins, his tongue touching his canines.

speaking of stupidly hot, you can’t help but notice how good he looks on top of you. has he gotten bigger? looks like it. his chest seems to have doubled, looking bigger, firmer, and frankly, more suckable. has he gotten hotter? definitely. maybe it's an ex thing or maybe it’s the red hair. god bless his hairdresser.

you’re a little dazed honestly, by his buff(er) built, especially the silver cross necklace that’s hanging off his thick neck, swinging above your face with every thrust.

‘like what you see?' he raises his eyebrow, catching you staring, and in response you bite on the dangling silver and pull him down towards you. you take his tongue into your mouth, swapping spit like a couple of teenagers.

now closer to you, you get a whiff of the faint smell of alcohol and cigarettes coming off him. you wonder where he was before this, and who got to see him looking this fine. there’s a hot sting of jealousy that cools when his chain skims across your breast, the cold metal making your nipples hard in an instant. seungcheol gets distracted by your tits once again, pushing them together and holding on as he fucks you.

‘love your tits’

‘love yours’ oh, they’ve definitely gotten bigger, you think, cupping one in your hand and circling your thumb over his nipple.

‘fuck yes, suck on it’ he bends, and you take him in your mouth, sucking on his tits, flicking his hard nub with your wet tongue.

‘yes, that’s it, good girl’ he grabs a fistful of your hair, pushing your face into his chest. seungcheol loved getting his nipples stimulated, and you feel the pleasure you're giving him pound straight back into you.

‘fucking love your pussy’

‘mmm, love your fat cock in my pussy’

‘love-’ the words are at the tip of his tongue, but before he says the stupid thing he’s not supposed to say, you kiss him, clenching your cunt so tightly and abruptly that it knocks the strength out his arms for a split second.

‘fuck, that feels amazing’ he groans ‘love your pussy so much. it’s made just for me’

‘just mine to fuck, only mine’ his possessiveness — one of the reasons it didn’t work, but so sexy in this moment.

‘yeah?’ you know what he’s really asking. he wants to know if you’ve fucked anyone else in your weeks apart, if there’s a legitimate reason for that condom separating the both of you or if its a formality. he needs to know.

ex-seungcheol is greedy — he reminded you of a bratty child at times. it was not his toy anymore but he refused to let anyone else play with it. mine!

‘only yours’ you say, and take it a step further, whispering into his ear ‘i’m only yours so take the condom off and fuck me raw’

the no-contact rule dies a violent death as he pulls out, yanking off the condom and sliding his fat, veiny, throbbing cock back inside you in what seems like less than a second.

‘fuck’ the sensation of your raw slippery cunt in contrast with how tight you’re clenching around his dick makes him curse. you wrap your legs around his waist, digging the heels of your foot into his back to push him deeper inside you.

‘y-yes, i can feel you so deep’ you breathe, two of your fingers sliding down to rub your swollen clit in sloppy circles.

‘god i love it when you play with your pussy with my dick deep inside you’ he’s fucking you so forcefully now that the slap of his skin against yours is all that can be heard.

your arch your back, closing your eyes and focusing hard on all the ways you’re being stimulated — your fingertips on your clit, the tip of his penis pressing against your walls, and his heavy balls slapping against your asshole — all the sensations twisting into a knot in your stomach.

‘you’re there, right there. do it’ he guides you ‘be a good girl and cum for me now’ his words are all you need as the knot tightens and then unravels, the orgasm taking over you from your head to your toes. it’s an addictive high, one that you’ve desperately missed, and it leaves you shaking and stuttering under him.

‘yes, there you go, there it is. fuck’ he pulls out his cock halfway, reeling at the sight of your creamy white cum coating it ‘look at that. oh you’re such a good girl for creaming all over daddy’s dick’

you breathe a satisfied breath, feeling your cunt continue to clench involuntarily at his praise, his pace suddenly picking up.

‘squeeze around my dick just like that’ he grabs both your legs, holding them together by the ankle and turns your body so you’re laying on your side, your legs folded at your knees. your pussy is so tight in this position, and your ass looks extra fat. ‘fucking hot’ he praises, moaning as you squeeze so tight around him, over and over. he knows he’s about to blow.

‘cum on my ass, daddy’ it’s tradition at this point. seungcheol pulls out, perfectly positioning himself over your ass and frantically jerks off, the squelch of his strokes filling the room. he grabs a handful in his other hand, squeezing hard. ouch. that’s going to leave a mark.

‘cum for me’ you sing seductively, his breath catching in his throat. ‘cover me in your cum, daddy. i’m all yours to cum on. i’m only yours’ you remind, and that pushes him right over the edge as he cums with a loud long grunt, shooting his thick, warm, milky load all over your cheeks. and god, there’s so so much of it.

‘holy shit. how long have you been storing that?’ you scoop some up with your fingers, giving it a taste ‘mmm, yum’

honestly, seungcheol’s a little surprised by his load too, shaking his head and laughing softly as you review his cum. ‘wait, let me just get the, where is that thing?’

he picks up his crumpled overshirt, a balenciaga shirt mind you, off the floor and cleans the cum off you, then wipes his own dick down.

‘i can’t believe you still do that’

‘do what?’

‘use your expensive ass clothes to wipe cum like they’re disposable tissues or something’

he shrugs ‘they may as well be for me’

you roll your eyes at that, starting to remember reasons as to why he’s your ex again.

‘oh, by the way’ seungcheol rolls up the cum rag shirt before chucking it back onto the floor.

‘were you seriously trying to bring up an article on how to break up while i was sucking on your tits?’

you chuckle cutely ‘yeah, i was actually. but fuck that article, right?’

‘yeah’ he nods, pouting in agreement ‘fuck that article’ he breaks into a huge smile, looking at you fondly as you both crack up, and finds himself asking the question he always does after one these nights — why did you both break up again?

[buttercupblu]

Satoru's Psyche|Escalating

"Should I really have to suffer for my actions?"

Previous SessionSession 2 of 10|Next Session

🗂️Patient Chart Update: Patient Gojo displayed extremely flirtatious and unruly behavior during the first half of his visit. Mentions of escape and kid-napping were noted as well as enforced close proximity with his nurse. Threatening remarks were also made at the end of his lunch in response to mentions of disciplinary action. Patient is scheduled for a bath but is pending the possibility of negative punishment to instill corrective behaviors. 📋Length of Session (w.c): 8.3k out of "i said we will cross that bridge when we get to it 😊" 💊Intake Chart (tags): mild violence but no in-action descriptors, coercion, manipulation, drug use, angst, unwatched close contact and touch, nudity, mentally unstable Gojo, Nurse!Reader ✏️Doctor's angel’s note: i hope you know what you're doing, Nurse 🎼Waiting room music: Overheated|Billie Eilish

Choose wisely.

Hunger stirs in your tummy, and Gojo's words sit with you through lunch. Your spoon clinks around the bowl, stirring the soup growing colder by the second though the growls from your stomach are too obnoxious to be ignored. But your mind wanders.

You're stuck. Earlier, you were all for serving up justice on a silver platter, but now you're seriously second-guessing your "genius" idea to punish Gojo by making him someone else's problem.

As if anyone will be crazy enough to say yes.

Everyone already avoids his wing like the plague. It's kind of an unspoken fact that you are Gojo's one and only. The only staff he allows near him. Anyone else would be playing with fire.

And if someone is brave enough to willingly throw themselves into the lion's den, they definitely can't be new. New to nursing—new to the ward. High expertise is needed here. Someone seasoned—experience which you lack yourself—otherwise, they won't last a second with Gojo.

It'll be way too easy for him to make them snap, like tossing a bone to a dog.

"Persephone." Yuko brings you out of your coma.

You perk up, instinctively smiling. "Hey, what's up?"

"You tell me," she snorts. "You've been playing with your food like break isn't over in 10 minutes." She touches your arm. "Everything ok?"

It's written all over your face, huh? You could deflate right now.

This is why Yuko is your favorite co-worker. Always reading you like a book without you needing to say a word. Quick to call anything off out.

Leaning back in your chair, you huff, rubbing circles into your temples to relieve the headache you didn't know you had.

"Yeah, yeah," you begin, "It's just—" You stop, her eyes hold so much concern and you've barely opened your mouth. Not sure if you should now because you know what kind of person Yuko is.

And if she knew even half of what you don't tell her during your lunch breaks spent complaining about work, she'd hang Gojo out to dry if she could. She often makes it very clear she hates you have to deal with him at all.

"—I'm just a bit tired. Gojo's scheduled for a bath later, him and two others. Gojo's easy but...I don't know. I feel slower than usual today. Definitely won't get home until late, again, because of all these sponge baths." You cringe at the last part.

Aside from trying to keep Yuko cool, you also don't want to risk the news getting back to the Director who could take you off of Gojo completely. No one else can take your place. And who knows what would happen if you disappeared from his roster for good?

How would his threats manifest?

Yuko scoffs, waving her hand.

"Gojo and easy do not go together," and you both shake your heads and laugh. "But I get it. You did come in super early."

"Thought there'd be less of us," you sigh.

"Sonya's been on our asses lately, right? But hey, she finally got us all here."

"A little too late. The damage is done," you pout, resting your elbows on the table, realizing you've accidentally grown used to chaos and ever-changing schedule.

You routinely plan ahead to make sure you can stand up when people fall short. Constantly putting yourself on the back burner seems to be a thing that always set you back.

"Sooo, you just need rest, ya? Nothing else? Gojo—" there she goes "—been 'okay' with you lately?"

Your heart skips. "Ya. he isn't so bad today," you lie, "I'd just love to be home on time for once. Maybe even a bit early, I'm soo close. Overtime's been wringing my neck for weeks."

Yuko looks at you with puppy dog eyes. And not in a "I feel sorry for you" kind of way, but one that almost makes you feel bad for not telling her the whole truth.

"Here," she pushes your soup towards you, "How about I do Gojo's bath and you get an early start on my last two? That way you can at least binge that show you won't shut up about later." She smiles.

You immediately protest.

There's no way you can do that to her.

Yuko never even crossed your mind and was far from your first pick, not because she can't handle him but because she's your friend. Not just a colleague, but someone you actually care about more than anyone else in this run-down job even if she doesn't feel the same.

She's too good of a person, and you'd be the Devil Incarnate if you let her do something so risky. Especially when you can just suck it up and get it over with.

"Woah, woah, it's just a bath, calm down," she says, taking your hands in hers as you ramble on, trying to convince her that you'll be fine or that you'll find someone else. Burdening her is simply out of the question.

"Who else but me, Seph'?" and she tilts her head, "You don't you think I'm as good as you?" And the way she says it, giving you that look she does when you're being stubborn, dares you to challenge her.

Now you really have to think about what to say.

Goddamn it, you regret saying anything at all, but Yuko's so motherly, how could you resist? Hiding from her is impossible, she would've sniffed you out sooner or later.

Easing your pains when she can is her specialty—helping to calm and settle you down when you blow things out of proportion.

Could this be one of those moments? Or are Gojo's words more than just hot air?

The back and forth is killing you, but the combination of Yuko's reassuring touch and your gurgling stomach puts the final nail in the coffin as she reminds you of the time.

Eyes wide, you look at the clock, ticking away faster than you realized, then back at your lukewarm soup.

Denying that you need help would be silly because technically it's true. You probably should've asked the Director for a little Gojo break forever ago, even if just for a few hours a few times a week. It would be better than nothing because if you can't function, Gojo can't be cared for.

So, who better to help bridge that gap for you than Yuko?

The gutsy woman has been your rock ever since you started at the ward, having your back and sticking with you through tough times when staff constantly dips in and out of the facility like a rotating door, unable to handle the job.

Yuko's a real day one, and next to you, she's the most competent nurse in these walls, fully equipped with a "take-no-shit" attitude that routinely keeps her patients in check.

When you really think about it, it'd be silly, downright irresponsible to trust anyone else.

Her offer is simply too good to dismiss.

"Thank you, Yuko," you cave, grabbing your spoon and finally allowing yourself to enjoy your meal. "You're...amazing. I don't deserve you."

She looks on happily. "Just promise me you'll take some personal time after this," she insists, worry evident in her voice. "We both know how much you care, but even superheroes need rest." She's too kind and right in more ways than one. "Besides, I think Gojo will like me, ya? I'm cool. I'm fun. He'll like a friend of friend?"

You roll your eyes—ya, totally, cool people definitely say they're cool.

Not knowing whether to joke back or wave her off, you softly smile at her concern before nodding, vowing to make good on your promise and feel a bit lighter knowing your wish for early release will actually come true.

Maybe.

The latest threat to your miracle in the making is Mr. Hampton, who is personally making it his business to drag the already long day by its edges, almost bringing time to a standstill with the way he's handling his bath.

Enormous and lumbering, the man Yuko usually deals with took his sweet time gathering his things and even longer trekking down the seemingly endless halls leading to the bathing area. Occupying every inch of the space like those massive trucks that hog the interstate, yet inching along at a pace that makes a snail look like it's in a sprint.

All that was missing were the yellow hazard lights.

Oh no, please, take your time, you think, watching Mr. Hampton clean each limb painstakingly s l o w in a tub that's comically too small for him. You may have been able to rush through Yuko's first patient, but this one wanted all that time back.

His pace resembles a giant's, and his cheery, nonsensical hums echo around the hollow chambers and lull you to sleep, turning your eyes into bricks under the spell of his melody. Perfect timing for the energy drinks from early to crash you out, tag teaming with the chair beneath you that feels a bit too soft as you lean over the tub, willing the colossal man to hurry up.

Warm water flows over your skin as you scrub circles on his neck, deciding to bite the bullet and take over the bath so he can play with the bubbles and get out when you hear a blood-curdling scream.

Your entire body goes rigid, shock reverberating through your spine and forcing you to halt as your mind goes blank. But steamy water brings you back to life, drenching your shirt and upper thighs when Mr. Hampton jumps from the noise.

The rude awakening makes you lock in.

The scream. It sounds like...no, you know it came from the west wing...where Gojo is.

And Yuko.

Hurried steps rush past your door, sounds of multidirectional distress and frantic shouts echoing through the corridor—staff members and patients alike sweep into a whirlwind of panic.

You're number one, dropping the scrubber and scrambling to help Mr. Hampton out of the tub, hands shaking as he grips them.

A security guard bursts into the room, face ashen and jaw tight.

"Nurse! We need everyone in the west wing, immediately!" The command is sharp, laced with an urgency you've never seen before.

And immediately feel responsible for.

"There's been an incident."

Without another thought, you wrap Mr. Hampton in a towel, trying your best to assure him that everything is fine when your obviously trembling body says nothing is. His confused gaze follows you as you lead him back to his room, the commotion in the air moving him a lot faster than earlier before you rush back out and head straight for the west wing—where chaos reigns supreme.

The usually pristine floors, normally squeaky clean due to lack of traffic, are now barely visible. Staff members crowd the familiar hall for the first time since Gojo made it his own, filling the space with more bodies than you're used to and making it difficult to find the source of trouble.

Not like you need to. The truth is painfully clear, and it's disrespectful to even pretend you don't know exactly what went wrong.

You push through the masses, clumsily bumping shoulders, your heart beating into your ears and making the world seem quiet as you inch closer and closer to disaster. Dragging imaginary shackles on your feet until you all but collapse once you spot it.

Gojo—barely restrained by guards, straitjacket nowhere in sight—standing absolutely furious.

And for the first time today, time seems to slow down, your mouth suddenly becoming dry when you look past him.

Yuko.

Halfway out the door to his room. Sprawled out on the ground. Bruised, unconscious, and no signs of breathing.

Your hands fly to your lips, mouth agape. Murmurs from the crowd swirl around you before attendants rush to Yuko's side, knocking into your pathetic frame as you stand too frozen to move.

They gently pick her up, careful to handle her motionless body and place her on a stretcher. Her usually vibrant face is drained of color, twisting the dagger in your chest when you spot the subtle rise and fall of her chest. Fighting for breath.

Fighting.

It hits you like a train.

Someone as kind as her, always greeting you with warmth and empathy and capacity every time she sees you, should never have to lift a finger let alone fight for her life. The sight is too much to bear.

Waves of helplessness crash over you and you can't even look at her. Regretting with every ounce of your being that you sent her in your place. Knowing this could happen. Concerned only with your silly wants and needs.

But you're so confused.

The ward should have weakened Gojo—Yuko should have been fine. The only threat Gojo has up his sleeve is mental torture but Yuko might as well be Freud. Her mind is sound, strong.

And that's where you fucked up, forgetting that Gojo's pure strength, especially when he's lost his fucking mind and triggered, is stronger.

Even with his security system in place, the devil is still powerful enough on his own. And like this was some sick and twisted experiment to help you figure that out, Yuko was the one to pay the price.

"I warned, I WARNED YOU!" Gojo's words pierce the overlapping voices like a sword, breaking your shock and drawing everyone's attention to the strange interaction between the two of you. "I don't like to be touched by strangers, Nurse." Guards struggle to restrain him as he pulls away.

All eyes fall on you and the stares are intense. Confusion and judgment.

Why was Yuko here in the first place?Where was Seph’?How’d he get out?How did this happen? 

Whether the murmurs are real or in your head, the effect is all the same, and you wish you could just completely vanish. Standing like a deer in headlights—and they're so fucking bright.

But Gojo is brimming with malice and amusement, chaotic energy pulsing from the hellish man and threatening to send sparks flying. Daring someone to be brave and push the button.

But despite his outward display of dominance, the pure rage on his face that makes you feel sick to your stomach about every decision you've ever made, there's something...uncertain lurking behind those fiery eyes.

Something like...apprehension.

Like he knows he's done something wrong.

Yet, words escape you, as if anything needs to or even could be said. But soon, fear and guilt turn to anger, threatening to consume you. Ready to eat you alive and spit out the bones with disgust because you are not a victim.

You have no right to stand here, spineless, shocked, or feeling even a little sorry for yourself. Holding back tears because you know what you've done.

Your fists clench, unsure how to deal with it, but there's fire in your eyes because someone needs to pay.

But then you exhale, thoughts shifting to Yuko as you take a good look around at what happened the last time you decided to take things into your own hands. All of your actions, even now, are rooted in selfishness. Like you've learned nothing.

Pushing down the knot growing in your stomach, you turn away to follow the medics, deciding your friend needs you more than you need revenge. Gojo doesn't deserve any more of your attention, even if it means risking your job or life to turn your back on him.

And there's nothing Gojo hates more than being ignored.

Struggled and strained noises grow louder. Guards tighten their grip on the fuming man whose raw strength outnumbers thousands of them even without his cursed energy.

You look back, their determination to keep him contained making you nervous. You don't anyone else to get hurt and Gojo is fully exploiting that.

You're painfully aware that your decisions have put you in this position, watching the guards' valiant but increasingly pointless effort to prevent Gojo from causing further harm. But it's obviously a losing fight, and the unease on their faces is unmistakably clear.

You wonder why they don't just run like hell.

"Let's go," a guard barks, but Gojo remains fixed in place. Moving a boulder would be easier.

"No, I'm filthy," Gojo protests, smirking, "And if I don't have my bath soon, there will be hell to pay."

Seeing no one else in the room, his eyes are locked only on you, his expression a menacing promise that would send anyone else running for the hills. A look that says, "Try that shit again, and there will be casualties instead of mercy."

Reinforcements are called but it won't be enough. The goddamn military wouldn't be enough. Gojo is...the strongest, after all.

"Stop."

Your cry freezes the room. Everything goes silent.

You hesitate, fuck, what should you do?

What can you do? No one else can suffer—no one else should suffer. Because of you.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you silently apologize to Yuko, swallowing a lump instead of looking back.

"I'll do it," you say firmly, "Just stop this and...and I'll give you your bath. Please—" The sharpest pang you've ever felt cuts through you. "—just don't hurt anyone else."

Pathetic. But necessary.

He looks into your pleading eyes with surprise, amazement even, before smiling.

The submission in your voice sounds better than anything he could ever imagine. A sweet tones that feed his already inflated ego.

Unsure of how to proceed, the guards exchange uneasy glances.

Gojo's strength is undeniable, that much is evident, and restraining him forever is simply not possible.

You know offering to give him what he wants is risky as hell...but this is your doing. Your mess to clean up.

So you squeeze your sweaty palms and give a decisive nod, signaling at the guards to let him go. They hesitate a second, then reluctantly agree, stepping back and leaving Gojo standing smugly before you.

Closing your eyes, you breathe, hating to have to look at him, but needing to stay strong. For Yuko. For yourself. And everyone else in the ward.

But Gojo's satisfied grin says it all. He's won this round.

You're ready to get the next over with.

The squeaking of your shoes has never been this loud, each echo bouncing off the empty halls and reminding you of how alone you are.

Alone—with a psychopath.

A bit more docile, doped-up psychopath but, the man could probably still rip someone's head clean off if he wanted to.

Still, Gojo despises anything that alters his body—mentally, physically, all of the above. Alcohol, medication, coffee, energy drinks—anything that threatens his need for absolute control.

But he also needed to compromise, and you refused to be alone with him again unless he took something stronger. Otherwise, it would be you, all the guards in the ward, and a pay-per-view premiere of his bath time.

He knew he had to agree because his ass is not for free, but only if you took it as well.

You blinked, hard.

You knew he would be skeptical—hell, it could be poison, and he wouldn’t blame you. But to suggest something so ridiculous?

"Half, then," he said, as if that made his suggestion any less idiotic, but, as you waited for your supervisor to dismiss the insane idea, the back and forth with Gojo actually didn't save you. And you didn't need to ask why. The entire ward shoots daggers at you any time someone walks by now.

Your supervisor reassured you that you'd be fine, the mild tranquilizer would be out of your system by the end of the day, then she patted your back as if to say, "Lay in the bed you made."

It felt unreal, holding the familiar pill between your fingers, one you were used to dishing out but now had to take.

With a quick snap, you broke it in half, holding his half out to the leering man. Gaze unwavering as he leaned forward and parted his lips, waiting. Taking a deep breath, you placed them both on your tongues, in disbelief at your reality, but Gojo's focus was elsewhere, not wasting this prime opportunity to rattle you more and taste you, closing his lips around your fingertip with a quick lick before you snatched away.

But it wasn’t quick enough to avoid the tingles shooting up your arm as you swallowed, no longer needing the water you had set aside, and a confusing mix of emotions churned as the tingles spread throughout your body.

Making good on his promise, he swallowed his own, still watching you with a knowing glint in his eyes. Like he knows what he does to you. And despite just witnessing this man's violence firsthand, you'd give anything to deny that he still has an effect on you. Hating yourself for being more concerned with the way he looked at you and the lingering sensation on your skin than the tranquilizer now coursing through your system.

The guards carefully lead you and Gojo to his private bathroom—they're more there for show than for protection, but you'll take what you can get, and they keep a firm grip on his replacement straitjacket.

You trail behind, mind buried with thoughts of what to say once you're really alone with him.

The door shuts behind you, followed by the familiar sound of a series of locks clicking shut. "We'll be right outside," one of the guards mutters, eyes shifting between you and Gojo, a stereotypical warning lacing his voice, but even he probably doesn't believe it.

"Perv," Gojo sneers and laughs, but you don't find a damn thing funny, the keys to his jacket digging into your palms as you spin around and face him, furious. What would be better? Slapping him, kicking him, or knocking his teeth out. Or should you be particularly evil and just let him sit in the shower, fully restrained and drenched in cold water and you let it rain down. None of the above will do you any good, but it'll show him exactly how done you are with his shit.

"That isn't funny. None of this is funny," it fumes out before you know you're speaking, "You've hurt someone—you hurt my friend." Your rage echos through the vast bathroom.

Gojo's laugh fades, his smug expression slipping from his face. Even you're surprised.

...oh shit.

You're actually confronting him.

The intense words burn through his usual arrogance, leaving a heavy, uncomfortable silence between you.

Then, for a fleeting second, his face does something weird.

Something you haven't seen before as his eyebrows draw together. Is that...regret?

"I'm sorry."

The record scratches. You’re fully positive you must be dreaming.

But when he doesn’t make a joke or even crack a smile, you squint at him.

The words are muttered and reluctant, but there they are, hanging in the air between you.

"It...won't happen again."

And he's serious, the same seriousness you see when his heart races as you take his vitals...but why? Because an apology? From him?? Unheard of.

Gojo has said some nasty things to you in the past that you've immediately scolded him for, but he's never apologized. He'd make a note when certain jokes didn't land, but he never took them back, preferring to cut out his own tongue than to waste his breath being sorry.

You know better than to take anything Gojo says at face value, but...what the fuck??? You almost feel offended.

He has to be joking, fucking with you to dig even deeper under your skin.

Or is he?

Fuck, you don't know how to feel.

He's so good at that, stealing the air back and hanging his words in them. Tempting you to pause and even consider if he ever truly means them. If he could mean them. The mind games are endless.

But then, the familiar cockiness returns and overshadows your doubts, twisting your stomach into knots with that familiar smile of his.

"Now," he says, strutting towards the stalls, "let's get this bath started, shall we?" And his easy, but confident steps call you to follow, a stark reminder of who you're dealing with. But he never knows when to quit. "Or should I really have to suffer for my actions?" and the bastard pouts.

Though you know he's being sarcastic and not to feed into his taunts, you can't help but wonder—what would suffering even look like for someone like Gojo?

Violence? Physical pain? A slow and agonizingly painful death?

But the guy is damn near invincible. What on earth could hurt him?

Whatever it is, it would have to be his absolute worst nightmare, but nothing comes to mind at the moment other than frustration because you have to keep making choices.

Return his energy or keep it professional? Tolerance or revenge?

"Apologizing won't cut it," you snap and gesture at his jacket, wondering how the hell he slipped out of the first one without leaving a trace. "And no tricks, or those guards will be back in here faster than you can tell another lame joke."

Smooth.

Gojo sighs sooo dramatically, like he can see straight through your kitty claws. "Fine, fine. Loosen up," he drags, "I won't cause any trouble. Just don't go getting any ideas now, Nurse." and he winks.

He's insufferable—but despite your smoldering anger, tendrils of doubt still creep in.

Your fingers slightly tremble as you begin to unfasten his straps, but each click feels a bit like victory, a fragile illusion of your 'control'—at least for now—because at the end of the day, Gojo had chosen you to listen to. And after today, he's sure you won't forget there isn't room for anyone else.

The jacket falls with a heavy thud, your eyes immediately scanning his upper body in search of any signs of injury or stress. The cascading bruises on his arms surprise you.

They feel so feeble in your hands; the evidence of him not as invincible as he seems is jarring. Pale, weak, and resting between your fingers. Devoid of the power that makes him so feared.

"Never seen bruises before," he tilts his head, "at least not on me"

You hope Yuko was at least partly responsible for the marks on the villain, but they appear self-inflicted, and he's not as mobile.

Fuck, now you'll have to bathe him too. Still, it's strange, seeing him like this. Even weirder knowing that he could still do damage in this state and you can't shake the feeling of this temporary 'truce'. If it isn't obvious by now, you've learned that Gojo always has something up his sleeve.

Warm water soothes you a bit, flowing over your fingers as it fills the large white tub—pristine, imported from somewhere far away, and standing on decorative claw feet. Your eyes wouldn't stop rolling the first time you saw it, completely annoyed with Gojo's over-the-top alterations and sense of style, but you'd be a liar if you said you never thought about sinking your body into it.

The best you could do was cope with the little porcelain tub in your apartment, and you get lost thinking about how you'd love to take a long, hot, and steamy bath when you get home—if you'll even have the energy. There's no way you'll be leaving early now, not like you deserve it, and you feel sick for even thinking about it. You doubt you'll even have a job tomorrow.

You look so defeated Gojo thinks, sauntering forward and lifting the hem of his shirt. You turn away, focusing instead on the temperature of the water, but the rustling sound of his shirt being pulled overhead and pants falling to the ground warms your cheeks.

His physique certainly isn't lacking, even in his current state, but still, you wonder how such a slim but toned frame could be so...powerful.

Could you be more obvious? Your flickering eyes are so telling, shamefully darting between him and the water, but he catches your gaze from the corner of his eye as if he's read your mind. How cute, he thinks, trying to hide away your thoughts.

Clearing your throat, you toss in his loofah. "Well...go on. It's ready." But Gojo only grins, amused by your attempts to look away despite seeing his muscled frame a number of times. Relishing in the fact that he still manages to fluster you.

"Your shirt," he eyes your top, "Your pants. Looks like you've already started without me."

The water stains from earlier sit beautifully across your chest, not yet fully dry, and drawing his eyes to your semi-erect nips.

His teeth tug at his bottom lip, eyes shamelessly raking over your hefty chest. "Always such a tease, aren't you, Nurse?"

You grit your teeth, cursing the conflict swirling in your stuttering heart, fully aware of the thin line between professionalism and this game of intimacy he refuses to stop playing. Everything is always a game no matter the circumstances. And he loves to push your buttons.

"Just get in, Gojo," you order, and after what feels like an eternity, the silence is broken by the sound of splashing water as he steps into the bath.

He slowly sinks in, sighing at the warmth of the water. Ringlets of steam engulf him, almost making his silky white hair disappear with it.

His arms string over the rim of the tub, a look of relaxation resting on his face as if he's had a long, hard day. You resist the urge to slap it off.

Sudsy bubbles form from the solution you pour under the faucet, hoping to shield your eyes from his body. You've seen enough today and expect the mini-rebellious act to piss him off, but as the bubbles grow, so do his eyes. Picking up a handful, he actually starts playing with them.

"Nice touch," he adds, blowing them right into your face, and you watch with a tight lip as he decorates the bathroom with them, knowing you'll be the one to clean it all up.

He sits a crown on his head and gives himself a bubble beard, nipping your nose with some that you're quick to wipe away, and his pale eyes flutter and settle on you in a curious way.

His arms flex as he leans over the edge—steam-slicked sweat dripping down his face that he doesn't bother to wipe away. "I'm ready for my sponge bath," he says, and if it was hard to take him seriously before, it's damn near impossible now—especially with that ridiculous bubble mustache.

Sickening, him still being so playful, so unserious, at a time like this.

You know Gojo's unhinged, yeah, quote, "mentally unwell and a literal danger to society", but to nearly take someone's life and then make jokes afterward?

God, you feel so stupid, walking around him like you were the shit but with the wrong guard up the whole time, playing right into his hands and accidentally rewarding this grown-ass man who likes to play with suds.

The reality of your circumstances replays in your head, the story of how you ended up here, coddling this monster, and you're still confused as hell as to why it had to be you.

Then again, this is what you signed up for...right? To heal. To help those who can't help themselves. To offer redemption some sort of redemption no matter how sick and twisted the person in need is.

With your loofah in hand, you resist the urge to roll your eyes for the 400th time today and keep your morals in mind. "Keep talking like that and I'll stop, Gojo," you say, reluctantly drenching the tool in soap before proceeding to do your job.

Gently washing his back, he sinks into your touch, closing his eyes and letting his body completely rest on the cool cast iron, breathing. Feeling like he's won no matter what you say because your scrubs feel like magic.

Across his arms and over his broad shoulders, you work your way down, bubbles glistening in your trail as you're careful not to miss a single inch of skin but don't linger too long.

Every now and then, you catch glimpses of raised marks between the foam, and because you hate yourself, your brain absolutely refuses to give you a break. You have to give kudos to his dedication to his craft. The muscle definition, the scar tissue telling stories of battles won, the evidence of his past before corruption—everything it takes to be a hero.

It's unsettling, yet fascinating, the polarity between his beauty and his monstrous deeds.

You've never really noticed because this level of care is another first for you. Usually, Gojo just hops into the shower and takes care of himself while you wait outside—easy and thorough but always taking his sweet time, all while loudly singing some annoying song that inevitably ends up stuck in your head.

But after today, it'll be impossible to trust him or you again, and the hushed whispers as the guards walked you both to the restrooms made that abundantly clear.

The pitiful thoughts seep into the way you hesitantly clean him, moving down to his chest and abs while making sure to avoid more sensitive areas, but the malicious glint in his eyes is unmistakable.

"Whatsamatter, Nurse?" Gojo taunts, feeling you slow around his stomach, "Afraid of gettin' too close?" And you can't believe you're praying for a speedy recovery for this monster so he can handle this himself again.

You ignore his comment and try to get this over with as quickly as possible, feeling humiliated enough as it is and he can sense it, mocking you with a laugh.

"You're so uptight. Can't you just relax and enjoy the view?"

God, please make him shut up, begging for relief so you won't scrub his cocky brow right off his face. "Just doing my job," you mutter, twice squeezing the loofah that feels a little funny in your hand as the soapy water rinses his chest.

It feels heavenly on his skin, but the subtle change in your movements makes his brows furrow. Slowing, more deliberate, heavy as if you're wading through molasses. You keep adjusting your grip but the material feels so strange—the texture almost too soft like it could melt into your palm.

Your breath catches when you brush his skin, not realizing how close your fingers drifted to the edge of the sponge, and though it was only a second, it sends an unexpected jolt through his chest.

The muscle relaxers. How could you have already forgotten, you both think.

But Gojo, ever observant, doesn't miss a thing.

His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you. "Feeling a little funny, Nurse?" His velvet voice teases.

"I'm fine," you lie, though you couldn't be less certain as the muscles in your hands start to relax more than you intended, the sponge gliding over his abs, and down his sides, the rhythm almost hypnotic and making his head fall back. You try to push through the haze, to finish quickly and be free of him, but you're losing the battle against numbness and heightened awareness.

And fuck, he has to bite his lip at your touch that suddenly feels so intense, a sensation too good to keep to himself, and one that you obviously need to stop being such a tight-ass.

You need to loosen up in a way that medicine can't help. And Gojo knows just the trick.

He licks his lips, tongue curling over his canine before splashing a wave of water on you in one swoop.

Saying you gasp is an understatement as the steamy wash drenches your face and front once again, setting a new record as you're hit not once, but twice in a day. The loofah slips from your hand as you instinctively reach up to shield yourself, but Gojo is quicker, wrapping his hands around your wrists and holding you in place.

A scream is ready to surge from your body when Gojo maneuvers both of your wrists into one hand, placing a finger to your lips.

"Ssssh ssh ssh ssh ssh," he hushes, his voice a little too calm, "I'm not going to hurt you." A lone droplet hangs from your eyelash and he swipes it. "I just want you to listen."

You freeze, your nerves on fire as you're forced into close proximity with him for the second time today, inches away from his face that gradually softens.

Though you can easily call for help, you know better than to argue—he knows you know better too but he never felt threatened in the first place. Besides, he can feel your breathing slowing, the effects of the pill combined with his firm hold sending a faint buzz from your wrists to your stomach, and his finger remains on your lips as he brings his closer.

His eyes flicker to your bottom lip. "You're so good at your job, Nurse," smoothly pulling it with his thumb. "That's why I like you. You're thorough but real. Just what I need to keep me sane."

Sane?

"Sane," he repeats like he's heard your thoughts. "Believe it or not, you keep me grounded...like a good boy. Be proud, not a single soul here or anywhere else can compare to me, let alone deal with me, and yet...here you are." He looks at you like you're a marvel. "You can handle that...can't you?"

Words fail you. This feels rhetorical. Why does he keep torturing you like this? What is it about you?

You haven't really thought about it since your first few weeks with him but now he's forcing you to think about the little 'power' he's given you that he can easily snatch back.

What happens if he decides to go further than flirting?

You can't handle it, any of this.

Hesitating, you're unsure of what to say but know it could never be the truth.

Gojo must sense it because he leans closer, his breath warm on your cheek.

"If you leave, I just might crack completely, beauty." A breath you didn't realize you were holding slips. "How do you think everyone else will do against me then, hmm?" Gojo knows he's a prodigy, but still manages to surprise himself sometimes, his eyes lingering over the spots on your uniform soaked through just enough to make the fabric cling—perfect aim.

Ice shoots up your spine from the heat of his unadulterated gaze, but you refuse to let him see you falter, and he can almost feel a prick from the daggers in your eyes.

"Oh, don't be like that," he purrs, thumbs grazing your wrists in a mockingly gentle touch. "We all have our boundaries, right? I thought communication was key in a relationship."

"Let go of me," you find your voice, "We're done here."

His head slightly tilts.

Look at you calling the shots, he thinks. So strong, so very serious.

"God, I can't help it," he breathes, "You're so fun to mess with."

He could laugh in your face, have his way with you, and show you that your resistance means nothing, but instead, he slowly releases your wrists and lies back against the tub. "I know you think about it—there's nothing wrong with a little fun...right?" and though the connection is severed, you don't know if it's the drugs or just him that makes his amplified touch linger as you sheepishly rub your wrists.

Gojo watches you blush red—thoughts you didn't know lived within you rushing to the forefront as if he's pushed a button.

Grimy, raw, unwanted thoughts of forbidden fruit, wandering hands, and stolen touches in the dark, wondering what his idea of "fun" is like under the sheets. With a psycho named Gojo.

You feel like you should throw up in disgust but the nausea never comes, burning hot between your legs instead.

Fuck, you have to get out of here.

You draw a breath, forcing away the torturous daydreams and quickly finish his bath.

"You should rest," you firmly say and pull the plug to let the tub drain. "And don't expect any more favors from me."

He sits up slow, his expression stone-cold as he slicks back his wet hair. Then he smiles. "I promise. Now dry me off?" he quips.

You ignore his request, swiftly handing him a towel before he can flash you. With a gruff, you lower to your knees, beginning to dry the floor of his messes and hoping to distract yourself from your questionable sanity.

The sounds of rustling fabric fill the chamber as he dries off, and once you figure it's safe, you look up to find a nude Gojo. Dripping with bubbles, hair plastered to his derpy face, and toned muscles, all the muscles, presenting themselves in all their glory.

The only things dry are his damn hands.

He throws the towel over his shoulder, sauntering towards you with a wicked grin.

"Well, aren't you gonna help me put this thing back on?" He nods at the jacket he knows is more bullshit than security. "Don't want you getting all worked up again."

The first time your brain registered that Gojo was flirting with you was on your third day as his nurse.

"Well, aren't you a breath of fresh air?" Gojo was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall. It was the second time he'd noticed how sluggish you looked while tending to him, suggesting with a grin that you must be quite the party animal.

Ha. If only.

You tsked, tossing his bedsheets into the hamper, and assured him that your sleepy eyes and dragging feet were the result of long hours and running on fumes. Having time for fun was just a dream.

"I don't get out much myself," he says, alluding to the situation he's in, wearing sarcasm like a necklace. "I love a good night in as much as anyone else but, I don't know. The stuffiness hasn't grown on me yet."

You tugged the collar of your scrubs—the air did feel a bit thick, like the room hadn't been aired out in ages and you couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been sitting in it—how he could. That alone would be enough to drive you up a wall.

Sunlight flickered in your eyes, and you raised your hand to block it, noticing the small window perched above his chair.

"Let's open this then," you said, walking over and wrestling with the ancient wood for a moment before finally pulling the creaky flap up to the ceiling.

A sliver of your midriff peeked out as you stood on your toes to reach it, but what captured Gojo's attention most was the way the sun rays washed over your face. You scrunched your nose, the breeze sending wisps of your hair to tickle it, and he imagined the feel of your strands between his fingers.

The view was beautiful, you thought, hands gripping the warm bars. Trees surrounded the vast area, stretching out as far as you could see, the pathway to civilization completely covered in dense forest from this angle.

You never realized how high up his ward was—or how long the drop was from here.

"Too bad I'm not small enough to slip through those bars." He rubbed his stomach. "But you know me, 'Mr. BigBack.'"

He joked around as he usually did, looking to trigger your defenses, but your reaction was...odd.

Not only was this the first time anyone cared to do something so simple for Gojo, but it was also the closest anyone had gotten to him without their knees buckling.

The first two days of your trial, the Director had guards posted right outside of Gojo's door, their presence a constant reminder to stay alert and maintain a safe distance from the convict. Gojo was positive the mental barrier would keep a wall between you forever.

But then, you laughed. A real laugh. Snickery and cute. Finding his joke funny instead of threatening.

It surprised him, that sound, so natural and pure without hesitation. And he wanted to hear it again and again and again. "Who knew you could bring so much light into this place?" he sighed.

Later at lunch, you sat with Yuko, having your usual midday catch-up. You never start with yours but she, like most people in the ward then, was absolutely dying to hear about how you were dealing with the villain of the century.

"He's actually not so bad...yet. Corny, but," you took a pondering breath, "He kind of thanked me today?"

She immediately scoffed and waved you off, and who could blame her?

You were an anomaly, Gojo already showed that he was capable of mercy and now he was thanking you??

Being polite was too far of a stretch to believe, you must have been mistaken. But when you gave her the deets on why he'd do such a thing, she nearly choked on her apple. "He said that??"

"Ya?" You patted her back with a concerned look.

"Watch out, Casanova," she teased, clearing her throat with a nervous laugh.

Her comment threw you off for the rest of lunch, but when you thought about it later that night while surfing for new shows, a light bulb went off.

He flirted with you.

Thinking it was just another one of those literal dry-humor jokes or simply gratitude for making his stay a little less crappy, it flew right over your head. You always feel warm inside when you help people so you didn't think too much about it.

To you, it was just a kudos. Nothing more.

But the way Gojo stands in front of you now is everything.

As bold and brash as it gets.

Fuck. Me.

And your body betrays you, sending all of the vulnerable sensations you've been fighting to suppress from your soaking chest, tingling wrists, aching thighs, and heavy breath, straight to your throbbing clit.

Air escapes you and you couldn't feel more conflicted, scrambling to grab your supplies and leave.

Enough is enough. The guards outside can restrain him and escort him back to his room for all you care. You just have to get out of there.

Away from him.

Away from temptation.

Hot, overwhelming, guilty, mentally and physically unstable temptation.

In the quiet of the hallway a level below Gojo's ward, you lean against a wall, taking deep breaths and completely disgusted with yourself.

How are you supposed to keep dealing with this, with him?

This force that keeps pushing and pushing and pushing you to the edge until there's nowhere else to go. You can only imagine the hell the nurses he didn't like went through.

Taking care of him isn't getting any easier, and now you were fucking up and making mistakes.

But you're the only one who can do this. Who must.

So suck it up. Play along, Stop thinking only of yourself. Pretend.

Pretend.

Pretend?

...

What terrifies you the most is the thought that you may not have to.

You keep your scrambled thoughts to yourself when you're called into your Director's office at the end of the day.

You tell him the same story you told Yuko and take full responsibility for what happened, blaming it on exhaustion and needing a break. Swearing to never let it happen again.

By some miracle, you get to keep your job, though your one wish to leave early ended up costing you an hour and a half of unpaid overtime, and almost a friendship.

When you finally get home, you collapse onto your bed—images of the day, the ward, and Yuko flooding your thoughts, refusing to be pushed aside. You tell yourself that it's just the guilt talking, just anxiety gnawing at your edges.

But then there's Gojo.

The most prominent one of all.

Staring you in the face with lifeless eyes and a ghostly smile. Tugging on your moral strings like a puppet.

When you close your eyes, you can't shake the feeling that he's waiting for you, a lurker in the shadows watching and anticipating your every move. Have you become predictable? Now you're wondering if you could do something he wouldn't expect.

Leave it. Leave it. Le—

You're scrolling through your phone on a deep-diving, scouring the web for any info on your tormentor.

His past, his affiliations, anything to tell you who Gojo was, and who he is now.

But the man is an anomaly.

Not much is known about him outside of mainstream news and internet rumors.

He's just this guy that kind of popped out of nowhere in the worst way possible, conveniently on the tail of what could have been the most devastating incident in the history of Tokyo.

The media says he's a hero gone rogue but not much else. They've damned him to hell and that was that. Even the Director disclosed very little about him during your briefing and you weren't allowed access to his files or records because it's all 'confidential'.

Nothing.

The more you search, you less that comes up. Not even silly conspiracy theories that you definitely thought would be riddling Reddit. The longer you scroll, the more you find yourself beginning to question your own mind. Your interest. Sweet little buds of obsession.

Even though you hated taking it earlier, you actually need the pill now more than ever to relax as sleep eludes you and your mind wanders to imaginary scenarios as you stare at the ceiling. 

Tomorrow, you'll have to face Gojo again. And the day after that and the day after that and every day after.

In between your nearly non-existent off days, you'll have to see him and decide what face you want to put on.

Because you simply cannot walk away.

After all, he's right—no one else can handle him like you can.

extended angel's note:

when i originally decided to make this into short story, i had no plans on using a y/n perspective. it was just going to feature an OC name i’ve used in stories before, named Persephone, buuuut i decided to wanted to keep it immersive and include no physical descriptors/personality specifics bc i knew i wanted to upload it to tumblr. 

to keep it reader-friendly, yk? 

alas, Persephone has had her claws in me the entire time i’ve been editing and said with her whole chest that i couldn't just dismiss her like that chile. so i decided changed the perspective but keep her name in place of y/n. 

you won’t see it too often in the story bc it’s not super significant or said a lot in general, bUT it is relevant for a certain moment later in the story. you’ll know when you know 🤭. 

anyway, hope it doesn't bother you guys too much. and def feel free to mentally plug your name when you see it to keep yourself grounded into the story.

tag list p.1: @reddiamondjazz @kiwismoother @rune1920 @blkkizzat @suguwife

@xerroe @enthyn @gloomuri671 @ressyshi @startatdawn

@khenanadeche @heijihatsutori @inluvkai @ixqiix @strawnanamilk

@rosso-seta @05-simply-06-simping @sims-4lifers @bratidol @rh-tg1

@hyunsuks-beanie @n1vi @luna-v-roiya @neteyamsluvr111 @supsiii

@natadecoco30 @chiyokoemilia @ririoutspoken @kyoxko @strawberrymilkshakes-posts

@nen-nyy @cinnamorochiroll @kazeniya @maybe7tommorow @sxnkuna

@misoyuh @lupitalove @sebastianlover @gojosatorubrainrot @sleepiebunniee

@mmmidkman @theonecrackhead @thathorsegotpoobrain @iveivory @samistar

@yuuan-66 @gojoslefttoenail @soyalovestoyap @winkwonks-world @thebiggestsimpforyou 

[acphengene]

Little dove

₊ ⁺ pairing: Jake x afab!reader

₊ ⁺ genre: soulmate!au, sweet asf fluff and the tiniest bit of angst

₊ ⁺ wordcount: 3.2k

₊ ⁺ note: this can be read as a standalone but also as a part of my enhypen soulmate series. let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list

₊ ⁺ Jake ₊ ⁺ Jungwon ₊ ⁺ Jay ₊ ⁺ Sunoo ₊ ⁺ Heeseung ₊ ⁺ Niki ₊ ⁺ Sunghoon ₊ ⁺

When Jake woke up at his 13th birthday, he frantically searched his whole body for any type of physical mark. It was generally known that it was a little easier to find your other half when your mark literally could count down the seconds until you met them.

And right there on the inside of his bicep it said ‘bite your lip one more time’ in fine red letters. He had wondered just why his soulmate would want him to bite his lip, because in the eyes of a child that caused pain and nothing else.

His family had celebrated, and he had been nothing short of excited and hopeful that he would get to meet you sooner rather than later. But as most people he would have to wait.

When he traveled to Korea to live his dream, he hoped that it would bring him closer to you. And when the dream took him to a tv-program he hoped with every bone in his body that you’d be watching and cheering him on.

The tattoo, he made sure stayed hidden, he had no interest in people who weren’t you, saying those words to him.

When he and the guys had debuted, they shared their marks with one another, there was no reason not to, and he felt lucky that he didn’t have to hurt like Heeseung, somewhat jealous that Jay had known his soulmate since he got the mark. And despite him feeling bad for his platonic soulmate, he couldn’t help but be thankful that he wasn’t markless like Sunghoon

Engene loved theorizing when it came to them and their marks. There was no doubt in the fandom that Jake had a physical mark, also no doubt that it had to be somewhere on his arm. He had a habit of almost always grabbing on to his bicep whenever he was nervous.

They could however not agree on which mark it was, but he enjoyed seeing people’s theories on social media. He felt grateful that most of the fandom was so acceptable of it, not all groups were that lucky.

One afternoon he threw himself onto Niki’s bed once again scrolling on weverse to see what their sweet fans were up to.

“Dude seriously? With your outside clothes and everything?” The young man said as he looked at his hyung with judgement in his eyes.

He only rolled his eyes. “Do you think they’ve ever posted on weverse?”

Niki shrugged. “No idea, if I’m being honest I try not to think about it too much. In the end mine is definitely not close by”

“I hope mine is close” Jake said with a far away look in his eyes.

“Wouldn’t that be korean if that was the case?” Niki said as he pointed to the red words.

Jake looked at his arm and sighed. “Fuck, I didn’t think of that”

Niki laughed. “Obviously. But don’t worry too much okay? You’ll find them when it’s time”

“How’s the string?” Jake asked as a diversion.

Niki looked down at his left pinkie, where a red string was neatly tied with a little bow. He followed it out and through the window of the room. Where it’s stretched all the way to the horizon.

“Still tight as ever, wherever they are, they’re in no hurry to get closer” He shrugged. Niki had always had a very casual way of seeing the world, and once in a while Jake needed to be reminded to take it easy.

He was right after all, the Universe had given them a soulmate for a reason, and would pull you together when it deemed fit. But sometimes that could be a little hard to accept.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust that, it was more so that he was impatient, he wanted to get to know you, sooner rather than later.

As they traveled for their tours he frantically searched every face in every crowd hoping someone would draw his attention, that he would feel that pull and calmness people so often described.

In a new city, he found himself in a Prada store, looking at a new collection, as they all were picking things out.

“What do you think?” Jay said as he held up a bag.

“Pretty sure that’s a woman’s bag” Jake said with a chuckle.

As the fashionista Jay was, he only sighed. “First of all fashion is gender less, plus it’s not for me… it’s for her. I think she’ll like it”

Jake shook his head with a smile, as he tried to avoid that sting of jealousy he always felt whenever Jay talked about his other half. He knew it was most likely harder than he ever admitted. To know her, but to not have her would be torture in and of itself.

“Do you have this with gold hardware instead of silver?” Jay asked one of the sales assistants.

“We should have one in the back, give me a second and I’ll see if I can find it”

That. Voice.

It stopped Jake's entire world as he quickly turned towards you. And as he saw your eyes and that sweet and polite smile, it was as if the world stopped spinning, and everyone around him disappeared. For a second there was only you.

You went to the back to go and fetch the bag Jay had asked for, and for a second he almost followed you behind the counter.

He stood there as a puppy waiting for its owner, eyes locked on the door you had disappeared through. His fingers drummed on the glass as his heart beat frantically.

“Jake?” Sunghoon said as he tried to get his friends' attention. When he didn’t answer, he laid a hand on his shoulder, but his eyes never left that door.

“Not now” he whispered, and it almost sounded like he was in pain, and then you walked back through the door with the dust bag and set it almost right before him.

His breath hitched when you finally looked at him. He saw how your eyes widened, how your mouth fell open in almost chock. And for a second he thought: my first words can’t just be hey.

Instead he bit his lip nervously, he had always done it. Maybe it was because of the words you were to one day say to him, maybe it was just who he was. Your eyes fell to his mouth, and he saw the subtle twitch of the corner of your mouth.

“Bite your lip one more time…” you almost whispered the words, and as if you just realized what you said your hands flew up to cover your own mouth.

A gasp filled the room from both the guys, but also their bodyguards, and the whole room stilled.

“God I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud”

Jake just smiled like a maniac, as he felt the tears prick in his eyes. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere” he said as he opened his arms for you to meet him if you wanted.

You threw yourself over the counter, not caring for the bag you had just put down, not caring for what your manager in the corner might think, not even caring for the horde of people with cameras outside the large boutique windows.

At that moment he had never felt happier. He chuckled as he pulled you as close to him as humanly possible, and the two of you stood like that until your heartbeats had calmed.

He didn’t want to let you go, so as he sat back down his hand reached out for yours and he smiled wider than he ever had when you took it and gave it a squeeze.

“You’re beautiful” he whispered and he saw you turn red almost instantly, he hoped his words would always have that effect on you.

“And you’re a romantic aren’t you?” You asked and he answered with a shrug.

You looked towards your manager who just gave you a smile and a little nod. As to say; “I understand, just go”

Jake held out his arm, and you quickly went around the counter to grab on to him. He pulled you close as the guards made sure to escort you out of the store safe and sound.

In the store behind the two of you stood Sunghoon with the biggest smile as he looked after the two of you. Sunoo was laughing in a corner as he kept repeating: did that just happen?

Jungwon smiled and said: “Finally, he was getting unbearable”

“So this is where I’m staying” Jake said as he opened the door to his hotel room. The two of you had decided it might be best for you to go there, there was no reason for you to dox yourself.

You looked around the room, but your eyes kept finding him, and every time they did his smile got wider, if that was even possible.

“C-can I see it?” you asked as you took a step closer to him. He nodded and got rid of his jacket before pulling up his sleeve, revealing the now golden words etched into his skin.

You laughed as you let your hand trace the words. Jake shuddered beneath your touch. “Oh I’m sorry, is it too much?” You stepped back to give him space, but he quickly grabbed your wrist, pulling you back to him.

“It’s nice, I’ve been wanting this, waiting for this for so long. My hitching breath and shuddering is in nothing if not from happiness and excitement for having finally found you”

The heat once again flushed to your cheeks, and he, that cheeky bastard, he bit his lips once again. You placed your hands on your face.

“I had an idea you might be a hopeless romantic” You said turning away from his gaze.

He laughed. “Why?”

“When you have ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere’ etched into your skin from the ripe age of 13, you cant help but hope”

He felt how your words fucked on his heartstrings. “Tell me everything”

So you did; you told him how excited you were when you saw the words. How lucky your mother had told you that you would end up being because of the sweet nature of them. How your friends had fawned and been jealous.

“I know it’s not a given, and I know not all soulmates are made to be more than just platonic, but I would love to give this” you said, gesturing between the two of you. “Us a real shot”

Your cheeks were blazing hot, but you wanted to say them. In case he felt differently, you’d rather be disappointed sooner rather than later.

His hand snaked up and rested on the back of your neck, firm enough to make sure you knew he wanted you close, but still loose enough for you to get away from him if that was what you wanted.

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. “I want nothing more” as if he had done it always he rubbed his nose against yours, the gesture so soft and subtle it stole a whimper from your throat.

In that very instant his eyes shot open, pupils dilated, the love he had always felt for you on full display.

“Can I kiss you?” He whisperd. His lips so close to yours he almost did by saying your words.

Instead of answering him, you closed the small gap between the two of you. His other arm snaked around your waist as yours traced his shirt, up his stomache, over his shoulders and around his neck.

You pulled him as close to you as physically possible. And he smiled agains your lips at the way you responded to him.

A knock on the door pulled you from losing your minds, hearts and souls to one another.

“Yo, love birds… wanna grab some lunch? Get to know one another?” Heeseung said on the other side.

The two of you looked at each other and laughed. Jake only raises a brow, and you nodded as a response. You couldn’t wait to get to know him and those closest to him.

Once again he stretched out his arm for you to grab on to and you did without a doubt.

“Let’s go little dove” he said with a wink.

“Wait so I’m the first?” You said with a shocked expression.

Jake had his arm around your shoulder, it felt like his heart would physically break if he were to not touch you when you were so near.

“Yeah, hopefully the rest will come soon…” Jay said with a far away gaze in his eyes.

“You miss her?” You asked him.

“Every waking minute of every day” he answered with a small smile.

Nothing short of pure torture. You thought to yourself and leaned into Jake’s embrace. He kissed the top of your head instinctively.

“God the two of you is gonna be unbearable, aren’t you?” Niki said with a groan as he took another spoon full of the broth standing in front of him.

“Especially when we leave in two days” Jungwon said, trying not to sound to harsh.

The eyes you looked at him with broke his heart. He would have to leave you behind, go on on the tour. He would be in contact sure, but this would end up breaking him and in extension you.

It was common knowledge that the first few weeks, if not months were the hardest to be without your soulmate. It was as if your souls needed one another, after being separated for so long.

“The tour isn’t don’t yet, but I’ll be back as soon as possible. Okay? I promise” Jake said as he pulled you into another close embrace.

Jungwon stole the attention by spitting out his noodles. “Why would she think now is the perfect time for chocolate pudding. I swear it’s her hobby to ruin my meals” he pushed away the bowl, as the guys laughed.

You were thankful for the change in subject, but you couldn’t help but wonder just why the universe would set you up with someone whose job was to travel the world and leave you behind.

“Hey” Sunghoon said, “why dont you just ask if you can bring her along?”

Jake remained quiet as he thought it all through. It was not impossible, he knew that it was impossible to tear some soulmates apart, and Hybe had to accommodate that, but still… you had a life, a job and friends and family. He would hate to pull you from it all.

“Let’s talk about it when we’re alone, how does that sound?” You asked him with a little squeeze of his thigh. The mere sound of your voice calmed something inside of him, and his worried eyed softened.

“As Niki said, unbearable” Heeseung said right before he was snacked in the back of the neck by Sunoo.

“As if you’re gonna be any better than them”

He only shrugged.

“I don't wanna assume you have the possibility of just leaving” Jake said as he fiddled with his fingers. He did want you to come along. He wanted to sleep with you in his arms and wake up to your kisses.

“I don’t think that I do, sure I have a few weeks of vacation left, but it’s just so short notice” you said with a sad smile.

He nodded, “I know… what if I called Prada, or maybe if one of my bosses did?”

You smiled as you stood between his legs as he was sitting on the bed, you pulled lovingly on his long hair as he looked up at you with pleading puppy eyes. God he was beautiful.

Instead of answering you kissed his lips slowly, and his arms pulled you closer. “As much as I would love that, that wouldn’t be fair. Come back to me when you’re done, in the meantime we will just have to figure something out, okay?”

And figure something out you did. Every time you had the chance you were FaceTiming, you fell asleep talking about your childhood, and while he was training you caught up on the hours worth of content.

Hybe had been kind enough to leave you with a bodyguard of your own, but so far you hadn’t needed it. It had, however, calmed Jake’s mind a lot to know you were taken care of.

“When I can’t do it, I need someone else to, okay little dove?” That had been hard to argue with.

He had been gone for a few weeks now and it felt as if your heart had been ripped from your chest, as if you were no longer whole.

You hated every second of it, you hated your stubbornness. Why wouldn’t you take him up on the offer of just going with him? Integrity… fucking pathetic. You thought to yourself as you got the store ready before it opened.

You heard the door open, and as you turned to tell the early customer you weren’t open yet you froze.

“Sunghoon” you said before giving him a bow, you had spent the weeks reading up on Korean etiquette and culture.

He bowed back before he held out an arm just as Jake did. “Come, he’s unbearable and none of us can take it any longer… he needs you” he sent you a smile that never really reached his eyes.

Instead of bolting out the door you found yourself hesitating. You had a life and a job you had worked so hard for. Sunghoon rolled his eyes as he laughed. “Don’t worry about it, we’ve taken care of it”

And for once you chose not to second guess it, and grabbed his arm.

You knocked on the door to the room, despite what the two of you did most days, you had ignored his calls all day. Jungwon had warned you, he had been sulking and sad and as good as impossible to get to do anything. Even eat.

“Go away!” You heard his voice groan from the other side. You knocked again.

“Hee, I’ve told you all day I’m just not in the… mood” he swung the door open without even checking who was on the other side.

In your hand you had a bag of food, he would need something before the concert tonight.

“Surprise?” You said with a unsure smile, cause he only stared at you.

“You’re here?” He said as his voice cracked.

You nodded. “I’m here”

And as he heard your voice once again he broke down in the door to his room, you quickly gave the food to one of the managers in the hall as you joined him where he had collapsed.

He snaked his arms around you as he sobbed into your shoulder. And as painful as it was to see him like this you had also never felt more like yourself now that he was near.

He looked at you as he stroked your cheek. “You can’t leave me again, okay?” He said as he both laughed and sobbed at the same time.

You smiled at his words, as a single tear escaped your eye. He kissed it away as quickly as it had fallen. “I won't,” you whispered.

The two of you heard a groan further down the hall and saw Niki there. “Fucking unbearble love birds” he swore under his breath.

“Language young man!” You both yelled in unison, and a laugh quickly followed.

Neither of you minded being unbearable love birds, as long as you weren’t apart.

Hi! Thank you sm for Reading! Please remember to like and reblog, and let me know if you have any theories about the others or these two sweethearts. Feedback is very much appreciated 🫶🏼