#I’ve done it before and I can do it again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

geminiwritten · 3 days ago

Text

domestic fantasy ; jake 'hangman' seresin

fandom: top gun

pairing: jake x reader

summary: your ex is coming back to collect some things he left behind and you accidentally tell him that you have a new boyfriend, so hangman accepts the role of your new (fake) boyfriend

notes: did i spent the last three days writing for 8-10 hours a day? yes... am i going slightly insane? also yes... but guys!!! fake dating!!! i don't know how i vomited this fic up so quick, jake is just so easy for me to write (i think it's because i love him but not in a soul-crushing way like the way i love rooster?) anyway, PLEASE enjoy and please, please let me know what you think!

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, reader is shorter than hangman (just want to mention it), allusions to sex, and it's pretty horny so 18+ ONLY please! let me know if i’ve missed anything!

word count: 10937

“This weekend?” Your voice is unsteady, but you hope the crackling from the poor phone reception is enough to mask it. “I’m not sure if I can do this weekend.”

Spencer sighs, clearly frustrated by your repeated attempts to keep him away from San Diego. “Look, I know you don’t want to do this—and honestly, neither do I—but it has to be done. I’ll only be in town for a couple of days. I’ll grab some boxes, hire a van, and get them shipped straight to my condo. Don’t you want your spare room back?”

You gnaw nervously on your bottom lip as you glance out at the open-plan office space, hoping none of your coworkers are listening too closely to your phone conversation.

You broke up with Spencer six months ago, after dating for nearly four years, and he left in such a rush that almost an entire room of his stuff stayed behind. It isn't anything important—mostly old sports gear and college memorabilia—and it’s not like he’s needed any of it. The breakup hit him hard, and he spent the following four months backpacking around Europe to clear his head. He’s only been back at his condo in Upstate New York for two months, and during that time, he’s been relentlessly bugging you to let him come pick up his things.

It’s not like you want to hold on to anything that reminds you of him, but you desperately do not want to see him again. You offered a few times to pack up his things and ship them to him, but he flat-out refused. He even called it a violation of privacy now that you’re no longer together. So, about a month ago, you told him you’d find a free weekend for him to come by and collect the rest of his stuff—and you’ve done everything you can to avoid it since.

“Okay,” you mutter, turning away from the office to face the window overlooking North Island Naval Air Station. “But you can’t stay at the apartment.”

“What?” Spencer snaps. “Why? It’ll be so much easier. I’ll be in an out in three days, tops.”

“Three days?” you echo. “Spence, that’s my whole weekend gone.”

“There’s a lot of stuff,” he argues. “I could bring Harry with me, if-”

“You are not bringing your brother, Spencer.” You stomp your foot, despite the conversation being over the phone. “Look, if that’s how long it’ll take, then fine. But you are not staying at the apartment. You can’t. My boyfriend just moved in last week.” The last few words slip out before you can stop them.

Fuck.

There’s a beat of silence before Spencer speaks again, his voice wavering. “Boyfriend?”

You tip your head back and take a deep breath. “Yes, boyfriend.”

Another awkward stretch of silence.

“Okay... I’ll stay at the motel around the corner,” he says.

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “Good.”

“See you Friday, then.”

“See you Friday.”

You pull the phone away from your ear and tap the red button, watching Spencer’s caller ID photo flicker out before the screen goes black. With a sigh, your arms drop to your sides, and you lean forward until your forehead rests against the windowpane with a soft, dull thud.

What the fuck did you just do?

Gravel crunches beneath your tires as you swerve into the parking lot of The Hard Deck bar. You pull up beside a familiar Ford Bronco, yanking the parking brake just a little too hard before practically stumbling out of the car. Your feet carry you across the lot and through the front door before coming to a stop as you survey the room, searching for the familiar face you came here to find. Across the bar, tucked into the booth closest to the pool table, are your friends. They’re sipping beers and chatting happily, blissfully unaware that an electrical storm of stress and anxiety is headed right for them.

You weave through the tables and other patrons with determination, your breath coming and going in quick, anxious bursts. Your feet only stop when you reach your friends’ table, and their conversation quickly dies as they each turn to look at you.

Jake’s brows pinch. “Hey, are you okay?”

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth and bite down nervously, unsure how to reply.

Javy, who was sitting next to Jake, stands up and nods toward the bar. “I’m going to grab another drink. Want anything?”

You nod. “Whatever you’re having.”

He gives you a cheeky wink before striding off toward the bar. You watch him for a few seconds before turning back to the booth and sliding in beside Jake, leaning into him and letting your head fall on his shoulder.

Natasha sits across from you, her head tilted and a curious glint in her narrowed eyes. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not yet, I haven’t,” you say, before letting out an exasperated sigh. “My ex is coming back this weekend.”

She rears back and sits up straight, her brows raised. “Coming back to stay?”

You lift your head from Jake’s shoulder and shake it softly. “Nah. He just wants to pick up everything he left behind.”

Jake shifts beside you, his arm sliding around your lower back almost possessively—but you know he only means to comfort you. “Including you?” he asks, his tone playful but laced with a hint of uncertainty.

You snort and turn to face him, a little startled by how close those piercing green eyes are. “Of course not. Or at least, I hope not. I mean, I think I made it pretty damn clear he wasn’t getting me back, even if he was planning to try.” You trail off, turning away, unsure how to bring up the real reason you came here tonight—the question that’s been gnawing at you since your phone conversation with Spencer.

“Okay,” Nat says, “so, what’s the big deal?”

You suck in a deep breath, filling your lungs as you gather every shred of dignity you still have left. “I told him he couldn’t stay at the apartment because… my boyfriend just moved in.”

Natasha’s brows shoot up toward her hairline and her mouth pops open. Amusement dances behind her eyes, but she has the decency to hold it back as you drop your head into your hands and let out a groan. “I fucked up.”

Beside Natasha, Mickey leans forward. “But you don’t have a boyfriend?”

You look up at him and scowl. “No shit.”

“Oh.” He nods slowly, fighting the grin that tugs at his lips.

“So, what are you going to do?” Reuben pipes up from the other end of the table, looking just as amused as the rest of your friends.

“Well...” You lean back, pressing your shoulder blades into the vinyl of the booth as you twist your neck to glance at the man beside you. “I was going to ask Jake if he could help me... pretend.��

Jake’s smirk fades, and a flush creeps into his cheeks. His green eyes widen, the usual cocky confidence replaced by startled confusion. “What? Why me?”

You shrug, trying to act nonchalant about asking the man you regularly fantasise about to be your fake boyfriend. “It just makes the most sense. I’ve known you the longest.” Your eyes flick toward the other boys at the table. “No offense, but Jake and I just have better chemistry—and Spencer knew it. He was always a little threatened by our friendship.”

You shift your gaze back to Jake, who’s still looking stunned, his lips parted slightly.

“Plus, I only broke up with Spencer six months ago. I couldn’t have met someone new and asked them to move in that fast. It has to be someone I already knew.” You widen your eyes and bat your lashes dramatically. “Please, Jake. I’ll do anything.”

He blinks at you, cheeks still tinged pink. “Define anything,” he says, that cocky smirk slowly starting to return.

“Whatever you want,” you reply, planting both hands on his thigh closest to you—oblivious to the fact that it makes his dick twitch in his jeans. “You know I’m good for it.”

Jake coughs into his hand, shifting slightly, trying to hold onto his bravado while making sure your touch doesn’t creep any higher. “Alright,” he says, voice a little rougher than before. “I’ll do it.”

You raise a brow. “That easy?”

He lifts a finger. “On one condition.”

You narrow your eyes, suspicious. “Which is?”

He leans in, that cocky smirk curling at the edge of his lips. “I want a home-cooked dinner. Every night I’m there. Candles. Music. Maybe a little wine. You know... boyfriend perks.”

Natasha snorts across the table. “You mean domestic fantasy perks.”

Jake just shrugs, eyes still locked on yours. “Hey, if I’m going to play house, I want the full experience.”

You swallow hard, but your mouth moves before your brain catches up. “Deal.”

He grins wider, and this time you’re pretty sure it’s not just cockiness—it’s anticipation.

You pace in circles around your kitchen island, one arm tucked under your breasts, holding your opposite elbow as you anxiously gnaw on your thumbnail. Jake is supposed to be here any minute, and the cork in the bottle of nerves rattling around in your stomach just won’t stay put.

You’ve known Jake for years. You met in college and, despite the distance with his deployments, have been metaphorically inseparable ever since. But physically? That was a little harder, obviously.

You’ve always had a soft spot for Jake—a bit of a crush, but you were never foolish enough to think anything could come of it. You’ve been perfectly content being his friend, never pushing for more. But every single one of your boyfriends? They hated him. You can’t blame them, really—Jake has that effect on people. That cocky, irresistible charm that makes it impossible for anyone else to ignore him.

Still, you can’t shake the guilt creeping in. Fooling Spencer into thinking you and Jake are together? After all those times you promised him there was nothing more than friendship between you and Jake? It feels wrong. Even if Spencer never really took your word for it.

A knock at the door pulls you out of your spiralling thoughts, and you hurry to answer it. Jake is standing on the other side, looking even more irresistible than usual. There’s no uniform today, no flight suit or polished boots. Instead, he's wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, and somehow that makes him look even better. His hair is messy, not gelled like it usually is, and the scruff on his jaw—a day’s worth of stubble—only adds to the allure. He looks... delicious in a way that’s totally different from the polished, put-together fighter pilot you’re used to.

“Hey, girlfriend,” he says with a smirk, “sorry I’m late.”

Your brain and mouth have completely short-circuited, leaving you with no choice but to smile, nod, and step aside to let him in. He’s got a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a box of random belongings in his arms—little odds and ends that someone might have lying around their apartment.

Jake drops the box onto the kitchen counter and turns back to you. “What time is Spencer the Snob getting here?”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “In about an hour. Do you think you can manage to be civilized?”

“Yes,” he replies, his voice sharp as he props his hands on his hips. “Can he be civilised?”

“Spencer is always civilized.”

You walk over to the box and start pulling out items, mentally sorting them. But Jake isn’t done.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Spencer is not always civilized. He’s just really good at hiding what a complete dick he is.”

You turn and lean your hip against the countertop, raising one eyebrow. “You only don’t like him because he didn’t like you first. And let’s be honest, that’s because you bought me lingerie for the first birthday that I was with him. He didn’t get the joke and thought it was way too suggestive.”

Jake snorts, his jade eyes lighting up with mischief. “Yeah, that was a good one. I’ll never forget the look on his face.”

You resist the urge to laugh and roll your eyes again, turning back to the box. “I’ll admit, Spence is a little snobby. But that’s just how he was raised. It’s not his fault he’s got money.”

Jake’s expression darkens, and he narrows his eyes at the affectionate nickname. “Spence?”

“Sorry,” you say, your cheeks flushing pink. “Force of habit.”

The two of you move quietly around the apartment, slipping into an easy rhythm as you make space for Jake’s things. You tuck two framed photos of his family onto the bookshelf, nestled between your novels, and slide one of his official Navy portraits beside them—one you definitely wouldn’t mind keeping.

He hangs a jacket and a couple of worn caps on the hooks by the door and drops two pairs of his boots beside your own lineup of shoes. You clear off a bedside table for him to clutter with his things, and listen to the soft clink of bottles as he unpacks his toiletries in the bathroom.

Finally, you add a towel for him to the rack beside the shower. And for a moment, you let yourself imagine it: the two of you in there together. His hot, slick skin pressed to yours, the steam curling around your tangled limbs. His hands sliding soap across your body, rinsing you slow and thorough. He’d wash your hair too, fingers working into your scalp until your eyes fluttered closed—and then you’d return the favour, watching his mouth part in bliss beneath your touch.

“Hello?” Jake waves a hand in front of your face. “Anyone home?”

You blink rapidly and turn to face him, only to find him standing way too close with that maddening smirk tugging at his lips. Your eyes flick up to his, and the look he gives you is downright dangerous—curious, cocky, and just a little bit amused.

“You good, sweetheart?” he asks, tilting his head. “You’re lookin’ a little hot under the collar.”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Instead, you let out a weird half-laugh, half-scoff and sidestep him like he’s radioactive. “I’m fine. It’s just warm in here. Is it warm in here?”

Jake leans back against the bathroom doorframe, arms crossed and eyes glittering. “Could be. Or maybe you were just thinkin’ about something real steamy.”

You choke on air. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs, all faux innocence. “Just sayin’... you’ve got that look. Like your brain wandered somewhere it probably shouldn’t have.”

You grab a towel—any towel—and smack him in the chest. “Shut up.”

Jake laughs, catching the towel with one hand like he knew it was coming. “Whatever it was, must’ve been good.”

When he finally steps aside, you scurry past like lingering too long might scorch your skin. Only once you’ve turned down the hall and reached the kitchen—putting a safe stretch of space between you and him—do you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Okay,” you say, planting both palms against the cool, marble countertop. “Spencer is going to be here in half an hour, so we have exactly thirty minutes to practice being a couple.”

Jake smirks like this is nothing—like he’s been in this exact situation a hundred times before. “You tell me what you’re comfortable with, darlin’.” He steps up to the other side of the kitchen island and leans forward, mirroring your posture.

You tilt your head slightly, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you narrow your eyes at him. “We need to look convincing. No weirdness, no pulling faces. Just... act natural.”

Jake cocks an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “Natural, huh? So, no kissing? Not even a little peck?”

You try to focus, but the way he’s leaning across the island—just far enough to make the space between you feel electrified—throws you off. “Uh, no. Nothing like that. We’ll start slow. Hold hands, sit close... you know, the easy stuff.”

Jake’s grin widens, his gaze flickering down to your lips before locking onto your eyes. “Hold hands, sit close. Got it. But what if I make you want to kiss me? I’m really good at that.”

You feel the heat spreading through your chest, but you refuse to let him see it. “You think you can make me want to kiss you?” You raise an eyebrow, trying to match his cockiness.

He leans even further toward you and drops his voice low, the teasing edge still there but with a smouldering intensity you’re having a hard time ignoring. “Oh, sweetheart. I know I can. All I need is the right moment.”

You can’t help but laugh nervously, your pulse quickening as he stays there, so close you can feel the heat of his presence even if the island bench is still separating you. “Well, we’ve got thirty minutes to see if you can keep your hands to yourself, Seresin,” you tease, but there’s an edge to it now—a hint of challenge.

Jake leans in a little more, his gaze fixed on you, like he’s seconds away from crossing the line. “Trust me, darlin’. I can keep my hands to myself... but only if you can keep your hands off me.”

Your chest rises and falls faster than usual, your head spinning slightly from all the extra oxygen surging through your blood. You part your lips, ready to fire back something just as cocky—something to keep the volley going—but the sharp chime of your phone slices through the tension, and both your gazes snap to where it buzzes on the countertop.

You settle back onto your heels, and reach for your phone, huffing out a small, frustrated sigh before sliding the answer button and pressing it to your ear. “Hey, Spencer.”

“Hey, how are you?”

Your eyes slide toward Jake, who is looking almost as frustrated as you feel. “Fine. How far out are you?”

Spencer chuckles, and something inside of you instinctively recoils, even though the sound itself isn’t particularly offensive. “I’m great, thanks for asking. The flight was fine, a little bumpy, but we made it. I’m just waiting at baggage claim, so I’ll be about twenty minutes.”

“No worries,” you say, “see you soon.”

You hang up before he even finishes saying goodbye, drop your phone face-down on the bench, and glance back at Jake. “Alright, let’s go over the details. We started dating three months after Spencer left. You asked me out, and I was a little surprised.”

Jake frowns, already halfway to an objection, but you cut him off with a raised hand. “Just go with it, okay? It keeps my integrity intact. You have no idea how many times I had to convince him I wasn’t into you.”

His frown fades fast, replaced by that maddeningly smug smirk. “Go on, then.”

You roll your eyes, but continue. “I was surprised, but everything just... clicked. Being best friends made the relationship feel natural. That’s why things have moved fast. You were already here most nights, your rent went up, so you moved in two weeks ago.”

Jake nods like he’s logging it all away. “Okay, but more importantly—how’s the sex?”

You stare, deadpan. “Seriously?”

He shrugs, hands raised like a saint. “What? It’s a legitimate question. Spencer might ask.”

“I highly fucking doubt it.”

Jake chuckles. “Yeah, fair. Still worth a shot.”

With a long, theatrical exhale, you walk around the kitchen island and stop in front of him. “Alright, let’s talk touching.”

His eyes light up, devilish. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

You ignore him. “I’m ticklish, so don’t touch my ribs or ghost over my arms—I will flinch.”

“I know.”

You pause. “Okay…” You shake your head, ignoring the question trying to form. “I’m not huge on PDA, but I like lingering touches. Just small things, to remind each other we’re there.”

“I know,” he says again, that smirk glued in place.

The question in your head itches a little louder, but you push it aside. “And if we go out—which I really hope we don’t—make sure you’re always sitting next to me. I hate it when couples sit across from each other. I don’t want to gaze into your eyes, I want to feel your warmth.”

Jake’s smirk splits into a wide, boyish grin. “I know.”

The floodgates crack. “How the fuck do you know everything?”

He leans in just slightly, voice soft but sure. “Because I know you. I’ve watched you with every guy you’ve dated. Just because I wasn’t the guy doesn’t mean I haven’t been paying attention.”

You blink, reeling from the quiet truth in his tone. It hits you like a gust of wind—real, unshakable. You actually have to take a step back to steady yourself. There’s no teasing in his voice, no smug edge. Just Jake, earnest and open in a way that’s rare.

And it almost wrecks you.

Jake might be cocky and insufferable ninety percent of the time—but when he loves, he does it fiercely. Deeply. Fully. And you’ve always known you were lucky to be one of the people he loves.

But for the first time, you let your mind wander somewhere dangerous. What would it be like to be loved by Jake Seresin—not just as a friend, but as his person? His everything?

“So,” Jake says, cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter, “where should I touch you first?”

You close your eyes for a beat, reminding yourself that this is still Jake—insufferable, irritating Jake. “You don’t have to be weird and over the top about it. When he gets here, you can just sit on the couch, then I’ll join you and sit close. You can put a hand on my thigh.”

Jake’s brows furrow, his face contorting with mild disgust. “I know you’re trying not to make him uncomfortable, but that’s not going to work. Think about it—your ex is coming over, and your current boyfriend is just sitting casually on the couch? Not buying it.”

You roll your eyes again, hoping to avoid yet another pointless argument. “Jake, this doesn’t need to be-”

“You told him you’re dating me,” he interrupts, poking his chest with a finger. “And if this was real, I’d be making damn sure I had a hand on you at all times.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore how your body reacts to his proximity and his words. Heat floods your chest and settles behind your hipbones, desire tightening in places you don’t want to think about right now. “You don’t need to stake your claim, Jake. Spencer isn’t here to win me back.”

Jake steps closer, cutting the distance between you until there’s barely two feet separating you. “You don’t know that.” His voice lowers slightly, making the air between you feel thick and electric. “And yes, I do. If you want him to believe we’re dating, then you need to let me do exactly what I would do if this was real.”

You’re not sure whether he’s just being cocky or trying to show off, but damn it, he’s making a good point. “Okay, fine. But don’t make him uncomfortable.”

Jake’s smirk widens, taking on that familiar, smug edge. “No promises, darlin’.”

You spend the next ten minutes pretending to clean—wiping already spotless counters, rearranging throw pillows, and dusting things that definitely don’t need dusting. All while Jake lounges on the couch like this is the easiest job he’s ever had.

“It’s three days, sweetheart,” he says. “By Sunday, Spencer will be back in his overpriced New York apartment sipping single malt and Googling himself.”

You snort but say nothing. Three days. Just two dinners and one brunch. You’ll keep the visits restricted to daylight hours, keep Jake close, keep your story straight—and by Sunday afternoon, Spencer will be out of your apartment and out of your life.

That’s the plan, anyway.

But as you glance over at Jake—sprawled out, so completely at ease in your space, looking infuriatingly good even in his most relaxed state—you start to question the rest of it.

Because it’s not Spencer you’re worried about fooling anymore. It’s yourself. And when Jake turns his head and catches you staring, smirking like he knows exactly what you're thinking?

Yeah. This might be harder than you thought.

The intercom buzzes, loud and sudden, startling you from your task of rearranging the flowers on the dining table. Your heart launches into your throat, pounding like you’ve just jumped from a plane without a parachute.

Jake chuckles and rises from the couch, strolling over to the intercom with infuriating confidence. He presses the button and leans in. “Come on up.”

You force your feet to move, carrying you toward him and not stopping until you’re right beside him. You press yourself against him and the moment your body meets his, heat blooms under your skin. It’s not new—you've touched him before—but it feels different. More charged. More deliberate. Jake’s arm slides around your waist without hesitation, and his fingers curl into your hip, firm and possessive. There’s a subtle squeeze and the pad of his thumb grazes a sliver of skin just beneath the hem of your shirt.

You feel it everywhere.

He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “It’s showtime, sweetheart.”

Your breath stutters. This is just pretend.

Your heart pounds against your sternum, each beat like the tick of a countdown clock. The elevator dings. Footsteps echo down the hallway. Closer, closer. You draw in a deep breath and hold it, ignoring the sharp ache it sends through your chest.

“Relax,” Jake murmurs, pulling you tighter against his side as he reaches for the doorknob.

The second the footsteps stop, he yanks the door open—no chance for a knock.

“Spence!” Jake beams, like they’re old frat brothers reunited. “Come in, buddy. How are you?”

You nearly snort. The absurdity of his enthusiasm bubbles up in your throat, but you bite your lip hard enough to keep it down.

Spencer looks good—but all it does is remind you how little you miss him. His perfectly coiffed blonde hair hasn’t changed one bit, but he’s tanner than you remember—courtesy of the European sun, no doubt. He’s not as tall as Jake, but he’s got that same overinflated ego. The difference? Jake’s cockiness comes from… well, let’s just say it’s probably anatomical. Spencer’s is inherited—passed down with a trust fund and a country club membership.

He’s dressed exactly as you expected: a sky-blue Ralph Lauren polo, crisp white pants with a crease so sharp it could slice bread, and tan boat shoes—an ironic choice, considering he’s terrified of boats.

But it’s his face that really seals the moment. Jaw unhinged, eyes wide, staring at Jake like he just opened the door to a ghost. Or maybe something worse: the ghost of his ex-girlfriend’s new sex life.

“Jake?” Spencer finally says. “Your new boyfriend is Jake Seresin?”

Jake’s grin is unbothered—like this is the moment he’s been waiting for his whole life. “The one and only.”

You feel his hand press a little firmer into your waist, anchoring you there like you might suddenly run—and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t tempted.

Spencer steps further into the apartment, his eyes glued to Jake’s smug face. “I thought you said there was nothing going on between you two.”

Your stomach twists, but you keep your voice even. “There wasn’t. Not back then.”

Spencer glances at you. “You told me I was being paranoid. That he was just your friend.”

Jake chuckles. “I remember you telling me about that.”

You shoot him a look that’s supposed to say “not helping,” but he just smiles innocently and shrugs.

Spencer looks seconds away from spontaneously combusting. “I trusted you,” he says, starting to sound like the whiny, private-school rich kid you always tried to ignore. “You promised me nothing would ever happen with him.”

“Yeah, that was then, and this is now. Things change, Spence—and this has nothing to do with you,” you say, tone sharpening. If he’s going to act like a child, then you're going to treat him like one.

Jake’s hand slides from your waist to the small of your back, his thumb sweeping in a slow, easy circle like he’s soothing a spark before it ignites. “People change, bud. Timing is everything.”

Spencer folds his arms, visibly rattled. “So, what—he swooped in the second I left?”

Jake tilts his head, eyes full of mock offense. “Swooped? Come on. Give me a little credit. She came to me.”

You snap your head toward him, about to object, but his grin is wicked and the mischief in his eyes dares you to play along.

“Well...” You drag the word out, buying a few precious seconds to stitch your story together. “Technically, yes. I was upset after the breakup, so of course I turned to my best friend for comfort.”

Spencer’s blue-grey eyes narrow. “You broke up with me.”

“That she did, pal.” Jake tries for a sympathetic look, but you know better—he’s enjoying this a little too much.

“Just because I ended things doesn’t mean it didn’t rattle me,” you shoot back, trying to shift the focus away from Jake. “We were together for four years, Spencer. That’s a long time. I just had the guts to do what you didn’t. So, forgive me if I’m not in the mood to explain myself to you. I don’t owe you anything—and my new relationship? It’s none of your business.”

You see his expression twist into an offended scowl, and anger flickers in your chest. The nerve of him, acting like you still owe him something just because you pulled the plug first.

“For the record,” you continue, voice cool and firm, “yeah, I leaned on Jake. And somewhere along the line, I found something a lot deeper.”

Then, without missing a beat, you glance at Jake—who’s already wearing that cocky smirk—and let one of your own curve across your lips as you look back at Spencer.

“Actually,” you say, eyes narrowing with satisfaction, “I think it was Jake who found something a little deeper… if you know what I mean.”

Jake snorts, slapping his hand over his mouth, but he can’t suppress the gleeful chuckle bubbling from his lips. Spencer, on the other hand, looks utterly humbled—his cheeks are bright red and his jaw is hanging open like he’s just been slapped across the face.

You step away from Jake, waiting for his hand to drop so you can grab it. The second your fingers slide into his, a rush of warmth zips up your arm, and you try to ignore how good it feels, but damn, it’s hard.

“Get your boxes,” you say to Spencer, keeping your tone cool. “Jake will help you pack some stuff this afternoon, but it’s date night, so you’ve got exactly two hours. You can come back in the morning.”

Spencer's lip twitches, like he's about to argue, but then he stops himself. He nods curtly and unties the fancy cashmere sweater draped around his shoulders, hanging it carefully on a hook by the door. He hesitates when he notices Jake’s clothes tossed haphazardly alongside yours. After a moment, he huffs, shakes his head, and stomps out of the apartment.

You fight to suppress a grin as you turn to Jake, but he’s already beaming at you. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You pretend to flick your hair off your shoulder with theatrical flair. “Oh, I know.”

He chuckles. “I can’t believe you just told your ex I’ve got a huge dick.”

You shrug, one shoulder rising nonchalantly. “You’ve got the ego to match, so I figured I could make an educated guess. Besides, it’s not like Spencer will ever know for sure.”

His brows shoot up. “Oh, so you were just guessing?”

Heat floods your cheeks, and suddenly his eyes are too intense to meet. “Well, obviously.”

He leans in, his hand tightening around yours, voice low and teasing—laced with a challenge that feels dangerously not like a joke. “Want to find out for real?”

Your breath hitches. Words abandon you. All you can do is stare at his face—too handsome and too tempting.

“Because I’d go a hell of a lot deeper than that weasel. So deep, you’d be screaming-”

The intercom buzzer cuts him off, and you’re hit with a wave of relief and frustration all at once. Your pulse is racing, your chest tight, and the thrum of your heartbeat fills your ears.

Jake chuckles, clearly amused by the timing, and leans back, releasing your hand to press the button on the intercom. He glances over at you, winks, and casually strides toward the lounge, sprawling out like he owns the place. Like he’s some modern-day Adonis—there to wind you up and then claim your couch like it’s his throne.

You force your limbs to move, opening the door for Spencer and helping him carry in the flattened cardboard boxes tucked under his arms. You lead him to the spare room—where all his abandoned belongings have been gathering dust for the past six months—and leave him to it.

You don’t have to ask Jake to help. The second you return to the living room, he stands, crosses the space without hesitation, and steps right up to you. His palm finds the back of your head as he pulls you in, pressing a warm, gentle kiss to the top of your hair.

You know he’s just doing what you asked—pretending to be your boyfriend. But the tenderness of the gesture feels heartbreakingly sincere. It sinks into your skin, fills your chest like warm water, and when he pulls away, he takes the comfort with him.

Your eyes trail after him as he walks toward the spare room, and you shamelessly ogle his ass on the way out. Then you collapse onto the lounge where he’d just been sitting, curling up in the lingering scent of his cologne. You tug a blanket from the wicker basket beside the couch and wrap it around yourself, clicking on a show you barely register—because all you can think about is the way Jake Seresin touches you.

This might not have been such a brilliant idea after all.

Spencer uses up his two hours like he paid for them, waiting until exactly 5:59 PM to dust off his palms on those stupid white pants—as if he hadn’t made Jake do all the heavy lifting—and announce that he “better get going.”

You give him a tight smile as you hold the door open, already half-relieved just watching him walk out. It's not that pretending to love Jake is hard—you do love him. It’s the reminder that all the lingering touches, the soft smiles, the stolen glances—they’re just an act. That’s what’s draining you.

The second the door clicks shut, you let out a long, theatrical sigh, like you’ve been holding your breath for the full two hours. “Oh, thank God. I don’t know how I’m going to survive a whole day tomorrow.”

Jake chuckles, but there’s something tight about it—like he’s forcing it out through gritted teeth. “Am I that hard to love?” he asks, and though his tone is teasing, something flickers behind his eyes that doesn’t feel like a joke.

Your brows knit. “No, it’s not that. It’s just...”

He steps closer, invading your space like he’s done all day—and you hate how much you don’t mind it anymore. In fact, you kind of want him to stay right there.

“What is it?” he murmurs, voice low and rough enough to make your skin prickle.

You swallow hard, suddenly aware of how close he is, how good he smells, and how charged the air between you feels. “It’s just Spencer, you know? Having him around is... exhausting.”

Jake’s lip quirks, but his eyes are sharp, studying you. “Oh? So you’re not struggling with this fake relationship thing at all? Not even a little confused? Frustrated? Having trouble remembering it’s not real?”

You blink, stunned silent. You’re not sure how, but you’re starting to believe Jake Seresin might actually be a mind reader.

“I-” The words catch in your throat, strangled by the weight of his stare. His piercing green eyes pin you in place, make you forget how to speak, how to breathe.

Then, just when it feels like you might combust, his smirk cracks into a grin and he takes a step back, letting the tension snap like a rubber band. “Alright then,” he says, clapping his hands together, “what’s for dinner, gorgeous?”

You inhale like you’ve just broken the surface of the water. Your lungs burn. Your head spins. This man is giving you whiplash.

It takes almost a full minute to regain control of your body, and when you finally do, you walk straight into the kitchen without giving Jake an answer. You can’t even look at him right now—but he has no trouble looking at you.

He watches you like he’s starving and you’re the feast. It makes focusing on dinner nearly impossible.

You busy yourself preparing the meal you planned yesterday—Italian sausage spaghetti with a pull-apart garlic loaf. You don’t usually go all out for dinner, but you’re using Jake’s presence as an excuse to cook something hearty and delicious. Maybe after eating, you’ll both be too full to maintain this unbearable sexual tension. He can crash on the couch, and you’ll curl up in bed. Or maybe you’ll take a long, steamy shower and do what you need to do to unknot the tension pulsing behind your hipbones.

Dinner comes together quickly, and after a few casual questions from Jake about the food, he drifts back to the couch, half-watching whatever show has been playing in the background for past few hours. You set the dining table just the way he asked—candles, wine, and soft music humming from the speaker on your bookshelf.

Finally, you place two full bowls of pasta on the table—opposite each other. Because you’re not really dating, so why would you sit beside him? To feel his warmth? Let him rest a hand on your thigh?

The thought alone sends a shiver down your spine.

You try to shake it off and glance at Jake—only to find him already watching you.

You clear your throat. “Lieutenant Jake Seresin, your dinner is served.”

He grins like a kid in a candy store, pushing off the couch and sniffing the air like a Loony Tunes character. “Damn, I think Phoenix might’ve been right. This is a full-on domestic fantasy.”

You roll your eyes and duck your head, hoping he doesn’t see the heat rising in your cheeks. “Just sit down and eat, Hangman. I’m tired and hungry.”

You flick off the kitchen lights, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of the candles. The atmosphere feels far more romantic than you intended. Is this what Jake wanted?

You don’t give yourself time to overthink it—because the food smells amazing, and there’s a very attractive naval aviator sitting across from you, looking like he was plucked straight from a dream.

You spend the first few minutes eating in silence, both too busy shovelling pasta into your mouths and tearing into buttery garlic bread to speak. Somehow, Jake even manages to make slurping spaghetti look hot—and you hate when people make noise while they eat.

“So,” you say, slowing your pace and setting your fork down, “did you want to stay here tonight or head back to your place?”

He keeps his eyes on his plate, as if avoiding yours will mask whatever he’s really thinking. “Up to you, darlin’. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Well, Spencer did seem pretty suspicious about the whole thing… so I think it’s safer if you stay.”

His head snaps up, and that signature smirk spreads across his lips. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” you say, fighting the heat rising to your cheeks, “he might sniff around tomorrow. Like, literally. He might be a creep and notice your towel’s untouched, or that your side of the bed hasn’t been slept in, and-”

“You want to share the bed?” he asks, looking far too pleased with the idea.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “We’ve shared a bed before.”

“Yeah,” he says, a low chuckle slipping out, “blind drunk.”

His eyes are too pretty, too intense, and your chest feels tight under their weight. You look away, eyes darting around the table until they land on the wine bottle.

“Well then,” you say, picking it up and refilling his glass, “drink up, Seresin.”

Two bottles of wine later, you’re both loose-limbed and laughing—less awkward about the day’s chaos, and a lot less anxious about sharing a bed tonight.

You giggle at one of Jake’s ridiculous jokes while clearing the table, and when he insists on helping clean up, you swat him away, telling him it’s all part of his domestic fantasy. He rolls his eyes but still hovers, drying dishes and pretending not to notice the way you keep throwing him side-eye glances every time he guesses wrong about where something goes.

“Do you want to shower?” you ask as you finish wiping down the stovetop.

His green eyes go wide, that crooked grin slipping across his face like sin itself. “Is this you offering?”

Your stomach flips, heat crawling up your chest. “I meant—do you want to shower first?”

“Oh,” he chuckles, almost disappointed. “Yeah, sure. If you don’t mind?”

“Wouldn’t have asked if I did,” you mutter, turning back toward the lounge.

You listen to his footsteps fade toward the bathroom, then collapse onto the couch, burying your face in a pillow that smells maddeningly like him.

What the fuck are you doing?

Yes, you’ve always had a little crush on Jake, but you’re not delusional. He’s out of your league. You’ve made peace with that. You’ve always been happy just being his friend. So why does all of this feel so good? Why is it getting harder to remember that he doesn’t see you the same way?

He’s thrown himself into this charade like it’s more than just pretending, and it’s messing with your head. Does he want something more? Something casual? A few nights, maybe? Or... does he want you—the whole messy package?

The shower starts, and you groan into the pillow. You’re confused. You’re also so fucking horny. Red wine was a terrible idea.

Ten minutes later, the bathroom door creaks open. “All yours,” Jake calls, his voice smooth and casual as he walks toward the bedroom where he left his duffel bag.

You drag yourself upright, every step toward the bathroom a battle against the mental slideshow of naked, wet Jake. You shut the door, strip down, and step into the shower, letting the hot water calm your skin and chase away the ache blooming low in your belly.

You don’t have the guts to do what you really need to make that ache go away—not with Jake just a paper-thin wall away. The thought creeps in, bold and reckless, whispering what if you just called him in here? But then you laugh softly under your breath and shake it off. As if. The idea of Jake rejecting you would be a level of humiliation you’re not prepared to face tonight. Or ever.

You shut off the water, swipe a towel from the rack, and give yourself a quick dry before wrapping it snugly around your body. The bathroom is thick with steam, your skin flushed and dewy, your pulse still thudding from thoughts you shouldn't be entertaining.

You open the door to let in some air—only to nearly collide with Jake.

He’s right there. Shirtless. Grey sweatpants slung low, a towel around his neck, and an annoyingly cocky smirk on his lips.

“Damn,” he says, leaning one arm against the doorframe, eyes roaming blatantly. “I was coming to see if you drowned, but now I’m thinking maybe I should’ve brought more wine.”

You try to step back, but he follows, slipping inside like he belongs here. You grip your towel tighter.

“Jake,” you warn, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing?”

“Just enjoying the view,” he says casually, his eyes far too warm for comfort. “This your idea of torture? Walk out here looking like a damn dream and expect me to just keep pretending?”

You’re not sure what’s pretending and what isn’t anymore, and you have no idea what his words mean. Is he just messing with you? He has to be.

“I didn’t ask you to come in.”

“And yet,” he says, grinning, “here I am.”

The heat in the room is stifling—and it's not just the steam. Jake moves in closer, crowding your space, eyes flicking from your lips to your towel and back. His fingers reach up, slow and deliberate, and tug lightly at the edge of the fabric resting on your collarbone.

“Think this is regulation towel length?” he teases.

“Do you want me to report you to HR?” you ask, trying not to smile. Your voice wobbles on the last word when his fingers brush across the swell of your breast.

“Only if HR gives out spankings,” he says with a wink.

You laugh, then immediately regret it, because the movement loosens the towel just slightly—and his gaze drops. The air between you crackles.

“Jake,” you murmur, breath hitching.

He leans in, his lips brushing your temple like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. “Say the word,” he whispers, voice lower than a dare.

You turn your face toward him, your lips just inches from his—and then:

BZZZZZZZZZZZT.

The intercom buzzes loudly from the living room, startling you both. You jump, and Jake curses under his breath.

“Saved by the buzzer,” you mutter, half annoyed, half relieved.

He takes a step back, eyes still dark with want, running a hand through his hair. “Or maybe cursed by it.”

You give him a pointed look. “Shut the door on your way out, Hangman.”

He backs out slowly, smirking the whole way. “You know I’m not going to forget this, right?”

You roll your eyes and wait for him to close the door before locking it for good measure. After drying off, you go through your usual skincare and haircare routines, trying not to think about whatever the hell just happened between the two of you. But one glance down the hall as you exit the bathroom makes your heart plummet.

Spencer is standing by the front door. And Jake—still very much shirtless—is looking smug as hell.

“Hey, darlin’,” Jake drawls, turning to Spencer with a wink. “We just finished up in the shower, if you know what I mean.”

You freeze like a deer in headlights, towel clutched to your chest. You feel like a naked model caught mid-pose in front of a life drawing class—except your ex is the one holding the sketchpad, and Jake is… well, Jake.

“Spencer,” you bite out, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I-I forgot my sweater.” He holds up the creamy cashmere one he’d left by the door, eyes darting anywhere but your body.

You raise a brow. “And that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

He opens his mouth, then shuts it again—clearly trying not to ogle you while very aware of the broad, half-naked man beside him who is allegedly your boyfriend. Jake’s green eyes darken the longer Spencer’s gaze lingers.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters. “I guess I didn’t think-”

“Yeah, thinking’s never really been your thing, huh, pal?” Jake cuts in, clapping a firm hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Now if you don’t mind fucking off, I’d like to get back to round two with my very satisfied girlfriend. And just so we’re clear—if you show up before 9AM tomorrow, all you’re gonna hear is her screaming my name in ecstasy.”

Your body lights up like a struck match. You don’t even look at Spencer as Jake all but escorts him out the door. Your focus is entirely on the shirtless man—the ridiculously hot, dangerously cocky, fake boyfriend who just made you feel completely and utterly claimed.

You’re not sure if it’s the wine or the caveman behaviour, but suddenly, the idea of crossing that line doesn’t seem so dangerous anymore. In fact, it sounds like the best idea you’ve had in years.

Jake shuts the door and flicks the deadbolt before turning those dark green eyes on you. “Keep lookin’ at me like that, darlin’, and you’re gonna make my dreams—and Spencer’s nightmares—come true.”

His dreams?

Your breath catches in your throat. Then, like a startled chicken, you turn and bolt to your bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you. Your head spins as you scramble to grab the pyjamas stashed under your pillow. Every inch of your skin feels hypersensitive, like Jake’s gaze alone has lit up your nerve endings one by one.

Once you’re dressed and your face isn’t quite so scarlet red, you head for the bathroom. You hang up your towel—deliberately ignoring the sight of Jake’s hanging next to it—and start brushing your teeth. But the flutter in your stomach is relentless.

Jake appears a moment later and joins you silently, his eyes finding yours in the mirror. You try to avoid them, but your gaze keeps drifting back, always checking, always wondering. And every time, he’s still watching.

You rinse and spit, then flee the bathroom before your knees give out. You don’t bother with the rest of your night routine—you need sleep, or space, or maybe a total reset of your entire hormonal system.

You crawl into bed and flick on the TV perched atop your dresser, the hum of background noise a small comfort. But it does nothing to quiet the static under your skin when Jake steps into the room.

He flicks off the main light, shuts the door with a soft click, and then sits on the bed beside you. The mattress dips under his weight, and it feels like the whole room tilts with him.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just sits beside you in the dim glow of the TV, his body so close you can feel the heat radiating off his bare skin.

You pretend to be engrossed in whatever’s on the screen, but your heart is thundering, and you can feel his gaze on you like a brand.

Then his voice, low and rough, slices through the quiet. “You always wear shirts like that to bed, or is this part of the fantasy?”

You try to scoff, but it comes out a little breathless. “You think everything’s about you.”

Jake chuckles. “You’re sitting here braless in a tissue-thin shirt, biting your lip like you want me to devour you—and I’m the one with the ego?”

You turn your head, ready to throw back some snark, but he’s already watching you with that look. That look that makes your insides clench and your breath catch. Like he’s starving. Like you’re the first real meal he’s had in days.

“Jake…”

His gaze drops to your lips, and his voice is rough around the edges when he says, “I’m not gonna make it through this night if you keep lookin’ at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” you whisper, but even you don’t believe that.

Jake leans closer. “No? Then why’s your chest rising like that? Why are your pupils blown wide? Why is every part of you screaming touch me?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

He shifts toward you slowly, like a predator moving in, until his thigh brushes yours and his hand finds your jaw. His thumb drags lightly along your cheek, then down to your bottom lip, tugging at it just enough to make your breath stutter.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “Just say the word.”

You stay frozen, heart galloping in your chest.

“Because if you don’t…” he leans in, voice barely audible now, “…I’m gonna lose every ounce of self-control I have left.”

Still, you say nothing. Can’t say anything.

Jake’s eyes search yours for a second longer. Then—

“Fuck it.”

He crashes into you like a storm. His mouth slants over yours, hot and possessive and desperate, like he’s finally giving in to something he’s been denying for far too long. His hands cup your face, then slide down, over your neck, your shoulders, gripping your waist like he needs to ground himself.

You gasp into his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping in to taste you. It’s not gentle. It’s fire and tension and not just one day, but years of pretending finally snapping all at once.

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging, pulling him closer. He groans against your lips and pushes you back into the mattress just slightly, moving over you, his body caging yours in without touching more than he has to.

You arch up into him, chasing his heat, his weight. And when his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, resting just above your waistband, your breath catches in your throat.

He pulls back just enough to look at you—his pupils dark, his lips kiss-bruised. “Still pretending?” he breathes.

You shake your head, dazed. “Not even a little bit.”

You wake up warm. Too warm.

Jake Seresin is sprawled across half your bed, one leg tangled over yours and an arm wrapped around your waist like you’re his personal body pillow. His bare chest is pressed to your back and his breath ghosts hot across your neck with every slow, sleepy exhale.

You’re painfully aware of two things: one, you’re very, very naked. And two, so is he.

And then... you remember everything.

The kissing. The touching. The downright Olympic-level sex. The way he looked at you like you were something he’d been starving for.

Your body aches in the best way, but your brain is in full meltdown mode. You try to untangle yourself without waking him. Emphasis on try. Because the second you shift, Jake groans and tightens his arm around you.

“Nuh-uh,” he mumbles, voice still rough with sleep. “You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

You huff, trying to wriggle free. “I have to pee.”

“Fine,” he says, releasing you with an exaggerated sigh. “But don’t even think about climbing out the window. You’re mine now.”

You roll your eyes as you slip out of bed, grabbing the closest shirt—his shirt—and tossing it over your head. It hangs low on your thighs, smelling like him and sex and very bad decisions.

By the time you return from the bathroom, Jake’s propped up on one elbow, watching you with the same hunger in his eyes as last night “Damn, you look better in my shirt than I do.”

You scoff and head for your dresser. “Don’t you get tired of hearing yourself talk?”

“Not when I’m this right.”

You grab a pair of shorts, but before you can pull them on, Jake is already moving. He slides off the bed, all muscles and tan skin, and corners you against the dresser.

“You know,” he murmurs, eyes dark and wicked as his fingers slip under the hem of his own shirt you're wearing, “you didn’t officially wake me up yet.”

Your heart kicks up a notch. “Is that a thing now?”

“Absolutely.” He leans in, brushing his nose along your jaw. “You gotta wake me up right, darlin’. Or I’m gonna be all cranky.”

You arch a brow. “Define right.”

He grins, lips brushing yours. “Tongue. Teeth optional.”

You laugh into the kiss he gives you—hot, deep, and toe-curling. His hands roam down your back, tugging you flush against him. You can feel he’s already half hard again, the cocky bastard.

But before things can spiral into round two, your phone buzzes loudly from the nightstand.

Jake pulls back with a dramatic sigh. “If that’s Spencer again, I swear to God-”

You smirk. “Jealous?”

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Jealous? Sweetheart, I just spent the night making you scream my name.”

You roll your eyes, fighting a smile, and he grins like he just won the damn lottery.

To Jake’s great disappointment, it is Spencer. He’s on his way over, and the motel he’s staying at is only five minutes away. You both overslept—but can you really be blamed? No way. You were up most of the night tangled together, doing something that definitely didn’t feel pretend.

“Come on, Romeo,” you say, tossing Jake his shirt. “Get dressed before Tybalt gets here.”

Jake pauses, one brow arched as he tries not to stare at your naked chest. “Did you just imply that you used to date your cousin?”

A light laugh bubbles out of you. “Not intentionally, but I’m surprised you know Shakespeare.”

He grins, smug. “A little knowledge never hurt anyone. Helps win the ladies over, too.”

He’s joking, you know he is—but the way he says ladies—plural—hits you like punch to the gut. That’s what Jake is: a ladies’ man. It was stupid to think this could be anything more than a bit of fun. Some stress relief between two friends who spent all day teasing each other until they snapped.

If anyone can do casual sex, it’s Jake Seresin. It doesn’t matter how many pretty words he said last night—you can’t let yourself believe he actually meant them.

“Hey,” he says gently, catching the shift in your energy. “You okay?”

You nod a little too quickly, offering a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. Your nose starts to sting, and you blink fast, trying to will the emotion away. Who the hell cries after the best sex of their life?

You gather your clothes and retreat to the bathroom, needing a buffer between you and Jake’s curious, overly perceptive eyes. You dress quickly, trying not to think about how good his shirt felt against your skin.

It isn’t long before Spencer buzzes the intercom again, and you’re almost grateful. Jake doesn’t get the chance to press you, to ask about the look on your face that feels like it could crumble into a sob at any second.

You’ve really fucked up now—because you let yourself believe it might’ve meant something.

The two men spend the morning in the spare room, exchanging nothing more than grunts and sidelong glances while packing Spencer’s things into boxes. You don’t bother checking on them—you're not sure you can look at Jake right now anyway. So, you remain firmly planted on the couch, stuck in a spiral of your own damning thoughts.

Around midday, you consider offering them lunch, but then you remember the mischievous glint in Jake’s eyes when he said that “it helps win the ladies over,” and you quickly decide against it. Instead, you grab your keys, tuck your phone into your back pocket, and head toward the door.

“I’m heading out for a bit. Won’t be long,” you call out, not waiting for a reply before stepping out.

“Wait,” Jake’s voice calls after you as the door swings shut. But you pretend not to hear.

You stride toward the elevator, pressing the button more forcefully than necessary, but it doesn’t arrive fast enough. By the time the doors finally slide open, Jake is already in the hallway, his brows furrowed in concern.

“Hang on a second,” he says, stopping right beside you, raising a hand to hold your jaw gently.

When you step back, his face falls, confusion and dread flickering across his features.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you answer, stepping into the elevator.

But he follows you in, jaw ticking with tension. “Darlin’, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking I broke you.”

You shake your head. “I’m not broken.”

“Then what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, hm?” His voice softens, but the underlying concern is still very present.

You take a deep breath, averting your eyes to the floor of the elevator as you try to carefully assemble your thoughts. You don’t want to hurt him, but you also can’t ignore how wrong everything feels in your gut.

“I just... I can’t do this, Jake,” you say, your voice almost cracking.

He looks absolutely gutted, like you’ve just sucker-punched him.

“I know it shouldn’t be a big deal. Plenty of people do it without any consequences,” you ramble on. “But I think there could be some huge consequences if we keep doing this. There’s just too much on the line. And while the sex was—God, it was mind-blowing—I just don’t think I can handle you doing it with other people while I’m over here trying to... figure out what this is.”

The hurt on his face quickly morphs into utter confusion. “What the hell are you talking about, sweetheart?”

“This,” you gesture between the two of you. “Last night. Us having sex and the whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing.”

Now, he looks genuinely offended. His eyes widen, green irises flashing with disbelief. “You think that’s what this is?”

Your heart races, the pulse in your throat thrumming. “Isn’t that what you want?”

Jake lets out a short, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair. He glances briefly at the elevator doors before locking his gaze on you, intense and unyielding.

“Is that what you think?” he asks, his tone a low warning.

Suddenly, you feel very small—not in a sad way, but in a vulnerable, exposed way. He steps closer, stalking toward you with predatory intent, and you instinctively back up against the elevator wall. His presence fills the small space, and the hunger in his eyes is unmistakable.

You swallow thickly and nod. Just a small movement, but it’s enough to make him pounce. He presses his body to yours, trapping you between him and the wall, the metal rail digging into your lower back as he cages you in.

“I thought I made it pretty fucking clear last night, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice low and almost dangerous. “But if I didn’t, then let me say it now.”

He pauses, eyes burning into yours as you breathe in each other’s air, hearts racing in sync.

“I want you. Only you. All of you,” he growls. “I’ve been waiting years to do what I did last night. And now that I’ve had a taste?” He lets out a deep, throaty chuckle. “I’m never letting you go. You’re mine.”

Your mind goes blank. Your mouth is dry, and your heart’s thundering in your chest as his words hit you like a freight train.

“Say it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours as he pulls you closer. “Tell me you understand.”

“I’m yours.” The words fall from your mouth before you can stop them, but they feel right. Like they were meant to be said.

Jake smirks, a wicked, cocky grin that makes his eyes sparkle with unspoken mischief. “Good.”

And just like that, his lips crash into yours—urgent, fiery, and full of need. The kiss is wild and untamed, teeth clashing, tongues battling for dominance. His hands drop to the curve of your ass, lifting you effortlessly, forcing your legs around his waist as he presses you harder against the elevator wall.

Every inch of your skin hums, the heat between you two scorching. You can’t get enough of him, his touch, the rawness of this moment. You claw at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours, and before you can even think, you're already lost in him, all logic and restraint flying out the window.

But then, right on cue, your personal cockblock arrives. The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Spencer stands there, completely flustered, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Neither of you had pressed a button when you entered, but the look on Jake’s face suggests that it might have been intentional.

“Sorry, pal,” Jake grins, his lips bruised and swollen. “I just can’t get enough, you know what it’s like.”

Spencer’s mouth moves, but no words come out.

Jake casually takes the box from Spencer’s arms. “Let me help you with that. Go grab another one. Let’s get you out of here before you see more than you’re willing to, hm?”

Spencer nods woodenly, still staring in complete shock.

You can’t help the giggles that escape you as you slip past Spencer and out of the elevator, back toward your apartment.

There’s nothing fake about you and Jake anymore—not that there ever really was. And now, you can confidently say that Jake’s ego is as well-proportioned as the monster between his legs.

END.

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #glen powell #glen powell x reader #jake hangman seresin #hangman #top gun #top gun maverick #rooster #bradley rooster bradshaw #natasha phoenix trace #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #one shot #imagine #maverick

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sturnsblogs · 2 days ago

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CAN YOU PLEASE DO HOW LOSER!MATT WOULD REACT IF POPULAR!READER SHOWED UP AT HIS HOUSE TELLING HIM HER DAD SLAPPED HER. PLS PLS PLS IM FEELING ANGSTY

You walked downstairs into the kitchen, bare feet padding across the cold tile. It was quiet, aside from the hum of the fridge and the soft rattle of a spoon hitting the edge of a bowl as you poured yourself some Doritos. Your hoodie sleeves swallowed your hands as you leaned against the counter, munching slowly, trying to enjoy just a moment of peace.

Then, you heard the front door shut.

Your dad walked in, barely glancing at you before setting his keys on the counter and checking something on his phone. “You have a modeling shoot on Saturday,” he said flatly, like a reminder. Like a demand.

You sighed quietly, trying to keep your voice gentle. “Sorry, Daddy. I have plans with Matt… Can we reschedule?”

He looked up, slow and sharp. “No. We can’t.”

You blinked, still holding your bowl. “I’m allowed to cancel,” you said a little quieter. “Mom said so.”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t care what your mother said.”

You met his eyes now. “It’s one day. I’ve done every other shoot. I just want—”

“Enough.” His voice cut through the kitchen like a knife.

You flinched.

“You’re not cancelling,” he growled. “You don’t get to make those decisions. You think just because you walk around getting compliments and photos taken that you’re in charge now?”

Your stomach twisted. “That’s not what I said—”

He slammed his hand against the counter, making you jump. “Then shut up and listen for once!”

You froze, your lips parting slightly. But it wasn’t enough to stop him.

“Ungrateful little girl,” he hissed, stepping closer.

“Please, I just want—” you tried, voice trembling.

That’s when it happened. A sharp slap to the side of your face, the sound ringing louder than the pain at first. Your cheek stung. Your eyes welled.

And everything went quiet.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t cry. Just stood there, stunned, your bowl still in your hands, Doritos forgotten.

He stared at you for a second longer, chest rising and falling like he was daring you to speak again.

But you didn’t.

You turned slowly, leaving your snack on the counter, and walked out of the kitchen without another word. Straight up the stairs.

Straight to your phone.

To Matt.

Your hands were shaking as you grabbed your phone off your nightstand. You didn’t even hesitate. You clicked Matt’s name and hit call, your thumb trembling over the speaker button as the line rang once… twice…

“Yo?” his voice came through, casual and confused.

But you couldn’t even answer. Your breath caught in your throat. All that came out was a soft, broken sob.

“Hello?” Matt said again, his tone shifting instantly. “Y/N?”

You sucked in a shaky breath. “Can I—” your voice cracked, too tight in your throat. “Can I come over?”

“Wait—are you crying?” His voice went softer, but there was a sharp edge of concern behind it now. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Please,” you whispered. “I just—Matt, can I come over?”

“Yeah,” he said immediately. “Yeah, of course. I’ll come outside. Are you walking? Where are you?”

You could barely form words. “I’ll be there soon…”

“Okay. I’ll be outside. Just… be careful, alright?”

You hung up before he could ask anything else. You didn’t want to explain over the phone. You didn’t even know how to.

All you knew was you needed Matt.

You barely even knocked.

By the time Matt opened the front door, you were already on the porch, breath shallow and eyes rimmed red. The moment you saw him — hoodie half on, brows furrowed in worry — everything you’d been holding in cracked wide open.

You stepped forward without saying a word and wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tight as your face buried into his shoulder. Your body trembled against his, hot tears soaking into the fabric of his hoodie.

“Hey—hey, what happened?” Matt asked instantly, one arm winding protectively around your waist, the other resting at the back of your head. “Y/N… talk to me. What happened?”

You tried to speak but it all caught in your throat. All you could get out was, “My dad—” before your voice cracked and your body tensed in his arms.

That was all Matt needed to hear.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands gently cradling your face, but his jaw was clenched tight. His eyes scanned over you — the way your cheek was flushed with the faintest red, the fear behind your glassy eyes.

His voice came out low, tight with rage.

“I’m gonna kill that fucking asshole.”

“Matt—” you tried to stop him, your fingers curling into his hoodie, “No, just… I didn’t know where else to go.”

He ignored that. His eyes were sharp, furious. “He hit you?” His chest rose with every breath, and his grip on your arms grew tighter for a second before softening again. “I swear to fucking God, if I ever see him—”

“Matt, please,” you whispered, voice raw. “Don’t make this worse…”

He didn’t respond right away. His jaw flexed again. But when he saw the way your shoulders curled inward, when he saw the guilt and sadness flood your expression — his face softened.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, brushing your hair behind your ear, thumb gently wiping beneath your eye. “I just—fuck, I hate this. I hate that he made you cry.”

You nodded, leaning into his chest again. “Can I just stay here tonight?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispered, holding you tighter. “You’re safe here. Always.”

Upstairs in Matt’s room, the world felt a little quieter.

You were curled up into his side, one of his arms wrapped around you while the other gently traced shapes over your back beneath the soft fabric of his hoodie you’d borrowed. Your head rested on his chest, rising and falling with each breath he took. His presence was warm, grounding — something you hadn’t realized you needed so badly until now.

“He’s never hit me before…” you whispered after a long stretch of silence, voice barely audible.

Matt’s arm tensed slightly, but he didn’t say anything right away. His hand slowed on your back as he turned his head to kiss the crown of yours.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “That’s not something you should ever have to say.”

You swallowed hard, blinking up at the ceiling. “I just… I said no, that’s all. It was just modeling, I wasn’t even rude, and he just—he snapped.”

Matt exhaled slowly, clearly trying to keep himself calm. “That’s not your fault. Nothing about this is.”

Just as you started to settle into the silence again, your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Then again.

And again.

You sighed and reached for it reluctantly, already knowing who it was. The screen lit up with message after message from your dad:

“You can stay home Saturday. Spend the day with Matt.”

“You’re still my girl.”

Zelle: $500 transfer

“Sorry, okay? Just stressed.”

You locked your phone without replying, tossing it back onto the bed with a bitter shake of your head.

“Trying to pay me off,” you muttered.

Matt tilted his head slightly to look at you, his brows pulling together. “Did he send you money?”

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “Five hundred dollars and a bullshit apology.”

You didn’t even realize your voice cracked until you felt your throat tighten. Matt’s hand immediately came up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his lips pressing to your forehead again and again.

“Hey…” he whispered. “Look at me.”

You did, eyes glassy.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he promised softly. “I’ve got you, alright? I don’t care what he says or sends or tries. You’re safe here. With me.”

Your eyes fluttered closed as you pressed your forehead into his collarbone, nodding quietly.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

He pulled you in closer. “Always.”

—

A/N- YES YES YES OFC ANON PLEASE GUYS REQUEST THINGS

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer r @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi i @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho @emely9274 @cherryystemm @realuvrrr @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k @eeyoresturnz @elizasturn @ribread03 @sturnslux3 @costalgirlyr @pizzapocketpocketpizza @arianna1342 @mattsplaything @ed1tssturnn @ivysturnss @ilovemenwithlonghairr @whore4-chrissturniolo

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dksfml · 17 hours ago

Text

eighteen - yjw (part I)

pairing: fboy!jungwon x reader summary: where on your 18th birthday, you receive a blessing that lets you see the future, only to find yourself married to jungwon, the college heartthrob you’ve barely spoken to, with a child calling you mom. genre: college au, university au, soulmate (?) au, making out, fluffff, jungwon has a big bike (that's hot tbh) word count: 7.6k playlist: 18 - one direction, stuck with u - ariana grande & justin bieber, you belong with me - ts, lavender haze - ts, wish that i could - umi, meddle about - chase atlantic

You don’t remember falling asleep.

But you wake up to a warmth that doesn’t belong to your real life.

You’re lying on your side, skin pressed to something solid, someone. There’s a strong arm wrapped around your waist, holding you in place like you might float away. His grip isn’t rough, just sure. Certain. Like he’s done this every morning for years.

Your breathing catches.

The room is bathed in soft morning light, golden and quiet. Dust drifts through the air, glinting like stars. It smells like sunlight and cotton and something so familiar it makes your throat tighten.

You try to move to lift your arm, to turn your head but your body doesn’t listen. It’s not frozen… just heavy. Like something else is moving for you.

And then his voice finds you.

Low. Smooth. Sleep-warmed and fond.

“You’re not allowed to run away this morning.”

Your heart stutters.

“Not until I’ve had enough of you.”

The words are dipped in something dangerously soft. Like honey laced with electricity. They settle over your skin, deep and warm, and suddenly you’re not sure if you’re breathing at all.

Your head turns slowly, not by your own will.

And then you see him.

Jungwon.

Older. Sharper. Ridiculously handsome.

His hair is tousled, lashes casting shadows over cheekbones that have grown into sharper lines. His lips part slightly as he smiles at you. Lazy, teasing, like he already knows every inch of your heart.

But it’s his eyes that undo you.

He looks at you like you belong to him.

Like you always have.

“I didn’t think you could get prettier,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against your cheek. “But here you are proving me wrong. Again.”

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You’re stuck somewhere between awe and confusion. And even though your mind is spinning, your body melts into his touch like it’s been doing this for years.

His hand slides slowly up your arm, fingers curling against your back like he’s trying to memorize the curve of your spine.

“Come on,” he whispers, voice dropping lower. “Just five more minutes.”

“Let me have you to myself. Just five more.”

You try to answer, to say what is this? or what’s happening? But your lips move without sound.

There’s no fear. Just a strange pressure in your chest. Like your heart is trying to remember something your brain won’t accept yet.

“I have to get up,” you manage, barely.

He tenses behind you. Then—

“No,” he says instantly, his arms tightening. “You get up, I have to share you. I’m not ready.”

The words come out softer than they should. Almost like a confession.

You whisper his name. “Jungwon…”

At the sound of it, he exhales shakily, like you’ve touched something sacred.

He presses his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering closed.

“Let me love you quietly… just a little longer.”

And before you can say anything more, your body moves, like instinct.

You slip from his arms, legs brushing the edge of the bed. Your bare feet hit the hardwood. It’s warm.

Too real.

You reach for something at the foot of the bed and your hand wraps around fabric, his hoodie. You slip it over your head like you’ve done it a thousand times.

And you walk barefoot into the quiet glow of a house that isn’t yours… but somehow feels like it.

The hallway is lined with soft light and softer memories.

A second toothbrush beside the sink. Two mugs on the drying rack. A stray sock by the couch that definitely isn’t yours.

You pause outside the kitchen.

There, on the wall framed in wood worn smooth by time is a photograph.

You can’t breathe.

It’s you.

Smiling, windswept, holding a laughing boy in your lap. Jungwon is behind you, arms around both of you, lips pressed to your temple like he never wants to let go.

The boy is bright and soft and radiant, about five, maybe, and his name tumbles out of your mouth before you even think it.

“Jihoon…”

You don’t know how you know.

You just do.

Suddenly—

“Eommaaaa!”

Tiny footsteps thunder down the hall like a stampede of joy.

Before you can react, a small boy in dino pajamas hurls himself into your legs with all the power his little body can muster.

You catch him somehow. Arms instinctively cradling him close.

“Jihoon…” you breathe again.

He grins, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. “I want toast! And Appa said I can have Choco milk if I say please like a gentleman!”

You laugh. It feels strange coming out of your throat. Like a sound from someone else’s body. But it feels right.

And then a voice behind you—

“I also said you have to kiss your mom good morning. Or I get double.”

You turn, slowly, heart already racing.

Jungwon walks into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed and unfairly beautiful. His shirt is half-buttoned, collar wide, hair falling across his forehead. He looks like a dream.

But his smile?

That smile is real.

“Hi,” he says softly.

“You left the bed too early.”

You don’t speak.

You can’t.

He walks right up to you, presses a kiss to your temple, then one to Jihoon’s cheek.

“Unfair,” he whispers in your ear. “Wearing my hoodie and stealing my whole heart before breakfast.”

Your throat tightens.

And before you can answer, he scoops Jihoon into one arm and turns toward the stove, all casual affection and practiced ease.

“I’ll make the eggs,” he says with a smirk.

“You just stand there and look pretty.”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The alarm blares, a sharp, unforgiving sound that rips you from sleep. Your body is sluggish as you roll over, eyes still half-closed. There’s a strange weight on your chest, like something that doesn't belong to you. You reach for it instinctively, only to find the bed beside you empty.

You freeze.

That dream. That dream.

The warm embrace of Jungwon’s arms around you. His voice, low and possessive, as he held you like you were his and his alone. The image of Jihoon, smiling up at you as his tiny hands reached for you, and you just knew his name. It all felt so real, like you could feel their presence even now.

You shut your eyes tightly, trying to push it all away.

But no—this isn’t real.

This isn’t how your life is.

Your heart starts to race. It was just a dream. Or was it?

You groggily grab your phone from the nightstand and swipe across the screen, your thumb trembling slightly. The words are there, just as they always are when your birthday arrives:

🎉 Happy 18th Birthday, Y/N! 🎉

It's time to check your Blessing 💫

You blink, trying to focus. You’ve been waiting for this moment. Everyone has been waiting for this moment.

In this world, everyone receives their Blessing on their 18th birthday. It’s a gift, a special power that defines your life. But it only comes once a year—on your birthday—and you can only use it that day.

Blessings are a mysterious and magical part of life. Some people get practical abilities like the gift of perfect memory or the ability to always know when someone is lying. Others receive mind-bending abilities like controlling the weather, seeing through time, or reading minds. There are even rare Blessings that come with superhuman strength or the ability to heal wounds with a single touch.

It’s always a huge deal. Everyone anxiously awaits what their Blessing will be, and it shapes their path forward. Some Blessings are more powerful than others, but no one ever knows until the moment it activates.

And today... it’s your turn.

You swallow, nervous. This is the day you’ve been waiting for, the day when you finally get to know what you’re meant to do in life. A strange fluttering sensation rises in your chest as you tap on the notification, feeling your heartbeat louder than before.

"Blessing Activated: The ability to see into the future."

You blink, your heart skipping a beat. You read it again.

See into the future.

Your mind instantly flashes back to that dream. Jungwon. Your son. The home. The family. Everything that felt too real.

But no. No way. That’s not possible. It can’t be.

It was just your wild imagination running rampant, a byproduct of your complicated feelings for Jungwon, the popular, carefree guy who could charm the entire campus with a smile and a wink. The one who always seemed to have a crowd of girls following him around, eagerly hanging on to his every word, craving his attention. It wasn’t his fault. He was just... well, Jungwon, always in the spotlight, effortlessly cool, and always a little out of reach.

You, on the other hand, were the ideal responsible student body president, constantly trying to keep everything in order while keeping your unaddressed feelings for him under wraps. It wasn’t supposed to be anything more than that, a fleeting daydream. Your mind must've just tangled everything up, creating a perfect world where you were married to him and raising a child. But no. You couldn't let yourself believe it was real.

It was just another one of those wild, embarrassing fantasies... right?

That’s all it was. Right?

You shake your head, trying to banish the thought. But deep down, you feel the weight of the words still pressing on your chest.

The bell rings, signaling the start of the school day. You drag yourself out of your seat, trying to focus on the tasks ahead, but the words on your phone, the words about seeing the future linger in your mind.

Your Blessing has been activated. And yet, you're not sure if you should even believe it.

How can that be your Blessing? How could you see the future? Maybe the system made a mistake. Maybe you read it wrong. There’s no way that what you saw in your dream could be your actual future, right?

You’re so lost in thought that you almost miss Sunoo sitting down beside you, his usual wide grin greeting you with far too much energy.

“So, Y/N, any plans for your Blessing today?” He’s practically bouncing in his seat, eyes sparkling. “I’m so jealous! It’s going to be so cool! What did you get?”

You glance at him, blinking rapidly to clear your head. “I... I’m still trying to figure it out,” you mumble, your voice sounding unsure, even to yourself. “It’s just... hard to process.”

Sunoo giggles. “Of course you are. It’s always hard to accept, right? I mean, last year, my sister got the ability to talk to animals. She’s been living with a pet snake for months now, and I swear, that thing is smarter than me. Some people get the craziest gifts! It’s just so exciting.”

You nod, trying to sound upbeat, but the mention of talking to animals only makes you feel even more confused. There are so many kinds of Blessings: there’s the ability to control fire, to read minds, to move objects with a glance, and some less flashy ones, like the ability to memorize anything you hear, or even the ability to speak every language fluently.

But seeing the future?

You shake your head. No way. That’s... too much. Way too much.

“Hey, Y/N, did you get your notification?” Sunoo asks, leaning in curiously. “I bet it’s something super cool. You’re going to be amazing with your Blessing.”

You can barely focus on his words as you pull out your phone again, a dull weight settling in your stomach. You scroll through the notification. Still there. Still the same message.

"Blessing Activated: The ability to see into the future."

You try to dismiss it. Your mind starts to race. Could it really be true? Could you really see the future? You look around the classroom, feeling a sudden wave of self-doubt. Was this a mistake? Or was your mind still so caught up in that dream with Jungwon, that it created something out of fantasy?

You glance out the window, distracted by the thought of what your future could hold. And yet, despite the fluttering feeling in your chest, you can’t shake the nagging thought at the back of your mind: What if it’s real?

The soft hum of the classroom was interrupted by the creak of the door opening, and in walked Jungwon.

“Holy shit,” someone whistles from across the room, dropping their pen. “Jungwon, you look like you just ran a marathon.”

You turn your head, and there he is.

Coming in the doorway, disheveled in a way that shouldn't look good but somehow does. His white button-up clings to his frame, damp and slightly wrinkled, the top two buttons undone to reveal a sharp collarbone slick with sweat. His usually styled hair falls messily across his forehead, and he’s practically glowing under the fluorescent light like chaos wrapped in charm.

Someone tosses him a bottle of water.

“What happened to you?” another guy laughs. “It’s third period, man.”

Jungwon catches the bottle effortlessly, twisting off the cap like he owns the moment. “Big bike broke down,” he says, taking a long drink before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Tire popped near Namsan intersection.”

“Damn. That sucks.”

“Why didn’t you call a cab or something?”

Jungwon’s lips curl into that infamous smirk, the one that always starts trouble.

“Couldn’t,” he says casually. “Left my wallet last night.”

“Where?”

He pauses dramatically, eyes flicking to the side before he says it:

“Some girl’s dorm.”

The silence is brief but heavy. Then, like clockwork, the room breaks into amused groans and howling laughter.

“You’re insane,” someone cackles.

“Bro. Again?”

“Whose this time?”

Jungwon just laughs, tossing his bag onto a nearby desk and shrugging out of his damp uniform jacket like he’s done this a hundred times. Which based on reputation, he probably has.

You look away, jaw clenched.

What were you thinking?

He might be handsome, charming, and seemingly always the center of attention, but that’s not you. You’re the class president. Always prepared, always on time. The responsible one professors rely on. You’ve talked to him maybe—what—twice? You barely share two classes, and even then, he never remembers to bring his ID, you even reprimanded him about that one time.

And yet this morning, you saw yourself in his bed.

His arms around you. His lips on your cheek. A little boy, Jihoon calling you Eomma.

A wild fantasy. That’s all it could be. A side effect of your Blessing. A trick of your crush-riddled brain.

Because that boy over there? The one with sweat dripping down his temple and a lazy grin on his lips while he talks about his nightly rendezvous like it’s a joke?

You take a breath, as if that thought alone should pull you back into reality.

But then you can’t help but glance at him again. The way his hair falls messily over his forehead, the glint of mischief in his eyes, how effortlessly the attention of the room falls on him like gravity pulling in everything around him.

And as your thoughts spiral, Jungwon catches your eye again. This time, he doesn’t look away. His gaze lingers just a second longer than it should, a playful glint sparking in the depths of his dark eyes. It's almost like he can sense your gaze, like he's aware of the tension in the air.

The weight of it all hits you. There’s no way someone like Jungwon could ever be husband material for you.

But you did have a crush on him, don’t you?

The question hits you like an electric jolt, and the realization makes your skin burn with embarrassment. You feel like a fool. A huge, pathetic fool for letting this fantasy play out, for letting him take up so much of your headspace when he barely knows you exist.

Your heart stutters, and you quickly look away, desperately trying to regain some semblance of control. No, you tell yourself. He’s not for you.

He’s not someone you fall in love with.

He's someone you survive.

That night, you had a plan.

A quiet café near the riverside, your favorite spot, where the view of the night city glimmers like constellations trapped in water. You’d go there alone, sip on something warm, pretend the world paused just for you, and think.

About the dream.

About the Blessing.

About how stupid it is to have someone like him trapped in your mind like he’s yours.

But before that… duty calls. Being class president means more than title and praise—it’s also staying late to organize reports other people forget exist. You’re hunched over your desk in the empty student council room, sorting folders by department, your phone buzzing softly against the desk.

It’s a message from Sunoo.

Sunooooo 🐥:

hey prez 😗 i left my USB in the drama club office, can u grab it for me?? it’s in the drawer beside the speaker. i owe u 2 bubble teas 😭🙏

You sigh, push your chair back, and stretch your arms. The building’s almost empty now, the halls eerily quiet, lights buzzing faintly overhead.

The drama club’s room is on the third floor. You climb the stairs, footsteps echoing, your mind halfway to the riverside already.

The door creaks open when you push it gently.

And everything inside you halts.

Your breath catches. The air leaves your lungs before your brain can tell you what you’re seeing.

Jungwon.

His back is to you, but you’d recognize him anywhere, even with his uniform shirt half-off, even with his mouth locked on someone else's neck like he’s starving, even with a girl tangled around him, her skirt pushed up high on his thigh, hands pulling him closer.

It’s raw, messy. Real.

The girl gasps and pulls away first, eyes widening in panic.

Jungwon turns. Hair mussed. Lips swollen. Chest rising and falling fast.

The room falls silent. Everything slows.

He sees you.

“Y/N?” he says, like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t just split your world open.

You feel your legs move before your mind catches up. You don’t say a word. You just back away, out the door, letting it click shut behind you.

You don’t remember how you got out of that room.

The door closed behind you with a click that felt too loud in the silent hallway, but your legs didn’t stop. You walked—no, stumbled—down the corridor like a ghost. Your heart still thunders in your chest, a strange mix of fury and humiliation burning behind your ribs.

You hear someone calling your name just as you turn the corner.

“Y/N!”

It’s Sunoo, jogging up to you with his usual bright energy and a hopeful grin. “Did you find the USB?”

You stop. Slowly turn to face him.

The expression on your face makes his smile falter.

“You—” your voice comes out shaky, then steadies with a strange coldness. “You seriously need to start screening the students in your club.”

Sunoo blinks. “Huh?”

“There’s a line, Kim Sunoo,” you snap, the words cutting sharper than you intended. “And whatever the hell was happening in that room? Way past it.”

He stares at you, brows furrowed in genuine confusion. “Wait, what are you—?”

You don’t wait for him to finish. “Tell your vice president to clean that space properly. And keep the door locked when it’s not in use.” Your tone is clipped. “This school has rules for a reason.”

And then you’re walking. Fast. Past the bulletin boards, down the stairs, out the doors into the open night air where it’s cooler, easier to breathe.

Sunoo calls your name once more behind you, but you don’t turn back.

You clutch your tote tighter, your steps hard on the pavement. Your thoughts spiral.

What the hell were you expecting?

That he was different?

That a man like Jungwon, irresistible, untouchable, a walking magnet of trouble and girls and charm would someday settle for someone like you?

You? The uptight, rule-following class president? The one who frowns at missed deadlines and documents everything in folders? You’ve spoken maybe twice. He probably doesn’t even remember what your voice sounds like.

The dream wasn’t a vision.

It was delusion.

A cruel, beautiful lie spun by a Blessing you hadn’t even asked for.

You sigh, pushing your hands through your hair as you finally round the corner, the warm light of the café now glowing just ahead. It’s quiet inside. A perfect place to sit with your thoughts, maybe even rewrite them into something less… pathetic.

But as you approach the glass doors, your reflection stares back at you.

Eyes wide.

Still shaken.

And behind all the anger, confusion, embarrassment—

There’s something else.

A flicker of hope that refuses to die.

What if it is the future?

What if, somehow, against all odds, things change?

And would you even want that?

You push the door open, the bell chiming softly above your head. The scent of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon wraps around you.

You find a seat by the window. You order something sweet.

And for the first time today…

You let yourself breathe.

The next day arrives colder than usual, the gray sky draping a slow, sleepy atmosphere over the campus. You’re halfway through skimming your notes at your desk when something plops onto the table beside your laptop.

You look up.

Sunoo grins, placing a cup of brown sugar bubble tea beside a bright yellow pack of gummy bears.

You blink. “What is this?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s a flicker of something mischievous in his eyes. “One of the two bubble teas I owe you.”

You raise a brow. “This?” Pointing at the pack of gummy bears.

He nods. “That’s... uh, from Jungwon.”

That makes you freeze.

Sunoo scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “He said I should give it to you since he felt bad about what happened yesterday. Said he didn’t mean for you to walk in on that.”

Your brows knit. You glance toward the door, scanning the incoming students. No sight of that familiar tall figure. “Where is he, then?”

Sunoo blinks. “Huh?”

“If he really felt bad,” you say, crossing your arms, “why can’t he say it to me upfront?”

Sunoo stammers. “Ah—he’s not skipping or anything. He just said he had something to take care of today.”

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

Sunoo shrugs again. “Lab research. BioChem. Said he’s getting data from the lab.”

Your eyes widen.

Lab research?

Your breath catches as you fumble to grab your phone. You had completely forgotten.

Two days ago, your Biochemistry professor had handed out a research task due in five days. You hadn’t even made a group chat yet for your team. You were supposed to assign roles, divide the work, set a meeting.

You swallow, fingers rushing to open your inbox and sure enough, there it is.

A message request from Jungwon, sent exactly two days ago.

hi y/n, i know we haven’t made the gc yet, but i was reviewing the assigned enzymes, so i made a quick draft of the intro and references. we can revise later. let me know if this is okay.

Attached is a PDF file.

You tap it open.

And you go still.

It’s… detailed. Clean. Formatted correctly. The citations are already APA 7th. He even included notes and potential corrections in the comments, like he expected you to edit it yourself.

Your eyes linger on the timestamp.

You feel a twist of guilt settle in your chest. Two whole days. And you only saw it now.

God, you think. He’s not just messing around all the time.

Jungwon may have the reputation of being a flirt, a wild card—hell, even that guy who disappears after parties—but his grades are stable. You’ve checked. Of course you have. And now, seeing this…

You hate that your heart flutters a little.

You shake it off. It’s ridiculous. You need to be logical. Collected.

Still, your fingers hover over the screen.

You type.

hey. sorry i just saw this. the draft looks good. where are you now?

You stare at the text, hesitate, then hit send.

The typing bubble doesn’t appear. Yet your chest is already tight.

Sunoo notices the way you keep looking at your phone.

“You okay?”

You hum noncommittally.

Because the truth is…

You don’t know what you want his reply to say.

Your phone stays silent all through your next class.

And the one after that.

You keep glancing at it when no one’s looking—pretending to scroll through lecture slides while secretly refreshing your messages. Nothing. Not even a “seen.”

By the time the afternoon rolls around, your head's a mess of static. You try to lose yourself in your workload, drowning in spreadsheets and professor emails, but everything tastes like paper and air. That dream still clings to the back of your mind like static on skin. Warm breath on your neck. That stupid soft voice calling you mine.

You shake it off again. It's all just hormones and brain chemistry and—yeah, maybe a little too much pining. You can get through this.

You push away from your desk, grabbing your bag. You’ll head to the lab early, maybe reorganize the data files. Be useful. Do something.

But as you exit the building, your heart stutters.

Jungwon is there.

Not in your imagination, not folded behind a dream, but actually there. At the shaded edge of the quad near the science wing, one foot propped against the wall, head tilted as he scrolls his phone. His uniform shirt is crumpled in that lazy way that’s probably not intentional but always looks intentional. His neck glistens faintly with leftover sweat from the walk, and his bangs stick slightly to his forehead.

He hasn’t noticed you yet.

You freeze.

Part of you wants to turn around.

Part of you wants to go straight up and ask him why the hell he didn’t respond. Why he’s acting like nothing happened. Why your name still sits unopened in his inbox when he’s clearly online.

But mostly you just stand there.

Then, as if summoned by your indecision, he lifts his gaze.

Your eyes meet.

The air shifts. It doesn’t crash. Doesn’t burn. But it thickens.

He pushes off the wall slowly, slipping his phone into his back pocket, eyes locked on you.

No smirk. No signature grin.

Just him. Watching.

Then he calls, voice low but unmistakably Jungwon: “Hey. President.”

You stiffen.

Not Y/N.

Not even hey.

Just President. Detached. Teasing.

Like he didn’t make you spiral last night without even trying.

Like you didn’t see him tangled with another girl just hours after dreaming of his arms around you like a promise.

You square your shoulders.

“You got the lab data?” you ask plainly, walking forward with steady steps.

Jungwon nods, pulling a crumpled printout from his bag, and holds it out. “Compiled the results. Some weird numbers in the catalase trials, though. Might be a pipette issue.”

You take the paper, fingers brushing.

You pretend not to notice the tiny flicker in his eyes.

“Thanks,” you say, voice clipped. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

You turn to leave.

But just before you walk past him, his voice comes again, quieter this time, a little too casual.

“…You saw the file?”

You stop. Don’t face him. Just nod once.

“And?” he asks.

You pause again. Swallowing the lump of everything you could say.

“It’s good,” you mutter, before walking away.

You don’t look back.

But you feel his gaze burning into the space where your footsteps used to be.

That night, the campus is quieter than usual.

Most of the dorms have dimmed down, the courtyard echoing only with the soft chirp of cicadas and the occasional motorbike in the distance. You’re back in your room, the soft yellow desk lamp casting long shadows across your textbooks. The lab report glows on your screen, and your fingers move on autopilot, editing, cross-checking, reformatting Jungwon’s initial draft.

You hate how well-written it is.

Hate how focused he must’ve been when writing it.

Hate that he sent it before you even made a group chat.

He knew. He just… did it anyway.

The way your mind keeps replaying today’s encounter isn’t helping either. That careless tone. The unread message. The way he looked at you, not like you were someone he’d kissed or remembered, but like you were just another task to check off.

You sigh hard through your nose, shoving your glasses onto your head and pushing away from your desk. You grab your phone out of habit.

Still nothing from Jungwon.

You frown.

And then like a cruel joke your phone buzzes.

Unknown Number

[9:47 PM]

hey.

You blink.

The typing bubbles flicker, disappear, flicker again.

Then:

it’s jungwon.

You stare at it. Right, you never saved his number. You consider leaving it on seen, out of pure spite.

But then another message arrives.

thanks for checking the file.

Simple. Casual. No emojis. Not even a period. You almost roll your eyes.

You don’t respond right away.

The dots appear again.

are you still mad about yesterday.

Your jaw tightens. Your fingers hover over the screen, unsure whether to ignore or unleash. But before you decide—

it’s fine if you are. just wanted to say i wasn’t trying to... make you uncomfortable or anything.

You blink again. This time, slower.

Another message comes.

didn't know you’d walk in.

That annoys you. A flick of your thumb and you're typing fast before you can stop yourself.

[You]

Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t make me uncomfortable.

[You]

I’ve seen worse.

You hit send and set your phone down, heart beating faster than you’d like to admit.

But he responds almost immediately.

you sure? you looked like you saw a ghost.

You inhale sharply.

[You]

I was just surprised. That’s all.

Typing bubbles again. Then pause. Then again.

sunoo said you looked pissed.

[You]

Well, maybe tell Sunoo to mind his business.

Another pause.

Then finally:

you don’t like me much, do you.

Your fingers freeze.

For a second, you consider lying. Saying of course not, brushing him off.

But your thumb hovers too long.

And somehow, you type:

[You]

I don’t really know you.

This time, it takes a little longer before he replies.

But when it comes, it’s unexpected.

then maybe let me fix that.

You blink at the screen.

The cursor waits, asking what you'll do next.

The next day, Jungwon is already waiting in the hallway by the science building when you arrive.

It’s unusual—he’s unusual.

Not late. Not surrounded by a gaggle of students laughing at his latest offhanded charm. He’s just… there.

Leaning against the white-tiled wall with his arms folded, sleeves rolled up, and the usual smirk playing at his lips. But this time, it’s softer. Almost thoughtful.

You slow your steps. Part of you wants to ignore him. Pretend last night’s conversation didn’t exist. Pretend he wasn’t the reason your thoughts kept short-circuiting through biochemistry formulas you didn’t study for.

But of course, he notices you before you even consider slipping away.

“Morning, President,” he calls, straightening from the wall. “I was starting to think you’d ditch lab today.”

You give him a sidelong glance. “Why would I?”

As you step inside the lab, Jungwon follows quietly, his footsteps just a beat behind yours. For once, he doesn’t try to fill the silence with jokes or idle flirtation.

Just as you reach for your lab coat, he says it. Casual, but too quiet to be harmless.

“You seemed a little different last night.”

You pause mid-button, fingers stilling at your collar. “…What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, not meeting your eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe I had different views about you until yesterday.”

Your gaze narrows. “And what would you know about me last night?”

His lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile. “Just… stuff. The way you talked. Your messages. The way you suddenly replied. It felt different.”

There’s a weird pressure building in your chest. An old instinct, fight or flight.

Your voice comes out sharper than intended. “If this is your way of getting back at me for… walking into that night, then please—I hope you stop.”

That makes him blink.

For once, he doesn’t have a snarky comeback ready. He just watches you, expression unreadable, lips slightly parted like he wasn’t expecting that.

You drop your bag on the nearest chair and turn away from him, fixing your gloves with more focus than you need. The lab is silent except for the hum of overhead lights and the slow clink of glass being arranged.

And still, you can feel his gaze.

Heavy. Focused. Not the kind that undresses you, but the kind that unravels.

He doesn't speak again for the next ten minutes.

But whatever he’s thinking?

It lingers in the air between you strange, searching, and unsettlingly curious.

“Right, I read the sample analysis section you made this morning. You write well,” you say.

He grins, leaning closer as you reach for the lab equipment. “Well, maybe I wanted to impress you.”

You choke slightly on air. “Excuse me?”

Jungwon’s smile doesn’t falter. “What? I figured if you’re gonna think I’m just some fuck-up with a nice face, I should prove you wrong.”

His words hit sharper than they should. Like they were dipped in something hot before being handed to you.

You fix your gloves with more pressure than necessary. “I don’t think that,” you lie.

He hums. “You sure?”

You glance at him. He’s already pulling on his goggles, but the tilt of his mouth is too smug for someone who’s not enjoying this.

He’s trying.

Not in the way people usually do, with flowers or pick-up lines or chasing you through the quad. But trying in his own strange, infuriating way.

Jungwon, campus heartthrob, late to every second class, always with a hickey or two to hide, is suddenly showing up on time, preparing lab notes, offering to help you with the pH balance readout before you even ask.

And the most confusing part?

He’s not flirting like he usually does.

There’s no winks. No lazy drawls of your name. Just this steady, unnerving attention. Like you’re a problem he wants to understand, and maybe, just maybe, solve.

Halfway through titration, you break the silence.

“You know,” you say quietly, not looking up, “we barely know each other.”

Jungwon glances at you over the rim of his beaker.

“That’s kind of the point,” he says simply.

You glance back. “What?”

“I want to,” he says, voice calm, low, and sure. “Get to know you.”

You freeze.

There’s no laugh behind his words. No teasing. Just sincerity. Raw and strangely unfamiliar, coming from him.

You drop your eyes again, hands tightening around the glassware. “Why?”

He tilts his head like the answer is obvious. “Don’t you ever get tired of people pretending around you?”

You stare at the blue liquid swirling in the beaker.

Yes.

But you don’t say it.

Because how the hell does he know that?

Your grip on the beaker tightens, knuckles paling. For a second, you forget to swirl.

The silence hangs there, suspended like the acid fumes in the air. Unspoken, unexplainable.

Jungwon doesn’t push.

He just returns to his notes, pen scratching gently across the paper, like he hadn’t just peeled open something raw in you without ever looking up.

The rest of the lab passes with that same strange rhythm. You work in silence, too aware of his presence beside you, too aware of the weight in his glances when he thinks you’re not looking.

You don’t know what’s changed. Only that something has.

And whatever it is, it’s throwing off your balance.

When class ends, you’re the first to gather your things. You need air, space, anything to clear the mess in your head. You sling your bag over your shoulder, brushing past the last lab bench, when you hear him behind you again.

“Hey, wait.”

You stop. But you don’t turn around.

“About what I said earlier,” he continues, and his voice is softer now, almost hesitant. “I meant it. I want to know who you are. Not as the class president. Just… you.”

You swallow hard. “You’re weird today,” you mutter, forcing a laugh that doesn’t sound like yours.

Jungwon doesn’t respond immediately. Then, as you start walking again, he says quietly:

“Maybe you just finally started paying attention.”

You leave before he can say anything more.

That night, you lie on your bed, staring up at your ceiling as the hum of the city fills your ears through the open window.

Your phone is beside you, lit up with the unanswered messages from your org groupchat, some random memes from Sunoo, and one still unopened message from Jungwon, sent just now.

You hover over it, thumb twitching.

Lab partner:

Let’s meet again tomorrow. I’ll bring the spectrometer data.

…Also, I didn’t mean to make things weird. I just think you’re interesting. That’s all.

You stare at the screen for a long moment.

How does someone change overnight?

How does someone who never cared suddenly act like they see you?

You lock your phone and press it face-down onto your chest.

Maybe this is just how college goes. People are unpredictable. Feelings shift. You’ve seen it happen.

But deep down… something in your gut says this isn’t just feelings.

It’s something else.

Something you can’t quite name.

Not yet.

Jungwon watches your retreating figure until you disappear into the stairwell, the glass door swinging shut behind you with a soft click.

He exhales. Runs a hand through his hair.

What the hell are you doing to me?

"Yo!" A familiar voice calls from across the courtyard. Jay’s already halfway toward him, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, lanyard swinging lazily from his neck. “You free?”

Jungwon nods wordlessly and falls into step beside him.

They walk in silence for a while, the wind cool and sharp against his skin. It's late afternoon now, the sun low, casting long shadows on the pavement as they make their way to the parking lot.

Jay’s halfway through a story about a classmate bombing their presentation when Jungwon suddenly cuts in.

"Hey," he says, voice low. “How stupid do you have to be… to not realize your long-time crush actually likes you back?”

Jay pauses mid-step. “Damn. Where’s that coming from?”

Jungwon doesn’t answer right away. He kicks at a pebble on the ground. “I mean, you’ve liked someone for so long, but you didn’t know—couldn’t tell—that they might feel the same.”

Jay raises a brow. “Well, I wouldn’t say the person is stupid. It’s not easy to assume something like that about your own crush. Most people don’t want to believe in something unless, they’re sure.”

Jungwon hums, thoughtful.

Jay goes on, more carefully now. “And if that person—the crush—doesn’t show anything? Doesn’t flirt, doesn’t confess, doesn’t even act like they notice you? Then yeah. I can see why you wouldn’t suspect it.”

He shrugs. “Especially if you’re the type who’s also good at hiding your own feelings. You both end up playing it cool. Two silent idiots in a stand-off.”

That earns a half-smile from Jungwon. “So, it’s a draw?”

“No,” Jay chuckles. “It’s a mess.”

Jungwon laughs, then quiets again, eyes drifting up to the campus skyline. The same classroom windows, the same building. But something feels different now.

He thinks about the way you looked at him today. Guarded. Defensive. Scared, almost, that he was pulling some kind of joke on you.

And god, maybe he deserved that. Maybe he was a joke, before yesterday.

But now… now he knows something else.

Not from gossip. Not from rumors.

From you. In your own thoughts.

He shakes his head.

“Still feels like I don’t deserve to know something she hasn’t said out loud.”

Jay glances sideways. “You saying you’re hearing confessions in your dreams now?”

Jungwon smirks faintly. “Something like that.”

They reach the parking lot. The quiet hum of passing cars fills the space between them.

Jay finally says, “So what are you gonna do?”

Jungwon leans against the side of his motorbike, crossing his arms. The late sun glints off his helmet, dangling loosely from the handlebars.

“I’m gonna stop pretending I don’t care,” he says. “And I’m gonna make sure she knows I see her now.”

Jay raises an eyebrow. “You really got it bad, huh?”

Jungwon doesn’t answer.

He just looks toward the building one last time, expression unreadable—but no longer unsure.

"Late birthday gift," Jay says casually, already fiddling with his car keys. "Didn't have time to hand it yesterday."

Jungwon rolls his eyes but there's a genuine grin tugging at his mouth as he peeks inside the bag.

Inside, there’s a simple keychain—a silver motorcycle charm—and a half-eaten pack of mint gum taped to a note that says “For fresh starts. Don’t mess it up.”

Jungwon shakes his head, amused. "You're the worst gift giver."

Jay grins, unapologetic. “You’re welcome, asshole.”

Jungwon slips the keychain into his pocket anyway, feeling the small weight of it settle there. It's stupid. It's small. But somehow, it feels heavier than it should.

Maybe because yesterday wasn't just about turning eighteen.

Maybe because it wasn’t just about the blessing he received.

It was about everything starting to tilt sideways—about seeing things he never allowed himself to see before.

About realizing that maybe, just maybe, the person you spent so long pretending you didn’t notice… was already standing in front of you, noticing you too.

Jay unlocks his car, tossing his bag into the backseat. "You coming?"

Jungwon swings his helmet onto his head, the faint jingle of the new keychain in his pocket.

"Nah," he says, voice a little lighter. "Think I'll stick around a bit."

He watches Jay pull out of the lot, then leans back against his bike, staring up at the dimming sky.

For the first time in a long while, Jungwon isn't rushing anywhere.

He’s just… waiting.

For once, he doesn't mind.

Or at least, he thinks he doesn't until he checks his phone and sees your name sitting quietly in his notifications.

No new message.

Just last night’s thread, and your last reply still stuck in his head.

Something pulls at him. Impulse, maybe. Or instinct.

Without thinking, he swings one leg over his bike, starts the engine, and makes a turn back toward the front of campus.

The tires crunch lightly against the pavement as he rolls to a smooth stop just outside the main gates. His eyes scan the crowd.

And there you are.

Walking alone, the sunset catching the edges of your hair, a plastic bag hanging from your wrist—maybe takeout, maybe something from the café nearby. Lost in thought, your expression unreadable.

Jungwon lifts his helmet’s visor, smirking.

“Hey, wife!”

Your head snaps up.

You freeze, eyes wide, mouth slightly open like the word itself just slapped you in the face.

Jungwon chuckles, resting his elbow casually on the handlebar. “What?” he says, shrugging. “Hop on. I’ll give you a ride.”

You blink, still in shock, unsure whether to roll your eyes, yell at him, or melt into the sidewalk.

Probably all three.

You stare at him like he just spoke in another language.

Wife.

The word still echoes in your ears, sharp and ridiculous and dangerously familiar. Too familiar.

Your hand tightens around the plastic bag. “What did you just call me?”

Jungwon only grins, a maddening glint in his eyes. “You heard me.”

You narrow your gaze. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

He shrugs, tapping the seat behind him. “Depends. Are you going to get on, or keep standing there like I didn’t just offer you the smoothest getaway from a long day of work?”

You glance at the bike. Then back at him. And suddenly your mind flashes, uninvited, to the dream you swore was just that: a dream.

A boy with dark hair, arms wrapped around you on a bike.

Laughter. Wind. A familiar warmth pressing into your back as the city blurred behind you.

You shake the thought away. No.

Absolutely not.

“Are you trying to be funny?” you ask tightly, your voice firmer than your heart feels. “Because I’m not laughing.”

Jungwon’s smirk softens. Not entirely, but enough that it startles you. There’s something in his eyes now, something quieter. Not playboy-charming. Not smug. Just… sincere.

“I’m not trying anything,” he says, almost too casually. “I just figured… we don’t really know each other, right?”

Your breath catches.

“And maybe,” he adds, his voice dipping lower, “you might want to get to know me too.”

For a moment, neither of you move. The wind brushes your hair into your face. His helmet gleams under the last stretch of sunset.

Then, slowly, you take a step forward.

His eyes flicker with something…surprise? Hope?

You raise an eyebrow. “Call me wife again and I’ll throw this bubble tea at your face.”

Jungwon laughs. Really laughs. “Noted.”

You roll your eyes. “One ride. That’s it.”

He pats the seat, triumphant. “One ride,” he echoes, and you swear his voice sounds just a little too satisfied.

You hesitate once more before climbing on, arms uncertain.

But when the engine roars to life, your fingers instinctively curl around his jacket.

And as the bike pulls away from campus, you don’t see the knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You don’t know he knew everything.

Not yet.

But soon—

You will.

lmk your thoughts :D

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angelluv16 · 2 days ago

Text

Finding our way back

Max Verstappen x reader

✩: Weeks after letting you walk away, Max finally faces what he’s been running from, and he’s not willing to lose you again.

Want to be added to my taglist?: Click here

pairing: max verstappen x reader

request: Yes!!

warnings: Fluff ending, Emotional conversations, and past conflict. breakup recovery

part 1

You hadn’t heard from him.

Not in a text. Not in a call. Not even in a passive-aggressive like on your story. Nothing.

You thought you’d be relieved after walking away, after choosing yourself for once, but instead, you felt like you were floating in some strange limbo, somewhere between heartbreak and healing. The days blurred. Your apartment was too quiet. And your heart… your heart still beat like it was waiting for his.

It had been three weeks.

You thought maybe Max was done. Maybe he’d let you go that easily because it really didn’t matter that much anymore. That all the time, all the nights you’d stayed up waiting for him to come home, all the soft I love you's whispered into his collarbone, none of it was enough to make him fight for you.

But what you didn’t know was that Max hadn’t slept right in two weeks either.

He’d wake up and reach for your side of the bed, forgetting you weren’t there. He’d go to tell you something about his day, a dumb moment from the garage, a text Lando had sent that made him laugh, but you weren’t there. He’d scroll through old photos at night, fingers lingering too long on the ones where you were looking at him, not the camera.

He had let you walk away.

And that silence? It was loud. Louder than your voice ever was when you begged him to let you in.

It was after the third night in a row of sitting in the dark with your photo pulled up on his phone that Max realized he hadn’t just lost someone he loved. He’d lost the one person who saw him, even when he was too stubborn to let it show. And worse, he hadn’t even tried to stop it.

So he did what he should’ve done weeks ago.

It was a Saturday morning when he showed up.

You heard the knock at your door, three soft taps. You almost didn’t open it. You thought maybe it was your neighbor again, asking about your WiFi or whatever. But something in your chest tightened, like it knew. Like it had been waiting for this moment the whole time.

You opened the door.

And there he was.

Max, standing there in a hoodie you’d stolen more times than he could count, hands in his pockets, eyes tired, lips parted like he’d rehearsed something but forgot every word the second he saw you.

You blinked. “Max…”

“Hi.” His voice cracked, like it hadn’t been used in days. “Can I come in?”

You stared at him for a second longer, then stepped aside silently. The second he crossed the threshold, the air shifted—thicker, heavier, but not angry. Just quiet. Cautious.

Like you were both walking on old wounds.

Max stood there for a beat, looking around your living room like it had changed. Like it wasn’t his second home for so long. “You moved the couch.”

You let out a breathy laugh, sitting on the edge of said couch. “It’s been two weeks. I’ve been trying not to think about you every time I sit down.”

His eyes dropped. “I deserve that.”

You looked at him—really looked at him. He looked like hell. He probably thought the same about you. “Why are you here?”

Max sat down slowly, but not too close. His hands wrung together like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Because I owe you the conversation I should’ve had that night. And I—” he paused, swallowing thickly, “I owe you an apology.”

You crossed your arms, not cold, just guarded. “You said a lot of things, Max.”

“I know,” he said quickly, almost desperately. “And I didn’t mean them. I was angry, and scared, and—I don’t know—I thought I could push you away before you walked away yourself.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Why would you think I’d leave you?”

Max’s eyes finally met yours. “Because I’ve spent my whole life preparing for people to walk away. I thought… if I didn’t need anyone, then losing them wouldn’t hurt.”

He laughed, bitter and small. “But losing you hurt. Worse than anything.”

You were quiet for a long time, your chest tight and your heart beating so loud you swore he could hear it. “Why didn’t you say something before? All I wanted was for you to talk to me.”

“I know,” he whispered. “And I hated that I couldn’t. Not because I didn’t want to—but because I didn’t know how.”

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers shaking slightly. “I was always taught to stay focused. Stay locked in. And somewhere along the way, I started thinking that being vulnerable made me weak. That needing you, showing that I needed you, meant I wasn’t strong enough to handle everything on my own.”

He shook his head, eyes glassy now. “But God, I was so wrong.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and all you saw was the boy underneath, the one who loved deeply but had never learned how to say it out loud. The one who let silence do the talking until it was too late. The one who finally looked like he was ready to try.

“I’m not asking you to be perfect, Max,” you said quietly. “I never was. I just wanted to be let in. I just wanted to know you trusted me enough to carry it with you.”

He nodded slowly. “And I do. I always did. I was just too proud to admit it.”

A beat passed.

“Do you still love me?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Max didn’t even hesitate. “I never stopped.”

Something cracked inside you—something you’d been holding together with duct tape and denial.

“I love you,” he said again, clearer this time. “And I know I messed up. I know I let you walk away and didn’t fight for you when I should’ve. But I’m here now. I’m ready to be better. I want to fix this, if you’ll let me.”

You blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall. “I don’t want perfect, Max. I just want you.”

Max scooted closer then, slowly, like he was afraid he’d scare you off. “You have me,” he whispered. “All of me. If you still want it.”

You nodded, a small smile breaking through the storm. “I do.”

He reached out then, his fingers brushing against yours, and it was like breathing again for the first time in weeks. Like the silence had finally broken. Like maybe, just maybe, love really could survive the silence.

And when he pulled you into him—arms wrapping around you tight, nose buried in your shoulder—you knew something had shifted again. Not back to what it was.

But to something stronger.

Something rebuilt.

You found your way back.

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julietcpulet · 2 days ago

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LN 5 epilogue: The moment, the aftermath and the anime.

I’ve seen people being concerned for how things will be portrayed if the anime makes it to the LN 5 epilogue where Jinshi and Maomao have their undoubtedly most intense moment of the series. If the anime gets renewed for a season 3 it’ll have to cover this as the first two seasons have done 4 light novels so if we get even one more it’ll be expected to make through light novel 6, which is great material. Do I expect that some people are going to see Jinshi’s behavior as toxic, assault and the like? Yup, probably ramped up 1,000% from the frog scene even. Do I think the anime will tone it down from the light novel? Yes I do. They’ve added things here and there to other scenes and in ways I think it’s helped, with that moment and its nuances I don’t see them going all the way there. Also, there’s lots of fan debate on translation so I wouldn’t be surprised if the animators take a light tone just to keep from siding one way or another on how it was translated. That being said, here’s why I’m not that worried even if the whole scene is shown: because sometimes we need the messy moments for the growth to happen. (Spoilers under the cut)

First, some perspective. An analysis on the moment itself.

People can argue that this one moment in Jinmao history is a bit too messy but I don’t think so. For one, I don’t think Jinshi was truly trying to hurt Maomao. Yes we see him put his hand on her throat and pull her hand behind her back, however he quickly releases both, his one hand to twine in her hair and the other to pull her closer when he kisses her. The point of both was to get her attention. This scene starts out in a somewhat similar fashion to the frog scene but it is much more of a breaking point for the two of them than that. Just like with the frog scene, Jinshi has something vital he wants to communicate with Maomao. The whole reason for her being there is that she’s a marriage candidate, she is even wearing a hair stick Jinshi had made specifically for her, one with a moon and a poppy. (Moon Prince and the girl who likes poison, since poppies represent poison, anyone?) But when they begin talking on this subject Maomao, like before and always, evades and won’t admit she knows she’s his real choice for a wife and this is a proposal. Instead she even has the audacity to suggest he marry Lishu, who at this point even Maomao knows has feelings for Basen and wouldn’t be a good choice for Jinshi given her nature and his. To me it’s this continual evasiveness that gets Jinshi to grab her attention again by putting his hands on her in a more aggressive manner. For Maomao though, we’re finally given a glimpse at why her responses are likely instinctual over emotional and why she appears to almost “shut down” in the face of an advance. It’s because we see that her brain has been taught to view everything from the perspective of the pleasure district, she even later says she was “indoctrinated”. Horrifyingly, her sisters subjected her to sexual conduct when she was young to learn the ways of a courtesan to the point of tears and so when she’s in a situation where anything sexual happens she doesn’t see it as an opportunity to express herself but instead to retreat and only find a way to gain the upper hand.

Remember too that Maomao admits from the beginning that Jinshi “isn’t the type who would lay a hand on a young woman” and this doesn’t make her change her opinion. She even says out loud when he says “I wasn’t actually going to hit you”, “I know.” She can jump around his actions but knows whatever he’s doing isn’t about hurting her, it’s about getting a reaction out of her, which is why she denies him that satisfaction. We see once Maomao takes any kind of initiative Jinshi backs off, showing his only real goal was to have her show any reciprocation towards him at all. Especially when we see his perspective at the beginning of LN 6 where he’s looking back on the interaction and realizes Maomao’s detachment, we understand what he wants from her is not simply sexual engagement. He wants her to feel something and not be “like trying to shove a curtain…simply roll with it.” To me this expresses why it’s not “assault” in that Jinshi wasn’t trying to harm, harass or have sex with Maomao. He releases her when he thinks she’s kissing him back and his excitement over the interaction is over when he sees her face and realizes that she was completely devoid of feeling like usual and just playing along to whatever end she thought was expected of her.

Why is this pivitol for Jinmao? Understanding them. Growth.

Because it’s where we finally get to see why these two cannot seem to get on the same page about love or mutual feelings. Without it they’d just keep doing the same old push / pull song and dance forever. The quote before he reaches behind her head gives us a clue to all of it.

“That word, that simple four-letter word with its o and its e, was sometimes called vulgar, and sometimes turned out to be nothing more than a game- but some people said it was impossible to live without.”

Maomao is talking about love, what she sees in Jinshi’s eyes, what she’s trying to avoid and how we’re supposed to see them both playing it as a game because right now they can’t see it as anything else just yet. If you read on into LN 6 we see that Jinshi’s whole goal was basically to “triumph over” or to get a rise out of Maomao in some way, which he miserably admits he failed at. She remained unmoved and defeated him soundly. But that’s the whole point of this moment between these two is to show that they’re both still viewing love this way, as a “game” where one side has to win and have the upper hand to be successful. It’s why Jinshi tries to push Maomao to show him emotion and then Maomao is the one to have “victory” in the end by using what her sisters taught her but with absolutely no feeling behind it. Even during their interaction we get a glimpse that Maomao seems pleased Jinshi was jealous she had been dancing with Rikuson, “So he had been watching them!” (To me meaning she wanted him to notice.) So there may not be complete lack of feeling on her part, just a twisted sense that it has to be manipulated. Jinshi’s view of love comes from watching palace women and men play political games for affection and status. Maomao sees love as dangerous and deceptive, many times the only form of it leading to harm and abandonment in the pleasure district. So both of them have no real concept what it means to love someone other than to try and get one over on the other, it’s about power, control and hiding what you actually want. Without this understanding on our part, as the readers and audience, that Jinshi and Maomao have troubled histories and a distorted view of love, we would just see the way they handle one another as abusive. You need this scene and others like it to get a glimpse into how they actually operate, what they're hiding and what the aftermath does for them.

From the moment to the aftermath, where change happens.

It's in the aftermath we see real change for the two of them. Jinshi realizes he was conceited and a part of him believing that because others respond to him favorably he could get Maomao to do the same. Maomao doesn’t evade him in the same way as before either. Yes when they reunite in LN 6 Jinshi still offers her an antler and they engage in their typical back and forth complete with Maomao trying to reason herself out of being Jinshi’s choice but it’s lighthearted and both are far less intense. Maomao’s want to rationalize Jinshi’s choice as purely political without feeling helps her reason why he might want to pick her. It gives us a glimpse at her self esteem being so low that she has to say “He’s got strange tastes, though” to understand why Jinshi would pick her over other women she’d consider more desirable to him. It’s telling too that Maomao is quoted as thinking,

“Maybe he was hoping she would come right out and say she loved him, but quite frankly, Maomao wasn’t at a point where she could bring those words to her lips. The best she could manage was that she wasn’t without a certain affection for him."

It’s telling because 1. It says she isn’t at that point she can bring the words to her lips, not that she doesn’t feel love for him. 2. It still states clearly she has affection for him. This goes to show that Jinshi’s prodding can have an effect on Maomao. Being the kind of shut down person she is due to her background, she in effect can almost need someone like Jinshi who’s willing to push her outside her comfort zone to get her to admit to feelings she’s unwilling or even at times unable to fully voice. Even in the next moments where he tickles her and she lightly objects but lets him, it allows even more walls between the two to be bridged. It’s not aggressive like what happens in the LN 5 epilogue but more like what two true lovers might do in playfully getting to know one another. And it still proves the most effective way in getting Maomao to open up because their conversation here leads to the first real confession Maomao makes about her true fear and it’s made as clear as it can be that it’s not marrying Jinshi himself but that in doing so she doesn’t want to become Gyokuyou’s enemy. This revelation by Maomao sets off a lot of what happens in the next novels for them and it wouldn’t have happened had Jinshi not pushed Maomao to stop ignoring she was a marriage candidate and instinctively shutting him out. By letting Jinshi in, not hiding what she’s actually thinking, even this little bit, he takes that knowledge and tries to do all in his power to keep her from being afraid of a future where they’re together. But without the moment in the garden of the LN 5 epilogue there would be no Maomao opening up and no Jinshi realizing he needs to do what he can, not to prove his feelings to her but to prove it’s possible they can work and she won’t be in a tough position.

"For you, I will remove every obstacle that keeps us apart. One day. Just know that." - "I won't let what you fear come to pass. I swear it."

An important detail: star crossed lovers.

I think this quote that occurs just before the LN 5 epilogue moment is important to mention because it ties into a theme that becomes relevant with Maomao and Jinshi going forward, that of the star-crossed lovers.Maomao is looking up at the dark sky and it’s possibly one of the most romantic observations she makes. Some may say I’m reading too much into this but if you’ve read Hyuuga’s novels you’ll know the details are where are the goodies are.

“The sky seemed so vast. There was no moon, making the stars to shine all the brighter. Three of them shone brightest of all. Perhaps those stars were the two lovers, and the river that separated them.”

This is likely referencing the myth of Altair & Vega, those are their western names but it’s a Chinese ancient myth about a celestial princess who falls in love with a mortal and they end up being placed as stars in the sky, separated by the Milky Way only able to see one another on occasional days (that’s my brief description, worth looking up if you want to know more). So I don’t think it’s coincidence at all Maomao references the stars being two lovers (Jinshi & Maomao) and the river that separates them (likely the empire or even Gyokuyou because she keeps requesting Maomao at her side.) I don’t think it’s that far a stretch to make. And this comes before they have this intense, highly charged moment in the garden as almost lovers. Completely misunderstanding each other yes, hence the river between them they have yet to cross but I think that’s why nothing can be taken at such face value here because even a quote like this can add such depth. Hyuuga does this again with the star-crossed lovers motif in LN 6 where in the same antler scene she has Maomao notice Jinshi looking at the book that falls and it’s Romeo & Juliet. How this relates to the LN 5 scene is that the star-crossed lovers are mired in tragedy, misunderstandings, missed opportunity. But as we see in LN 6 with the moment Maomao & Jinshi speak about Romeo & Juliet is they both agree about wishing for a different ending (I talk about this in another post). So my thought here is without the LN 5 epilogue, without having them be the stars separated by the river, having them face these difficulties, we also wouldn’t get the ending they’re both working so hard towards.

Finally, the anime: striking a balance.

So why should we actually look forward to a moment like the one in LN 5 being shown in the anime? Because it's not just about that moment but about everything it represents and leads to for these characters. Without this singular moment that's fraught with so much unresolved tension, feelings and decisions, Jinshi and Maomao would've never been pushed to discuss what needed to be between one another. They've both had too messy of upbringings to do so in any natural way. Maomao almost needs Jinshi to needle her to get her out of her self-imposed shell and he likewise needs Maomao to shut him down sometimes to prove his conceited notions aren't always on course. But without a moment like this we wouldn't have gotten a truth from Maomao that leads to down the road her admittance that she's merely afraid her feelings are too lukewarm compared to Jinshi's.

"It was a heat like molten metal. She wasn’t sure what to do with it all for the temperature she could return was no more than that of lukewarm water."

In effect showing that it's her sense of inferiority keeping them apart more than it is a lack of actual desire on either side. With the anime, I expect them to strike a reasonable balance. There's too much internal monologue that I don't think they'll be able to capture it all. The frog scene for me showed they were able to walk that tight rope between intense behavior and romantic advancement like the scene is meant to convey so if it would be the same team handling the garden scene I'm not worried at all. I think the anime's that are willing to stick to the canon, regardless of plots that may seem a bit edgy or not fit within modern standards, tend to be the best ones. So far Apothecary Diaries anime has stuck closely to the light novels and I would be surprised if we got to this moment and they deviated too much, they've handled much darker topics than this. I worry more about people's reactions to it but even then I anticipate the arguments that will coming along, hence this long winded explanation haha.

In truth, were this reality, would I recommend a girl friend stay with a guy like Jinshi, no I wouldn’t but I also wouldn’t recommend and guy friend stay with someone like Maomao who never listens and eats poison. Sometimes people take the fun out of watching two characters who are close to reality but don’t live in it play out an interesting story. I fully expect people won’t get the nuance in that scene and even I could read too much into it myself but I’m just looking forward to more seasons if we get them. However the anime decides to portray it should be good if we get there and I hope my analysis has made sense, even if it’s a bit long as always 😂.

#the apothecary diaries #kusuriya no hitorigoto #jinmao #jinshi x maomao #maomao #jinshi #apothecary diaries #jinmao rambles #if you like long breakdowns and analysis i'm ya gal

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0cta9on · 15 hours ago

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Breather

Length: 1.4k words

Genre: Smut

Young Posse Yeonjung x Male Reader

(Author's Note: Thank you to @mintwithchoco for beta <3 Enjoy!)

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

There’s a subtle beauty in the way her chest rises and falls with heavy breath as the rest of her body poses perfectly still like a statue. Clothes damp with sweat, hair disheveled, and yet, she still somehow manages to be the sexiest person you’ve ever seen as she glares at you with those steely, determined eyes from the front of the camera.

“That’s a wrap!” As soon as those words leave your mouth, Yeonjung’s idol facade collapses to the ground, along with the rest of her body.

“Let me do it again,” she huffs, each word struggling against her breath. “I messed up that one part again. I can do it better this time, I—“

“Yeah, no.”

“What?” Her dedication to her craft is commendable, to say the least.

“You’re exhausted, I’m exhausted, it’s 2AM, let me go home please.”

“But—”

“Nope.” You’re already halfway done packing up your camera before she can utter another word. “Amongst the billions of takes you made me record, I’m sure there’s a good one in there.”

Yeonjung crawls to you, barely enough energy to cling onto your pant leg. “Please, just one more!”

“Just look at you!” you point out as you help her to her feet. The clack of her heels echoes throughout the dance studio, a sound that will likely haunt you for the next couple of nights. “You need to go home and shower. You stink.”

She pouts at you, gripping onto your shoulder for balance. “Yah!”

As exhausting as the last five hours have been, you feel lucky every time you get to spend alone time with her. Amongst the hundreds of trainees you’ve seen come and go through the company, you’re certain that her debut is all but guaranteed. Even if she only put in half as much effort as she is now, she would still be the best trainee the company has by far. Yeonjung is perfect—you just wish she would see that too.

“The CEO said he wants to speak with me tomorrow,” she says as she plops onto a bench by one of the walls. The sound of clattering heels is followed by a sigh of relief as she tosses them aside.

“Really? That’s great!” you exclaim.

She shakes her head, a look of worry donning on her. “I don’t know. I have a feeling he might be kicking me out.

“Hey, come on,” you soothe, scooting closer until you can feel the heat emanating from her body. “Look how much effort you put into tonight for a minute long choreo. You really think he’s gonna kick you out after this?”

“I’ve been stressed lately, maybe that’s showing in my performance. My last monthly evaluation was the worst I’ve ever done.”

“You ranked third out of everyone!”

“Yeah, but I—”

“I know, I know.” You pat her back reassuringly. “You usually get first, so you’re upset that your rank dropped and now you’re all worried.”

All Yeonjung can do is pout as you take the words right out of her mouth.

“I’m sure it’s nothing bad, don’t worry about it.” Your hand graces her thigh, tracing patterns on the denim of her tight jeans. She shivers underneath your touch, a knowing grin growing on her lips.

“But I can’t help but worry about it,” she says, her eyes glued to your hand.

“Then let me help you forget about it, hm?” You whisper into her ear before peppering her sensitive neck with kisses. The musk of all her effort wafts into your nostrils, getting you high on her pheromones.

“S-stop…” Her mouth says one thing, but the way her fingers cling desperately to your shoulder and the way her eyes flutter shut in ecstasy convey a completely different message. “You said t-that… I stink…”

“I didn’t say I hated it.”

That’s enough permission for her to straddle your lap, encapsulating you in her scent. “You have some strange fetishes, camera boy,” she chuckles, that silly little nickname rolling off her tongue like it’s something clever.

“It’s not a fetish,” you correct her, brushing a clinging hair off her forehead, nails gently dragging against the perfect skin of her cheek.

“It’s just you.”

It barely registers in your mind, the speed of how quickly her tongue invades your mouth. Yeonjung has always been a sucker for sappy sentimental one-liners and it’s hard not to feel happy when a pretty girl is clawing the jacket off your shoulders like you’re her doll that she can just strip at will. With how much stress she’s under daily, you’re more than content with sitting back and letting her take control.

A pair of T-shirts and a black bra hit the wall behind you, becoming a mere afterthought as Yeonjung pulls your face into her sweaty breasts. You inhale deeply, letting her essence fill your lungs, before dragging your tongue all over her beautiful mounds, recompense for the last couple hours of filming she made you endure.

“Are you sure… you don’t have some kind of sweat fetish?” she asks in between moans. All you can do is chuckle against her skin, too focused on savoring her taste to make a quip. Her fingers comb through your hair, pulling every time you flick at her nipple or squeeze her perfect ass through those tight jeans. You don’t consider yourself to be a masochist, but that split second of fire in your scalp has become a sign that you’re doing something right.

“Fuck, you’re good at that,” she breathes. Hours could be spent mapping out her entire body with just your tongue alone, tasting every nook and cranny, noting which spots make her purr, but with the tacit hunger in which she grinds her heat against you, it’s only a matter of time before lust takes over any ounce of self-control.

“I’m good at other things too.” The first thing you utter after a while of concentrated licking has her climbing off of your lap and planting her hands against the wall, begging you to take her pants off and fuck her silly with that look in her eyes alone. You run your hand up the back of her thigh while kissing the soft skin of her back, making sure to worship every inch of her.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Yeonjung,” you grunt as you fiddle with the button of her jeans.

She chuckles lightly, pushing her hips into your crotch. “I bet you say that to all the girls you fuck.”

“I do.” You peel her jeans off, the aromatic musk of her sex hitting you like a bullet train. “Because you’re the only girl for me.”

“How sappy, camera boy—MMPH!”

The sweet melody of her moans mixes with the unmistakable slapping of skin against skin. If you weren’t so sure that the entire building is empty at this hour, you would make an effort to be a little quieter, maybe even a little gentler to her, but with the way she’s been teasing you all night by flaunting her perfect ass in those jeans and making you record all those takes, knowing it would rile you up, it’s only fair that you get to have your fun.

Dig your fingers into the curve of her hips, whisper into her ear about how good she feels, fuck her in the way that she deserves. Someone like her only comes around once every billion years, and you’re prepared to show her how special she is night after night after night.

“H-harder, baby,” she coos, scratching her nails against the walls. “I’m so close.”

You feel her tighten around your length, and you do everything you can to send her into sweet bliss—tease her clit, massage her perky breasts, pound into her until your legs start to burn. Nothing else matters at this moment except Yeonjung. Not you, not the CEO, not the other trainees, just her and that incredible body she has. All your hard work pays off as she begins to tremble in delight and her moans are reduced to a mere choke. You capture her in your arms before she falls, letting her rest within the safety of your embrace.

“You…” she begins, panting heavily, “...are way too good to me.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be good to you?”

“I… don’t know.” She reaches up and traces circles on your cheek, leaving a tinge of electricity in its wake. “Maybe because I made you stay here to record a dance video for me.”

“That’s my job.”

“Is this your job too?” She bites her lip knowingly.

You shrug, grinning at her. “It has its perks.”

Even with her hair disheveled and a sheen of sweat covering her skin, she still somehow looks like the sexiest person you’ve ever seen.

#young posse #wi yeonjung #young posse yeonjung #kpop fanfic #kpop gg #young posse x male reader #young posse x male oc #young posse yeonjung x male reader #young posse yeonjung x male oc #smut #yeonjung smut #young posse yeonjung smut

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more-mara · 1 day ago

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Hi I don't know if you take requests but I'm genuinely so thirsty for a c²/oscar fic doesn't matter if it's nsfw I really just need one 😭😭😭🙏

I’ve actually written a Charles/Carlos/Oscar threesome already which you can find on my AO3 which is linked on my profile (shameless self promo) I’m just too lazy to link it here lmao.

But here’s a small thing set after the Jeddah gp.

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

Charles had the audacity to look scandalised as he pulled away from Oscar, his gaze zeroing in on Carlos who was standing smugly behind them.

“He wants it,” Charles said with a scoff as he pulled Oscar closer by his waist, the younger man being manhandled easily as he managed to catch his own hands into the front of Charles’ shirt.

“I’m sure he does,” Carlos muttered which had Oscar turning briefly to offer him his best scowl before turning back to Charles with a soppy look of need.

“I’ll give you whatever you want, mon chéri,” Charles said, a smirk flashing across his face as he let his hands drift down to grope at Oscar’s ass.

Oscar gasped quietly, burying his head in Charles’ neck- suckling at the skin there to keep himself occupied.

“It’s a little pathetic,” Carlos spoke, stepping a little closer. Oscar just whined this time- no look of distain or disapproval on his face.

“That he won the race and yet here he is begging to be used,” Carlos continued, taking a further step forward. Oscar whimpered again, hands clutching even tighter in the front of Charles’ red Ferrari polo.

Sometimes, Carlos couldn’t even look at Charles in his team kit without feeling a sudden surge of…something. It wasn’t exactly jealousy, just sadness maybe- thinking about what could’ve been. How four years of being teammates with a man he’d spent so much intimate time with was ending so suddenly.

“I must thank your trainer for this,” Carlos said before crowding up behind Oscar and grabbing a fistful of his ass. Oscar lunched forward into Charles, gasping loudly.

“Come on,” Oscar whined, his body shaking as he tilted his head up to look at Charles- eyes wide and pleading.

“This what you want?” Charles asked as he slipped his hand underneath Oscar’s clothes, his finger dipped between Oscar’s cheeks. Oscar nodded violently- cheeks flushed and cock straining in his underwear.

Carlos pushed himself a little closer, trying to block them off a little more from the outside world.

Because that was the thing- they were still in the paddock, hidden between two large buildings. They were lucky that it was night time.

“Why are you wet?” Charles asked, pushing his finger into Oscar. He knew the answer, he just wanted to hear Oscar say it.

Oscar bit his bottom lip, cheeks still flushed a beautiful shade of pink as he blinked up at Charles.

“Fingered myself after the podium,” He whispered as Carlos leaned in towards his neck, licking a strip up behind his ear.

“Good boy,” Carlos said, his hands planting onto Oscar’s hips as Charles continued to work his finger inside Oscar’s hole.

Oscar let out a breathless moan, leaning back into Carlos’ chest. Charles protested this as he slipped another finger inside.

“When you two are done defacing my teammate, I need him for a debrief,”

Oscar’s eyes widened in disbelief at the voice- hiding his face in Charles’ chest. Carlos and Charles both looked stunned, bodies frozen in place.

“Lando- we-“

“Don’t bother, I have eyes, mate. I can see what you’re up to. Just get Oscar to me ASAP, yeah?” Lando said and before anyone could explain themselves any further, he was gone.

“I gotta-“

“Hold on cariño, you’re not going anywhere until we’re done with you,” Carlos said, hands starting to pull Oscar’s pants and underwear down.

“But Lando said-“

“Does Lando decide what you can and can’t do?” Charles asked, fingers still buried inside Oscar- he shifted them slightly to make a point, Oscar’s face scrunching up at the stimulation.

“No…”

“Then be a good boy and bend over,”

#oscar piastri #carlos sainz #charles leclerc #carcar #charlos #charloscar #choscar #maras fics #maras asks

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joocomics · 2 days ago

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tags: stripper!reader x sub!idol, lap dance, dry humping | multifandom; 18+ mdni

♡… jungsu. gaon. jiung. intak. hueningkai. winwin. jisung. anton. minjae. ( didn’t have anyone specific in mind so i’ll let you choose )

“treat him nice, alright, doll?”

you nod, giving the guy a playful wink as he keeps shouting with a grin behind you. his voice is half drowned by the thumping music, but loud and confident enough to still reach you as you walk away, heading to the private rooms of the club.

“he’s never done this before!”

you can tell.

you noticed how lost this new face is the second you layed eyes on him; you see so many people every night - hungry, greedy, cruel, looking at you like you’re a meal ready to be consumed, like they own the place and you.

but this boy here… his gaze roams around like he’s about to apologise for even looking in your direction.

“i don’t bite,” you smile softly, attaching his two hands on your waist.

“i know…” he murmurs quickly before clearing his throat.

it almost comes off defensive, but you can tell - he’s just nervous. hot and bothered by this unfamiliar environment. his posture, stiff into the sofa, screams how out of place he is.

… and yet, he is so gorgeous. the most gorgeous face you’ve ever seen in this filthy place - and outside of it. for a moment you feel lucky… lucky that he appeared in your shift. lucky to be able to look at someone so soft and pure.

“you know,” you lean over, dizzying him with your perfume, “i’ve never had such a pretty view before.” you place a finger under his chin to force his sparkly eyes upon you.

the boy’s brows furrow slightly, unsure if you’re teasing as a part of the show. then, as he’s still in trance, a small, brief moan escapes his throat as your hips haven’t stopped moving against his lap.

“me neither…” he breathes out; chin still high, but his eyes slide down awkwardly as the adrenaline bubbles in his core.

it’s so rare… that spark you notice every time he looks at you. it’s not about how flustered he is by your attention and almost non-existent lingerie, it’s not about the way he melts into a puddle when you turn around to grind your ass against his bulge, encouraging him to give it just one squeeze…

it’s how he gets a taste of real pleasure for the first time - every time your skin brushes against his. it’s the gratitude glinting raw in his eyes and dripping from his shaky lips.

you slip fingertips beneath the hem of your lacey thong, dragging it down your thighs.

“is—“ you hear him stuttering with surprise behind your shoulder; his touch on your sides suddenly vanishes. “is this allowed…” his tone dips so low it doesn’t even feel like a question by the end.

before turning around, you reach with a hand and cover his eyes gently.

“shh…” you lean close, hitting him with your perfume again; this time with your warm breath too. “this will be our dirty little secret.” you catch him swallow thickly before his appealing lips part again. he’s fully focused on every word that leaves your mouth, as if he can swallow them one by one if he listens closely. “no touching. just sit… and enjoy the dance.”

he nods once - slowly but deliberately.

“good boy.” your lips curl with satisfaction. “i’m going to uncover your eyes now… one, two… three.”

a.n ! can you tell i just finished watching anora? the movie was very meh but at least it gave me something to think about :3 pls note i’m doing such multifandom post for the very first time (let me know how i did and if you’d like to see more!) and i still have writers block… :/

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demonic0angel · 19 hours ago

Note

An attempt to help feed the Kori & Dan friendship thoughts:

Kori visits Dick in Bludhaven to ask if he wants to join her for an outing. Dick unfortunately is busy and can't attend.

Dan on the other hand, who currently has nothing planned beyond being spooky and looming-

By the time he's processed them already going out the door, Dick is wondering if he should be concerned for whoever is about to get caught up in the maelstrom of the super-powered duo.

(I only know Starfire from the Teen Titans 2003 TV series, so while I enjoy the thought of the duo immensely my stocks in the canon knowledge department are low)

(Lmaooo, np, my knowledge of Kori is from cartoons, the RHATO comics, and snippets of pages on TikTok, so tbh, I’m not that knowledgeable either.)

Dick sighed, relaxing on the couch. “Danny!” He called, looking around for his huge, grumpy boyfriend. “I’m done! Do you want me to get started with dinner?”

Silence was the response.

Dick sat up, worried for a moment, before he slumped back onto the couch.

Oh yeah, Dan was off with Kori. Dick had been stuck with paperwork and so he hadn’t been able to spend time with one of his oldest friends, so his boyfriend had volunteered to go with her and give Dick some space to focus.

Dick closed his eyes.

Then his eyes snapped open and he leapt out off of the couch, jumping off to start running for his shoes.

Dammit, how could he have forgotten that Kori and Dan were two of the most powerful, dangerous individuals he knew?!

————

“Dick broke up with you?!” Dan said, looking horrified.

Kori blinked. “Yes.”

“Was he blind? No, was he brainwashed?! There’s no way,” Dan said with a shake of his head, eyes wide. “Was he hit on the head and then drugged? There’s no way he actually broke up with you. You’re way out of his league!”

Kori laughed and said, “We dated, but perhaps it would be more accurate that I broke up with him.”

Dan gave a sigh of relief. “That makes a lot more sense. I was worried that I was dating an idiot for a second there.”

She laughed again and pointed at his drink. “May I try?”

Dan nodded and she happily took a sip, handing over her own ordered drink. He sipped from her straw, licking his lips at the taste of strawberries and lemons, and then said, “This was enjoyable. I’ve only met a few Tamaraneans before but they were terrible conversation partners. There’s something nice about you also knowing human culture. The last few I met were all idiots who followed the rule of your sister.”

Kori frowned before she sighed. “Yes. I haven’t been to my home planet for quite a while. Though I heard you were not from this world, so perhaps it’s different there….?”

He nodded. “Yes, it was a bit different, but not by much. They were very weak too.” He eyed her with a smirk. “But you can give me more of a challenge, right, Koriand’r?”

Kori beamed and said cheerfully, “Yes, I think I can definitely give you more of a challenge than ordinary Tamaraneans.”

Dan laughed and then said, “Sounds perfect to me. Let’s finish shopping and we can find a quiet patch of land to spar. I need to buy Dick new clothes.”

Kori giggled. “Is he still losing them in strange places? He used to do that sometimes.”

“Yes!” Dan sighed as he helped her off out of her chair. She didn’t really need it, but she took the hand anyways, lifting up dozens of shopping bags in the opposite arm. “He’s so lucky he’s cute.”

She chuckled and then said, “Let’s hurry up our shopping before we spar. I’ll tell you his most embarrassing Titan moments.”

Dan perked up. “Oh, absolutely.” He gestured onwards. “Shall we?”

“We shall!”

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #danny phantom x dc #dp x dc crossover #ask #lurkerdemon #koriand'r #dick grayson #dan phantom #dark danny #dan fenton #dick x dan #bad humor ship #ty for the ask >:3

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giggletea · 2 days ago

Text

Caleb // focus

Pairing: Caleb x fem!reader ☆ Fluff, suggestive themes at the end! ☆ ~700 words

Based off this interaction:

“Stop moving.”

“You’re pulling too tight.”

Caleb sighs, running his fingers over the spot where he had tugged. His touch is lighter than it was before, but he still clicks his tongue as you shift in your seat. You can’t help it—the afternoon heat makes you feel gross!

“You’re ruining these braids.” He mumbles. “Told you to stay still, pipsqueak. Don't follow orders well, do you?”

You reach a hand around your back to hit him on the thigh, scowling, “Watch it, colonel. I should be the one complaining, you’re disturbing me.”

From behind you, Caleb chuckles. He’s close enough that his breath fans the back of your neck, deft fingers resuming their motions of plaiting your hair. The room fills with a comfortable silence, accompanied by the quiet taps of your keyboard, and Caleb’s soft musing.

“...What if I go bald because you’re pulling on my hair too tight?”

Though you can’t see him, you can imagine Caleb rolling his eyes, annoyed frown on his face and all. The image makes you bite back a grin.

“Wouldn’t have to wrestle with it if you’d stop moving, pipsqueak.”

“Remind me why you’re suddenly giving me a new hairstyle again?”

His easy laughter rumbles through his chest, warmth radiating against your back. “I told you… I’d braid your hair if you didn’t focus.”

“I’d focus better if you weren’t so distracting.”

“Oh really?” He hums, voice teasing. In one move, Caleb spins your chair around to face him. He tilts his head to the side, peering at you through his lashes. “What part of me is such a distraction, huh?”

Mischief sparks in your heart as you grab his chin, pretending to examine his face. He lets you, pulling your chair closer to his, settling you between his legs.

“This lethal face card, duh. What would you do without it?”

“You like my face?” His smile grows wider, cheeks flushing. “Tell me more.”

“Fishing for compliments?”

“Only from you.”

His response is so quick it makes you giggle.

Caleb reaches out a hand to pat your head, careful not to disturb the braids-in-progress. Softly, he urges, “Go back to work, honey. Let me continue mine.”

You don’t get to argue before he’s spinning your chair back around, making you face the papers strewn about your table, and the endless documents on your laptop. You pout.

As if sensing your displeasure, he leans over slightly to press a kiss to your temple. “Sit tight, pipsqueak. I’m almost done.”

It’s early evening when you’re finally done with everything. Euphoria fills your veins as you shut your laptop and shove the papers to the side, arching your back for a good stretch.

Caleb’s still seated behind you, arms coming to wrap around your waist. He rests his head on your shoulder.

“Finished? Perfect timing,” He says, “I’ve been wanting to show you these for ages.”

“Aww, you waited for me?”

He looks at you, deadpan, and you grin at him sheepishly. Of course he would.

“C’mon, lemme see.”

At your request, Caleb drapes the braids over your shoulders, passing you a hand mirror at the same time. You gasp at the sight—while you were focused on work, he had put a lot of effort into decorating your hair. Familiar clips and ties adorn your new hairstyle; you recognise them as ones he had chosen for you on your last shopping trip together.

You see Caleb watching you in the reflection, eyes bright and curious. The smile on your face matches the one on his.

“I did a good job, didn’t I?” He asks. Pride’s laced in his words.

Laughter bubbles out of you—he’s right. Despite your moving around, Caleb really did a good job. Seeing how much care and attention he put into this makes your tummy flip.

“Is this really how you spent your day off, colonel?” You tease, “Braiding my hair?”

“Well… the day isn't over yet.” Caleb hums, pursing his lips. He reaches to take the mirror from you, placing it face down on the table. “I can think of other ways we could spend our time together.”

The sudden change in tension has you speechless—you barely suppress a shiver as his fingertips trail across your skin, featherlight and teasing. One hand slides lower, slipping under your shirt, caressing the flesh there. For a second, your mind blanks, breaths turning shallow, before Caleb nips at the back of your neck. The warmth of his lips snaps you out of the fog clouding your mind.

“Okay,” You whisper, twisting around to crawl into his lap. He startles a little at the shift in positions, but his surprised expression quickly morphs into something heated. Narrowed eyes, flushed cheeks… you lean down to bite at his bottom lip, and he lets out a low whine.

“But you have to stay still and focus on me, yeah?”

#love and deepspace #caleb x reader #caleb x mc #love and deepspace x reader #lads caleb x reader #lnds caleb #lads caleb

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cassiemaebarnes · 22 hours ago

Text

Grumpy & the New Girl: Part 9

Bucky x reader

Summary: She wasn’t supposed to meet him like that. He wasn’t supposed to let her in. But sometimes, things don’t go according to plan.

Word Count: 6090

I'm sorry in advance...

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of Bucky’s alarm cutting through the silence. You took a deep breath and sighed as your eyes fluttered open, Bucky right behind you with his arms wrapped around you.

You could feel him – all of him – pressed up against you.

You froze for a split second when your brain registered what it was. But Bucky either didn’t notice or didn’t care, he just groaned and pulled you closer to his chest.

A few moments later, you finally turned around to face him. “Can you turn that off?” you groaned. “I think that’s the most annoying alarm I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“I do that so I’ll actually have motivation to turn it off,” he said, finally letting go of you to turn it off.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, settling back into the pillow.

“Nope,” Bucky said, pushing the blanket off both of you. “If I’m late for training and you’re late for physical therapy, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

You just scoffed. “No matter what we do we’ll never hear the end of it,” you said, giving him a look.

He just laughed softly as he got up from the bed. He took a step, but then stopped, stretching his hands above his head and yawning.

His shirt lifted up enough for you to see the bottom half of his abs.

And the bulge in his sweatpants from what was pressing against you this morning.

You looked away quickly before he was done stretching so he didn’t catch you staring.

“C’mon,” he said.

You tried to shake the thought, groaning again as you pulled yourself up. You swung your legs over the side of the bed, just sitting there for a few minutes as Bucky started digging through his dresser and opened the closet, pulling out his clothes for the day.

You finally stood up, wincing as you put pressure on your ankle again.

“Make sure you ice it after PT,” he said, giving you a look.

“I will, I will,” you replied, waving him off. You walked over to the door, but turned around before you left. “See you downstairs?”

He just gave you a slight smile. “Yeah.”

His smile went away right after as he turned around and disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

Your eyebrows knit together immediately, confused about what just happened. He seemed fine at first, but something about his smile not quite being genuine just seemed…off.

You weren’t sure what it was, but you could tell something was wrong.

You thought about going over and knocking on the bathroom door, asking if everything was okay, but decided against it.

You made your way back to your room, not being able to shake the weird feeling.

You went to the bathroom, brushed your teeth, pulled your hair into a ponytail, then changed into your favorite workout set – leggings and a matching sports bra in your favorite color.

You grabbed Bucky’s sweatshirt that you still had, pulling it over your head as you walked out the door and headed to the kitchen.

You assumed Bucky would already be there, probably with a mug of coffee waiting for you, but when you walked in, he wasn’t there.

You paused for a split second, wondering if you should go check on him, but then continued to the coffee machine.

“Wow, didn’t walk in with your boyfriend today?” Sam said, smirking at you.

“Nope,” you responded as you reached up to the top shelf grabbing two mugs.

“Well that’s new,” Tony chimed in. “Where is he? Recovering from your pre-training cardio sesh?”

You just shot him a look. “No, just getting ready.”

Clint just hummed. “And you would know that why?”

You just sighed and shook your head.

“They obviously spent the night together again,” Sam said, sounding disgusted.

“They might as well just move all their stuff into one room and declare themselves roommates,” Nat said, smirking.

You just laughed softly as you poured two cups of coffee, trying not to show any sign that anything was wrong.

You hated to admit it, but you were worried.

Probably – hopefully – for nothing. But you couldn’t help it.

You walked over to the island and sat down in a chair, setting Bucky’s coffee in front of the space next to you.

As soon as you set the mugs down, Clint glanced at the second one.

“Two cups?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Look at her, making her man coffee now that her ankle’s better.”

“Guess she’s finally contributing to the relationship,” Sam added with a smirk.

You let out a quiet laugh, forcing it just enough to sound natural, hiding the way your chest felt tighter than it should’ve. You picked up your own mug and took a sip, focusing on the warmth instead of the twist in your stomach.

It was probably nothing. Maybe he was just tired. But still, something about the way his smile didn’t reach his eyes this morning lingered at the back of your mind.

“Careful,” Nat teased from across the island, elbowing Wanda as she slid the eggs back into the fridge. “She starts making coffee, next thing you know she’s packing his lunches and embroidering his initials on towels.”

You rolled your eyes, managing a smile as you looked up. “Okay, I’m not that far gone.”

Everyone laughed, and you relaxed just enough to let yourself laugh with them.

But then, your eyes flicked across the room and met Wanda’s.

She wasn’t laughing.

She was watching you, brow slightly furrowed, head tilted just enough to say she was already reading you like a book. You held her gaze for a moment too long, and something shifted in her expression. Not teasing – concern.

You quickly looked away, bringing your mug to your lips again like it could shield you.

Wanda didn’t say anything.

But she didn’t need to.

You both knew something was off. And even if no one else noticed, she did.

You stirred your coffee absentmindedly, eyes flicking toward the hallway, half-hoping Bucky would come around the corner with that usual sleepy grin to reassure you that everything was fine.

But he didn’t.

Not until a few, long minutes later.

The room didn’t react much at first. No teasing, no fanfare, he just looked like himself, more or less.

He didn’t even glance in your direction as he walked straight to the coffee machine.

“I already got your coffee,” you said softly, nodding toward the untouched mug in front of the seat beside you.

He paused just briefly, then looked down at it. “Oh…thanks.”

His voice was quiet. Rougher than usual.

He walked over, picked it up, and sat down next to you – not even looking your way.

The stool creaked slightly as he settled in, the silence stretching out just a little too long.

And then, of course, the others pounced.

“Barnes, you’re getting your coffee made for you now,” Sam said, raising his eyebrows dramatically. “How does it feel living like a spoiled man?”

Nat leaned against the counter, biting into a piece of toast. “She spends the night, makes you coffee in the morning – what’s next, back rubs on mission breaks?”

“Bet she packs his snacks,” Clint added. “Little love notes on his protein bars.”

Bucky gave them a small, dry smile – just enough to pass for amusement. “You’re all hilarious.”

“We know,” Tony said, smirking.

Bucky gave a quiet huff, not quite a laugh, and took a sip of his coffee.

But he still hadn’t looked at you.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. He was holding his mug with both hands with his elbows resting on the counter, head down like he was trying to hide. His shoulders were drawn in slightly and his jaw was tight.

And you knew.

Something was wrong.

You glanced across the kitchen and looked at Wanda. She was already watching him with the same look of concern she’d given you earlier.

Her brows were just barely furrowed, lips pressed into a subtle line as her eyes followed the way Bucky was avoiding eye contact, not offering up his usual quiet one-liners or easy comebacks.

She looked back over at you, and you quickly dropped your gaze, sipping your coffee again like everything was normal.

The teasing died off after another minute or two, and the rest of the conversation shifted to something else. The others laughed, throwing jabs back and forth, filling the kitchen with the usual chaos.

But you and Bucky sat in silence.

You kept glancing over at him, but he never looked up.

The kitchen had settled into a lull, the conversation trailing off into scattered chatter and clinking dishes when Steve finally stepped in, glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Alright,” he said, clapping his hands once. “Time to get moving. Training starts in ten.”

There were a few groans, but the sounds of chairs scraping back and footsteps filled the kitchen as the team started filing out one by one.

Bucky didn’t say anything.

He just stood, his stool sliding quietly against the floor as he picked up his half-full mug. He walked around the island without a word, dumped the rest of the coffee down the drain, and gave the mug a quick rinse.

You watched him as he moved, noticing he was a little too quiet.

He glanced at you just before he turned to go. “Good luck in PT.”

His voice was calm, even. But the smile he gave you wasn’t real – it was that same faint smile from earlier that didn’t touch his eyes.

“Thanks,” you said softly, but he was already turning.

He followed the others out of the kitchen, falling into step behind Sam and Tony like he hadn’t just left a pit in your stomach.

You watched the doorway long after he disappeared through it.

A moment later, Steve hung back, stepping over to where you still sat.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice gentler than usual. “We’ve got a room set up off the training space. I’ll walk you through the first set of exercises, then let you work through them.”

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “Yeah. Okay.”

You stood slowly, grabbing your water bottle and following him out. Steve walked beside you, talking quietly about what to expect, but you barely heard him.

Because even as you nodded along and did your best to listen, your mind stayed stuck on the way Bucky hadn’t really looked at you this morning.

You knew that something was wrong, but you had no idea what it was.

As Bucky walked into the training room, he paused for a brief second, squeezing his eyes shut.

The lights in the training room were too bright. Too sharp.

He blinked against them as he walked in, shoulders tense, eyes narrowing slightly as the sting behind his eyes flared again – not blinding yet, but enough to make the world feel a little off-balance. A little too loud. A little too much.

He rolled his shoulders, forced a deep breath, and tried to shake it off.

Just focus. Get through it.

But it had started the second he woke up – that familiar, dull ache humming behind his eyes. Not a full migraine, not yet. Just the warning.

And he’d known, instantly, what kind of day it would be.

Even with her still curled against him, warm and safe in his arms, he felt it building.

He’d stayed there longer than he should’ve. Eyes closed. Breathing slow. Pretending the pressure in his head wasn’t growing by the minute. Pretending the weight of her against his chest could keep it at bay.

But it hadn’t.

And once she left the room, it hit sharper.

He’d stood at the bathroom sink, splashing cold water on his face, gripping the edge with both hands as the ache pressed behind his eyes like a growing storm. He took a couple pain pills from the bottle in the cabinet, swallowing them dry.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, just breathing, before finally forcing himself to get dressed and head downstairs.

He didn’t even realize how quiet he’d been when he walked into the kitchen. Didn’t notice the way he avoided looking at her. Didn’t register that when she made him his coffee, he barely even thanked her.

It wasn’t because of her. God, it was never because of her.

He just…couldn’t focus. Couldn’t think about anything but keeping it together long enough to get through training. Long enough to stay upright.

So he smiled. He laughed when they teased him. Gave them just enough to let it pass.

He didn’t notice the way she kept glancing at him.

Didn’t realize his silence was different.

Didn’t know she’d seen right through it.

He just kept walking toward the weights, jaw tight, fingers flexing like he could squeeze the pain out of his system before it really took hold.

Just get through it.

As you went through your exercises, you kept trying to convince yourself that nothing was wrong.

Maybe he was just tired and didn’t realize how he was acting. You were sure there had to be an explanation.

But when you finished and headed out to the training room to find Steve, Bucky was already gone.

You tried to ignore the lump forming in your throat.

You had expected him to at least come check on you at some point. Not that he had to, but you just assumed he would.

You were debating whether or not to just go straight to his room to try to find him, but before you could make a move, Steve called you over.

“You all done?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Great, how does it feel?”

“Sore,” you said, looking down at your ankle.

“Well, that’s normal,” he said. “And unfortunately it’ll probably be worse later from the PT, but that’s good.”

You just nodded.

“Follow me,” he said, motioning you over to the medical room off the training floor.

When you walked in, he had you sit on a chair.

“Instead of just putting an ice pack on it, I want you to do an ice bucket,” he said, grabbing a bucket from the corner and starting to fill it with water. “That way, it can get your whole ankle instead of just one side.”

“Okay,” you said.

“I would try to stay off your ankle as much as you can today, just to let it rest,” he said, scooping ice from the ice machine into the bucket. “Don’t use your crutches, but limit your walking.”

“Okay,” you said, again.

“I’m sure Bucky will help you though,” he responded, giving you a knowing smile.

You just smiled back.

But then, you realized, Steve might know what’s going on. He’s known Bucky his whole life, so he’s definitely gotten like this before, and he might know what’s wrong.

But as you opened your mouth to ask him, his ringtone cut through the silence.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket to look at the screen.

“Oh, sorry, I have to take this. It’s about our next mission.”

He set the bucket down in front of you. “Wait a couple minutes to let the water get colder, then leave your ankle in for about 10 minutes,” he said, walking toward the door. “Just dump it in the sink when you’re done.”

He gave you one last smile before disappearing out the door.

You sat there in the chair, eyes trained on the wall, mind going a million miles a minute.

You waited a couple minutes, like he said, and then carefully slid your foot into the bucket.

You hissed through your teeth at the sting, the sharp cold surrounding your ankle. But it helped.

You tried to focus on that.

Not the fact that Bucky hadn’t come to check on you.

Not the weird tightness in his jaw or the way his eyes avoided yours at the table.

You stared down at the ice water, arms crossed over your chest, chewing on your bottom lip as your mind started spiraling again.

Maybe he was tired.

Maybe he was overwhelmed.

Maybe it had nothing to do with you at all.

Or maybe…something was wrong and he just wasn’t telling you.

He could be hurting. Pulling away. Regretting the closeness you’d fallen into so easily.

Maybe last night had meant more to you than it had to him.

You swallowed hard, pressing your arms tighter around yourself.

But that wasn’t right. It couldn’t be right. It didn’t feel like that. Not last night. Not when he helped you into bed like it was instinct. Not when he kissed your forehead like you were the most precious thing in the world.

You knew him.

He didn’t fake that.

Which only made this morning more confusing.

Your gaze drifted to the door again, tempted to get up right then and there, half-limp across the compound if you had to, find him, ask him what’s wrong.

But the bucket of ice water was anchoring you in place. And maybe, deep down, you were scared of what you’d hear.

Your jaw clenched as you exhaled through your nose and looked down again.

The pain in your ankle was sharp, but the ache in your chest was worse.

And no matter how many reasons you tried to come up with…none of them were good enough to explain why he suddenly felt so far away.

After 10 minutes, you pulled your ankle out of the bucket and set it on a towel you grabbed from the shelf. You slowly wrapped it around your ankle, patting it dry.

After getting up and dumping out the bucket, you grabbed Bucky’s sweatshirt that you had taken off and your sock and shoe off the counter. You didn't bother to put them on as you headed out of the training room toward the elevator.

When you got in, your hand paused in front of the keypad.

You wondered whether or not you should stop at his room. See if he’s okay. Ask what’s wrong.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You pressed the 8 and leaned back against the wall as the elevator doors slid shut.

You made your way to your room, stepping out of your other shoe and pulling off your sweaty clothes before jumping in the shower.

You just stood under the hot water, letting it run over your shoulders and down your back. Steam curled up around you, letting you relax a little bit, but not much.

You finally grabbed the shampoo, squeezing some into your palm and lathering it into your hair. You tried to distract yourself from your thoughts, but it wasn’t working very well.

A few minutes later, you turned off the water, stepping out of the shower and dried yourself off. You pulled on shorts and Bucky’s sweatshirt again before heading down to the kitchen for lunch.

When you walked in, everyone was there.

Except Bucky.

You finally stepped in, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach.

There was a spread of ingredients lined the counter – a lineup of lunch meats, cheeses, and every kind of topping imaginable. There were fresh buns stacked on a plate, along with bowls of fruit, veggie sticks, chips, and a few dips scattered around.

Everyone was gathered around the island, making their sandwiches and stealing bites as they went, like a little lunch assembly line.

You grabbed a plate from the stack and reached for a bun, trying to act normal.

“Again?” Sam said, the second he spotted you. “This is the second time today you’re not attached at the hip.”

You glanced over and rolled your eyes. “I know. Tragic.”

“Uh-huh,” Clint chimed in, holding up a tomato slice. “You guys have been joined at the soul since you met. Now suddenly you’re flying solo? Suspicious.”

“She probably made him another coffee and is letting him nap in her room,” Nat said, smirking over her shoulder. “Or maybe she gave him a massage after training.”

You gave a small laugh, just enough to play along, putting meat onto your bun.

“Seriously though,” Wanda added, glancing up as she loaded her own plate. “He’s not coming?”

You shrugged, forcing a casual tone. “I don’t know. Maybe he already ate. Or maybe he’s resting.”

“Or maybe he’s just lying in bed pining for her,” Tony said dramatically. “Clutching a photo. Whispering her name.”

You snorted, reaching for a handful of chips. “You people are unwell.”

Sam raised a brow. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m eating,” you countered, grabbing a few grapes from the fruit bowl and dropping them onto your plate. “Big difference.”

They kept teasing, but the energy was light. No one noticed the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. No one caught the way your shoulders dropped just a little as you turned toward the fridge to grab a drink.

But as you moved past Wanda, she looked up again, eyes flicking over you carefully.

And for a moment, you could feel her watching.

Just like this morning.

Again…she didn’t say anything.

You didn’t either.

You just turned and headed to the table to sit down, eating your sandwich and laughing when they made another joke, acting like everything was fine.

You expected Bucky to eventually show up to eat.

But he never did.

When you finally finished eating, some of the others were already heading out of the kitchen. You got up and headed to the sink, turning on the water before running your plate under it.

A few moments later, Wanda walked up beside you.

“Everything okay?” she asked, only loud enough for you to hear.

You kept your eyes on the plate in your hands, scrubbing slowly even though it was already clean.

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Everything’s fine.”

Wanda didn’t say anything at first.

She just looked at you.

And you could feel it – that knowing, quiet gaze of hers, the kind that made it impossible to lie for long. Like she could see right through you.

You sighed and shut off the water, setting the plate on the drying rack. “He was just…acting off this morning. I have no clue what’s going on.”

Wanda leaned her hip against the counter, folding her arms loosely. “I noticed, too.”

You turned to face her, biting your lip. “You did?”

She nodded. “He barely said two words at breakfast. Didn’t even look at you.”

Your heart gave that little ache again, the one you’d been trying to ignore all day.

“Did something happen between you two last night,” she asked, quietly.

“No,” you responded. “We watched a movie, fell asleep like usual. Everything was normal.”

Wanda’s brows furrowed slightly. “And then this morning?”

You looked down at the edge of the sink. “This morning he was quiet. Still sweet, still…him, kind of. But distant. Like something was on his mind. And when we got to the kitchen, it was like I wasn’t even there.”

Wanda’s voice stayed soft. “You don’t think he’s pulling away?”

You shook your head. “No. I mean, maybe? I don’t know. That’s what’s driving me crazy. I just…I don’t get it. It felt like we were on the same page, and now it feels like he’s a thousand miles away.”

Wanda stayed quiet for a moment, her eyes scanning your face.

“Then something’s bothering him,” she said finally. “And I don’t think it’s you.”

You met her eyes, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t let yourself be all day.

“You really think so?”

“I know so,” she said, gently touching your arm. “You’d know if he was trying to pull away. That’s not what this is.”

You nodded slowly, holding onto her words like a lifeline.

“Okay,” you said, quietly.

Still, your stomach turned.

Because if it wasn’t you...then what was it?

Wanda gave you a soft pat on the back before walking away. You grabbed the dish towel and dried your hands before walking out of the kitchen.

You made your way to the elevator and pressed the 7 before you could stop yourself.

As you made your way down the hall, it was quiet. You stopped in front of his door, standing there for a few minutes before finally knocking.

Nothing.

You didn’t hear any movement inside the room. You didn’t even know if he was in there.

“Bucky?”

Still nothing.

You sighed, not knowing whether or not you should just walk in. But you needed to know if he was okay.

You grabbed the door handle, turning it slowly and taking a step inside.

You were met with complete darkness. The shades were closed and curtains were drawn. They had to have been heavy-duty blackout curtains, because there was no light slipping through at all.

When your eyes finally adjusted, you spotted Bucky, curled up in a ball on his bed.

Your heart tugged at the sight.

You softly shut the door behind you, thinking he was asleep. But when you walked over to the bed, you saw his eyes slowly open.

“Bucky?” you said, softly. “What’s wrong?”

You stood over his bed for a few moments, him not saying anything.

But finally, he spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

“Migraine.”

Your heart broke at the sound of his voice. So weak and fragile, like he was about to fall apart at any moment.

You slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear and letting your hand rest there, thumb softly rubbing circles over his temple.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” you whispered.

Again, he was silent for a few moments. Then–

“Stay.”

Your heart broke even more, wanting to cry from how much pain he sounded like he was in.

You quietly got up, slipping underneath the covers with him. You put your arms around him as he pulled you closer, burying his face in your chest immediately.

His breath was shaky and uneven against your chest, and you could feel the tension radiating through every part of him.

You lifted your hand and let your fingers trail up into his hair. You began running them through it slowly – soft, soothing strokes. Over and over.

You felt him exhale, just barely, the tiniest bit of release.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered, your lips brushing the top of his head.

Your heart ached with every breath he took, every slight tremble in his body as he tried to ride it out. But at the same time, you felt an unexpected sense of relief wash over you.

Not because he was in pain.

But because you knew now.

He wasn’t pulling away. He wasn’t angry or distant because of anything you did. He was just suffering, quietly – the way he always had, for so long.

And now…he let you in.

You kept combing your fingers gently through his hair, occasionally rubbing slow circles into the back of his neck.

The room was silent except for the sound of your shared breathing – the occasional shuddered inhale or ragged exhale from him.

You pressed a kiss to his hair, letting your lips rest there for a moment.

You stayed like that for a long time, gently running your fingers through his hair, your other arm wrapped securely around his back. His breathing stayed shallow, his body tense, but little by little, you could feel it begin to ease – not completely, but enough to know the worst of the pain was starting to let go.

Eventually, his breathing evened out.

His grip on your shirt loosened ever so slightly.

And with one last soft sigh against your chest…he fell asleep.

You didn’t move.

You just laid there, staring up at the ceiling in the dark, the faint rise and fall of his chest against yours grounding you.

And finally, with your hand still tangled in his hair and your other arm still holding him tight, your own eyes began to drift shut.

You didn’t know how long you were out.

But when you blinked awake, the room was still dark, the air still thick with quiet.

And Bucky was still in your arms.

Still curled into you, his head resting against your collarbone, one arm draped across your waist. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, calm now, his body no longer trembling with pain.

You didn’t move, just looked down at him, brushing your fingers gently through his hair again.

After a couple minutes, he stirred.

He shifted slightly, then stilled again – like he wasn’t sure where he was. Then his head lifted just a little, eyes fluttering open.

And when his gaze met yours…there was a flicker of something in them.

Surprise.

Maybe even disbelief.

His voice was soft. Weak. Still rough from hours of silent pain.

But it went straight through your chest like a blade.

“You’re still here.”

Your heart broke all over again.

Your arms tightened around him slightly as your throat caught.

“Of course I’m still here.”

His expression wavered – just a little – like your words cracked something open inside him.

He took a little breath and sighed, letting his head slowly rest against your chest again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

Bucky didn’t answer right away.

He just lay there against you for a few more minutes, breathing slow and steady, your hand still gently tracing through his hair. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. You just held him.

Eventually, he shifted – slowly, like he wasn’t quite ready to leave the safety of your arms, but knew he had to move.

He sat up just enough to lean on one elbow, the other hand coming up to rub his eyes, fingers dragging down his face as he exhaled quietly.

You pushed yourself up a little, still close, watching him carefully.

“How are you?” you asked, voice soft.

“Better,” he rasped, his voice still raw around the edges as he blinked a few times and ran his hand over his face again. “Head’s not pounding anymore. Just…foggy.”

You gave a small, relieved nod. “That’s good.”

He looked over at you then, eyes heavy but clearer than before. “How long was I out?”

“Couple hours, maybe,” you said. “You needed it.”

He nodded slowly, then glanced down, like part of him was still processing the fact that you’d been here the whole time. That you stayed.

You reached out and gently brushed a piece of hair off his forehead, your hand lingering there for a moment.

“I was worried,” you whispered.

He met your eyes again, and this time…he didn’t look away.

“I know,” he said quietly.

You sat with him in silence for another minute, just watching as he slowly came back to himself. Shoulders less tense now, breathing more even, the worst of the pain behind him.

Then, gently, you reached out again, your voice soft. “Do you need anything?”

He paused, rubbing the heel of his hand over his temple once more before exhaling through his nose. “I should probably eat something.”

You nodded immediately. “I can go make you a sandwich. There’s still stuff left from lunch.”

He looked at you for a beat, then gave a small nod. “Okay. Thanks.”

You gave his hand one last squeeze before slipping out from under the covers, careful not to jostle the bed too much. As you stood, you glanced toward the door, hesitating for a moment before whispering, “Try to rest. I’ll be right back.”

He just nodded again, watching you with quiet eyes.

You moved quickly, quietly, pulling the door open just enough to slip through it. You winced at the tiny crack of light that spilled into the room, but you shut it as softly as you could behind you.

You got in the elevator, then made your way down the hall, still barefoot, Bucky’s sweatshirt hanging loose around you.

The kitchen was empty now, the lunch mess cleaned up, ingredients tucked in the fridge and stacked in containers on the counter. You grabbed a plate, then began making his sandwich. You weren’t sure exactly what he liked, but you had an idea.

When it was done, you put the containers back in the fridge before grabbing a water bottle and making your way back to his room.

The hallway was still empty as you approached his door, and you slipped back inside as gently as you had left, carefully closing the door behind you without letting in too much light.

The room was still dim, still quiet. Bucky hadn’t moved much – he was just sitting up a little more now, propped against the headboard with the blankets still bunched around his waist. His hair was tousled, his eyes tired, but he gave you a soft look as you came over to him.

You crawled back onto the bed and handed him the plate and water, your voice low. “Here you go.”

He took it from you slowly, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “You’re spoiling me.”

You gave him a small smile, tugging the blankets back over your legs. “Someone’s gotta make sure you eat.”

He took a bite, chewing carefully, and then let out a soft hum. “Okay…this is the best sandwich I’ve ever had.”

You laughed gently. “You’re delirious.”

He gave a small smile, eyes flicking toward you. “Might be. But it’s still good.”

You sat beside him as he ate, your eyes drifting toward the closed curtains. The room felt warmer now, more settled.

He finished a few more bites in silence, then glanced at you again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Thanks for staying.”

Your heart squeezed, but you just gave a soft nod. “Always.”

He looked at you a moment longer, then took another bite, finally letting out a breath that sounded a little lighter.

When he finished the sandwich, he set the plate on his nightstand and drank about half the water bottle in one breath. He sighed before setting that on the nightstand too.

“Feel better?” you asked.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

You just gave him a smile before he leaned over and rested his head on your shoulder, taking a deep breath.

“The migraines…” he started, before pausing for a few moments. “They remind me of being back there.”

You stilled, not expecting him to talk about it. You didn’t say anything, just shifted and put your arm around him, rubbing his shoulder as he continued.

“With the wiping, I always had a constant headache. I got so used to it, I learned to ignore it. But now…they only happen every once in a while, but they’re so painful.”

He fell quiet again, his head still on your shoulder. You kept rubbing slow circles into his arm, still not saying anything.

Bucky let out a breath, the kind that felt like it was pulled from somewhere deep.

“I usually try to hide it,” he said after a moment, voice barely more than a whisper. “Most people don’t really notice. Or…they think I’m just in a mood. That I’m being quiet or distant on purpose.”

He paused, and you could feel the faintest shift in his shoulders – not tension, exactly. More like vulnerability.

“But you…” He turned his head just slightly, his cheek brushing your shoulder. “You saw something was wrong. And you didn’t just leave me to it.”

Your hand paused for a second, then started moving again – slower now, gentler.

He pulled in a shaky breath. “Thank you,” he said again, quieter this time. “For staying.”

Your heart ached – for how small his voice was when he said it, for how surprised he sounded.

You tightened your arm around him and leaned your head lightly against his before answering.

“Of course,” you said. “I’ll always stay.”

He didn’t respond right away, but you felt the way his body relaxed just a little more against yours, like those words had settled something in him.

Like maybe, for the first time in a long time, he believed them.

The room stayed quiet for a while, just the slow rhythm of your breathing filling the space.

The rest of the day was spent together in his bed, switching between quiet conversation and comfortable silence, him wrapped up in your arms.

Because somehow, without either of you saying it out loud, this had changed everything.

And neither of you wanted to let go.

Masterlist

Tag list: @ordelixx @read-just-cant-stop @erinallene @crazycleo @magnoliamermaid @thewriters64 @nelachu2423 @kjah97 @awesompawsum @winchestert101 @buckyb-stan @crazyunsexycool @buckysmetalgoddamnarm @buckybarnesfic @ozwriterchick @multiversefanfics @blavikennbutcher @mysoggywaffle @nameless-ken @starfly-nicole @440mxs-wife @vicmc624 @lostinspace33 @prettylittlepluviophile @softpia @maryevm @glossy01 @ye-olde-trash-panda @bonnyclydecat @iyskgd @ohdrey89 @death-in-love

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rositaslabyrinth · 3 days ago

Text

Mirror games - Tish

Tish x female!reader

Tish catches you staring at her for the hundredth time. Instead of teasing, she decides it’s time you really see what you do to her—and what she can do to you.

Content warnings : mirror sex, light dom!tish, reader worship, oral (reader receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, slight degradation, heavy eye contact, lipstick smudges, thigh grabbing, hair pulling, Tish being a hot menace

Word count ; 855

Minors please do not interact !!!

You don’t mean to stare. Really, you don’t.

But with Tish? It’s almost impossible not to. She’s leaning over the counter at work again, cherry red lipstick freshly reapplied, her skirt riding up just enough to give you a peek of her thigh. Her smirk says she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“You got a staring problem, baby?” she murmurs, not even looking up from the sandwich she’s slicing.

You swallow hard. “I—wasn’t staring.”

“Oh, so now you’re a liar too.” She glances up at you through her lashes, licking a bit of mayo off her finger. “Cute.”

You flush, looking away, but she steps closer. Close enough that you catch her perfume—vanilla and something sharper, like spice. Her hand brushes your arm lightly, just enough to make your skin tingle.

“Come over tonight,” she whispers, lips brushing your ear. “And bring that mouth of yours. I’ve got a mirror that’s dying for your attention.”

You barely make it through your shift. Tish keeps brushing by you, her smirk wicked and knowing, as if she’s playing with her prey. By the time you’re at her apartment, you’re already shaking with need.

She doesn’t waste time.

“Bedroom. Now.” Her voice is low, sultry, almost a growl. You obey.

The lights are low in her room, the bed perfectly unmade, sheets in sexy chaos. But what catches your eye is the massive mirror against the wall, perfectly positioned to reflect the bed. You don’t even get to comment.

“Strip.” She crosses her arms, leaning back against the door. “I wanna see you.”

Your fingers tremble as you undress, the air cool against your skin. Tish watches you like a wolf, her tongue running over her lip. When you’re bare, she walks over—slowly, predator-smooth—and tilts your chin up.

“So pretty,” she murmurs. “Now sit. Right there.” She guides you to the edge of the bed, right in front of the mirror. You look uncertain, but she’s already undressing herself—peeling her shirt off slowly, revealing her skin and a black lace bra that makes your mouth go dry.

She straddles your lap, thighs framing your hips, and pulls your face up to hers.

“Eyes on the mirror, sweetheart. I want you to see what a mess you make me.”

Your breath catches as she kisses you—hot, deep, tasting like cherry cola and wickedness. Her lipstick smudges across your lips, your cheek, and then her hands are pushing you back onto the bed.

She doesn’t take her bra off. Not yet. Just trails her nails down your stomach before settling between your legs.

You whimper, hips jerking.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” she says, brushing her mouth over your inner thigh. “Keep watching, baby. I want you to see your face when I make you fall apart.”

Then her tongue is on you—slow, teasing circles at first, before she starts sucking, licking, like she’s starving. You can barely keep your eyes open, but when you glance at the mirror—you moan.

She looks sinful down there. Her hair’s a mess, lipstick smeared across your thighs, her grip bruising where she holds you open.

“Tish,” you gasp, hands clutching the sheets.

“Eyes up, doll,” she murmurs. “You don’t wanna miss the show.”

She doesn’t let up until your legs are shaking, your moans echoing off the walls. And when you finally come, she keeps licking—soft and slow, working you through every tremor. In the mirror, your back arches, your mouth slack, thighs trembling around her shoulders.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and climbs back up, kissing you hard—making you taste yourself on her tongue.

“Think you’re done?” she laughs softly. “Not even close.”

She turns you around, straddles you in her lap again, and finally—finally—slips her panties off. She guides your hand between her legs, lets you feel how soaked she is.

“All for you, baby.”

Then she sinks down onto you, slow and intense. You cry out, the heat of her core surrounding yours, her hands gripping your shoulders for balance.

In the mirror, it’s obscene. Her head tilted back, mouth parted, hair a mess. She’s grinding down on you, riding you hard, her voice a string of moans and filth.

“You love watching me fuck myself on you, don’t you?” she gasps. “Such a good little toy.”

Your hands grip her hips, trying to keep up. She leans in, teeth grazing your jaw.

“Tell me how pretty I look when I fuck you.”

You whimper, barely able to form words. She rocks harder, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room.

“Say it.”

“You—you’re so fucking pretty—”

She smiles, wicked and glowing. “That’s my girl.”

When she comes, it’s wild—her nails digging into your shoulders, her thighs shaking around you. She pulls you down with her a moment later, mouths colliding again in a kiss that’s messy and breathless.

The mirror shows it all—sweaty, tangled bodies, lipstick-smeared kisses, the aftermath of ruin.

She finally pulls back, resting her forehead against yours.

“Still staring?” she asks, smug.

You nod weakly. “Forever.”

She smirks, pulling the covers over both of you. “Good. You’re mine now.”

Liz talks : first tish fic!!!!!! And will def not be the last!!! This is also in honor of me officially meeting Danneel!!!!!

Tag list : @sunsbaby , @starzify , @bluemerakis , @aambearr , @blossomingorchids , @littlesoulshine , @daylighted , @wchswift , @emeraldcrs , @bossyblondie , @lunaleah , @pieandflannel , @sunnyteume , @deanswifeyy , @tinas111 , @kimxwinchester @unfortunate-brat @deansbbyx @lonelylonelybaby @insensiblelimerence @ohperiodtpoohhh (also tagged Danneel lovers if u don’t want to be tagged for this please lmk!!!)

To be tagged in any future works of mine please check out this post !!! (I added tish!)

Any engagement is highly appreciated <3

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sofa-king-lame · 2 days ago

Text

It's Freaking Me Out That You're Not Freaking Out

Guys, ADHD meds are fucking life changing. I'm 1k into writing my next big fic (already titled Wake Up, Sunshine. Secret musician Eddie 👀) AND while listening to All Time Low to get more inspo for songs for THAT fic I was inspired to write this drabble after hearing the lyric the fic is titled after. This fic ignores 8x15 lol. Did not happen here.

Inspired by the song 'Calm Down' by All Time Low

Also on ao3 right here

It was the fourth beer, Buck decides, that’s to blame for this. The dishwasher is running, a little louder and clunkier than it should (a problem for tomorrow). The non-dishwasher safe dishes as drying on the rack next to the sink, Eddie claiming they can air dry overnight. Christopher is asleep, and Buck is now three and a half beers deep. Eddie and Chris been home for two weeks, and as happy as Buck is to have them back he also feels like he’s losing his mind a little. He keeps catching Eddie looking at him, soft glances and warm smiles that Buck doesn’t know what to do with. So he keeps himself busy. He thinks he’s deep cleaned the bathroom five times in the last week alone, every cushion cover and sheet set in the house has been soaked and washed, and the fridge and freezer are full of enough meals to feed the three of them for at least a month.

“I think it’s clean now,” Eddie tells him quietly, tilting his head to the side as Buck wipes the counter down for the third time.

“Right,” Buck huffs. “Yeah.”

“You okay? You’ve been weird lately,” Eddie muses, taking a step towards him. Buck has to consciously not back up because he’s never done that when Eddie is near him and apparently Eddie has already picked up on his anxious energy.

“Y-yeah, I just,” Buck sighs, gulping down the rest of his beer to try to find the right words to say. He doesn’t find them at the bottom of the bottle, but what he does find is the courage to be a total fucking idiot. He puts his empty bottle down and closes the remaining distance between him and Eddie, grabbing his face with both hands and drawing him into a kiss that blasts past the platonic line they’ve been toeing in their friendship from day one.

“Mmph,” is Eddie’s muffled response, his hands flailing a little before landing on Buck’s hips as he sighs into the kiss. A particularly concerning thunk from the dishwasher startles Buck out of his stupor and he jerks back, eyes wide and fingers on his lips. What the fuck did he just do?

“Oh god,” he whispers, “oh fuck Eddie, I’m so sorry.”

“Buck,” Eddie chuckles, “it’s -”

“Oh fuck, fuck, Eddie -”

“Buck,” Eddie interrupts, but Buck can barely hear him over the rushing in his head. His hands are shaking and his heart is beating alarmingly fast, and Eddie - is totally calm.

“You’re not freaking out,” Buck says, gasping to catch his breath.

“Nope,” Eddie replies, totally calm. Why is he so calm.

“Why aren’t you freaking out?” Buck asks hysterically. “It’s freaking me out that you’re not freaking out!”

“Well,” Eddie hums, hands finding their place on Buck’s hips again. “I’ve been trying to build up the confidence to do that since I got home. So thank you for taking that off my plate. You’re good at that, you know.”

“Good at - kissing you?” Buck breathes, his shaking slowing to a tremor.

“No - well, yes,” Eddie snorts. “That, yes. But I meant you’re good at figuring out what I need before I even know what I need. So, thank you.”

“Oh. Uh. You’re welcome?” Buck offers uncertainly. “Wait, h-hang on. Did you just say you’ve been wanting to do that since you got home?”

“No, I said I’ve been trying to find the confidence to do it since I got home,” Eddie corrects gently, leaning in to press their foreheads together. Buck glances down and sees that Eddie’s up on his toes a little, and he’s not sure why it’s that visual that does it for him but it is. Buck leans in and kisses him again, which is difficult because Eddie won’t stop smiling.

“So, uh. H-how long have you been wanting to do that?” Buck questions when they break for air.

“Consciously? Since I drove away from you with that fucking U-Haul,” Eddie admits. “Subconsciously? Years, probably.”

“Oh,” Buck replies faintly. “Okay. Uh. Same for me, actually.”

“We always did have a freaky codependency thing going on,” Eddie laughs, brushing their noses together. “Wanna keep it up for the rest of our lives?”

“Fuck yeah,” Buck enthuses, unable to keep his lips off Eddie as they make their way to the bedroom. It was the fourth beer, Buck decides, that’s to thank for this.

Tags under the cut. As usual, if you'd like to be added to or removed from my tag list please let me know.

@playinginthunderstorms @inbucksbusiness @elvensorceress @singitforthegirls @sonofatoasterwaffle

@wrongfulruffian @crose84 @carolinahope @heartsfromeden @shealwaysreads

@lookforanewangle @eddiedisasterdiaz @my-brain-soup @mari-lwyd-crytid-blog @mattsire

@oddgreyhound @namesnamesandmorenames @a--a---a @diazpatcher @sassay-fox @sazanahashi

@aphantasias

#911 #911 fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #buddie fic

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catzz089 · 1 day ago

Note

ORR CURSE OF OBEDIENCE AHHH THERE ARE SO MANY WAYS IT COULD GO (but lowkey established relationship max has the curse put on him and ppl r using for the wrong reasons (what ever that be) so charles pull some protective bf vibes and is like you can only listen to me and then curse solved and max is soo greatful to charles (lowkey could be unestablished relationship and this is where someone confesses)) whoops got a bit carried away 🩵

Max woke up feeling normal.

Entirely regular, not one discrepancy across his entire body.

None.

Charles wasn’t next to him, they’d slept in separate rooms the night before to ‘improve focus’ which was really just their way of saying they were unhappy and didn’t want to spread it to the other person.

In all honestly it was never their brightest move, considering every single time Max woke up feeling far more upset when he couldn’t curl into a warm body, and Charles would cling to him for the next couple of days until they finally felt satiated.

His mind felt a little fuzzy.

Nothing in particular, definitely not.

His phone chimed on the beside table next to him, Christian.

Max, we need you to come in earlier today, to look at the car. We want you to get us that number 1!!!

Max was at the track before he even registered the words.

Huh.

“Max! Exactly who I wanted to see! I need you to pop round to the mechanics for me, they want you to take a look at some last minute changes, I don’t know about them, I trust you, do what you think is best, alright?”

Max nodded and sped straight off.

All in all it was a relatively simple conversation, the team knew him, knew he was good, they changed what he wanted with only minimal refutes.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, definitely, it keeps the front of the car heavy.”

“And we can’t have anyone messing with your precious car balance, can we Maxie?” Rupert said, slapping his hands onto his shoulders. He’d been preying on Max from the sidelines for at least 10 minutes, more than enough time to come over.

“No, of course not,” he replied easily.

Rupert grinned and firmed up his grip, “Come on, Max, we need to head off now.” And dragged him away, he fell into line next to him.

“You alright mate? You seem a little distant today.” Rupert questioned, “Please tell me you’ve done all your race prep.”

“I’ve done all my race prep,” He said automatically and immediately felt his skin crawl.

He couldn’t even remember his way to the track, he knew damn well he hadn’t done a single fucking stretch or warm up, he hadn’t drunk a single drop of water, he hadn’t even fucking eaten anything.

He had nothing to burn or sweat, he hadn’t even drunk a singular drop of RedBull.

Max Verstappen hasn’t drunk RedBull.

And he was a good racer, he’d been a good racer. But you could only do so much when you were hungry and thirsty and under-caffeinated.

So why the fuck was he lying to Rupert instead of telling him so he could go off to the cafeteria, or do some stretches with him. Literally anything.

He opened his mouth to say something, refute it, anything but he just couldn’t.

His chest tightened and his hands clenched.

“Oh and text Charles would you? I’m sick and tired of him pestering me about you. Tell him you’re doing fine and I’m not destroying your muscles.”

Max pulled out his phone without even thinking about it.

Me:

I’m fine

And Rupert isn’t destroying my muscles

Charlie ❤️🏁:

Max!!!

Good morning!

You never text first!

How are you?

Me:

I’m fine

Charlie ❤️🏁:

Okay…

Very descriptive

I need to go, Fred wants me

But please don’t overwork yourself mon cœur, oui?

Max began to type a response, but-

“Alright, not that long. We still have stuff to do Max, race is in 5 hours and we’ll be working for every bit of it.”

He put the phone back into his pocket, despite the buzzing, which only increased as time went on.

It stressed him out, more that it usually would.

His fingers itched to pick it back up again, but Rupert was talking. He had to listen to Rupert.

—

“Alright, get out there and do your best Max, the positioning of this track is a bit bad for you, so make sure you keep that P1 in that first corner, okay Champ?” Christian said whilst grinning and clapping him on the back, pushing him forward and towards the car.

Max mumbled a vague agreement and made his way over to the track.

The car rumbled steadily underneath his hands, it was feeling much better than before, he wasn’t yet happy with it, probably never would be, but it was certainly an improvement.

The lights went out and he slammed the accelerator, heading towards the first turn, Oscar right on his heels and-

Keep that P1 in the first corner

He turned, barreling straight off the track, completely cutting off the first corner.

Shit

It was fine. All fine.

The FIA usually ignored any first corner infringements, especially on a track like this. It was okay.

“Keep it steady Max, keep pushing,” GP’s voice crackled through his ear.

“Wait- but with the-“

“No comment please, Max.”

He shut up.

He continued as normal, twisting and turning the car wherever need be, doing whatever he could to extend the gap.

Don’t overwork yourself, mon cœur

Right. He-

Keep pushing

Oh.

He couldn’t slow it down, he had to keep pushing. But he was meant to slow it down- so surely he had to fall back a little.

A faint thrumming began in his head, not entirely painful, but distracting enough that he couldn’t hear his own thoughts.

He drove in instinct, he wasn’t sure what he was doing or saying, but at least something was happening.

The drumming grew, it shook through his brittle bones and he gripped the wheel tighter in some futile attempt of averting the pain and regaining control.

But he hadn’t had control for a while now.

Not in the morning, not in any one of his conversations and certainly not in his driving.

But it just can’t be. Things like this don’t just happen, and they certainly don’t happen to Max.

Although, not one other thing could explain what’s going on.

Someone asks him to do something, and he just goes and does it, he doesn’t have control over his actions at all.

It unsettled something deep within him, he liked to be in control, needed it almost.

And now he had nothing.

He pushed down on the accelerator, sending the car in a perfect arc around a corner, gaining milliseconds to try and catch up to Oscar in front. He pushed harder and harder and-

A bright flash of pain sparked through his mind, he flinched and the car stumbled around a turn. It felt like burning and aching and freezing and it just hurt. It hurt so much.

“Keep the car steady, Max. Oscar 2.5 seconds ahead.”

Max barely managed to keep in another strangled, pained sound.

—

The car crossed the line in seconds, it was okay.

He wanted to win, but he always wanted to win.

He could take second.

But he really couldn’t take the fiery pain across his entire skull, only exasperated by the time he took off his helmet.

He closed his eyes and gripped the stand his helmet rested on. Blindly, he reached out and grabbed a water bottle and brought it to his mouth.

“Max.”

Oh fuck.

“We need to have a little chat,” Came the cocky, condescending voice of Muhhamed Ben sualem.

Quite possibly the last person he would ever want to be talking to right now, especially when Charles was right there.

“I would just like to remind you of the rules, Max. Considering you’re prone to breaking them. You are not to speak badly about myself or the rest of the FIA to anyone, press or not, or there will be harsh consequences, Max. It would do you well to remember this.” His voice droned on and on.

Max tried to refute, tried to say something in the one second he had before the cameras brought there mics over and he lost the chance to say anything at all. His mouth stayed closed.

Sulaem walked away with his typical goblinish grin.

He wasn’t really hearing much over the pounding in his head. He wasn’t really sure if it was because the only water he had was that in the water system, or if it was because he was running in absolute fumes after doing too much without any form of sustenance. Probably everything, considering the way he trembled where he stood, but he could see Charles out of the corner of his eye. At the very least he could be with Charles, especially after the shit show he’d suffered through.

He walked over and slumped wordlessly in a nearby pillar. Charles looked over and grinned with a small wink, although nothing else considering they had about a hundred cameras on them. It was a shame, Max was pretty sure he’d be okay with publicising his relationship for a kiss and a hug.

“Did you have a penalty?” Charles asked, also breathless but conscious enough to get his mouth moving, which was a little more than Max was currently capable of. He gave a small nod.

“God it was really hot out there today, wasn’t it?”

Again, Mad gave a bid but nothing else.

And Charles, probably sensing the fact his boyfriend wasn’t really up for a conversation, shut right up and came over.

He leant down on the same pillar, pushing their overheating bodies together, which was nice and pleasant but also very uncomfortable. Max knew it must’ve been the same for Charles, yet he was willing to do it, for Max.

Max dropped increasingly more weight into Charles’ side. Charles frowned and gave him an odd look.

“Are you okay, cherí? How do you feel?” He asked.

“Odd,” Max replied thoughtlessly, which he was not meant to say because he didn’t want to freak Charles out, and Charles would always be freaked out at the slightest change of his attitude.

Charles was clearly about to say more, but their PR managers came around together,

“Max, come on, you need to go speak with the media.”

His head flared up from where he hadn’t even recognised it falling.

You are not to speak badly

Max answered questions clinically, rushing through them and running off the second he could, in order to avoid any extra questioning.

He knew he was unsociable during the cool down room and podium. He hoped people believed it was because of the heat and penalty, rather than his overwhelming headache and aversion to speak in case anyone at all asked about penalties and he answered and his head flared up again.

It was much of the same in the post-race media room. Clipped answers, sips of water and wondering if he could sneak away to grab a bite to eat, or get some painkillers. Or just avoid the world for an hour or two.

The second he finished he slipped out of the room with a sigh, grateful to finally, finally-

“Max!”

Of for fucks sake.

It was a reporter he didn’t recognise, tall with dark eyes and a smile that instantly put him on edge.

“Sorry guys,” Max refuted, “I’m done for the day, I can’t really answer your questions.”

“We need you to answer some questions Max, we won’t take too long.”

Max’s body turned to face him before his mind could catch up.

“What happened with Oscar on the first turn? Was that his fault? Do you agree with the penalty?”

You are not to speak badly about myself or the rest of the FIA.

“Of course it is upsetting to get the penalty, but it cannot be changed now, so there is no point talking about it.”

“Ah, our typical world champion, blunt as always. What about the McLarens? What do you think about them?”

Stupid prick, Max wasn’t ‘their’ anything.

“I think they are very fast, they have a very good car-“

“Obviously not that. On a personal level, are you still friends with Lando? Do you like Oscar? Will yourself and Oscar’s relationship be able to repair after this incident?” He interrupted.

Max wasn’t sure press had ever bombarded him with quite so many questions, he wished the guy would just shut up and take that stupid camera out of his face so he could leave.

“Our relationships will not be affected by racing. We are all adults and we know how to separate from in and off track.” He replied dryly, hoping he would just get the fucking hint.

“What about outside of the track? Recently people have been speculating your relationship with Kelly. She’s been spotted around with other men, the tabloid are saying you have a PR relationship. Is this true? Who are you really dating?”

No no no no no, he could not seriously ask any of this right now. Not when Max couldn’t lie.

He had to shut up, he had to clench his mouth closed and drop any and all sound coming out, he couldn’t let them know, he couldn’t out himself and Charles.

Hell, they’d be arrested in half the countries they drive in, he couldn’t ruin both of their careers by letting his mouth run, but the guy was smirking at him and the camera was inching closer and he he couldn’t stop his mouth from moving.

“Well-“

“I don’t see what that has to do with racing,” a cold voice cut in.

Charles.

Thank god, at least he was here.

“In fact, I’m not even sure you have a permit to report right now, considering you are outside of the media pen. You have no right to blockade off a driver from leaving just to pester them with useless questions. We are leaving. I’m going to ensure you never even see a race track ever again, after you’ve broken rules and harassed drivers.”

He snapped at the man, glaring daggers over the camera, directly into his eyes without backing down the slightest.

We are leaving.

Okay. Simple.

Just leave with Charles, he can do that.

Charles gently grabbed Max’s wrist and dragged him away, “Come on, mon trésor. Let’s get far away from these people.” He whispered.

Charles led them to their car and guided Max into the passenger seat, before jumping into the drivers and grabbing Max’s hands from across the console.

“Max, baby, you know I love you.” Max tensed, he wasn’t sure he liked where this was going.

“And that means you can talk to me. About anything.”

Max nodded wordlessly, Charles just looked more pained and brushed a hand over his cheek.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on. You’ve acted strange all morning, you didn’t respond to my texts, you’ve been distant, you’re letting yourself be hounded by the same type of reporters you hate and now you look about tap away from collapsing. What’s happened?”

The words spilled out before he could stop them, panicked and rushed, “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening to me, every time someone asks me to do something I just do it. I have no say in it, it just happens. I barely even remember it, Charlie. I’m scared, I don’t know how far it goes, I don’t know how to stop it, and my head hurts- it hurts so badly. I don’t even know what’s wrong or how it’s happened but it doesn’t feel right.”

“Oh baby,” Charles cooed, pulling Max into a tight hug, “You poor thing. We’ll fix this, okay? I’ll get it sorted don’t worry,” he soothed as Max collapsed into his shoulder, thin streams of water soaking into his shirt, which only seemed to make them both more upset.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart, don’t cry. I know it’s stressful, but it’ll be okay, alright?”

Max tried to hide his face more thoroughly.

His head hurt as more tears flowed. He had to stop them, he wasn’t allowed to cry, but he’d already collapsed and now they couldn’t stop.

“Okay, how about this baby. Stop listing to what other people say. From now on you aren’t allowed to follow what they say at all, you have to use your own mind and your own opinions to make descisons. And if you’re ever in a position you are uncomfortable with, you leave as soon as you possibly can; you don’t stay around people like that, okay?”

Max sighed, “yeah. Yeah okay.”

“Perfect,” Charles grinned, “Let’s go back to the hotel now, cherí.”

—

Max stepped through the door, lightly supported by Charles’ hand resting over his waist and his vision promptly went back.

He collapsed forward, scarily close to getting the ground, until Charles’ scrambling was enough to grab and the back of his shirt and yank him away from the floor.

Charles sunk down himself, and brought Max to lay on his lap. He patted his face gently but firmly,

“Max. Max wake up. Mon cœur please get up, please,” he was feeling more and more frantic with every passing second, fumbling with Max’s legs to try and raise them both with one hand.

Thankfully, Max’s bleary eyes blinked open and he stared up at Charles before he could get worried enough to call an ambulance.

“Max, oh Max.” He sighed, “are you okay? Why did you faint cherí?”

“Food,” Max muttered.

“Food? Baby have you not eaten since the race? That was three hours ago. You need to eat afterwards, you need to regain the energy, Max. Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“No,” Max mumbled, “not since the race, yesterday.”

Charles blanched, “baby, please do not tell me you haven’t eaten at all today, please.”

Max paused for a moment, “okay.”

“Wait-no. Mon Sucre I didn’t mean it like that. Have you eaten at all today?”

Max shook his head, looking like he was going to fall back asleep.

“Max!” Charles stressed, “That’s so bad for you! On a race day? Oh my god, okay okay, I’m going to take you to the couch then in going to get you some food, okay?”

Max nodded, only looking mildly surprised when Charles hauled him up and dropped him onto the soft, plushy couch. At least it was comfortable.

Super comfortable.

—

Max woke up slowly, he could feel two strong arms wrapped tightly around his torso, dragging him into a familiar chest. There was also a leg draped over his own and Charles’ warm breaths hitting the back of his head.

He tried to squirm a little bit, to turn around and at least face Charles, but his grip was so tight no amount of wriggling was really helping.

“Max?” Came Charles’ sleep soaked voice, “go back to bed, cherí.”

Max huffed, “No, Charles. let me move around, I want to face you.”

Charles instantly sprung up, unravelling himself from Max. He rolled Max onto his back and straddled over him.

“Did you just say no?” He asked with wide, hopeful eyes.

Max giggled lightly, “No.”

Charles let out a frillish squeal and bent down to pepper kisses all over his face.

“You’re back baby! Oh thank god, I have my sweet baby angel back!”

“Oh shut up, Charles. You’re slobbering over my face.” Max drawled.

“God it really is you, isn’t it?” Charles asked, looking terribly endeared.

Max just placed his hands around his neck and yanked him down for a good, proper kiss.

#SHES DONE #she’s also way too long #but I’m glad I can release her into the wild #it’s gonna take me a long ass time to get through these but h really enjoy them guys #anyway #lbha #formula 1 #max verstappen #charles leclerc #lestappen #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #formula 1 fanfic #asks #ficlet #absolutely no proof reading at all!

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