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cressidagrey · 14 hours ago

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The Alpine McLaren Fiasco

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: The Alpine - McLaren Fiasco…and Felicity Piastri’s hand in it. (Or: why multiple F1 team principals are terrified of Oscar’s wife.) Set in the Summer of 2022.

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

The pen in Oscar’s hand felt heavier than it should’ve.

Zak was across the table, nodding. The contract was crisp, the numbers bold. The McLaren badge printed at the top of the page gleamed in the light.

He was about to sign to a Formula One seat.

It should’ve felt like adrenaline. Like fireworks. Like victory.

It was a seat. An opportunity. A shot at doing what he loved.

But Oscar’s thoughts weren’t on the track. They weren’t even on the car.

They were with Felicity. And Bee.

In that too-small apartment in Enstone with the leaky kitchen tap and the one bedroom that doubled as a nursery and an office and a place where Felicity folded laundry between uni assignments.

He thought of how Felicity had taped Bee’s drawings to the side of the fridge because they didn’t have enough wall space.

How she tiptoed around her own life so Oscar could chase his dream.

How she never once complained.

Not when they had to squeeze Bee’s crib into the corner. Not when she had to stack books on the floor because there wasn’t a bookshelf. Not even when the neighbor’s dog barked through Bee’s naps and the heat didn’t work half the winter.

She’d just kissed him good luck each morning and said, "We’ll get through this. We always do."

Oscar looked down at the contract again.

It wasn’t just a deal. It was a door.

A way out. A way forward.

A house with a garden where Bee could run barefoot. A kitchen big enough for Felicity to hum and dance and bake without balancing the baby monitor on top of a stack of unopened mail.

Space. Safety. A future.

He signed.

Zak smiled and shook his hand. Someone said something about celebrating.

But all Oscar could think about was going home.

Not to the apartment — to them.

To Felicity. To Bee.

To tell them that the next chapter had just started. That this dream he’d been chasing — this seat, this opportunity — wasn’t just for him.

It was theirs.

He’d come home with takeout, he decided. From that noodle place Felicity liked, the one too expensive to justify often but always worth it. He’d pick up Bee’s favorite yogurt. And maybe a tiny plant for the windowsill — something green and alive.

Because they’d be moving soon.

Because McLaren wasn’t just a team.

It was the key to building the life he’d promised them.

And for the first time in months, Oscar let himself breathe.

Not for the racing. For home.

The apartment was dark when Oscar slipped through the door. The kind of dark that came with soft exhaustion — not nightfall, just drawn curtains and a tired toddler finally sleeping.

He closed the door gently behind him, careful with the handle so it wouldn’t creak, and toed off his shoes without a sound.

The hallway was cramped, the kind of too-narrow that made it impossible to pass Bee’s drying artwork on the walls without brushing it. The kind of space that didn’t feel like it was built to hold a family — just borrowed time.

It had never been enough.

He found Felicity in the living room. She was sitting on the old sofa, knees tucked to her chest, one of Oscar’s hoodies drowning her frame. The television was on low, but she wasn’t watching it. Just sitting there, staring at the quiet shadows on the floor like they held answers.

She looked up when he walked in, and he saw it — the tired hope in her eyes, and still, she smiled at him.

Oscar walked over slowly and dropped to his knees in front of her, right there on the fraying rug. He reached for her hands, holding them gently in his own.

“It’s done,” he said softly. “It’s McLaren. We signed today.”

Felicity blinked, her breath catching.

“Wait—”

“We’re going,” Oscar said, voice suddenly tight with everything he hadn’t let himself feel. “We’re leaving. No more Enstone. No more trying to squeeze Bee’s cot between the heater and the dresser. No more pretending this place is enough.”

Felicity’s hands trembled in his.

He squeezed them gently. “I’m buying us a house.”

Her mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“A real one,” Oscar continued, rushing now. “With a garden. And a bathtub that doesn’t leak. A proper bedroom for Bee. A kitchen where you can open both cabinet doors without hitting the fridge.”

Her eyes flooded.

“I want you to have somewhere that’s yours,” Oscar whispered. “I want Bee to grow up with a tree she can climb and space to dance and—and a door that locks properly, for God’s sake.”

A tear slid down Felicity’s cheek.

Oscar leaned forward, forehead resting against her knees.

“I’m sorry it took this long.”

Felicity moved, wordless, and slid off the couch, kneeling in front of him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

He held her like he’d never let go.

“I didn’t mind the small space,” she whispered finally. “I minded you thinking that Bee and I deserved more. That you failed us in some way.”

Oscar’s chest cracked wide open.

“You deserve everything,” he breathed.

Felicity laughed quietly through her tears. “A garden?”

“A garden,” he promised. “With lavender. And a swing for Bee. And enough room for your books and a kitchen table that actually fits all three of us.”

She pulled back just far enough to look at him. Her cheeks were damp, her smile trembling but real.

“I love you,” she said.

He smiled, brushing a thumb across her cheek.

“Good,” he said. “Because I just changed our lives.”

***

The first sign that something was wrong came from the way Oscar closed the door.

Not rushed. Not dramatic.

But soft. Measured. Careful.

Felicity looked up from the dining table, where Bee was hunched over her coloring book. The late sun poured gold across the room, catching the faint frown on Oscar’s face like a spotlight.

He dropped his keys in the tray by the door and stood there for a beat too long.

Felicity’s heart sank.

Bee didn’t notice. She was busy sorting her crayons by colors again.

Felicity rose quietly, walked into the hallway, and touched his wrist. “Oscar?”

He looked at her. And just shook his head.

She didn’t press. She just waited.

Eventually, he exhaled — slow and low — and said, “Otmar told me I was driving for Alpine next year.”

Felicity blinked. “I’m sorry — what?”

“In the sim,” Oscar added, still stunned. “In front of some of the engineers. Who didn’t even know.”

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides. Not enough to shake. Just enough to sharpen.

“He blindsided you?” she asked.

Oscar nodded. “I didn’t want to make a scene. I just… nodded. Finished the session.”

Finished the session. Of course he had.

Because he was Oscar — calm, controlled, collected to the core. Even when humiliated. Even when put in a position no one that professional should ever be put in.

“And did you explain—?”

“I’ve explained, Felicity,” he said, finally lifting his head. “They knew. My camp told them multiple times we were exploring other options. I said it myself. It was never confirmed. They never had my signature. They just—”

“Claimed you.”

Oscar looked down again.

Felicity’s mouth went tight.

She’d seen it too many times — the way men like that assumed ownership, assumed quiet meant compliant. That saying it out loud made it real. That playing politics in front of others gave them leverage.

Oscar had never played those games.

And now he was paying for it.

“They’re not just trying to control the story,” she said. “They’re trying to corner you. Back you into looking like the villain if you correct it.”

Oscar’s jaw tensed. “I didn’t want to make a scene in front of the guys. It wasn’t their fault.”

She nodded.

Of course he hadn’t.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t furious.

They’d worked so carefully. So intentionally. The McLaren option hadn’t come from nowhere — it had been months in the making. Every conversation, every clause, every piece of it had been considered and weighed.

This wasn’t immaturity.

This was calculated.

And Alpine had chosen narrative over truth.

Felicity breathed slowly through her nose. “When are we releasing the statement?”

“Today, probably,” Oscar said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Mark’s furious.”

Good, she thought. She wanted him furious.

Because she was fuming.

Felicity could already see how it would play out — the headlines, the noise, the armchair contracts lawyers. The spin.

“You are not unprofessional,” she said, low and steady. “You are not a backstabber. You’ve been measured every step of the way. They underestimated your quiet.”

Oscar’s lips twitched. “That sounds familiar.”

Felicity smiled without warmth. “I’m used to it.”

Bee’s little voice drifted in from the other room. “Mama? Can I have some juice?”

Felicity turned toward the kitchen doorway, then looked back at Oscar.

“You’re going to be fine,” she said, reaching out and brushing a hand down his cheek. “We’ve got receipts. We’ve got truth. And we’ve got you.”

Oscar caught her wrist, just for a second. Held it. “Thanks.”

Felicity smiled, this time real and quiet.

“Go say hello to Bee,” she said. “I’ll text Mark and check the contract files again. They wanted a public war, Oscar. They picked the wrong family.”

Oscar stood, kissed the top of her head, and walked to their daughter.

Felicity turned to her laptop and opened the Alpine folder.

Let them come.

Let them try.

She had the facts, the documents, the dates. She had Oscar’s name, signed only where he meant it.

And most of all—

She had no intention of letting anyone turn the man she loved into a villain.

***

The living room was a battlefield of open laptops, phones buzzing, and half-drunk coffee mugs.

Oscar sat hunched on the couch, scrolling furiously through Twitter and official press releases, looking about two seconds away from a full existential crisis.

Felicity sat cross-legged beside him, calm as a storm before the first clap of thunder, flicking through her own phone.

Bee was sleeping in the bedroom, mercifully oblivious to the fact that her father was at the center of a global motorsport meltdown.

Oscar scrubbed his hands through his hair. “This is a mess. This is an actual, full-on mess.”

Felicity hummed noncommittally, tapping something into her notes app.

Oscar looked over, wild-eyed. “Aren’t you freaking out?! Alpine’s posting like I signed a contract with blood and glitter, and McLaren’s playing it cool, and half the grid thinks I’m lying, and—”

Felicity set her phone down neatly on the coffee table and turned to him, entirely serene.

“Oscar,” she said sweetly, “we did everything correctly.”

He blinked. “But—”

“They made promises they couldn’t back up. They leaked information before confirming it. They tried to paint you into a corner because you’re young and polite and they thought you wouldn’t fight back.”

Oscar opened his mouth.

Felicity leaned in, smiling like a wolf in a fairy tale. “But they underestimated you. And they didn’t count on you having a lawyered-up, spite-driven wife who reads contracts for fun.”

As if summoned, the phone rang.

Mark Webber.

Oscar winced and picked up.

"Hey, mate."

The sound of pure exasperation poured through the speaker. "How the bloody hell are you so calm? We’ve got half of Formula 1 Management breathing down our necks, and the internet's lost its mind."

Oscar opened his mouth.

Then Felicity, without looking up, said mildly, “Tell him we’re fine. That Alpine leaked confidential information prematurely. That we have documented evidence of their breach of duty. And that the Contract Recognition Board is going to back us because we're right."

Oscar blinked at her. Then relayed it word for word.

There was a long pause on the other end.

Then Mark said, very slowly, “Is Felicity there?”

Oscar handed the phone over like it was a live grenade.

Felicity took it without blinking. “Hello, Mark.”

“Hi.” A beat. “You’re terrifying.”

Felicity smiled sweetly. “Thank you.”

Mark coughed awkwardly. “I mean that in the most complimentary way possible.”

“I know.”

There was another pause.

Then Mark said, almost reverently, “Honestly, between you, me, and the twitter post... I think Alpine’s lawyers should be more scared of you than of McLaren’s entire legal department.”

“That would be the correct assessment,” Felicity said pleasantly. “Would you like me to draft a bullet-point memo for Oscar to quote if anyone gets difficult in interviews?”

There was a stunned pause.

Then, almost meekly: “...Yes, please.”

Felicity grinned. “I'll have it to you in an hour.”

She hung up, handed Oscar his phone back, and sipped her tea like she hadn’t just calmly bent reality to her will.

Oscar stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time all over again.

"You scare Mark Webber."

"And you," Felicity teased.

"Yeah," Oscar said with a soft, dazed smile. "But it's the best kind of scary."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, entirely relaxed. "You’re moving to the right team. You did nothing wrong. And if anyone tries to make you feel otherwise—" she smiled, all teeth, "—we’ll remind them politely."

Oscar stared at her, a little awed. Maybe a little scared.

Felicity sat back and sipped her tea. “We are legally sound. You are moving to a team that actually values you. And if anyone still doubts you after today?”

She smiled wider. Dangerously.

“They can sit on the grass and watch you win from there.”

Oscar blinked.

“...God, I love you.”

Oscar closed his eyes and let out a long breath, tension bleeding out of him.

He had Felicity.

He had Bee.

And somehow, even in the middle of the biggest motorsport drama of the year, that made him feel invincible.

***

The kitchen table had stopped being a place for breakfast weeks ago.

It was now Command Central — home to three laptops, two legal pads, a rainbow of highlighters, half-drunk mugs of coffee, and a folder so thick it had earned its own spot on the chair beside Felicity like an honored guest.

The tabs alone told a story: blue for correspondence, yellow for contracts, pink for press statements, green for legal precedent. She’d chosen the colors late one night while Oscar slept curled around Bee, and something about the order calmed her.

She needed the order.

Because the rest of it was chaos.

The headlines, the speculation, the deliberate noise. And beneath it, the truth — quiet, sharp, waiting to be weaponized.

Felicity clicked open the spreadsheet for the seventh time that morning. It was color-coded, time-stamped, annotated.

July 13 – Verbal confirmation Alpine was “exploring options” July 15 – Email from Oscar’s management to Alpine: “No signed agreement exists” July 22 – Internal Alpine memo leak to press claiming Oscar’s “contractual obligation” August 2 – Alpine public statement: “We have Oscar under contract.” [note: NO contract signed. Cross-reference clause 3.1 of FIA driver agreement terms]

She didn’t even have to read the lines anymore. They were burned into her skull.

Every time someone tweeted about Oscar’s "lack of professionalism," she opened this document. Every time a commentator said he’d "done Alpine dirty," she updated the footnotes. Every time someone mentioned loyalty, she added another timestamp, another receipt, another piece of ammunition.

Because she wasn’t letting them rewrite the story.

Not this time.

Not after everything she’d given up.

Oscar didn’t ask her to take on the case. He’d asked her to let it go.

But Felicity had been letting things go for years.

She let go of her family the day she chose him.

Not in a dramatic, slammed-door kind of way — but in the quiet way that people who love carefully often lose things. They hadn’t approved. Of him. Of the life. Of the risk. They’d said things like “This won’t last” and “He’ll never pick you over the sport.”

They hadn’t seen him at two in the morning, rocking Bee back to sleep when Felicity was too exhausted to lift her head. They hadn’t watched him leave for another test session with aching eyes and a whispered “Thank you for doing this. For letting me try.”

They hadn’t read the letter he wrote her on their wedding day. The one where he said, “Every podium, every contract, every bit of success — it’s all because you believed when no one else did.”

They hadn’t heard how her voice steadied his when the cameras shook him. They hadn’t seen what she’d sacrificed so he could grow.

She’d given up her family. Her country. Her parents. Her safety net.

But she’d never once regretted it.

And now? Now someone was trying to take the man she loved — not with force, but with assumption.

Like he didn’t deserve to choose. Like he should be grateful for whatever scraps they handed down.

Not on her watch.

Felicity pulled out a press release — Alpine’s, dated August — and highlighted a single sentence:

“Oscar is our driver for 2023, as per our agreement.��

Then she opened the corresponding legal file and added a note beneath it:

NO agreement signed. Misrepresentation of contractual status. Possible breach of good faith negotiation standards under FIA governance protocols.

She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t tweet.

She built her case, brick by careful brick.

Oscar would go to that hearing with his team — with Mark, with lawyers, with the truth.

But he’d also go with her preparation. Her structure. Her work.

Because if the world was going to talk about Oscar Piastri, they’d do it based on facts.

Not fiction.

Not noise.

At 1 a.m., Oscar padded in from the bedroom, hair rumpled, Bee’s stuffed frog in one hand.

“Fliss,” he said softly, “come to bed.”

“I’m almost done,” she said, not looking up.

He walked around the table and gently took the pen from her fingers.

“You’ve done enough.”

She looked at him, and for the first time that day, let herself breathe.

“I just don’t want them to get away with it,” she whispered. “With turning you into the villain.”

“They won’t,” he said, crouching beside her chair. “Because I have you.”

That broke something open in her. Not in the fragile way.

In the unshakable, I’d go to war for you kind of way.

“I gave up everything for you,” she said, not as a wound — but a fact. “And I’d do it again. But I won’t watch anyone try to drag you through the mud for having boundaries. For being smart. For knowing your worth.”

Oscar just pulled her into a hug. Held her there. Silent. Certain.

Because that’s what they were.

Not perfect.

But certain.

***

The days stretched long.

Not in the leisurely, golden-summer way. But in that suffocating, gray-laced kind of stretch where everything felt suspended — like someone had pressed pause and forgotten to hit play again.

Oscar’s name was everywhere.

Not in the way drivers dreamed about. Not headlines about timesheets or potential or precision. Not praise for his cornering or racecraft.

No, his name was in the noise. “Contract Chaos.” “Alpine Stunned.” “The Rookie Who Said No.”

Oscar had stopped reading the articles two weeks in. Felicity hadn’t — she’d compiled a spreadsheet.

With sources. And timestamps. And quotes cross-referenced against public statements and private emails.

Oscar didn’t ask how many tabs she had open on her laptop at any given time. He just brought her coffee and kissed her temple before sitting down at his own screen.

Waiting was the hardest part.

They weren’t allowed to say much — not until the CRB hearing. Everything had to be careful. Measured. Legally sound. Which meant there were long, maddening stretches of silence where the world speculated loudly and they just... endured.

Felicity kept things steady. Quiet, but never passive. She chased updates with the precision of someone who’d spent years patching together stability from scraps. She spoke to Mark almost daily. She checked and rechecked contracts until she could quote clauses in her sleep.

Oscar trained. Sim work. Gym. Notes. Repeat.

When he wasn’t on a call with his legal team or being told to “stay calm” for the fifteenth time that week, he was on the floor with Bee, building LEGO cars and pretending none of it touched them.

Some nights, though, after Bee was asleep and the dishes were done, he’d find Felicity on the balcony, a hoodie pulled tight around her shoulders, eyes scanning the sky like the stars might offer answers.

“Do you think they’ll rule in our favor?” he asked one night, joining her.

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she passed him her mug and said, “I think truth doesn’t always win. But paper trails do.”

Oscar huffed a soft laugh, took a sip. “Romantic.”

She bumped her shoulder against his. “You married a realist.”

Oscar wore a navy suit and the most impassive face he could manage to the hearing. He also carried The Folder — the one Mark jokingly called “Felicity’s Sword.”

It was thick. Color-coded. Cross-indexed. Tabbed and terrifying.

The hearing wasn’t dramatic.

There were no shouting matches. No grand revelations. Just sharp questions, crisp answers, and lawyers who underestimated how well-prepared the Piastri side was.

Oscar didn’t speak much. He didn’t need to.

He did — once. When asked to clarify the correspondence timeline.

He pulled out an email, read it aloud, and then pointed out a contradictory press quote from Alpine dated three days after it that Felicity had found.

He didn’t smile.

But Mark did. Like a man watching someone drop a precision-engineered anvil on a house of cards.

The ruling came on a Friday.

Oscar was at the table with Bee on his lap, coloring quietly. Felicity was on speaker with Mark when the email landed.

There was a pause.

Then Mark’s voice: “We won.”

Oscar blinked. “Wait—”

“It’s McLaren. Fully binding. The CRB ruled unanimously. Alpine never had a contract.”

Felicity let out a breath that sounded like it had been waiting in her chest for months. Bee dropped a crayon. Oscar stood, numb with disbelief.

“Are you serious?” he asked.

Mark was already laughing. “Mate, you’re officially a McLaren driver.”

Oscar turned to Felicity.

She was smiling. Not the careful kind — not the one she wore when she was holding things together for everyone else. But a real, wild smile. The kind that said, we did it.

He pulled her into his arms and spun her in the middle of their too-small kitchen. Bee squealed as they bumped into the table.

Felicity clung to him. “We’re free,” she whispered.

Oscar nodded, forehead pressed to hers.

“We’re going home,” he said, meaning McLaren. Meaning out. Meaning forward.

And for the first time since that awful meeting in the sim room, Oscar felt light.

Like gravity had finally let go.

“You’re going to drive orange cars now, Papa?” Bee asked him very seriously.

Oscar smiled, eyes wet. “Yeah, Bumblebee. I am.”

***

The ink was barely dry on the Contract Recognition Board’s official ruling.

McLaren had won.

Oscar Piastri was officially McLaren’s. Alpine was left scrambling to save face. And Zak Brown was feeling the rare, giddy high of a clean, decisive victory — but also the lingering shock at how ruthlessly, brilliantly, and perfectly the whole thing had been handled.

He leaned back in his office chair, rubbing his jaw, still half laughing in disbelief as Mark Webber sat across from him, looking far too relaxed for a man who had just navigated an international legal war.

“Okay,” Zak said finally, throwing his pen down with a clatter. “I need to know.”

Mark lifted an eyebrow. “Know what?”

“Who’s your lawyer?” Zak said, grinning wide. “Because whoever handled this — the paperwork, the contracts, the way you all walked Alpine into a brick wall — they’re a shark. We need someone like that. Seriously. Name your price."

Mark’s mouth twitched, like he was enjoying this far too much.

Zak waited, half-expecting Mark to name some fancy law firm out of London.

Instead, Mark said, perfectly straight-faced: “She’s not a lawyer.”

Zak blinked. “What?”

Mark leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “She’s Oscar’s wife.”

Zak blinked harder. “His wife?”

Mark nodded, looking far too satisfied. “Yep.”

There was a stunned pause.

Zak sat forward slowly, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Wait. Oscar’s married?”

Mark smirked. “He is.”

Zak threw his hands up. “He’s, what, twenty-one?”

“Married,” Mark confirmed cheerfully.

Zak stared at him. “And the woman who just ran circles around Alpine’s legal team is his wife?”

Mark chuckled under his breath. “Felicity. Brilliant, ruthless, scary when she wants to be. She reads contracts for fun."

Zak shook his head slowly, as if trying to reboot his brain. “How have I never heard about her? Or seen a single post, or interview?”

Mark shrugged. “Oscar keeps his family very private. Always has. Protects them like his life depends on it.”

Zak opened his mouth — and Mark, because apparently today wasn’t wild enough already, added, totally casual:

“Oh, and they have a daughter too.”

Zak actually choked. “A what?!”

Mark was openly grinning now. “A little girl. Bee. Two years old. Smart as hell. Already critiques Oscar’s driving sometimes.”

Zak pressed both hands over his face. "Married. With a kid. And somehow still the most put-together twenty-one-year-old on the grid."

Mark laughed. "Told you. Built different."

Zak dropped his hands and let out a long, slow breath. “Jesus. I thought we signed a rookie. Turns out we signed an entire bloody empire."

Mark clapped him on the back as he stood up to leave, grinning like a man who knew exactly what he had delivered to McLaren.

“You’ll thank me later.”

Zak just sat there for a long moment after the door shut, muttering to himself.

“Married. Kid. Legal assassin wife. ...We are so screwed in the next contract negotiation.”And somehow? He couldn’t even be mad about it.

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girlgenius1111 · 1 day ago

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different when it's me

barcelona femení x reader you've had a secret for a really long time, one that is getting harder and harder to keep. your friends and teammates know that something is wrong, but they aren't sure how to get you to talk when you seem so insistent on keeping it all to yourself. basically, r is struggling with her sexuality, and her teammates try to help. angst, fluff, you know the drill. cw for internalized homophobia

—

For as long as you could remember, there had been rules. Rules that applied to you, even if they didn’t apply to anyone else. Like how you weren’t allowed to yell at your parents, but they could yell at you. Or how you weren’t allowed to see your friends on school days, but your brother could.

Even as you’d gotten older and moved out, the ‘you’ rules remained. Some of them were entirely self imposed. It was alright if other people took time off training when they were sick, but you couldn’t. It was okay if Vicky left a dish in the sink instead of washing it right away, but if you did that you’d have felt like a terrible roommate.

And then there was the biggest rule of all. It wasn’t even a rule, really. It was just… how things were.

Other people could be gay. Your teammates, your friends. Anyone else, that was okay. You’d stand by that, you’d fight for it.

But you couldn’t be. You just couldn’t.

Maybe it was your parents, or maybe it was the hours you’d spent in church, hearing the priest casually slip into his homelie comments about men and women and Leviticus 18:22. Whatever had kickstarted the shame and guilt within you, it didn’t matter that much. It was there.

Every time a pretty girl smiled at you in public, or when the cute barista would draw a little smiley face on your coffee cup. Every time you instinctually frowned and stepped away from a man who was looking to make a move on you. Every time you noticed a girl’s smile or the color of her eyes, the soft skin of her hand as it brushed yours.

Shame.

And you tried, tried so hard. To imagine the perfect man, the perfect wedding, the perfect life. But it just wasn’t right. The longer you spent away from your parents, away from the catholic church you’d grown up in, you started to wonder. The longer you spent around your friends who didn’t even blink when Jana announced she had a new girlfriend, the standard you set for yourself started to crumble, no matter how tightly you tried to hold onto it.

You’d find yourself daydreaming. The domestic life you’d always been so sure you didn’t want would flash in your mind, except this time, it was a lot more appealing. A wife, instead of a husband, and your stomach didn’t turn. For so long, you’d thought that there was no option to accept what you knew, knew really deep down, to be true. You’d rather die than accept it, if life in the closet was so miserable, you’d rather die.

But acceptance began to start without you even telling it to. Like your brain was so tired of the shame, it started to reject it.

So what? It would say. It had never felt like that before, and you were beyond terrified.

—

What kickstarted everything was a visit home to your parents. As it often went, 90% was nice. Home cooked meals, the feeling of not having to be responsible for anything, just for a little while.

It was good. Or, at least, it was alright enough that you could convince yourself it was good. You could pretend everything was okay.

And then, your mother had asked the dreaded question. Do you have a boyfriend yet?

You could tell as time passed, as you got older and never brought home a boy, your parents grew more and more worried. Whether that was worry that you were going to die alone, or worry that you weren’t into guys, you didn’t know.

But they always asked. And when you’d shake your head, say no and give the excuse that football kept you too busy to think about that, they’d always respond the same.

Well, don’t close yourself off! The perfect guy is out there.

You really doubted that. Normally, it stopped there, but this time, your father took it a step further. Said something that made your stomach twist and your palms sweat.

The perfect man, he’d emphasized. I know how your teammates are. Don’t get any ideas.

It was an off handed comment, probably didn’t mean he suspected anything. Logically, you knew that. Illogically, though… not so much.

You spent the whole drive back from their house crying. Disappeared into your room as soon as you got home, shaking off Vicky’s concerned questions. You didn’t emerge until the next morning for training, and you didn’t feel any better.

There was this weight sitting on your chest. It felt like everyone knew, everyone was staring at you, thinking things about you that you were barely able to admit to yourself. It was the weight of obligation; to your parents and to yourself, pulling you in opposite directions.

It was tearing you in half.

—

No one would ever describe as quiet or withdrawn. You hung around with the louder portion of the team, and you were no exception to that group. You were loud and unrestrained and goofy most of the time. Of course, you were serious when you had to be, but normally not a day passed at Ciutat Esportiva where the sound of your laughter wasn’t bouncing off the walls of the locker room, audible to anyone walking through the hall.

That is, until today.

It wasn’t obvious, not to everyone. There were so many players, so many of you messing around that it didn’t raise alarm bells for any of your older teammates. But for your friends, your best friends, they knew something was wrong the second that you didn’t crack up at Jana’s ridiculous story about Ona falling asleep on her couch and rolling off onto the floor. You gave a weak smile, one that was barely there and very fake.

And immediately, your teammates were giving you a closer look. They noticed bags under your eyes, the distant look on your face as you stared off at the wall. You were wound tightly, it seemed, every muscle in your body tense as you waited to walk out onto the pitch with your friends. It didn’t even occur to you that they’d think you were acting any different, but though they could be absolute clowns, they were also observant, intelligent people.

They could tell, without question, that something was wrong. Jana and Claudia exchanged glances, before turning to Vicky, who could only offer them a shrug in response. She’d known something was wrong since last night, when you’d come home from your parents. You’d barely said two words to her, though, and she was fairly certain you weren’t going to talk if anyone tried to get you to.

But Jana was Jana, and soon she was meaningfully looking between the rest of your teammates and the door, a not so subtle nod for them to give the two of you a moment. For your part, you didn’t even notice them walk out the door. You didn’t notice Jana stay behind, gazing at you worriedly. You were stuck in your head, a billion questions racing through it even as you tried to push them out and focus on the training session ahead of you.

Would your parents hate you?

“Are you okay?”

Would they disown you?

“Huh?” You replied, only half hearing your teammate. You should tell them. Just get it over with. But tell them what? You weren’t even sure. No, of course you were sure, but there was always the chance that you were wrong?

“Hey, amiga.” Jana’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, and this time you looked up at her.

You couldn’t tell. It would ruin everything. Absolutely everything.

“Yeah, yeah, what’s up?” You murmured, voice quiet. But how could you keep this to yourself? How could you live with a secret for the rest of your life? You couldn’t.

Jana was really concerned now. You looked destroyed, almost, like you were being ripped in two. Something was really, really wrong.

“Did something happen?” Jana wondered. She had such a calm, soft demeanor. Her expression was so open, and so concerned, it was hard not to break.

It only took a moment for her question to register, and it was as if your brain had detected some kind of threat and instantly drawn all your walls up. You sat up straighter, your eyes clearing. Gone was the look of anxiety and sadness. In its place, you just looked determined. Your face was wiped of any emotion and you stood, giving Jana a half smile.

“Nope! Sorry, I’m tired today. Everything’s fine. Let’s go?”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked towards the door. Jana followed you after, slowly, studying the back of your head as if it would give her the answers.

She wasn’t sure what the hell that was. But she knew, she knew that you were hiding something, and that you weren’t okay. And that wasn’t okay with her.

—

They watched you all throughout training. You could feel their eyes on you, too, and it only strengthened your resolve to act normal. But your friends weren’t having it. They didn’t leave you alone for a second. If it wasn’t Claudia pairing up with you for drills when she normally was always with Patri, it was Esmee standing right next to you during a water break. If it wasn’t Vicky taking the spot right next to you at lunch, it was Jana following you to the bathroom even though she’d just been.

It wasn’t that you blamed them for being worried; you knew you’d been weird upon arriving that morning. Since then, though, you’d made a very strong effort to appear as though you were fine.

Your friends didn’t buy it, but apparently your captains did, because Jana tried to tell them something was up, but they just brushed her off.

Jana explained to Alexia, Irene, and Marta that something was wrong. That you seemed like you were somewhere else entirely that morning, barely fighting back tears.

Vicky had told them how weird you’d been acting since coming home from seeing your parents, and how she could have sworn she heard you crying in the shower that morning.

Claudia told them you didn’t even blink when she took a few blueberries off your plate at lunch, even though you were notorious for being bad at sharing food.

None of them thought anything of it.

Even when Patri told them you hadn’t made any jokes about how she’d worn her shorts inside out for the first half of training, Alexia just shook her head with an amused smile.

“She’s growing up, then? Being more mature?” Alexia asked.

“You’re complaining that she beat you to it, are you?” Irene chuckled.

“The girl doesn’t pull a prank and suddenly she’s been replaced by an alien.” Marta grinned.

Your act was too good; you’d put on a very strong façade since slipping up that morning in the locker room. You had everyone but a few of your best friends convinced you were fine.

—

Annoyingly, no one seemed to be giving up on worrying about you. It continued for the next couple days. Even as you acted normal, completely fine, you could tell you were being watched by one of your friends at all times. They were waiting for you to break, again, which was an unsettling feeling and only made you more determined to be fine. You’d pushed the issue from your mind entirely. Wouldn’t think about it, wouldn’t even name it. It was just the issue, and you’d decided it didn’t matter. You couldn’t handle thinking about it while still pretending to be fine, so you didn’t think about it. If your friends caught even the slightest slip up from you, you knew you’d be cornered and interrogated. And above all else, you couldn’t tell them.

They couldn’t know. No one could know. That was what you lived on, the mantra that kept you going when all you wanted was to curl up into a ball on the ground and cry. No one could find out.

You thought that you’d maybe have a respite when Vicky announced she was spending Thursday night at home with her family as it was one of her brothers’ birthdays. But almost as soon as she’d given you that information, your phone was buzzing with a text from Jana.

We’re coming over to watch a movie tonight, because you have the biggest TV. We’ll bring snacks. 8:00. :)

Your TV simply was not the biggest one, that was a blatant lie. But what could you do?

No, Jana, you can’t come over, I have plans of self loathing and sobbing into my pillow until I fall asleep.

So, there you found yourself, curled up on the couch next to Patri as a movie you couldn’t even recall the name of playing on the average size TV hung on your wall. It was harder at night, for some reason, to block everything out that you refused to think about. Mostly, you were picking at your nails and trying to keep up with the plot of the movie so you could appropriately laugh and not bring attention to yourself.

Claudia and Jana were each in an armchair, both of them annoyingly angled so they could see you out of the corner of their eyes. It was impressive, honestly, how committed they were to this. One or two odd moments, and they’d become an investigative team.

You supposed, though, being with them and pretending to be happy was better than being by yourself and feeling it all.

One second, you were holding firm. You were laughing at the funny parts and smiling when you had to. You were holding it together, and you could almost feel your friend’s worry for you dissipating as you acted like yourself.

It felt like you there was a collapsed building sitting on your chest in doing so, but you were doing it.

But of course, the universe wasn’t on your side. Of course the movie that Patri had put on had a scene where a character came out to their parents. Who knows, maybe Patri had her suspicions about what was going on with you, and the movie choice was intentional. Maybe it was entirely unintentional.

Either way, you were crying before you could even try to stop the tears. It wasn’t even a negative scene; the character’s parents were accepting. Loving. They hugged the kid, told him they loved him no matter what.

It was a happy scene, yet all you could think about was that you would never ever have that. There would be no acceptance. No love. There would be tears, but they wouldn’t be the happy kind. It would be the end of the world as you knew it, and that felt so fucking unfair.

You didn’t want to be like this. You wanted to be normal, but you couldn’t. You just couldn’t, and you were going to lose your parents as a result. There was nothing you could do to change that.

So, you cried. Tears silently tracked their way down your cheeks. So quietly, in fact, that it went unnoticed for a minute. Until Jana peeked at you briefly, as she’d been doing all evening, and caught the shine on your cheeks and the tremble of your lip. Most of all, she noticed the devastated look in your eyes, and she was moving before she even knew what she was doing.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” She murmured, sitting down beside you and pulling you into her. You went willingly, or at least you didn’t resist. You let Jana hug you nice and tight, just for a minute. You felt Patri’s hand on your back, not unlike how she’d approach you when you’d get hurt in a match and stay down.

And now…now you were hurting. But not in a way that any of them could fix, you were sure. You wouldn’t let them try, anyway.

The movie was paused when you pulled away from Jana, hastily wiping at your eyes. You could feel the gaze of all three of your teammates on you, insistent and concerned. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to convince them you were fine this time.

“What’s going on with you, hm?” Patri asked gently, nudging your shoulder until you looked at her.

“You’ve not been yourself for days, chica. Talk to us.” Claudia chimed in, moving to perch on the coffee table in front of you. The three of them surrounded you, and maybe it was meant to feel comforting, but all you felt was suffocated.

The walls were closing in in every aspect of your life. You couldn’t hide anymore. Not from your parents, and not from your teammates. That didn’t stop you from trying. Didn’t stop you from clawing at the walls as the room got smaller and smaller, forcing an exit into existence even though there wasn’t one in reality.

“Nothing.” You replied, looking down at your hands fidgeting in your lap. You couldn’t look at them. Not at Claudia’s normally happy face, pinched with concern. Not at Jana, who was surely biting at her lip like she did when she got nervous. Not at Patri, who you knew was studying you closely, brows knit together. You felt transparent, like eye contact would tell them everything, so you didn’t look up, not even when they began to speak.

“Nothing is wrong?” Jana repeated incredulously. You just shrugged in response. “You just started crying in the middle of the movie for no reason.”

Patri shifted closer, slinging her arm around your shoulders. “Vicky said you’ve been acting weird since you came home from your parents. If something happened with them, you can tell us. You can trust us, nena.”

“Nothing happened, I swear.” Finally, you looked up, and it was Claudia’s eye that caught yours. Surprisingly, she looked frustrated… almost stern.

“I don’t believe you.” She said simply.

A flash of frustration washed over you at how insisted they were being. Though it was for your benefit, it made you inexplicably annoyed; they couldn’t just let it go. They couldn’t understand that you didn’t want to talk, that they couldn’t fix this for you. Every push on their part made it harder and harder for you to pretend to be okay. If you broke, fully, not cracked like you did just a few minutes prior, it would be their fault. If you broke and everything came spilling out and your whole life fell apart, it would be on them.

Maybe if that frustration hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t have reacted in the way you did.

Instead, you stood, forcing a scowl onto your face. “Well, that’s not my problem. If something was wrong, I think I’ve made it very clear I don’t want to talk about it.” You snapped.

All three of your teammates blinked up at you, stunned. They’d never heard your voice sound like this, angry and raspy and devastated all at the same time. They’d never felt your anger directed at them, not really.

“Chica–”

“No. You all just keep pushing and pushing no matter how many times I tell you to back off. Leave me alone! I didn't ask you to hover over me, and I didn’t ask you to come over tonight. So please. Go.”

Before you could second guess yourself, before you could let the string of apologies waiting on the tip of your tongue out, you turned and stomped down the hall to your room.

Shame had been your constant companion for a long time. But now, as you lay on your bed listening to the sounds of your teammates quietly leaving your apartment, it burned through you in a way you weren’t used to. Normally, you directed everything at yourself. Every negative emotion was your problem and your problem only. People didn’t see you angry or sad, not even your closest friends.

Something had to give, though. You couldn’t keep going the way you had been, pretending you were fine when it felt like your brain was eating you from the inside out. Like the monster of self loathing inside your head would consume you if you didn’t open your mouth and let it out.

That didn’t stop the guilt.

The apartment was quiet in your friends’ absence. It was quiet, yet the silence was thick. You dragged yourself out of bed, threw on some pajamas and went to brush your teeth. All the while, your head was spinning. Because the way you’d acted tonight might have gotten them to leave for now, but there was no way they’d let this go. You’d been rude and harsh and unkind. All things very out of the ordinary for you. In your attempt to push them back, you’d given them exactly what they needed to know, to prove that you weren’t okay.

You didn’t remember going through your nighttime routine at all, really. Your clothes for the next morning laid out, your water filled and placed on your nightstand, the doors locked, the fan on the correct setting. It was all right, but you didn’t remember doing it.

You did remember curling up under the covers and pulling your childhood teddy bear close. You did remember the text you sent to your friends.

I’m sorry about tonight. There’s no excuse. I’m really really sorry.

It wouldn’t help your case at all, really, but you were a bit resigned to that now, and if your parents had taught you anything other than to despise who you were, it was that you didn’t treat friends the way you had that evening. Not all of their lessons were bad, you supposed.

As soon as you placed your phone back down on the nightstand, the silence was broken with a buzz. Another buzz. And another. You picked your phone right back up, reading the three texts.

Jana. It’s okay, chica. We love you.

Patri. We’re here if you need to talk. Day or night.

Claudia. You aren’t alone, okay?

You pictured them in their own homes, probably already texting Alexia and Irene. All three of your friends, all of your team really, looked to them for guidance on practically everything. They were wise, seemingly all knowing. It shouldn’t have been a comfort that they’d been on your case next, but somehow it was.

Because for all you talked about wanting to be left alone, for all the pushing away you did, you didn’t really want to do it by yourself. Deep down, you wanted someone to come and stay and not let you self destruct. It was really just a matter of which part of you won out; the terrified you or the desperate you. Terrified of honesty and truth and being you. Desperate for someone to tell you that everything was going to be okay.

—

You didn’t expect your teammates to act as quickly as they did. The team had the weekend off, and you thought you’d have a day or so before someone came busting your door down. But Jana, Claudia, and Patri must have called Alexia and Irene and woke them up, because your friends had left after your captain's bedtime.

And so, at just barely past 9 the next morning, your doorbell rang. Whoever was at your door probably thought they were giving you a nice lie in, but it felt like the middle of the night to be woken then on a day off. You pulled a sweatshirt over your head, unable to even form a thought on who was at your door and what you would say to them in your groggy state.

You opened your door, internally sighing when you saw Irene standing there. A part of you was surprised it was just her, more surprised when she didn’t ask to come in. Instead, she handed you a paper bag full of tupperware containers.

“Hi, chica. This is for you.”

Taking the bag, you gave her a confused look, not quite awake enough to talk.

Irene looked a bit frazzled, like she was in a rush. She was in mom mode, three stray stickers stuck on the front of her shirt, though you were sure she wasn’t aware of them. Even so, she softened for a moment, leaning against your doorframe.

“Jana called me last night. Your friends are worried about you, and I am too. We all are, really.” She paused, her very wise eyes searching yours. “Lucía and I are taking the weekend off to go see her family, but I couldn’t leave without stopping by to check on you. And Lucía heard what happened, and she cooked you dinner. Because that is how she solves things.”

At this, Irene rolled her eyes, but did so fondly. You noticed the light in her eyes she always got when she talked about her wife, and you tried to ignore the deep pang inside your chest. Would you ever have that?

“Anyway, I brought food and this.” Irene stepped forward, wrapping her arms tight around you. You were frozen for a moment, unsure how to react. Would giving in and hugging her back be admitting that something was wrong? Maybe you were passed that point. Either way, you allowed yourself to lean into the older woman, letting the momentary comfort wash over you.

“Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.” Irene told you. She squeezed you tight one more time before releasing you and stepping back. “Oh! Alexia will be over later. Prepare yourself to talk, because this whole silent thing is not going to fly with her.”

With that, Irene was walking briskly back down the hall. You watched her go, a little dumbfounded. If the defender’s intentions had been to throw you off, it had worked. All you could think was that you hadn’t said a single word to Irene, yet you felt like you’d confessed everything.

She had three more stickers on the back of her shirt, you noted as she turned the corner and walked out of sight. You couldn’t even really be amused, your brain too busy already anticipating Alexia’s visit.

Alexia… Alexia was going to make you talk if it took all day. She was stubborn like that.

Irene was right. You did need to prepare yourself.

—

The apartment was spotless, Alexia noticed. She looked around, gingerly leaning against your kitchen counter.

It was spotless. You’d channeled your anxious energy into cleaning, and besides; your parents had always taught you to clean for guests, and Claudia had somehow spilled popcorn all over your chair so you had to vacuum anyway.

Alexia was very quiet. She’d shown up at your door, not bothering to explain why she was stopping by. You both knew the reason. You’d let her in, and she’d followed you into the kitchen as you got her a glass of water. It was an awkward silence that filled the room, an awkward silence that was making you antsy.

Alexia, on the other hand, was relaxed. Like she’d cleared her calendar and had all the time in the world. Knowing her… she probably had. She wasn’t waiting for you to talk, necessarily. She was just waiting for the right opportunity to get at what was bothering you.

And when she noticed the picture frame facedown on the shelf above your counter, she knew she’d found what she was looking for.

“Thought you had a picture of your family there.” Alexia commented casually. She actually wasn’t sure what picture had been there, but she was making an educated guess. Judging by the way pain flashed across your face, it had been a good guess.

You could have lied, and say the picture frame had broken. Could have lied and told Ale that you’d knocked it over and forgot to pick it up. You could have played it off defensively, kept yourself closed up like you had been for days.

All morning, you’d been trying to decide how to go about this. Ultimately, you couldn’t get over everyone being worried about you. Nothing felt worse to you than being a burden on other people. Jana was worried. Claudia, Patri, Esmee, Vicky, Salma. They were all worried. Clearly Alexia and Irene were too. You knew what you should do. You just didn’t know if you’d be able to do it when the time came.

Yet when you sighed, nodding your head at Alexia’s statement, your decision was made. And once it was made, it was like the truth had been waiting for a moment of weakness to force its way out.

“I’m gay.” You burst out.

Alexia blinked. That was not what she was expecting. She was a bit confused; she’d come over here thinking you were depressed or something. She’d prepared for that, or something similar. She wasn’t prepared for this, and for a moment she was frozen, searching for the right words.

You, on the other hand. You were about to fall to pieces.

You’d never said it out loud before. Had barely even let yourself think it. But now it was out there, and you couldn’t inhale your words back in. You couldn’t go back, and that knowledge had your hands trembling and your breath catching.

“Oka-” Alexia began, nodding her head and taking a cautious step closer to you.

“I like girls, and it’s going to ruin everything, Ale. My parents are going to hate me, everyone is going to hate me. Everything… everything is going to be so hard and I don’t think I can do it!”

You were crying, by now, a steady stream of tears running down your face. Alexia’s expression was one of deep empathy and concern. She looked like she would have done anything in that moment to make you feel better, but you weren’t sure there was anything to be done.

“And I know it shouldn’t matter, but it feels like it does. It feels like it matters because it’s me. It’s different. It’s different and I don’t know what to do, I don’t want to lose my family.”

For the second time that day, you were being wrapped up in a tight hug. So tight it almost hurt. You clutched onto your captain just as tight, pushing your face into her shoulder and letting the weight of what you’d admitted wash over you. Alexia just held you for a minute, her sweatshirt soft as you pressed your face into it, her hands warm on your back. It felt almost safe.

“It’s not different, nena. It’s not. Not because it’s you. You’re not bad, you’re not weird. You’re still you, and anyone who deserves to know you will understand that.”

You cried harder, but not in a bad way. It was just… exactly what you’d needed to hear for so long. Maybe for your whole life. And someone was finally telling you, someone you loved and trusted. Someone you respected.

“It’s okay. It’s all okay, I promise. I know it feels terrifying, but you’re not alone. We’ve all got you, pequeña.” Alexia murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Thank you.” You choked out. You weren’t sure if you were thanking her for knowing exactly what to say, or for showing up at your door practically the minute she’d realized something wasn’t okay. You had a lot of people to thank, you realized. “Thank you, Ale.”

Alexia just shushed you, running her hand up and down your back. She didn’t let go, and you didn’t either. Because for the first time in so long, you felt like you were safe. You felt like maybe you’d be okay. Maybe.

—

i know this one has been very anticipated, so i hope it lives up to expectations :)

i kind of have an idea for a part two, but i'm not sure if anyone wants that or not.

anyway. enjoy 🙂❤️‍🩹🥰

#woso x reader #woso imagine #barcelona femeni x reader #woso fanfics #woso one shot #barca femeni x reader #barça femeni x reader #alexia putellas x platonic reader #alexia putellas x reader

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bu3ck3r · 2 days ago

Text

unconditional love

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: pazzi at wnba draft

a/n: i’m so insanely proud of paige it’s been amazing watching her grow and now seeing her get everything she’s worked so hard for. also feeling incredibly proud of kaitlyn and aubrey just such a big moment for all of them🥹

the hum of new york city sat low and steady outside the window, a constant rhythm against the silence in the hotel room. it was late, maybe 1 a.m. , but paige didn’t care. time felt like it had slowed, suspended between what she’d spent years working for and whatever tomorrow would bring.

azzi lay curled into her, her cheek pressed against paige’s chest, fingers trailing soft circles on her stomach. the tv was on mute, glowing with some random late-night sitcom, but neither of them was watching.

“you’re quiet,” azzi whispered, her voice sleepy but alert.

paige blinked slowly, her hand brushing along azzi’s back, settling just above the hem of her shirt. “i’m just… thinking.”

“mhm.” azzi tilted her head up to look at her. “about tomorrow?”

“yeah. and you.”

azzi smiled. “me? what about me?”

paige leaned down and kissed her temple, her lips lingering. “that i wouldn’t even be here without you.”

azzi scoffed gently. “paige, come on.”

“no, i’m serious.” paige shifted so she could really look at her. her eyes were soft, a little glassy. “every time i felt like i wasn’t gonna make it back, you were there. telling me i would. believing it. even when i didn’t.”

azzi reached up and cupped paige’s face, brushing her thumb along her cheekbone. “that’s because i do believe in you. i always have.”

they held eye contact for a long time. paige didn’t move. azzi didn’t look away.

then paige whispered, “are you proud of me?”

azzi gave her the look. that kind of look where every ounce of love she carried was written across her face.

“baby, i am very proud of you,” she said. “you’re gonna be the number one pick tomorrow. you came all the way back from an injury, from everything… and you’re still you. even better, somehow. you deserve all of this.”

paige’s lips parted slightly. she looked down, trying to blink back the sting of tears. she hated crying before bed, it always made her stuffy in the morning, but she didn’t stop azzi when she moved in closer.

they kissed then—slow, warm, unhurried.

paige sighed into her, pulling her tighter.

“i love you,” she murmured between kisses.

azzi smiled against her lips. “i love you more.”

paige whispered. “not possible.”

they kissed again, this time deeper. azzi’s hand slid up under paige’s oversized hoodie, palm splayed flat against her bare skin. paige groaned softly.

“i don’t wanna sleep,” she whispered, resting her forehead against azzi’s. “i don’t want it to be tomorrow yet.”

“i know,” azzi said gently. “but it’s a good tomorrow.”

paige kissed her again, messily this time, like she couldn’t stand the idea of not getting to do it all the time. azzi laughed into her mouth.

“you’re gonna look so incredible tomorrow i’ll be thinking about you more than the draft”

azzi kissed her nose. “you’re gonna get on that stage tomorrow and you’re gonna smile like you do when you’re trying not to cry. and you’re gonna look so damn good i’ll probably faint.”

“you’re gonna look better.”

azzi grinned. “doubt it.”

paige said firmly. “i won’t survive it. i’ll see you before the carpet and black out.”

azzi bit her bottom lip. “i mean i did get a tighter dress so…”

paige dropped back against the pillows dramatically. “you’re evil.”

azzi laughed and settled back on her. “i want you to remember this. tomorrow. when everyone’s looking at you. when the lights are bright and you’re nervous. you belong there. you earned it.”

paige was quiet for a second.

“promise me something?” she said softly.

“anything.”

“promise me i’ll still be yours when everything changes.”

azzi didn’t answer right away. she kissed paige’s lips, then her jaw, then her collarbone. she kissed every inch she could reach. then she looked back up at her.

“you’ll always be mine,” she said. “and i’ll always be yours.”

they held each other for a long time after that.

and even though paige didn’t sleep much that night—her heart pounding with nerves and excitement and love—she didn’t feel alone. not even a little.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

paige was awake before the sun.

it was one of those mornings where the light didn’t come through the curtains so much as it glowed around them—soft and slow, like it knew something big was about to happen. she lay on her side, eyes half open, watching the way azzi’s hair spilled across the pillow, how her lips parted slightly when she was deep in sleep.

she looked so peaceful. so unfairly beautiful.

paige stared.

she always stared.

sometimes she still couldn’t believe this was real—that this girl, this best friend turned more, was her girlfriend.

paige smiled to herself and let her hand rest gently on azzi’s waist. she didn’t want to wake her. not yet. she just wanted to look.

god, i’m so in love with her.

azzi stirred a little, brow furrowing. paige leaned in and kissed her cheek softly.

“you’re staring,” azzi mumbled, barely awake.

“how could i not?”

azzi cracked one eye open. “creepy.”

paige grinned. “beautiful.”

azzi smiled without opening her eyes. “flatter me more. i’m not getting up yet.”

“you have to,” paige said, kissing her shoulder.

“ugh. fine.” azzi rolled over, arms wrapping around paige’s waist. “but only if you kiss me awake properly.”

so paige did. slowly. sweetly. like it was the first time.

“mmm,” azzi mumbled. “what time is it?”

“too early,” paige whispered, pressing another kiss to her temple. “but i didn’t wanna waste a second not looking at you.”

azzi cracked one eye open and smiled sleepily. “you’re so corny.”

“only for you.”

“you nervous?”

paige nodded slightly. “yeah. but also… kinda calm. like, i know today’s gonna be wild, but i’m okay because i have you.”

azzi’s fingers slid under paige’s shirt, tracing her hip. “you have me. always.”

they kissed, slow and soft, until paige rolled half on top of her, the weight of the moment settling over them both. azzi’s arms wrapped around her shoulders, grounding her.

“i wish we could stay in bed all day,” paige whispered into her neck.

azzi smiled. “we’ll make up for it later.”

they stayed like that for a little longer. but soon the alarms got louder, the texts started rolling in, and the quiet morning turned into movement.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

it was 10 a.m., paige was wearing a gray wnba hoodie with the 2025 wnba draft logo on the front, surrounded by her fellow draft invitees, riding up an elevator in the empire state building.

she leaned against the glass, looking out over the city, heart pounding.

“that would hurt.” she said to herself.

the media team had them posing for pictures—goofing off, smiling in sync, laughing like they weren’t all on the edge of a life-changing moment.

paige was good at pretending she wasn’t anxious.

she cracked jokes with shy and georgia, helped fix kiki’s hair before one of the shots, and posed with her hands in her pockets like it was no big deal. but every few minutes, her mind drifted.

i wonder what azzi’s wearing right now.

i wonder if she’s thinking about me.

her phone buzzed while she was mid-laugh. she checked it in the middle of the crowd and nearly melted.

azzi: bts from the photo-shoot just for you.

azzi sent 1 attachment: azzi in glam chair, lips glossed, smiling.

paige full-on blushed.

paige: you’re gonna kill me before the carpet.

paige: thinking about you.

azzi: oh you miss me already, baby?

paige: obviously.

paige: but don’t act like you’re not counting the seconds either, princess.

azzi: okay maybe a little

azzi: but i’m still the baddest

paige: yes ma’am

she grinned at her phone, sighing as she tucked it away.

by 5 p.m., they were back at the hotel. azzi was in a different suite, getting ready separately. paige sat in a chair, letting her makeup artist finish the final touches. her sparkling coach suit—bedazzled, sharp, and perfect—was already on. her hands were slightly shaky.

she texted azzi.

paige: you almost ready?

azzi: 10 mins

paige: i’m gonna lose my mind.

azzi: not yet baby. wait till later p.

paige: you’re killing me azzi.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

when paige finally walked into the suite where azzi was finishing her makeup, her brain short-circuited.

azzi turned to her in that black dress, long and sleek, with subtle shimmer. hair wavy, soft glam done. her skin glowed.

paige literally stopped in the doorway.

“holy—” she blinked. “you look…”

azzi smiled knowingly. “speechless?”

paige crossed the room slowly. “i’m trying to be respectful, but you’re making it very hard.”

azzi placed a hand on her chest. “don’t touch too much.”

“but i need to touch you.”

“you can touch me later.”

paige let her hands rest low on azzi’s waist, pulling her just close enough to breathe her in. “you promise?”

azzi leaned in and kissed her—soft but with intent. “yes. after the chaos. we’ll have our own moment.”

paige grinned. “you just gave me something to live for.”

they kissed again, this time longer, but azzi pulled back with a teasing smirk.

“no more. you’re gonna smudge everything.”

“ugh. okay.” paige pouted dramatically.

azzi ran her thumb along paige’s jaw. “you’ll survive.”

paige rested her forehead against hers. “barely.”

azzi cupped her cheeks, eyes serious now. “before we walk out there, i want you to know something.”

paige blinked, suddenly locked in.

“i am so proud of you,” azzi said. “like, beyond what words can even say. i look up to you, not just as a player, but as a person. the way you love me, the way you carry yourself, the way you fought to get here. it’s inspiring. you’re inspiring.”

paige’s throat tightened instantly.

“azzi—”

“ah—don’t cry,” azzi warned, gently brushing under her eye.

paige laughed through the tears building up.

“you’re gonna be the first pick, and i’ll be the proudest when it happens. because i know you, paige. and i’ll always be your number one fan.”

paige couldn’t speak at first. she just pulled azzi in, held her tight, and whispered against her ear, “you’re everything to me.”

azzi held her back just as tightly.

they didn’t need much else.

because in that moment, even with the world waiting outside those doors, they were right there—with each other.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the car ride to the venue felt surreal.

paige sat next to hailey van lith and sonia citron, the energy in the bus bouncing somewhere between adrenaline and straight-up chaos. everyone was buzzing—lip gloss retouches, checking phones, practicing smiles, hyping each other up.

paige was in her own little world, though.

she kept one hand on her phone, just in case azzi texted. she’d already seen the final look earlier—azzi in that midnight black dress, glowing, but she was still imagining it, counting down the minutes until she saw her again in motion, under the lights, walking toward her like a dream.

the bus pulled up.

the orange carpet was longer than paige expected, the lights and cameras made it feel endless. she stepped off the bus and took a deep breath.

this was it.

“paige bueckers, please!” a photographer called out. “right here, smile!”

she turned, smiled, posed. she’d done this before.

the coach suit shimmered under the lights—soft silver, tailored sharp, catching every flash. her hair was sleek, pulled behind one ear.

she looked confident.

but the truth was—she was scanning the crowd for one face.

where is she?

then—finally—someone from the media team near the edge of the carpet turned and said something to the people behind the barricade.

paige heard that laugh she knew like her own heartbeat.

azzi had arrived.

and paige? completely forgot how to breathe.

azzi stepped onto the carpet slowly, careful with every stride. her dress was even more stunning now, hugging her curves, glowing under the lights like it was made for her alone. her smile was calm but radiant. her eyes scanned the scene.

and when they landed on paige?

they softened instantly.

paige didn’t even think—she walked toward her, a little too fast, like something magnetic was pulling her across the carpet.

azzi met her halfway.

“you clean up nice,” she teased, eyes flicking over paige’s suit.

paige bit her lip. “you look—” she exhaled, “—like a problem.”

azzi laughed, low and warm. “oh yeah?”

paige leaned in, just slightly. “i’m gonna be distracted the whole night.”

“good,” azzi whispered. “then my plan worked.”

a camera flash went off near them, and they stepped back slightly, catching themselves before they got too lost in each other.

“let’s get a couple shots,” someone suggested, pointing them toward the center of the carpet.

they giggled between photos. touched fingers behind their backs. posed like professionals, but always leaned a little too close. paige trying so hard not to stare at azzi the whole time.

in one shot, paige glanced sideways at her with the most obvious “i’m in love with this woman” look the world had ever seen.

“i saw that,” azzi whispered.

“saw what?”

“that look.”

paige blushed. “you caught me.”

azzi nudged her gently. “get your head in the game.”

paige leaned down a little closer. “too late. you are the game.”

azzi turned her head slightly, eyes sparkling. “you’re lucky i like you.”

“you’re lucky i’m obsessed with you.”

they giggled quietly, then stood a little straighter as more photos were taken.

no one said anything out loud, but anyone with eyes could see it—they were each other’s safe place in the chaos.

inside the venue, things moved fast.

paige found her table toward the front—prime spot for a top pick. azzi sat beside her, with a big smile on her face.

cameras swung by occasionally, but paige didn’t care. not when azzi leaned in every few minutes to whisper something into her ear.

“you’re the best looking one in the room,” azzi said once, smiling behind her champagne flute.

paige bumped their shoulders together. “that’s cap cause you walked in.”

azzi shrugged and shook her head and looked at paige with those soft, steady eyes. “no but seriously, i meant what i said earlier. i look up to you, paige. i always have. you’ve gone through more than anyone even knows, and you still show up with heart and grace. that’s why you’re about to be the first pick. not just because of your game. because of what kind of a person you are.”

paige blinked rapidly. her throat tightened again.

azzi smiled knowingly. “no tears. not yet.”

“i don’t deserve you,” paige whispered.

“too late. you already got me.”

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

and then it happened.

“with the first pick in the 2025 wnba draft…the dallas wings select…”

paige bueckers.

paige barely heard the rest. her name rang out like a bell through the crowd, like a song she’d been waiting to hear since she was five years old.

everything froze.

and then—cheers.

loud, proud, overwhelming.

she stood slowly, eyes already glossy while she wrapped her arms around azzi and held her close for a second.

“i love you,” azzi whispered, voice thick.

then she walked to the stage.

barely registering the hug from the league commissioner as her name lit up on the screens.

but what she did register? the look on azzi’s face.

azzi watched from their table, smiling so wide it hurt almost shedding a tear. her heart swelled as paige held up the jersey. grinned into the cameras.

her girl. the number one pick.

tears brimmed in her eyes now, though she blinked them away quickly. her smile was huge, beaming, and filled with every kind of pride.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the after party was glowing.

the lights were dimmed, colored spotlights dancing across walls and polished floors. the music pulsed low and warm through the air—some kind of r&b remix that blurred in paige’s ears as she stepped into the room.

she’d just finished a whirlwind round of interviews—camera after camera, mic after mic, all asking the same thing: what does it mean to be the number one pick?

she’d said the right things. she’d smiled, even when her feet hurt and her head spun.

but now?

now, all she wanted was azzi.

and then—there she was.

leaning against the bar in a sparkly short black dress, now with a drink in hand and a faint pink tint to her cheeks. she was laughing at something kk had just said, head thrown back slightly, lips parted.

paige’s chest tightened.

she didn’t even realize she was moving until she was halfway across the room.

azzi saw her coming and smiled—something private, soft, just for her.

“there she is,” azzi said, standing up straight, voice a little slurred at the edges. “my number one.”

paige didn’t answer.

she just stepped in close and wrapped her arms around azzi’s waist, burying her face against her neck.

azzi giggled, startled but not at all mad. “missed me that bad, huh?”

paige just held her tighter.

they stood like that for a minute, not caring who was around. everyone was celebrating. everyone was tipsy. and if a few people stared? so what?

this was their moment.

azzi pulled back enough to look at her. “hey,” she said softly, brushing a hand along paige’s jaw. “you did it.”

paige looked at her, eyes tired but glowing. “i don’t want this night to end.”

azzi’s smile faltered slightly. “me neither.”

there was a beat between them, the kind where time feels thick.

and then someone turned the music up.

azzi tugged paige toward the floor. “come on. you deserve to celebrate.”

they took a few shots and started dancing.

it started slow—hands on hips, small sways, letting the beat move through them. but soon it picked up. azzi spun herself under paige’s arm, laughing, then grabbed paige’s hands and pulled her close again.

they moved like no one else was there.

paige leaned down, lips brushing azzi’s ear. “you’re dangerous when you dance like that.”

azzi looked up at her, teasing. “oh, now i’m the problem?”

“yes. you. always.”

azzi smirked, leaned in, kissed the corner of paige’s mouth. “then maybe you should take me somewhere quiet.”

paige froze for half a second. “az.”

azzi grinned, biting her lip. “not yet. i just like watching you lose your cool.”

“you’re evil.”

“you love it.”

they laughed again, but underneath it all, the weight of time was creeping in. the clock was ticking. and they both felt it.

an hour passed.

then another.

more drinks. more dancing. more whispered things in the dark.

they ended up tucked into a quiet booth in the corner, paige’s arm draped around azzi’s shoulder, azzi’s legs crossed over paige’s lap. the room around them spun a little, all blurred lights and laughter.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

back in their hotel room, azzi leaned against the wall, shoes already gone, dress sliding slightly down one shoulder. “you coming or what?”

paige was on her in seconds.

they kissed hard, desperate, hands everywhere.

“god,” paige breathed, lips brushing azzi’s jaw. “you know what you do to me?”

azzi smiled lazily. “you act like you’re the only one losing it.”

paige laughed—low, rough, against azzi’s throat. “are you?”

azzi nodded. “every time i look at you.”

paige groaned softly, lifting azzi onto the edge of the bed with ease, her shirt falling to the floor behind her. she stepped between azzi’s legs, hands on her thighs, sliding up slowly.

“you remember earlier?” azzi asked, voice teasing.

paige kissed the space just below her ear. “when?”

“when you were begging for one more kiss before the carpet?”

paige smiled. “i remember being desperate. yeah.”

azzi leaned back, pulling paige toward her. “good. you can make up for it now.”

their mouths crashed together—less careful, more urgent. paige pushed the dress higher up azzi’s legs, fingers teasing the edge of lace. azzi’s hand found the back of paige’s neck, guiding her deeper, closer, hungrier.

paige pulled back for a second, breathless. “should i stop?”

azzi shook her head instantly. “don’t you dare.”

paige chuckled, voice thick. “was hoping you’d say that.”

she kissed her again—long and slow, hands wandering, tugging azzi closer until her dress was bunched around her hips. azzi’s hands moved beneath paige’s shirt, fingertips tracing the warm lines of her back.

they undressed in pieces—slow, half-drunk, half-obsessed. every time paige peeled another layer away, she paused. looked. let herself admire.

“you’re so beautiful,” she whispered. “like, it’s stupid how beautiful you are.”

azzi kissed her collarbone. “you’re not so bad yourself, superstar.”

they made love like it was the last time—tangled up in whispered names, soft moans, skin on skin and hearts pounding in sync. there was urgency in it, yes—but more than that, there was intention.

every kiss said: i need you.

every touch said: i want this moment to last.

and every time paige slowed down—kissed her slower, softer, deeper—azzi arched into her, chasing that closeness like oxygen.

afterward, paige lay on her side, body wrapped around azzi’s, their legs tangled, hands resting on bare skin. the sheets were kicked to the foot of the bed, city lights casting soft shadows over their bodies.

azzi reached up and traced paige’s cheekbone with her thumb. “you okay?”

paige didn’t answer right away. she kissed azzi’s wrist instead. “better than okay.”

azzi smiled faintly. “that was…”

“perfect.”

they lay like that for a long time, not saying much, just breathing each other in.

eventually, azzi whispered, “do you think it’ll be different?”

paige opened her eyes. “what?”

“when you’re on the road. when i’m back at storrs. when we’re not… like this.”

paige was quiet, then pulled azzi even closer. “i think we’ll miss each other like hell.”

azzi exhaled. “yeah.”

“but i also think—” paige paused, kissed her shoulder. “we’re gonna make it work. because we always do.”

they fell asleep tangled together, warm and safe in each other’s arms.

and even though they both knew change was right around the corner, for that one night, they let themselves believe nothing would ever pull them apart.

but later, wrapped up in each other under the sheets, breath soft and slow, paige lay with her head on azzi’s chest and just listened.

the silence between them wasn’t empty.

it was full—of love, of fear, of the quiet ache of change.

“i don’t want to do any of this without you,” paige said quietly.

azzi kissed her forehead. “i’m always with you.”

“but soon… you’ll be in storrs. i’ll be in training camp—”

azzi cut her off, hand cupping her cheek. “and still, you’ll be my girl.”

paige’s throat tightened. “promise?”

azzi nodded. “i promise.”

they kissed again. and again. and again.

like they were trying to memorize it all.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wnba draft #wnba #pazzi #pazzi fics #fiction #fluff #paige x azzi #wbb

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justevelynnnn · 1 day ago

Text

Don’t fight it

Pairing: Viltrumite!fem reader x Mark Grayson

Summary: You’re a secret viltramite on earth. After Nolan abandoned his post and couldn’t complete his one mission you stepped in, trying to convince Mark, but you couldn’t convince him to join the right side so now you two have to fight. But what happens when you fight your boyfriend and the adrenaline rush leads to something other than fighting?

Warnings: Smut 🔞, Fighting, swearing, reader is a female, reader gets her nose broke

A/N: I wrote and edited this in a day😭 I just had the idea pop in my head and I just had to get it out.

“Mark.”

“NO.” Your boyfriend runs a hand through his hair. “God…literally fuck you.”

It was a hot day. You stood there with your arms crossed, starting to sweat through your tank top now. The heat was making this even more irritating. It had been about a week since Nolan left and it was right before his fake funeral. You decided to confront Mark outside his house…maybe try to convince him yourself to join the cause. Nolan clearly was a failure at that, oh well, but now it was your turn.

“Mark, stop that. You know I love you. You love me. This is for a good cause!”

“Shut the fuck up, seriously. First, my dad….now YOU?”

He steps towards you so you step back a bit. You don’t want to fight him. You’ve known him for years. He’s never yelled at you, got aggressive…anything. You’re not too shocked by the reaction though..sure, the timing could’ve been better, but now has to be the time. Nolan is a dirty fucking traitor who ran away because he KNEW you were coming for him for not doing what he was supposed to. And if not you then the others.

It was his idea after all. To get Mark to fall in love with you and slowly convince him to help take over the planet. His words to be exact actually was he got distracted with Debbie, had a child and became attached…and obviously so; but you ended up falling in love with Mark too. Not part of the plan. It was embarrassing to admit really but it is what it is. You cared for him, but god, why couldn’t he just open his stupid eyes? The Viltrumites just want to help. It’s the humans fault if they get killed trying to resist. Right?

“Listen to me… We just want to help. Surely, Nolan explained that to you, right?” You say reaching a hand out but Mark promptly slaps it away.

“So, WHAT?! You guys just want to kill people.” He spat, face reddening and his chest rising and falling quickly.

“No one wants to kill anyone. But..”

“BUT NOTHING.”

“Mark-” you’re cut off from him shoving you harshly. So harsh that you stumble back a bit.

You instinctively get into a fighting stance, but no…no you don’t want to fight him. Anything, but that please…

“What? What? Huh?! You’re gonna beat me to a pulp too?! Push me through a moving subway too!?”

“Please, stop Mark. Please, I don’t want to do this.”

Another harsh shove. It’d be one thing if you were a regular human girl, but you assumed him knowing what you are now changed things. He started to float in the air. No suit, just the clothes he showed up in. A white tee and gray sweat shorts.

You stare into his eyes almost pleading, slightly confused by what he’s not understanding. If he cared so much about these….people, then why not allow the Viltrumites to step in and help this race get stronger?

You only arrived here from Viltrum about 10 years ago. You didn’t age much since then but you still appeared middle school aged. After you were found and adopted by some random couple you were soon enrolled into Mark’s middle school. That’s how you met him and eventually how your “parents” met Nolan and Debbie.

You could tell instantly this was Omni man. He’d been here for years so they sent you to see what was up. Mark was almost a splitting image of him and you immediately put two and two together even at your young age. Saying he was embarrassed was probably an understatement when you revealed yourself to him one day when you were “13”.

Nothing was the same since that day.

Nothing.

You genuinely did not want to hurt Mark, but the way his fists were balled up and his teeth were gritted,….

“Mark-”, you started once again.

“Shut. Up.” His scarred lip curled into an intense frown now. This was it. It was too late to convince him to stop. He continued with, “I’m not going to let ANYONE conquer my planet. I don’t care about viltrumite anything! I don’t care if you guys are trying to “help”.”

You didn’t respond. What could you say? It was clear he wasn’t going to be convinced anytime soon. You sighed and balled your own fists.

“I guess every couple fights at least once, huh?” You sighed. It was really more to yourself, but you almost forgot Mark had just as good ears as you.

Immediately, “What!? You think this is funny?!”

You didn’t get to respond as he soon launched towards you, landing a punch to your gut. You struggle and gasped as it was unexpected. It wasn’t enough to leave a mark or anything. You knew that. It wasn’t Mark’s style to kill, especially when it came to anyone he cared about.

But, did he really just do that? Oh, Mark…

And so it begins. You spring into the air pulling him by the shirt. You were unexpectedly more angry than you thought. If only you could get him to actually fucking listen for once. And something about him saying this was his planet….ugh. He doesn’t understand how weak and useless these people are to space.

You flung him to the ground once you were high enough. He had fiercely thrashed and clawed against you while in the air, tearing your shirt a bit in the process but never striking you again. He still cared. Maybe he didn’t want to fight either.

He landed with a loud thud with a huge puff of air immediately followed.

“We don’t have to do this.” You yelled once more. “Don’t fight this…”

No response. You couldn’t see him through the smoke that came from the landing as it hadn’t cleared completely yet but you knew he wasn’t dead.

Then, a yell as he again rose from the smoke and attacked you once more. He’s throwing punches you can easily dodge, grunting and yelling like he’s giving it all when you know he’s not. He’s weak but not…this weak.

You block his punches, dodge, land a couple of your own… you were a skilled fighter of course, but Mark despite hardly training was just as good.

The air was thick with fury and rage as you guys are just spinning and fighting in the air now. One punch landed you right in the face with a sick cracking noise from your nose following soon after. Ouch.

He broke your nose…

He actually broke your nose.

You both briefly stop for a moment. A hand instinctively raising to your nose to see blood leaking and covering your hand. Your eyes flicker to Mark as you see him hesitate. He doesn’t move, but behind that still an angry expression was a hint of concern. You smiled through the pain which only forced the confusion to show more. You push him back to the ground once more once you realized he was caught off guard enough.

You landed next to him in the street as he sprung up once more and you two started fighting and wrestling once more. You knocked him over a couple of more times, getting swift jabs in on his sides, but he keep getting up just as quick. Blood from your nose splattered everywhere landing on the ground, on yourself and Mark as you keep throwing punches and even some kicks. You tackled him and pushed him through his living room window (thank god Debbie wasn’t home to see this) and you landed with him in his lap, your hands pressed on his chest.

“You ready to listen?” You panted. Blood still dripping from your nose on his chest. You ignored the pain catching your breath hoping he’d stop. He’s pretty bruised up now, wasn’t this enough?

He didn’t respond but he just stared into your eyes catching his own breath. You almost started to admire how he looked underneath you until he quickly started to push you off of him, succeeding and quickly reeling his hand back. You blocked it just in time standing and started throwing your own punches his way repeatedly.

You two knocked into furniture violently. He backed into the cabinets causing Debbie’s glasses to fall and loudly shatter behind, and around him with some shards flying and slicing you. You tripped over a potted plant at one point trying to dodge a punch and once you landed on the ground he was immediately straddling you now.

You’d push him off if he wasn’t so pretty and literally your boyfriend who you weren’t supposed to fucking love in the first place. His hair stuck to his face as it was covered and dripping with sweat, a black eye was slowly forming which you felt a bit guilty for and his lip was now cut again. He panted once more as his hands wrapped around your throat, not tight enough to choke you but…enough. Enough to turn that adrenaline into something else.

A moment passed again. The universe must be saying something for you both to end up in this position over and over. And Mark must be saying something because you see him getting hard through his shorts. You guessed his adrenaline was going somewhere else too.

And, Jesus, did he look hot all sweaty and angry above you like this. Your sweet silly Mark, now suddenly the complete opposite.

You struggled a bit, almost still wanting to fight until he muttered darkly, “What? It’s like you said, don’t fight it…”

You watched as the anger in his eyes slowly turned into lust. Dangerous lust. Watching as he bit his lip, and muscles flexing as he tightened his grip ever so slightly. You let a moan slip and it was over.

He leaned down immediately to kiss you. His lips were still soft just like before but now with that irony taste of blood. Something about him was just so addicting. The way he growled as you reached to grope him through his pants, the way his grip tightened more so now you did struggle to breathe… the way his tongue fought yours violently like he was trying to eat you. Like he wanted to taste your final breath.

When he let go you gasped for air. You weren’t weak so no time soon when you were going to signal him to let go but a part of you also enjoyed the thrill. He only let go to fling off his shirt and yank his pants down his thighs. You almost froze eyeing his physique especially glistening like this with his sweat.

“Take your fucking clothes off.” He says harshly staring you down while simultaneously stroking himself. His tone and behavior slightly caught you off guard as you froze, and he snapped you out of it quickly by grabbing your face with one hand fiercely and barking, “Now.”

You start pulling your tank off your head as he pulled your shorts off, soon following your panties.

“Why does your underwater have the fucking viltrumite symbol on it?” He snickered eying the damp fabric. He proceeded to wave it in your face but all you could see was his muscles flexing in his arms, veins popping. Adrenaline was still rushing through your own body, but you could tell the same was for Mark.

“Some of us actually appreciate our heritage.” You spit back smirking. You wished deep down you wore something more attractive though.

“All of you are so weird.” He said spitting directly on your cunt. You flinched and fought back a moan as he promptly started to slowly finger you right after.

“You can barely fight, what makes you think you can fuck?” You try to say it with confidence, still slightly passed at him but more at yourself for allowwimg this to happen. Instead it comes out airy, filled with need because he’s fingering you with two fingers now with his thumb pressing your clit.

“Says the virgin.” He laughed dryly.

Now you’re more pissed. You told him that as a secret. Who does he think he is?

“What makes you thin-”, you start but you’re cut off by him roughly kissing you once more, and at some point he bites your lip, drawing blood. He licks it before you do.

He muttered a “shut up” as he kissed down your neck quickly and impatiently. At some point he stopped fingering you, and you almost whined at the loss. He pulled away to lick his soaked fingers clean with his tongue, moaning as he stared into your soul. You almost take this chance to his him again, which you actually do, but he stops you and swiftly flipped you over so you’re on all fours now.

A calloused hand pushes your face down before you try to get up, and another hand pressed down on your back forcing your arch a bit more.

“Don’t fight it.~” He says almost mockingly. You groan feeling him as he lined his tip against your entrance.

“Stop….saying that. If you’d just listen for once-”

“Nope.” He says that as he pushed his full length into you. The stretch forced a long lengthy moan out of you. It hurt so good.

Mark wasted no time moving either, groaning himself as he thrusted slowly. It was almost like he was savoring how your walls felt around him. It took you a minute to get used to his size, especially being inexperienced.

“Fuckk.”, He groaned deeply.

His hands grip each side of your hips as he steadied himself. Sweat dripped onto your back side now as he hovered above you. You felt your ass ripple each time his hips met it and his hands tighten as you playfully squeezed him. Hearing his breath hitch each time gave you a thrill once more.

Until he started pounding you harder and deliberately aiming for your sweet spot. You didn’t think he’d find it so fucking quick but oh he did. It wasn’t long before you were seeing stars. At this point you’d knew you wouldn’t last long at all in this position.

Then, Mark flipped you over once more, pushing your thighs by your head and forcing you into a mating press. Strangely, you felt very exposed suddenly as he stared at you like you were a piece of meat. You reached to attack him once more until he harshly grabbed your wrist, brows furrowed and a growl escaping his throat once more before he started fucking you again.

“I’m not gonna stop until you say you won’t take over Earth.” He spat slightly whimpering.

“Guess we’re gonna—fuck—be here awhile, h-huh?” You smiled up at him.

He didn’t respond. He just fucked you harder now. Angrier. One hand was around your throat with another on your hip holding you in place. It was almost like he had done this before.

This lasted awhile. Only the slick, sloppy sounds of skin meeting and desperate noises filled the damaged living room. You were lucky you two ended up on a rug of all places. Your thighs were slick and covered his lower half with juices. Blood still ran a bit from your nose down your face, your bitten lip now swollen.

At some point he was fucking you so good your hands reached around his back and just scratched. He whined but kept going, and going, and going. It was almost like he was pissed. His hand tightened again so you could barely breathe and you were getting closer.

And him rubbing your swollen clit wasn’t helping. Your mind was spiraling and your limbs felt like putty. He leaned by your ear, messy damp hair falling on your shoulders as he kept muttering sick, lewd things into your ear about how he was going to fill you up until you beg him to stop. How soon you two have your own viltrumite child. How you felt so damn good around him, so tight and warm….

All of it simply sent you over the edge as you shook violently. You never felt this much pleasure in your life. Never. You almost couldn’t see with how good this orgasm was. You sounded like a broken record as you came around him, scratching his back once more. He kissed you again, damn near eating all your moans and whines.

You didn’t come down from your high for 5 minutes and all the while Mark still fucked you.

“Ready to join my side?” He said simply, thrusting slowly chasing his own orgasm. You were getting overstimulated and kept quivering...but viltrumites do not back down from missions so easily so…

“Never.”

“Okay, suit yourself.” He chuckled as he picked up the pace once more. He proceeded to pick up your discarded underwear and shove it in your mouth to “keep you quiet”.

Deep down you knew there was truly no convincing him. And deeper down you didn’t care.

#mark grayson x you #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #invincible x reader #invincible #invincible smut #viltrumite reader #invincible fanfic #invincible mark grayson #mark grayson x reader smut

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femininefables · 2 days ago

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New parent Sevika Hcs!

⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆. • New parent Sevika who always makes sure you’re feeling okay ever since you gave birth. She’s taken over almost all the chores, and has become a lot more protective of you.

•New parent Sevika who loves to hold the baby, and also likes to talk to it. Nothing in particular, but sometimes when you sneak up on her, you’ll catch her telling the baby about her day or how to play cards like a pro.

•New parent Sevika who will always take care of the baby if it wakes up at night. She never leaves you to do it. If she thinks you’re still asleep, you may even catch her singing. She has a nice, smooth voice. Definitely an alto.

•New parent Sevika who tries to teach the baby your name. As much as she’d like it to say hers, she prefers seeing your tired face smile even for a little bit.

•New parent Sevika who quits smoking after the baby comes around. Maybe she’s concerned that it’ll breath in something, but you haven’t seen a cigarette since.

•New parent Sevika who doesn’t mind changing diapers, bathing, or feeding the baby when you don’t feel up to it.

•New parent Sevika who is there for you when your emotions take control. She sits with you when you cry, takes the baby when you’re overwhelmed, and lets you have your space if that’s what you need. She will be checking on you though.

⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆.

nsfw (not really? Just some lewder things)

•New parent Sevika who loves your breasts even more now. She likes the way they swell up with milk for her offspring. With your permission, she loves to suck on them herself.

•New parent Sevika who helps you pump too. She didn’t like the machine, and insisted that she do it by hand. It’s very intimate, and sometimes results in long kisses and more fondling.

•New parent Sevika who, when you’re physically able to, is so so so gentle during sex now. Like she’s scared she’ll hurt you. She’s constantly asking if you feel good or if you feel any pain.

•new parent Sevika who over the course of your pregnancy till now, has developed a breeding kink. Almost all dirty talk is about having another kid, or milking you.

#lgbtq #arcane sevika #sevika #sevika x female reader #sevika x reader #sevika x you #arcane x reader #sevika fluff #sevika my love #arcane #sevika smut #sevika headcanon #sevika i love you #sevika angst #sevika arcane #arcane au #arcane league of legends #headcanon

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shy9-29 · 18 hours ago

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I actually need a two faced jake where at school hes a sore loser versus when he’s alone with yn—complete menace. Biggest cocky flirt out there. At first, yn didn’t know much about jake until he bent her over and fucked the living shit outta her. I’m just down bad for Jake ok.

Two Faced, One Heart: Who is Sim Jake?

심재윤 x reader

୨ৎ Two versions of Jake Sim—one the shy, clumsy boy who spills his coffee at school, the other the filthy-mouthed menace who had you shaking in his lap just hours before class—and somehow, you’re hopelessly addicted to both. ✉️ wc. 13.1k ⋆˙⟡ ⚠️ warnings : oral (both received), begging, teasing, cream pie, minor slut shamming, bullying, pet names, making out, swearing, harsh language, haur pulling, unprotected sex

📝: thats so fucking hot omg? I need jake so bad rn it’s not even funny

mndi · req open

———

The words come out before you can stop them.

“Do you think I could get Jake to fall for me?”

Your friends stare at you like you just confessed to having a crush on the cafeteria salad bar.

“Jake Sim?” Min gapes. “The guy who thanked the printer for working?” Jisoo raises a brow. “His Instagram only has twelve followers. Twelve. One of them is his dog’s account.” You try not to laugh. “Okay, but he’s kind of… sweet?” Min scoffs. “He wears socks with sandals.” You shrug. “Maybe I like that.” You don’t tell them that two nights ago, Jake had you bent over your tiny dorm desk, fingers tangled in your hair, voice low and smug in your ear while you struggled to stay quiet. Because no one would believe you.

Not when the Jake they know fumbles over his words in group projects and blushes when people look at him too long.

But you’ve seen the other side. The one who locks his door with a click and flips like a switch. You see him again the next day in class, right on time as always. Same oversized hoodie, same messy hair. He sits two rows behind you and doesn’t say a word.

You don’t look at him. Not really. But you feel him watching you. The weight of his stare pressed between your shoulder blades. Like he knows exactly what you’re thinking about. Then, when you stand to leave, he brushes past you. Just a little too close. His fingers graze the small of your back—light, subtle, hidden. But it sends heat shooting down your spine. You catch up to him by the vending machines, just outside the library. He’s pretending to debate between orange juice and sparkling water.

You stop beside him. “Healthy choices.” Jake doesn’t look at you. “You wore that lip gloss again.” Your lips curve. “Maybe I like the flavor.” He reaches forward, selects a drink without thinking, and pays. His voice drops, just loud enough for you to hear. “I like it better off my tongue.” Your breath hitches. A pair of students walk past, one of them waving vaguely in Jake’s direction. He nods back with that usual shy smile, all harmless and mild-mannered.

The second they’re gone, his hand brushes against yours, fingers curling briefly around yours before letting go. You’re not sure your heart knows how to keep a steady rhythm around him anymore.

You didn’t know when it started—maybe it was the way Jake always sat in the back of class, quiet and unassuming. Or the fact that, every time you glanced at him, he never seemed to notice. He’d scribble in his notebook, the only sound in the room his pencil moving across the paper. You thought he was weird at first. Too quiet. Too in the background. The kind of person everyone else ignored. But there was something about him you couldn’t shake. The way his glasses would slide down his nose when he concentrated, or how he always wore the same hoodie, despite the weather.

The first time you spoke to him was after class. Your notes were mixed up, and you needed help with something—so you took a deep breath, made your way to him, and asked.

He looked up, startled. His cheeks went pink, and he mumbled something about being “kind of bad at explaining things,” but he agreed to help. That’s how it started. He was awkward. Shy. And he was perfect. You thought about him more than you should have, even as your friends teased you about how he was “just a soft loser” or “too quiet to ever be interesting.” But something about the way he treated you—how he never rushed you, never pushed, always listened—had you intrigued.

Then, the texts started coming. Small things at first—like a picture of a puppy he saw that reminded him of you. Or a random meme about books you both liked. They came at odd times, too. Late at night. In the middle of the day. And you found yourself looking forward to them, even though you knew he wasn’t exactly the “popular” guy at school.

One night, after a study session that stretched long into the evening, you both found yourselves alone in the library. It was just the two of you, the quiet hum of fluorescent lights above, the scent of paper and coffee between you. He looked at you like he wanted to say something, but he never did. Instead, he helped you pack up your things, careful not to touch you too much, but his fingers brushed yours when he handed you your coat. You thought you imagined it, the little spark that shot through your hand, but the way his eyes flicked to yours said otherwise.

“Uh, good night,” he mumbled, voice hushed. You smiled, feeling your heartbeat in your throat. “Good night, Jake.” You didn’t know it then, but that would be the night it all started to shift.

The next few weeks were a blur of fleeting glances, stolen moments. You’d catch him looking at you in class, only for him to quickly look away. Sometimes, he’d find reasons to walk the same path as you, his steps light, as if testing the water between you. And each time, the air between you would grow heavier, electric, like something unsaid was hanging in the space between your words. It wasn’t until one rainy afternoon that things finally tipped over the edge. You were on your way to the library when you spotted him standing under the awning of a building, looking at his phone. His hoodie was pulled up over his head, and he seemed to be oblivious to the fact that the rain was starting to soak through the sleeves.

“Jake!” you called out, jogging over to him. “You’re gonna get soaked.” He looked up in surprise. “Oh, uh… I was just trying to figure out when the rain’s supposed to stop.” He smiled sheepishly. “I should’ve checked the forecast before heading out.” You shook your head, already pulling your umbrella out. “Come on. You’re coming with me.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’re not standing out here getting drenched. You’re walking me to the library.”

He hesitated, then smiled, a soft, shy grin. “Okay.”

You shared the umbrella, walking side by side. The world outside was blurred by the rain, everything muted except for the sound of your shoes on the pavement and the occasional brush of his elbow against yours. It felt casual, but something about it—something about him—made your heart race in a way you couldn’t explain.

When you reached the library, you both stood under the awning for a second, the warmth of the building just inside. You were both still close, the air between you thick with unspoken things.

And that was when it happened.

Without saying a word, Jake leaned in just enough to let his breath ghost against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “If I walked you to class every day, would you still act like I’m invisible?” he whispered.

Your heart skipped, and you didn’t know how to respond. You didn’t know what to say, or what he was really offering. But you knew, in that moment, everything between you had shifted.

And you weren’t sure you were ready for it.

But you wanted to be.

You’d never seen Jake without his glasses.

The guy everyone knew—shy, reserved, a little awkward—was always framed by those round lenses. It was part of his quiet charm, the way they softened his features, how he hid behind them like a shield. No one really saw the guy underneath, the guy who barely made waves, who faded into the background of every class.

Until today.

You hadn’t expected this when you got the text. “Roommate’s out. You wanna come over?”

It wasn’t anything crazy. It could be a quiet hangout, maybe some late-night studying. But there was a strange feeling building in your stomach, something telling you that tonight might be different.

When you knocked on Jake’s door, you barely had time to brace yourself before it swung open.

And there he was.

Jake, standing there, no glasses. He was wearing contacts, and the difference hit you immediately. His eyes, normally hidden behind lenses, were now wide open, sharp, clear. They looked darker somehow, and for the first time, you saw something in them that wasn’t there before. Confidence. A kind of intensity that threw you off guard.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice smooth, low—nothing like the awkward, stuttering Jake you were used to.

“Hi,” you replied, unsure of what to say, suddenly aware of how close he was standing.

Jake stepped aside, letting you into the room. You took a quick look around—same dorm, but the vibe was different. The room was tidier than you expected, clean, almost meticulous. No clutter, no random piles of clothes or books. It felt… like a space where Jake had control, where things were on his terms.

“You can sit wherever,” Jake said, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. His posture was relaxed, but there was an edge to it now, something about the way he stood that was different from the usual quiet guy you saw on campus.

You sat on the edge of his bed, but you didn’t know where to look. His eyes were still on you, and the way he watched you made the air between you feel thick, charged.

He took his time, like he wasn’t in any rush. “You didn’t expect this, did you?” Jake’s voice was quieter now, almost like he was daring you to admit it.

You shifted slightly, trying to act casual, but it was hard. “No. I didn’t think you’d be like this.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t the kind of shy, soft smile you were used to. It was different. “Like what?”

You hesitated, but then shrugged. “I don’t know. More… sure of yourself. Less… nervous.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, and there was a flash of something dark in his eyes. “You think I’m nervous?”

You nodded slowly, testing him. “Yeah. I mean, you’ve always been… kind of quiet.”

Jake took a step closer, his expression unreadable now, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m not shy. Just don’t feel the need to put on a show for anyone. And I don’t think you’re stupid enough to believe I’m some clueless guy.”

You stayed silent, suddenly aware of how close he was now, how his presence filled up the space between you.

He was different tonight. No hesitation. No awkward stutter. Just… Jake. But the version of him that you never saw—sharp, self-assured, and unbothered by anything or anyone around him.

“Want to see how different I am?” he asked, his voice lowering, the question hanging in the air.

You barely had time to process before his fingers brushed your arm, the simple touch making your heart race. And just like that, you realized you weren’t ready for the change that was happening between you—but you were already in too deep to turn back.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you agreed to come over, but it wasn’t this.

Jake leaned against the wall in front of you, and for the first time, you felt a shift in the way he held himself, like there was something between you that wasn’t there before. His gaze didn’t flicker away from yours, and his posture was different. He was comfortable—too comfortable, and it made the room feel smaller, hotter.

You opened your mouth to say something, but Jake beat you to it, his voice low and steady. “You don’t look at me the same way you used to.”

Your chest tightened. “What do you mean?”

His smirk deepened. “You’re looking at me like you’re seeing me for the first time. Like I’m not just the quiet guy in the back of class.”

You tried to ignore the way his words made your pulse pick up speed. He was right, and it unsettled you more than you wanted to admit. The Jake you knew was always reserved, always hiding behind his quiet act. But the Jake in front of you now? He was different. More sure of himself. More… commanding.

Before you could find the right words, Jake pushed off the wall and closed the distance between you. He didn’t touch you at first, but you could feel the heat coming off him. You took a shallow breath, the air between you thick with tension.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

You shook your head, but you could feel the unease building in your stomach, creeping up your chest. It wasn’t nerves—it was something else. Something new. Something dangerous.

He seemed to sense it, that tiny shift in your energy, and it made him lean in closer. “You can admit it,” he whispered. “I won’t bite.”

Your lips parted slightly at the sound of his voice, thick and low. There was nothing innocent about him now. You could see it clearly. This wasn’t the guy who stumbled over his words or blushed at the slightest attention. This was a version of Jake you hadn’t been prepared for.

And now that you were seeing him—really seeing him—you weren’t sure you wanted to turn away.

Jake’s hand came up to touch your chin, his thumb brushing over your skin with purpose. He tilted your head slightly, studying you like you were a puzzle he was dying to solve. His touch was slow, deliberate, and it made every nerve in your body stand on edge.

“Do you like this?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing along your jawline. “Do you like seeing me like this?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you found yourself staring at him, watching how his eyes flickered with something darker, something that made your heart race in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake’s smirk only grew, and before you could react, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a soft kiss, the kind you were used to. It wasn’t gentle or cautious. No, this was different. This was hungry. It was messy. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for this moment, like he couldn’t wait any longer. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his lips parting against yours as if he was trying to steal every breath from your lungs.

You let him. You let him pull you in, let him show you what he was capable of when there was no one around to see it.

When he pulled away, just enough to let you catch your breath, his eyes never left yours. There was something predatory in his gaze now, something that made your pulse race.

“You’ve been looking at me for a while,” Jake murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “You never thought I could be like this, did you?”

You swallowed hard, your mind scrambling for something to say, but all that came out was a shaky breath.

Jake smiled, that same smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll show you just how different I can be.”

And that was when you realized—there was no going back now.

Jake’s lips hovered just inches from yours, his breath mixing with yours, the tension in the air making every nerve in your body feel alive. His eyes were locked onto yours, and you could see the way he was waiting for you—waiting for you to decide how far you wanted to go, how far you were willing to let things shift.

You had never seen him like this. The quiet guy you knew had been replaced by someone far more confident, far more intense. His hand was still resting at the back of your neck, and the way his thumb traced small circles against your skin sent a shiver down your spine.

He didn’t kiss you again right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, studying you, watching for any sign of hesitation, any sign that you weren’t ready. His thumb grazed your jaw again, this time a little firmer, almost as if he was marking his territory, making sure you knew he was in control now.

And then, without warning, he pressed his lips against yours again—but this time, the kiss was slower. It was deeper, more deliberate, as if he was savoring it. His other hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the heat of his body against yours.

You tried to breathe, but it was hard. It felt like the world was closing in around you, leaving only the two of you in that small, charged space. You couldn’t focus on anything except the way his lips moved against yours, the way his hands shifted, each touch sparking a new wave of heat in your body.

He pulled away just enough to speak, his voice low, gravelly. “I told you… I’m not the guy you thought I was.”

You nodded, your throat tight, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You could barely process what was happening. Everything about this felt different, so different from anything you’d imagined. The shy, awkward Jake had been replaced by someone who wasn’t afraid to take what he wanted.

His lips trailed down to your neck, and the soft press of his mouth against your skin made your breath catch in your throat. He moved slowly, deliberately, his hands never straying far from you. The warmth of his touch spread through you, and you felt your body responding in ways you hadn’t expected.

“Jake,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper as his lips traced along your collarbone.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with something primal. “Tell me what you want baby?” His voice was barely audible, but it cut through the fog in your mind.

You didn’t know how to answer, not with words. You had never been this close to him, not like this, not with the air crackling between you like it was about to catch fire. The way the pet name slipped so easily from his mouth made your pussy clench around nothing. But the look in his eyes, the intensity of his gaze, made something stir inside you.

Without thinking, you leaned in again, your lips pressing against his. This time, there was no hesitation. You kissed him back, a little harder this time, both groaning into the kiss as if you were trying to prove something—prove that you were ready for whatever came next.

Jake didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands slid lower, around your waist, pulling you even closer. You felt the heat of his body against yours, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His hands were firm, confident as they explored the curve of your back, the tension in your muscles, the way your body responded to him.

Every inch of space between you seemed to vanish, and soon there was nothing but the heat, the closeness, and the feeling of his hands on your skin.

For the first time, you weren’t sure if you were in control anymore—or if you ever had been.

Jake pulled away from the kiss, his breath ragged as he looked at you with that same intense gaze. There was something in his eyes—an unspoken challenge, a promise of something you couldn’t quite yet name. You could feel the tension building, heavy in the air between you, thickening with each second that passed.

He reached up slowly, his fingers brushing the collar of his shirt, and your heart skipped a beat as he pulled it over his head, revealing the smooth skin of his chest. The movement was casual, effortless, like he’d done it a thousand times before. His muscles shifted under his skin, the soft light of the room catching the contours of his body, and it was like everything about him felt real now—far more than you ever thought.

You couldn’t help but stare, your gaze tracing over the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. There was no trace of the shy, reserved guy from before. Instead, he stood there—bare, exposed—looking at you with a calm confidence that made your pulse race.

Jake didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His eyes spoke volumes as they flickered to yours, waiting for you to respond, to make the next move.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you took in the sight of him, suddenly feeling a shift, a hunger building within you that mirrored his own. It was a quiet power, a tension you could feel in your very bones.

Jake’s eyes never left yours as you stood there, frozen for a moment. The air felt thick, charged, as if time had slowed down, and the weight of his gaze made everything around you fade into the background.

He stepped toward you, his chest still bare, his body moving with a kind of fluid confidence that made your pulse spike. Each step he took seemed to make the space between you shrink, until you were once again within inches of him. He didn’t rush. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were savoring every moment.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice low, steady. The question hung in the air, but there was no hesitation in his tone—only the calm certainty of someone who knew exactly what they wanted.

Your throat tightened, and you nodded, though words seemed impossible to find. The only sound in the room was the quickening rhythm of your breath, mingling with his.

Jake’s hand reached for the hem of your shirt, his fingers grazing your skin as he lifted it, gently pulling it over your head. You let him, your heart pounding in your chest, your skin heating under his touch. He didn’t rush, his hands tracing the curves of your body with careful attention, like he was memorizing every inch of you.

When your shirt finally joined his on the floor, he stepped back slightly to take you in, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin. His eyes darkened further, a look of quiet admiration in them, but there was something else there too—something predatory, possessive.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, the words low but full of meaning.

You could barely process what was happening, but the way he said it—like he was claiming you, and yet somehow honoring you at the same time—made your chest tighten. His hands were at your waist now, pulling you closer again, and his lips found the curve of your neck. He kissed you there softly, his mouth warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

As he kissed you, his hands moved lower, slowly, deliberately, until he was holding you, guiding you gently toward his bed. There was no rush, no urgency—just the feel of his strong hands, the weight of his body against yours, and the soft pressure of his lips as they trailed down to your collarbone.

Jake was taking his time, savoring the moments. He wanted you—he was showing you that much, but he was also letting you see a side of him that no one else got to experience.

And as he lowered you onto the bed, his lips never leaving your skin, you felt a kind of surrender that you couldn’t explain. He was confident, sure of every move he made. But so were you.

This was new. You were new.

Jake’s lips found the delicate curve of your neck, and you inhaled sharply as a wave of warmth flooded your body. His kisses were slow, teasing, each one leaving a faint, tingling trail on your skin. You could feel his breath against you, warm and steady, as he placed soft, lingering kisses along the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

His hands, still resting on your waist, tightened their grip slightly, pulling you closer to him. Every movement was deliberate, purposeful, as if he was in no rush to get anywhere, wanting to savor every moment.

“You’re such a good girl,” Jake murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough. The words sent a shiver down your spine, stirring something deep inside you. His praise, soft yet commanding, made your heart race even faster, the air between you growing thick with desire.

You couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped your lips, your body reacting to the way his voice made you feel—like you were exactly where you needed to be, like you were his.

Jake smiled against your neck, the words lingering in the air. “So good for me,” he whispered, his lips brushing the spot again. You could feel the confidence in his words, the way he was claiming the moment, claiming you. The heat that had been building between you both was undeniable now, and you knew, without a doubt, that this was no longer the shy, quiet guy from school.

This was Jake. The Jake who knew exactly what he wanted—and wasn’t afraid to take it.

The room felt smaller now, even with the space around you. The air was thick with a quiet tension, a sense of something inevitable hanging between you two. Jake was no longer standing across from you, maintaining that careful distance. He was close—too close—and it was clear that neither of you wanted to back away.

You could feel the pull of him, an invisible force that seemed to draw you in, making it impossible to ignore the heat that had been simmering between you both. You’d known this feeling, this desire, had been building for weeks. But now it was no longer just something you could push aside, something you could pretend wasn’t there.

“Do you trust me?” Jake’s voice was soft, but there was a weight to it, a seriousness that sent a ripple of excitement through you. He was close now, his chest nearly brushing yours, and the way he spoke made it clear he wasn’t just asking out of curiosity.

You nodded, unable to find your voice for a moment, the words lost in the heat of the moment. Jake smiled—genuine, a little wicked—and his hand reached out to guide you toward the desk.

The desk that had become a symbol of something you didn’t even fully understand yet. He placed his hands on your hips, his touch firm but not rough, leading you with careful, deliberate steps. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the edge of the desk against the back of your knees.

He stopped, his lips grazing the side of your neck as he whispered, “Stay still for me baby.”

There was an undeniable force in the way he held you, a promise in his words. Your pulse raced as your hands rested against the cool surface of the desk. The room was suddenly quieter, the sounds of your breaths louder than anything else.

Jake stood behind you, his chest pressed against your back. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his breath ghosted over your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. There was a certain thrill in knowing that he was completely in control, that he was in charge.

His hands moved with purpose, sliding from your hips up your sides, lingering over the curve of your waist, tracing slow circles over your ribs. You wanted to press back against him, to feel the weight of him against you, but something kept you still, some tiny shred of self-control.

Jake's hands moved higher, fingers trailing over your collarbone, and you couldn't help the soft gasp that escaped your lips. His touch was firm, possessive, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. You wanted to arch into him, to feel the weight of his body against yours, but you kept your hips planted against the desk, fighting the urge.

Jake's lips traced a path down your neck, and you could feel the smile on his face as he spoke, his voice low and rough. "You're doing so well for me," he murmured.

The words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice shaky and desperate, "I need to feel you-need your cock."

You could feel him smirk against your skin, his hands tracing slow, teasing circles over your hips. "You that desperate, you slut?" he scoffed, his words like a taunt, a challenge.

Jake's words sent heat coursing through your veins, the sound of your own whimpering catching you off guard. It was a sound of desperation, of need, and it betrayed a vulnerability you hadn't meant to show.

But he heard it. Of course he did. He was so close to you, his body pressed against yours, and there were no more secrets between you.

You could feel the anticipation building, the air around you thick with tension. Jake's hands moved with purpose, tugging at your skirt, and it came down in a swift motion, pooling around your ankles. He took a step back, giving you space, and for a moment, you were left standing in just your underwear.

Jake's eyes darkened as he watched you, the desire in his gaze unmistakable. He moved closer again, crowding you against the desk, and you could feel the heat radiating off his bare skin, the way it made your skin prickle with anticipation.

You looked back to see Jake stroking his already leaking cock, letting out a low groan in the process. You could feel a smirk form on his lips as he shoves your panties aside. “Jesus yn, you’re dripping.” His words brought a throbbing sensation to your pussy, a desperate whimper leaving your mouth. “Jake…please,” you begged. “I need to feel you.” The heat in your body was almost unbearable now, your words little more than a ragged breath as you plead with him, "Fuck, Jake." It was like all the thoughts had slipped away from you, replaced by a pulsing need.

Jake didn't hesitate. He was still gripping your hip with one hand, his other wrapping around your waist as he pulled you back against him. There was no more waiting, no more teasing. He was hard and ready, and you could feel it pressed against you, and you were slick and wanting, and you couldn't take it any longer.

With a low, guttural groan, Jake slammed his cock inside your soaked cunt in one motion, causing you both to let out the filthiest sound.

“fuck, look at you,” jake groaned quietly, fingers spreading your ass apart. “such a filthy little thing, huh? letting me use that pussy mouth like it’s all you’re good for.”

his hand is tangled in your hair now, not tugging—just resting there, warm and heavy, like a crown you’ve earned. you try to stay quiet, knowing that the building has thin walls, spit pooling and dripping down your chin as your rhythm falters under the weight of his words. “Jake, it feels go good—“

“quiet,” he snaps softly, and your lashes flutter as you obey.

good. obedient. ruined.

“that’s it, baby. show me how good you are at taking my cock,” he says, voice almost tender if not for the filth of it. “can’t even breathe right, but you don’t care, do you? you love it too much. love being my perfect little toy.”

you whimper around him, and it makes his hips stutter. his thighs tense.

his control cracks just a little.

“god, you’re so good for me. fuck, baby—so fucking perfect.”

he grits his teeth, hand tightening just slightly in your hair. “no one else gets to see you like this. no one else can. only me.”

your jaw aches. your throat burns. but still, you don’t stop. “this pussy is made for me,” he continued, throwing his head back. “Fucking made for me yn.”

Jake was losing control, his words coming out in sharp breaths. He'd never spoken to you like this before, never so openly, so shamelessly filthy. Your mind was reeling, the sensations overwhelming as he took what he wanted from you, his words only fueling your own desire.

“J-Jake- too much.” you whisper cry to him. He giggles a bit, only looking at you the whole time. “And you love it.” he grabs onto your waist gently.

You help fuck yourself on him a bit faster and he lets out a groan. “You’re so tight around me.. y/n..” he thinks he hasn’t stretched you out enough beforehand. “We can.. do it..” you say, already out of breath.

You spread your legs a bit more, releasing a bit of tension on him. You succeed taking on his big cock, whilst using his shoulders as handles. “You’re taking it so good..” he whispers. You go faster at his praises.

He’s been stretching you out for a while now, and it definitely got easier over time. The slight discomfort turned into satisfying pleasure for you. His swollen tip hits your g-spot every single time, making you want to cum right there. However, he’s been wanting to finish ever since you started. You feel so good wrapped around him he’s surprised he hasn’t let out any further moan yet.

His hips move faster again, getting closer to cumming again. Your puffy cunt is crying at this point, while you let out a slight moan with every thrust. You keep going for a bit before, before rolling your eyes back to cum. “I’m— gonna… I… oh m… Jake..” you struggle.

You don’t get to say anything—your body gives out before your voice can even catch up. Your thighs tremble around him, and you’re a mess in his lap, clinging to him like he’s the only thing grounding you. The sound you let out is raw, louder than before, and Jake just leans back in his chair, watching you fall apart with that smug, wrecked grin of his.

His hands tighten around your waist, keeping you moving even as your body begs for mercy. He’s not letting go—not yet.

“You’re not done,” he mutters low against your throat, lips brushing your skin. “Not until I say so.”

You try to respond, but it’s all heat and haze now. Your chest presses against his as your head drops to his shoulder, and he doesn’t stop—he guides you through every slow grind, every twitch of your body that draws another gasp from your lips. His voice is rough, breathless, right in your ear.

Then his body jerks beneath you, and the way he holds you after—tight, possessive—tells you everything you need to know. His hand slides up your back as you both sit there, the room thick with the aftermath, your bodies still tangled.

You think it’s over. You think maybe now he’ll let you breathe.

But then his grip shifts, and he pulls you right back down onto him, your body jolting at the sudden contact.

A gasp leaves you, and his laugh—low and dangerous—rumbles against your collarbone. “Still so sensitive,” he teases, brushing your hair back as he presses a kiss just below your ear. “Thought you could handle me.”

Your arms drape around his neck again, head buried against his skin, and all you can do is hold on. You kiss the sweat-slicked curve of his jaw, trying to catch your breath while he stays buried deep, unmoving, content to just keep you there—full, overwhelmed, and completely his.

And with one hand still steady on your hip, Jake casually slides his chair back toward his desk, like it’s just another night—like you’re not still trembling on top of him.

Just before he grabs his headset, he whispers, “You should hear yourself.”

By the time you got back to class Monday morning, it was like nothing had ever happened. Or at least, that’s how Jake made it seem.

There he was, slouched in his usual seat at the back of the lecture hall, hoodie half-zipped, glasses perched slightly crooked on the bridge of his nose. He was typing away at his laptop like he hadn’t just had you moaning his name into the crook of his neck two nights ago, skin flushed, bodies tangled.

He glanced up as you walked in. His eyes found yours for a second too long—and then he looked away, pretending to be distracted by something on his screen. You swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch, like he was fighting a smile.

You took your seat a few rows ahead of him, and a minute later, you felt the faintest buzzin your pocket.

“I had fun.”

You turned around. He was staring at his laptop like he hadn’t just texted you that. Like he hadn’t just ruined you on that same voice he used to answer class questions with a stutter.

Jake was still quiet in public, still awkward. He still pushed up his glasses too often and knocked over his water bottle when reaching for his pen. But now, there was a glint in his eyes every time he looked at you. A silent smugness. A private joke only the two of you knew the punchline to.

And when your professor called on him to answer a question, and he stumbled over the words “data structure,” turning slightly pink, you thought—no one else in this room had a clue. No one knew that he’d whispered “stay still for me” against your skin like a command. That the same clumsy guy blushing in front of the class had told you with a dark smirk, “such a good girl, you took me so well.”

You looked over your shoulder again. Jake met your eyes, and this time, he didn’t look away. Just popped a piece of gum into his mouth, chewing slow, gaze steady. And then he winked.

You almost dropped your pen.

You tried to keep it to yourself—you really did. But your friends had spent the last ten minutes at your table giggling over Jake like he was some weird cryptid.

“I checked his Instagram again,” Yuna said, sipping her iced coffee. “He lost a follower. And he posted a blurry picture of a squirrel once.”

“Do you think he even knows how to use Instagram?” Soojin added, snorting. “He gives off ‘my mom made this account for me’ energy.”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile too hard.

“What?” Yuna asked, eyes narrowing at you. “Why are you smiling like that? Don’t tell me you actually think he’s hot.”

“I don’t think he’s hot,” you said slowly, stirring your drink.

They leaned in.

You sighed, leaning back in your seat, glancing over your shoulder out of habit.

“Okay,” you whispered. “This doesn’t leave this table.”

Yuna and Soojin practically vibrated with anticipation.

“I went to his dorm,” you started, voice low. “A few nights ago. His roommate was gone. And he wasn’t wearing glasses. He had contacts in. And he—” you hesitated, heartbeat picking up. “He was acting completely differnt. And we kinda.. you know.”

Yuna let out a dramatic gasp. “No way.”

Soojin cackled. “Shut up. Jake? Jake Sim and y/n fucked?”

You nodded slowly, lips twitching.

“And?” Yuna prompted. “And? What, did he trip over his desk accidentally slip his dick into you?”

You hesitated. “We, uh… no…”

Both of their jaws dropped—and then they burst into laughter.

“No, no, you’re joking,” Soojin said, leaning into Yuna for support. “Jake? Jake had you—what, bent over his gaming chair while his twelve Instagram followers cheered him on?”

“I’m serious,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “He’s not—he’s not how you think he is. Not when we’re alone.”

“Okay, now you’re just making it sound like he’s Batman,” Yuna snorted. “By day, he’s a bio major with a screen protector on his calculator. By night—”

“Hey.” A voice cut in behind you.

You froze.

Yuna’s eyes widened.

Soojin slapped a hand over her mouth.

You turned your head slowly—Jake was standing there, tray in hand, his expression unreadable. His glasses were on, hoodie loose, hair a little messy like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“Hi,” he said, voice calm, like he hadn’t just caught you mid-confession.

You blinked up at him. “Jake.”

He looked at your friends, then back at you. “You forgot your charger last night.”

He placed it next to your drink, eyes flicking down to your hand for half a second.

“Thanks,” you said, voice quiet.

Jake gave you a lazy smile—barely there, but you knew it. You knew that look now. He turned, walked away like nothing happened, headphones already around his neck.

You turned back to your friends.

Their mouths were hanging open.

“…You’re not joking,” Yuna said flatly.

“I told you,” you whispered, trying—and failing—to hide the grin pulling at your lips.

Your friends were still frozen, processing, as Jake walked off toward the other end of the café like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb and left you to deal with the aftermath. He didn’t look back, but the slow, smug drag of his steps made it very clear—he knew exactly what he was doing.

“I…” Yuna blinked. “Was that your charger?”

You nodded, sipping your drink to hide your smirk.

Soojin finally found her voice. “Did he say last night?”

You nodded again, this time a little slower.

Both of them let out the most synchronized gasps you’d ever heard in your life.

“Girl,” Yuna whispered, leaning across the table like she was afraid someone would overhear, “what the hell is going on? That’s not even—Jake? Like, Jake Sim? He’s—he’s a meme. We literally made a Bingo card of the number of times he trips in the hallway!”

“Yeah,” you said, unable to stop the warmth in your cheeks. “And apparently, he’s also capable of blowing my back out while explaining the difference between RAM and ROM.”

Soojin shrieked. “Stop!”

You were laughing now, the kind that bubbles up and won’t stop. It was ridiculous. All of it. And yet, every time you thought about the way he kissed you—like he knew what he was doing, like he’d been waiting for the right moment to show you—you felt your knees threaten to give out.

“Okay,” Yuna said, gripping your arm. “So, wait. Is he, like… your boyfriend now? Or is this just an elite phase?”

You opened your mouth—then closed it again.

You hadn’t even thought that far.

Jake hadn’t said anything official. No labels. No talks. Just quiet texts. A stolen charger. A wink in lecture. And the memory of him whispering in your ear, voice low and breathless, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“I don’t know,” you admitted honestly. “But I don’t think this is just a one-time thing.”

At that exact moment, your phone buzzed again.

“also, I meant every word I said to you”

Your head snapped up. Across the room, Jake was seated with his laptop open, headset slung around his neck, biting into a sandwich like the most innocent man alive.

Your stomach flipped.

This menace. This liar. This actor.

Your thumbs hovered over the screen, a mix of embarrassment and fondness curling in your chest.

“you’re actually evil”

“i hate you”

“i hate that i don’t hate you”

A beat passed.

“you’re cute when you fluster. wanna come over after chem?”

Your friends didn’t even need to ask who you were texting. They saw your face and groaned in unison.

And for once, you didn’t even deny it.

Jake was a master of the double life. You didn’t know how he did it, but it was like he could flip a switch whenever he stepped foot in the hallways of the university.

In class? A complete disaster.

The shy, bumbling guy you’d always seen—his glasses slipping down his nose, tripping over his own feet as he made his way to his desk. He’d stammer when he spoke to the professor, barely making eye contact with anyone, and was always the first to look down at his phone when group discussions came up. The Jake everyone saw was awkward, quiet, and somehow endearing in his nerdy way. The one who sat by himself in the cafeteria, fiddling with his notebook, hoping no one would notice him.

And yet, you knew. You knew there was something more beneath that awkward exterior. Something darker, something confident. You’d seen it for yourself, just two nights ago. The quiet guy who barely spoke a word in class had turned into a completely different person behind closed doors.

But here, in the hallway, between classes, you wouldn’t have been able to guess that same Jake was the one who had you shivering under his touch, whispering praises into your ear like he owned you.

You were walking past his usual spot in the library when you caught him fumbling with a stack of books, his face scrunched up in concentration. He didn’t notice you at first, too focused on his task. But when he looked up, the usual blush crept up his neck, and his mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Hi,” you said casually, a teasing grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You need help with those?”

He gave a nervous laugh, adjusting his glasses and dropping the books onto the table like his hands suddenly didn’t know how to hold them anymore. “Uh, yeah, no, I—um, I got it. Thanks, though.”

You could barely contain your laughter. Here he was, this guy who had literally whispered praises in your ear only days ago, looking like a total mess in front of you. He couldn’t even manage eye contact without turning an embarrassing shade of pink.

“So,” you said, leaning against the bookshelf beside him, your arms casually crossed. “You been doing any more squirrel photography lately?”

Jake froze, his face flushing deeper. “Uh, n-no,” he stammered, grabbing his books a little too quickly. “I— I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It was like watching a completely different person. Gone was the guy who had held you close, kissed you with authority. Gone was the guy who made you forget everything when his lips were on your neck. Now, he was just a bumbling mess, avoiding your eyes, looking everywhere but at you.

“You’re so weird,” you teased lightly. “You know, I’ve been wondering… is it really the glasses, or is it the awkwardness? Which one is the real you?”

Jake opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He just looked at you, a mixture of embarrassment and—was that a hint of guilt? Like he had a secret he didn’t want anyone to know.

“Never mind,” you said with a smirk, walking away from him. “Keep up the good work, loser.”

You could feel him watching you, probably frozen in place, but you didn’t care. It was almost unbelievable how different he could act when it was just the two of you alone in a room. The guy who couldn’t make it through a simple conversation in public had turned into the man who made you forget your own name when he had his hands on you.

But for now, all you could do was shake your head and laugh, marveling at how Jake was pulling off his double life—completely clueless and completely in control, all at once.

The cafeteria went silent the moment you walked past your usual table and headed straight for his.

Jake was sitting alone, as usual—tray of barely-touched food in front of him, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like he was trying to disappear into himself. He was hunched over his phone, earbuds in, completely unaware of the social earthquake that was about to hit.

You plopped down across from him without warning.

His head snapped up. He blinked, startled. “Wh—uh… hey?”

Conversations around you dipped, and you could feel the whispers starting. Not subtle ones either. Real, full-body turns. Eyes darting. Forks pausing mid-air. People whispering you’re joking, is that Y/N? and she’s sitting with him?

You just smiled, opening your drink like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Relax,” you said, lowering your voice and leaning forward just a little. “You’re acting like I just declared war on the entire social order.”

He pushed his glasses up and blinked a few times. “You… you don’t usually—uh, sit here.”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’. “But today I felt like sitting with my favorite academic weapon slash secret menace.”

Jake choked on his water.

You grinned. “Also, I think I’ve figured you out.”

He swallowed hard. “F-Figured me out?”

“Yup.” You tilted your head at him, keeping your voice low and teasing. “I think your glasses are what activate your awkward personality. Like a switch. You wear them? Jake the human embodiment of a shy turtle. You take them off? Boom. Total menace.”

His ears turned pink. He scratched the back of his neck, trying to look casual but failing completely. “They’re prescription…”

“And yet they’re also your disguise,” you smirked.

Around you, the buzz of conversation slowly picked back up. Everyone was still sneaking glances, but they were getting bored now that you weren’t making out on the table or confessing your love with a boombox overhead. One by one, people returned to their own lunches.

And that’s when he looked up at you—and really looked.

The second your audience was gone, the timid act melted off his face like it had never existed. His back straightened. His expression shifted, eyes sharpening just a little, mouth tugging into that familiar slow smirk that made your stomach flip.

“You like the glasses?” he asked, voice lower now, smooth and lazy.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden switch.

He leaned forward on his elbows, gaze steady and annoyingly smug. “You think that’s what keeps me from bending you over this table right now?”

You nearly choked on your drink.

“There’s the menace,” you muttered, eyes narrowing as your pulse spiked.

Jake smiled like he’d just won something. “You came to my table, remember?”

“And now I’m questioning everything.”

He laughed under his breath, picking up a fry from his tray and tossing it into his mouth like he had all the time in the world.

“Too late,” he said, chewing. “You already made your choice. Better hope no one figures out what I look like without the glasses.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you threatening me?”

He grinned. “I’m warning you.”

And just like that, he went back to sipping his water, glasses slipping again, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. Back to harmless, quiet Jake.

But you knew better now.

So did he.

You were two seconds away from dragging Jake by the collar.

He sat stiffly next to you on the couch, surrounded by your friends, looking like someone who’d just been dropped into a completely foreign dimension. His hoodie was zipped all the way up to his neck, hands tucked into his sleeves, legs pressed together like he was trying to take up the least amount of space possible.

Your friends were trying. God bless them, they were.

“So, Jake,” Yuna said, passing him a slice of pizza. “What are you majoring in again?”

Jake blinked. “Um. Bio.”

Silence.

Soojin tried to jump in. “Cool! Are you doing like, pre-med or something?”

Jake stared at the pizza in his lap like it personally offended him. “No.”

You gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs. He flinched. “I, uh… I just like cells.”

More silence.

You shot him a look.

Jake gave a weak smile. “Cells are nice.”

You excused yourself to the kitchen before your soul could physically leave your body from secondhand embarrassment. Jake followed, like a lost puppy—but once the two of you were out of earshot, you whirled on him.

“Are you serious right now?”

Jake blinked innocently. “What?”

“You’re acting like a scared freshman at their first club meeting. Can you just…” You groaned, tugging him by the sleeve. “Be normal. Be you. The you that had me on my knees last weekend.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You want me to flirt with your friends?”

You narrowed your eyes. “I want you to act like you’re not a socially-anxious squirrel.”

He leaned against the counter with a little too much confidence now. “Babe, I already got what I wanted. I don’t need to charm your friends.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “If you keep acting like a brick wall, I swear to god I’m not giving you head again.”

Jake blinked.

Then he straightened.

“You wouldn’t.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

There was a moment of silence. He stared at you like you’d just ripped the moon from the sky and thrown it in his face.

And then—he sighed dramatically. “Fine.”

You watched him walk back into the living room, a defeated slump in his shoulders. But right before he sat down again, he glanced back at you and mouthed, rude.

You just smiled sweetly.

You watched him march right back into the living room like a man on a mission. No hoodie shielding his face, no sleeves hiding his hands—Jake dropped onto the couch next to Yuna like he belonged there. Like he hadn’t just been threatening to pretend he didn’t know the English language five minutes ago.

“So,” he said casually, draping one arm along the back of the couch. “Y/N tells me you guys stalked my Instagram.”

Your head snapped up.

Yuna blinked, caught. “W-What?”

Jake smirked. “Twelve followers and still managed to bag your friend. Pretty impressive, right?”

Your jaw dropped.

Soojin choked on her drink.

Yuna looked like she’d just short-circuited.

“I mean, I don’t post thirst traps or anything,” Jake continued, tone light but clearly enjoying himself. “Y/n says I should.”

You were frozen. You hadn’t even known he could talk in complete sentences around your friends, let alone roast them.

He glanced at you mid-sentence, lips twitching. “What? You said be normal.”

“This is not what I meant by normal,” you hissed under your breath.

Jake only smiled wider.

“I mean,” he said louder now, eyes gleaming, “Y/N didn’t really stand a chance. She was obsessed with me from the moment she saw me trip over a recycling bin.”

You stared at him, half-horrified, half-impressed. The duality of this man was actually insane.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered, but your voice was shaking with barely contained laughter.

He leaned back on the couch, one leg crossed over the other like he’d been doing this all his life. “I prefer ‘underrated.’”

Soojin blinked at you, stunned. “Is this the same Jake?”

“Sadly,” you deadpanned.

Jake stretched his arms overhead, smirking like he’d just won something. “Told you. Glasses on—loser. Glasses off?” He looked at you over the rim of his drink. “Problem.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

Because he was right.

The conversation shifted, but Jake didn’t shrink back like he normally would. In fact, he leaned in. Tossed out a few sarcastic remarks, made a joke about the weird guy in your chem lecture, and even stole a fry off Yuna’s plate like he’d known her for years.

You sat there stunned, barely able to process the whiplash of it all.

At one point, Soojin gave you a look—eyebrows raised, lips parted like girl…—and you just blinked back, equally bewildered.

Jake caught the exchange, of course. He always did. He leaned over toward you, his voice dropping low, just for you to hear.

“Still mad at me?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You didn’t look at him. “You’re skating on very thin ice.”

He chuckled softly. “You threatening me again?”

You smirked, finally glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “I don’t threaten, Jake. I warn.”

That seemed to only encourage him. “You know I love when you talk like that.”

You elbowed him under the table, but he didn’t even flinch—just grinned like the menace he was.

Eventually, your friends began packing up their things, saying goodbye, and heading out one by one. Jake stayed close beside you, still riding the high of finally breaking his “awkward loner” act in public.

As the room cleared, he bumped your shoulder lightly. “So… did I do good?”

You stared at him. “You did too good.”

He raised a brow, amused. “Jealous?”

“No,” you scoffed, gathering your stuff. “More like terrified of the monster I just unleashed.”

Jake slung his bag over his shoulder, his grin never fading. “Told you. You’re the one who wanted me to be social. You made this happen.”

You paused at the doorway, giving him a long look. “You’re still not getting head tonight.”

He laughed, following close behind you. “Liar.”

God help you—he was right again.

Jake walked you back to your dorm with a bounce in his step, like he hadn’t just caused a minor social earthquake in your friend group. You kept glancing over at him, trying to find even a trace of the shy, fumbling version of him your friends had always known—but nope. Gone. Completely replaced by this smug, way-too-proud-of-himself creature strutting beside you like he’d just won an Oscar.

“You seriously said ‘bagged your friend,’” you muttered, shaking your head.

Jake shrugged, completely unapologetic. “I was being honest.”

“You’re impossible.”

He smirked, leaning closer so his shoulder bumped yours. “But you love me anyway.”

Your heart did a weird little skip, but you masked it with a scoff. “Mm, debatable.”

He laughed, but you could tell he noticed the way your ears flushed. Jake always noticed. Which made it all the more dangerous when he decided to push.

“You sure?” he said lowly, glancing at you sideways. “Because if I remember correctly, few nights ago you were practically begging—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish. “Don’t you dare say that sentence out loud.”

Jake’s laughter vibrated against your palm, and he licked it just to be annoying.

“Jake!”

“What?” he said, completely unbothered, mouth curling into that damn smile again. “I’m just saying, you seemed pretty in love with me when you were—”

“I swear to god, I won’t let you cum tonight.”

He grinned. “Still wouldn’t change what happened on my desk.”

You groaned, unlocking your door and stepping inside, not even bothering to push him out. He followed like he lived there, already dropping his bag on your floor and toeing off his shoes.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” you muttered, tossing your jacket on the chair, “but I kinda miss socially awkward Jake.”

Jake leaned against your desk—the very one he had completely ruined you on—crossing his arms with a smug tilt of his head.

“I’ll bring him back next time we’re around your friends,” he said sweetly. “Wouldn’t want to scare anyone.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re the worst.”

He took a slow step toward you. “And yet…”

You backed up until the backs of your knees hit your bed. Jake caged you in without touching you, just that cocky little smirk inches from your mouth.

“…you keep letting me in.”

Your breath hitched.

You hated how right he was.

He didn’t even have to touch you—just standing there, close enough to fog up your brain, was enough to make your breath catch. That same smug little smirk tugged at the corner of his lips like he knew. (And he did. He always did.)

You crossed your arms, trying to look unaffected. “We’re not doing anything tonight.”

Jake tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Didn’t say we were.”

“You were thinking it.”

He grinned. “Can’t a guy hang out with his girlfriend without being accused of crimes?”

You blinked. “Your what?”

Jake froze for half a second—just enough to catch it—then played it off with a shrug, looking entirely too casual. “You. My girlfriend.”

“Jake,” you said slowly, “we haven’t even been on a date yet.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay, and?”

You stared at him.

He held your gaze, deadpan. “We’ve had sex on your desk.”

Your mouth opened, then shut again. He just kept going.

“I’ve had my tongue in you. Multiple times. You think a coffee date is gonna make it moreofficial?”

You smacked his shoulder, cheeks burning. “You’re insane.”

Jake smiled, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. “You’re stuck with me now. Might as well give me the title.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hands found the hem of his hoodie anyway, fingers curling there.

“This better not mean I have to start posting you on my story.”

“Oh no,” he teased. “Anything but that.”

You sighed. “Fine. One date. But you’re planning it.”

Jake smirked, already way too pleased with himself. “Good. I was gonna make you fall in love with me anyway.”

It became… a problem.

First it was your friends catching you two making out in the library stacks. Then it was the quad. Then the empty art building stairwell. At one point, Yuna dramatically threatened to carry a spray bottle in her bag just to spritz you both like misbehaving cats.

You tried to tone it down. Really. But Jake had this stupid, unfair ability to get under your skin with just one look. One whisper. One brush of his hand against your lower back when no one was watching.

And then there was the incident. The one no one dared to speak about—but everyone knew.

You’d followed Jake into the men’s washroom between lectures, heart pounding, brain nowhere near your upcoming lab. One minute you were teasing him red, leaking tip with minor kitty licks, the next—A very unfortunate and traumatized TA walked in at the exact wrong time.

To this day, you’re not sure who was more horrified: you, Jake, or the TA who immediately did a full 180 and walked straight back out without a word.

Jake couldn’t stop laughing. You couldn’t show your face in that building for a week.

Now every time you pass that hallway, he leans in with a whisper and a smug, “Wanna relive the glory days?”

You elbow him. Hard. But your ears still burn.

Because the worst part? You absolutely do.

You hadn’t even had a chance to settle into the cozy atmosphere of a movie night with Jake, Sunghoon, and Sunoo before everything went to hell.

It was supposed to be a simple night. You, Jake, and his friends, chilling on the couch, watching some random movie Sunghoon picked out after a few too many awkward silences. You’d been mentally preparing yourself for this, maybe even looking forward to getting to know his friends better. You’d heard so much about them, and Sunoo had been sending you memes for weeks now, always so sweet and teasing.

But instead of a normal movie night, you ended up on Jake’s lap with your lips pressed to his, unable to hold back as he slipped his hands beneath your hoodie. Your fingers were tangled in his hair, and you completely forgot about the stupid film Sunghoon had started. All that mattered was the heat building between you and Jake, the sound of his breath against your mouth, the way he was slowly getting bolder, moving his lips to your neck—

And then, the unmistakable sound of a throat clearing from across the room.

You froze, eyes widening, and pulled back from Jake just as Sunghoon and Sunoo exchanged awkward glances.

“Well,” Sunghoon said, adjusting his glasses with a little too much casualness, “This is… an interesting way to start a movie night.”

You sat up quickly, heart racing. “We—uh, we weren’t—”

Sunoo cut you off with a laugh that had a slightly knowing edge to it. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen worse. But wow, didn’t think I’d be walking in on this so soon.”

You could feel your face heating up, but Jake, the menace, only smirked, his arm still casually draped around you. “I was just showing her how comfortable the couch is. Isn’t it nice, babe?”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow at that, glancing between you two. “Comfortable, huh? Good to know.”

Sunoo chuckled. “I guess I’m glad we finally got a front-row seat to Jake’s ‘split personality.’” His voice dropped to an exaggerated whisper, adding, “Who knew the shy, awkward guy could get so… intense.”

You looked at Jake, whose eyes were practically glowing with mischief. You knew exactly what that meant.

“I told you guys,” Jake said, sliding his fingers through your hair, his voice low and smooth. “She’s got me wrapped around her finger. Not just with the whole ‘studious boyfriend’ act.”

Sunghoon chuckled and shook his head. “I’m just here for the popcorn, but whatever you guys are doing, you’re definitely ruining the vibe of the movie.”

You swore you could feel the heat radiating from your face, but Jake was entirely too smug, his hand never leaving your waist. “Movie’s overrated anyway,” he said with a wink. “Better company right here.”

The tension in the room was palpable, but somehow, you knew this was just the beginning. Jake wasn’t about to stop teasing you in front of his friends, and now they definitely knew what he was like when he wasn’t playing the quiet, shy guy.

It had been exactly one month since you and Jake made things official, and somewhere along the way, he had somehow charmed all your friends.

Yuna, especially.

What started off as teasing glances and snarky comments turned into him greeting her with “What’s up, my other girl?” in front of literally everyone—like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You’d laughed the first time. Sort of.

The second time, your smile was tight.

By the third, you didn’t even look at him. Just turned around, grabbed your bag, and left without a word. The silence that followed was deafening.

He texted. Called. Showed up at your dorm with snacks, guilty puppy-dog eyes, and one of your hoodies you’d accidentally left at his place.

You didn’t budge.

Not when he spammed you with voice memos or when he got Sunoo to send you dramatic apologies on his behalf. Not even when Yuna told you that Jake had asked herhow to fix it, which was ironic in the most painful way possible.

A week passed. You were starting to miss him—his touch, his stupid jokes, the way he looked at you like you hung stars in his sky—but you were petty, and prideful, and notabout to forgive him over something as dumb as a nickname that made your stomach twist.

But Jake knew you. And Jake never lost.

The night you finally gave in, he showed up to your dorm without a word, eyes dark, hands careful. He didn’t ask if he could stay. Just got down on his knees, pulled you to the edge of the bed, and showed you how sorry he was.

You didn’t even realize your fingers were tangled in his hair, hips shaking as he flicked your clit around with his tongue, breath caught somewhere between a moan and a sob.

By the time he looked up, lips swollen, pupils blown wide, your legs were trembling and you couldn’t remember what planet you were on.

“Still mad at me?” he asked, voice hoarse, a little smug, but mostly sincere.

You tried to speak, failed. All you could do was blink down at him.

He kissed the inside of your thigh. “Good. Because you’re my only girl.”

And yeah—he won. Again.

The next morning, Jake acted like nothing happened.

He was sprawled across your tiny dorm bed, hair a mess, hoodie half-off his shoulder, munching on the cereal you kept strictly for late-night study stress. Like he hadn’t just given you an out-of-body experience twelve hours ago.

You stood at the mirror brushing your hair, shooting him a look through the reflection. “You’re really just gonna sit there like you didn’t have me literally sobbing last night?”

Jake grinned around a spoonful of cereal. “I figured you forgave me when you couldn’t feel your legs after.”

You tossed a hair tie at him. He dodged, laughing.

“You’re lucky I didn’t call you a cab,” you said, turning back around.

“I am lucky,” he said, voice lower now, more serious, “but not just for that.”

You paused. Met his eyes.

Jake set the bowl aside and stood up, crossing the room to wrap his arms around your waist from behind. His chin rested on your shoulder, voice soft. “I’m sorry for the Yuna thing. I thought I was being funny. I didn’t realize it hurt you.”

You didn’t respond right away. He held you tighter.

“You know I only want you, right?”

You nodded, finally. “You’re still an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “But I’m your idiot.”

You rolled your eyes, but leaned into him anyway, the tension finally melting.

Later that day, Yuna raised an eyebrow as you walked into the café together, hand-in-hand with Jake.

“Back from the dead?” she teased.

Jake smirked. “Had to perform a little resurrection.”

You buried your face in your drink. Yuna just laughed.

“Oh god,” she muttered. “Don’t tell me it was head.”

Jake shot her a look. “Mind-blowing head.”

You choked.

“Please stop speaking,” you begged.

Jake just kissed your cheek and pulled you closer.

You really were doomed.

You’d completely forgotten your parents were in town until you got the text while Jake was still whispering absolute filth into your ear in the café line.

[Mom]: Just landed. So excited to see you, sweetie! Brunch tomorrow? Bring your boyfriend!

You choked on your iced americano so violently Jake had to pat your back.

“Everything okay?” he asked, smirking like he already knew it wasn’t.

You turned your phone around to show him the message.

He blinked. “Wait. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Like—your parents tomorrow?”

“Yes, Jake. My parents. Brunch. You. Me. And them.”

He stared at you for a full three seconds, then grinned. “I’ve already got the button-up shirt in mind.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re way too calm about this.”

“I’m amazing with parents.”

“You’re amazing at pretending to be someone’s quiet, innocent boyfriend. That’s not the same.”

Jake leaned in, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, baby. They’ll love me.”

“You’re gonna wear your glasses, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Act like you’ve never touched me.”

“Sweetheart, I’ll act like I don’t even know what a woman is.”

You snorted, already stressed. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Jake pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Nah. I’m gonna charm them. Just like I charmed you.”

You turned to give him a look. “You charmed me by blowing my back out in a library storage room, Jake.”

“Exactly,” he said, way too proud.

You groaned.

Tomorrow could not come fast—or end—soon enough.

The next morning, Jake showed up ten minutes early to your dorm, looking like he’d walked straight out of a K-drama.

Crisp white button-up, hair brushed neatly off his forehead, his glasses perfectly in place—he even brought your mom’s favorite pastries, like he’d been studying your family’s group chat for weeks.

“You look…” You blinked, slowly dragging your gaze down his outfit. “So well-behaved.”

Jake smirked, tucking the pastry box under one arm and reaching for your hand. “Don’t worry. I left the demon version of me in your sheets.”

You nearly tripped on the way out the door.

Your parents were already waiting at the little brunch spot downtown, and as soon as your mom saw you, she lit up—then caught sight of Jake behind you and blinked like she was seeing a puppy dressed in a tuxedo.

“This is Jake?” she asked, already halfway through hugging him. “You’re even cuter than she said!”

Jake laughed, soft and shy, adjusting his glasses. “Thank you, ma’am. It’s really nice to meet you.”

You sat stiffly across from them, fully prepared for the absolute chaos that was surely coming, but Jake? He played the role like he’d been training for it all his life.

He complimented your mom’s earrings. Asked your dad smart, boring questions about work. Even waited until you were done speaking before cutting into his food.

It was unsettling.

“Jake’s in my organic chem lecture,” you said at one point, trying to keep the conversation neutral.

“Oh, is he any good?” your dad asked.

Jake smiled bashfully. “She usually tutors me, actually. I’m a bit hopeless when it comes to chemistry.”

You almost choked on your orange juice.

Your mom beamed. “I love that. I always told her she’d be such a good teacher.”

Jake nodded sincerely, resting his hand on your knee under the table, subtle and grounding. “She’s been teaching me a lot.”

Your stomach flipped for a very different reason.

By the end of brunch, your mom was begging him to come over for dinner “next time we visit,” and your dad gave him a shoulder pat like he’d just been accepted into the family.

As soon as you were out of earshot, walking back toward campus, you smacked his arm. “You manipulative little bitch!”

Jake grinned, holding up the box of leftover pastries like a trophy. “They love me.”

“You were lying through your teeth!”

Jake shrugged. “It’s not lying if I really do think you’re amazing at teaching me things. Like patience. Self-control.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re a menace.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping in close, voice low in your ear, “your mom just called me boyfriend material.”

You shoved him. “You are never seeing my parents again.”

“Sure, baby. You tell yourself that.”

And yeah, fine—he was boyfriend material. Just not the kind your parents had any idea about.

That night, you laid in bed scrolling through your messages while Jake sat cross-legged at the foot, shamelessly eating the last of the leftover pastries your mom had insisted he take.

Your phone buzzed again.

[Mom]: He’s adorable. Polite, smart, and that accent?? Keeper.

You rolled your eyes so hard your soul almost left your body.

Jake leaned over your shoulder. “What’d she say now?”

You turned the screen toward him. He read it, then bit into a croissant like he’d just won a championship.

“I am polite. And smart. And my voice is sexy, apparently.”

You deadpanned. “You’re a literal demon. With glasses.”

Jake leaned down and nuzzled against your neck with the fakest innocence he could muster. “You weren’t saying that when I was—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth. “No. My mom said ‘keeper.’ Don’t make me reevaluate.”

He laughed into your palm, biting it lightly before you yanked it back. He flopped onto the bed beside you, stretching out with a satisfied sigh like he’d just wrapped up a performance of a lifetime.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded. “Winning over your friends, seducing your parents…”

“Manipulating the entire population,” you muttered.

Jake turned his head, smirking. “But only for you.”

You tried not to melt. You really did. But then he pulled you down beside him, arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you into the warm curve of his body.

“You know,” he whispered, voice dropping back into that cocky, devastating register, “your parents think I’m this sweet, respectful, glasses-wearing boyfriend who can’t even pass chem without your help.”

You blinked up at him, breath catching.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “And they’ll never know what their daughter sounds like when she’s underneath me, begging.”

You slapped his chest with a muffled laugh, face buried in his shirt. “You’re the worst.”

Jake just grinned against your temple.

“I’m yours.”

The next morning, Jake was already pulling on his hoodie, his bags—stuffed with random clothes, books, and a few things that had slowly found their way into your dorm—strewn across your floor.

You sat up in bed, the lingering warmth of his body beside you still making your heart flutter. It had become a regular thing now—Jake staying over, bringing more of his things each time, settling into a routine that felt strangely comfortable. It was a mixture of affection and chaos, and you loved every minute of it.

“You should’ve just left your stuff here last night,” you teased, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “Could’ve saved us the trouble.”

Jake smirked, looking up from rummaging through his backpack. “Don’t want to seem too comfortable too soon, babe. You know, I’ve still got that mysterious ‘bad boy’ act to keep up.”

You rolled your eyes. “Uh-huh. Sure. That’s what you’re going for.”

He shot you a wink, tossing a hoodie at you. “Anyway, can’t let the world see the ‘good boy’ too much, can I?”

He was back to his cocky self, the guy who showed up to school acting like the confident, teasing Jake you had come to know, and honestly, you couldn’t help but smile at how effortlessly he flipped between his personas.

You both left the dorm and started the walk to campus, his hand in yours, the usual mix of comfortable silence and random teasing that filled your daily routines.

Just as you were about to walk up the steps to your building, Jake, always the graceful disaster, tripped on the stairs and sent his coffee flying across the sidewalk.

“Are you serious?” you asked, blinking in disbelief.

Jake stood there for a second, coffee splattered all over his hoodie and the ground beneath him, looking utterly stunned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You couldn’t stop laughing. “Every time. I swear to god, you’re like a walking disaster.”

Jake turned to you, the faintest blush coloring his cheeks as he scratched the back of his neck, trying to play it off. “I meant to do that. Just making sure everyone’s paying attention.”

“Yeah, you definitely got their attention, Jake,” you teased. “Don’t worry, I’m sure everyone saw your epic performance.”

He shot you a grin, wiping at his clothes like it would make a difference. “I’m not a loser. I’m just… trying to get a reaction.”

“And you definitely got one,” you snorted, taking his hand and leading him inside.

Even though he tried to play it off as cool, the truth was, you were starting to see a side of Jake that was a little more… normal than you first expected.

And as ridiculous as the whole thing was, there was something about it—the balance of confident teasing and hilarious clumsiness—that felt right.

At least, for you and him, it did.

You nudged him with your elbow. “You gonna be okay, or do I need to get you another one before you wither away in front of me?”

Jake groaned dramatically. “I needed that caffeine. My whole personality relies on it.”

You laughed as you pushed open the lecture hall doors. “Your personality is currently soaked into your hoodie.”

Unfortunately for Jake, your shared class had already started to fill up. A few people looked up as you both walked in—him with wet coffee splatter down his front, you trying not to laugh loud enough for the whole room to hear.

“Is that Jake Sim?” someone whispered behind you.

You heard a snort. “Why does he look like someone’s intern who just got fired?”

Jake sat down beside you with a huff, dropping his bag and whispering, “This is the most humbling morning of my life.”

You rached over, wiped a little splatter off his sleeve, and leaned close. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He blinked at you, caught off guard. “Wait. You think I’m cute even like this?”

You grinned. “I think you’re cute especially like this.”

Jake slumped in his chair, defeated but amused. “I’m literally a walking split personality. Demon boyfriend at night, clumsy nerd by morning. This isn’t sustainable.”

“You say that like I’m not completely obsessed with both versions.”

He paused, looking at you with that soft, wide-eyed gaze he got when you caught him off guard.

“Yeah?” he said, quieter this time.

You nodded, bumping your knee against his. “Yeah.”

Jake smiled down at his ruined coffee cup.

“Still not over the fact I tripped in front of like thirty people though,” he muttered, and you snorted so loud the row in front of you turned around.

At least now, everyone knew—Jake Sim might’ve been a quiet loser to the rest of the campus, but to you?

He was everything.

perm taglist: @kristynaaah @firstclassjaylee @chvconn3 @wonzzziezzzz @sheseung @blvengene @gvtdoll @a3r4-for3ver @sunghoon-cam @luvksnn @aaaaarmiiiiin @blckorchidd @gyulune @marimariiisblog @pinknjm @bloomiize

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momspren · 3 days ago

Text

I hear what you are saying, and I understand that feeling, but I need you guys to all understand that this just isn’t true.

It’s true for a time. You go to college, or to work, or a cafe or a bus station or the freaking library, and it doesn’t matter how cute you look, you feel like everyone can see you desperately clawing for attention and affection. It’s awful. Maybe you ask your friends too many times if they actually like you. Maybe you push away a couple of people because you don’t know how to accept their earnest affection.

It sucks. It hurts. You keep going anyway. You get up in the mornings and you look in the mirror and you see that little girl with the badly fitting clothes, or the weird opinions, or the tearstained face because people keep spreading rumors about her. She looks back at you, and she wants love so bad.

So eventually, after countless days of feeling like an imposter in your skin, you look her in the face and do something radical, something insane: you tell her you love her.

She didn’t have their love, but she can have yours.

And maybe it feels fake. Maybe you grimace and brush your teeth and take your meds and avoid eye contact with the mirror because it was so cringy.

But maybe in a couple of weeks you look at her again, and you think it again.

And it gets a little bit easier. She doesn’t believe you yet, but why would she? It’s okay, you two have your whole lives together. And eventually you stop making as many decisions that hurt her. Eventually you learn that the way to avoid pushing away your friends is to allow them to love you too. And eventually thinking kind things about that girl in the mirror doesn’t feel so impossible. Eventually you start thinking them naturally. You think about how you’re creative. You think about how you’re good at that one thing, actually. Not the best, but very few people are. And maybe it’s okay not to be the best. Maybe it’s okay to just like it. You don’t have to prove yourself to be loved. You can just be.

Slowly, without realizing it, without tracking it, that little girl will grow up. She will become you. You’ll talk to people, and you’ll realize you don’t think they see through you anymore. You aren’t afraid of being called out for being a fraud, because you will know you aren’t. You’ll remember what it is like to be that girl, and sometimes things will throw you back into feeling that way, but you know you can always walk over to the nearest mirror and give her the love she needed the most in the world: yours.

I promise, it gets better.

when you grew up as a lonely uncool girl it will never stop haunting you by the way. you will meet a cool person at a bar or the train station or at a friend's party and you can wear your most stylish outfit and striking eye makeup and you will swear that they can see through all of the facade and see the lonely terribly insecure teenage girl you used to be who desperately wanted to connect and you will swear that they know that there is like an insurmountable gap between you. this will happen forever

#positive energy tag #mental health tag #I hope you guys that don’t believe me at least try this #the worst thing that happens is you tell someone who needs love that you love them #the best thing that happens is that it gets better.

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missadangel · 2 days ago

Text

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 6: Truth or Dare

series masterlist

Chapter Summary: “What about me?” asked Pride. “Shut up,” replied Jealousy. Lust laughed hard. You finally get that you can’t run from your feelings anymore, but what the hell? Or are you too late?

Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time.

Chapter Word Count: 12,5k, oops I did it again!! HOT (SMUT) CHAPTER ALERT! , feelings!!! fluffy, rom-com, lust, passion, jealousy, dirty talk.

authors note: Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

Getting out of bed in the morning was a total struggle. The memories from last night felt like a heavy weight, making you feel crushed. You thought you knew how you felt, but then again, you weren’t so sure. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

You definitely needed to talk to someone, or maybe even see a therapist.

But you couldn’t chat with Zoe yet; you’d come home late the night before, and now you had to rush off to work. Perhaps you could catch up with her when you return later that evening.

Zoe was still sprawled out on the couch, her ankle too painful to even rise for a bathroom break. You made her a sandwich before heading out.

As you walked to the subway, you found yourself scrolling through relationship advice sites on your phone. You knew it was a bit silly to seek guidance online, but what could it hurt to take a peek? After sifting through a bunch of silly sites and endless ads, a social Q&A platform caught your eye. One question stood out:

"How am I supposed to tell him I love him too, but I'm not ready?"

Ah just what you were looking for.

You scrolled to read all the answers.

clickcrazecreations

It is okay to not return the statement, to say “thank you but I'm not ready”, to tell the person that you are not ready to be shackled by their love and affection.

But that wasn’t your issue—you were ready;-almost ready- that wasn’t the real problem.

wanderlustchronicles

Seriously, think twice! If you can't answer, it might mean you're not really in love, girl! It's okay to move on and find someone who makes you happy!

Hey! Who said you didn’t love him? And you knew he made you happy.

oprahwindfury

Wait, you found a guy who told you he loved you first, and you couldn't reply? Seriously? In this day and age with dating being tough, that's wild! You need a good kick in the ass. You bet I will.

That comment scared you a little and made you feel weird. Why did she sound so angry?

hopelessromantic

Is he handsome? I'll say yes to him. Give me his number.

What the heck? Those online comments were really getting on your nerves.

fartnroses

It’s pretty simple, come on! Follow your heart instead of... No, I’m not talking about that squishy thing!

You were just closing the page when you realized the most sensible comment.

agnespire

Love requires Courage. Take a hard look at your fear of saying these words to him. Then, if you love him, tell him so. Good communication is key in a relationship. This means pushing yourself into situations that may not be so comfortable at first. It’s called growth. Grow together. Share your feelings. Honor your feelings for him. Most of all, confront fears you have about anything and everything, and acknowledge that all negative emotions stem from fear. Kill it! Choose Love.

Choosing love.

Maybe it was that simple.

Courage.

Maybe that's exactly what you need.

The elevator bell chimed as Oliver stepped into Harry's apartment on the 72nd floor. His phone rang just then, and he answered it while scanning the room for Harry.

“Damn gossipmongers, they don’t waste any time. Get that story taken down from every site and warn them we’ll sue their asses if they keep running with it,” he said, fuming as he ended the call. His eyes continued searching for Harry, darting toward the bedroom but finding it empty.

He ventured into the living room and discovered Harry in the last place he expected: sprawled out on the couch, one leg dangling over the side. Whiskey bottles littered the floor, and the heavy scent of alcohol mixed with something else—cigarette smoke.

What the hell?

He’d quit smoking almost a decade ago.

This wasn't good.

Oliver leaned in and gave Harry a gentle nudge on the shoulder. “Harry? You okay?”

Harry mumbled something incoherent. Oliver leaned closer, trying to catch it, and realized he was murmuring your name.

Sighing, Oliver stood up. “Seriously, Harry! Wake up!” This time he poked him a bit harder.

Harry blinked awake and sat up, coughing as he tried to shake off the grogginess.

“Cigarettes? Really?”

“I have my reasons,” he replied, still half-asleep and grumpy.

Placing his hands on his hips, Oliver surveyed the scene. “Dude, last night... I thought you and her had it all figured out, but apparently not.”

“Harry! Ollie!” Maria called out as she rushed in from the elevator, her eyes widening in shock. “Sweet Jesus!”

“Good morning to you, too,” Oliver said, smiling sheepishly.

“What the hell happened here?” she asked, grimacing as she took in the chaos. “I thought…”

Oliver shook his head. Maria sighed in frustration.

Harry, nursing the terrible headache from his night of heavy drinking, pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose and temple. His hair was a mess, and he was still in the same tuxedo pants with his bow tie nowhere in sight.

“That dress. Isn’t it—” Oliver pointed to the black dress Harry was loosely holding, not even realizing he was still clutching it.

Suddenly aware, Harry sheepishly placed the dress back on the couch.

“The dress she gave back,” Oliver concluded, looking astonished.

“Are you kidding me?” Maria said, staring at him in disbelief.

Harry frowned, holding the dress back up to his nose. “Smells like her, okay?” he murmured, looking like a kid with his favorite candy.

“That’s fantastic! Bravo!” Maria clapped her hands together mockingly. “Who are you, and what have you done to my buddy Harry?”

Harry, ignoring the banter, picked up a pack of cigarettes and searched for any left inside.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Oliver snatched the pack from his hands.

“Give it back!” Harry barked.

“Stop it! You’ve been clean for years; you can’t start again now.”

A tug-of-war began as Harry reached for it again.

Maria crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “You guys are acting like kids fighting over a toy.” She glanced at her watch. “Just so you know, it’s Monday,” she added, putting extra emphasis on her point.

Oliver suddenly froze.

“Give me a break today,” Harry whined, seizing the moment to grab his cigarette pack. He pulled one out and stuck it between his lips. “Where’s that damn lighter?”

“Harry, it’s 7:40 a.m.”

“I’m in no shape to go to work. Just email me the presentation details, and I’ll get to it when I’m feeling better,” he said, finally spotting the lighter under the pillow.

Oliver yanked the cigarette from his lips. “Dude, it’s Monday, and the housekeeper’s coming to clean your place at 8 o'clock. You get what I mean?”

“Oh, so now you get my point, huh, you geniuses?” Maria mocked.

Harry stiffened and murmured, “I can’t let her see me like this.”

“Can’t let her see you like this? She shouldn’t see you or any of us here, man! The whole thing will be revealed!”

“Well, it was bound to happen. Let it be,” Maria chimed in.

Harry squinted at her and stood up, but dizziness swept over him. “Whoa, I think I’m still feeling the effects of last night’s drinks.”

“How much did you even drink?” Maria scolded.

Oliver grabbed his arm and glanced at Maria. “Come on, help me out. We need to get this big guy out of here.” “Are we really going to kidnap him from his own apartment? Seriously?” she whimpered, but she slipped under Harry’s other arm to assist him. “Ugh, you smell like an ashtray, hermano.”

They made their way to the elevator, and Oliver pressed the button. “You hold him up, and I’ll grab his things.”

“Get that dress out of sight!” Harry called. “She can’t see it.”

Oliver nodded and dashed back inside.

“Are we in high school or something? I’m a 42-year-old mother; I’m too old for this. You need to come clean to that girl already,” Maria muttered.

“Stop whining. You’ve been in worse situations. Have you forgotten how many times I’ve pulled you out of a mess?”

“Hey, that was when I was in my 20s! Plus, I’ve never been as pathetic as you!”

“Yeah? Who was the one crying on that married ship captain’s doorstep for hours? I got slapped in the face by his wife because of you.”

Maria swallowed hard, averting her gaze. “You really do have a good memory for a drunk.”

“Alright, let’s get out of here,” Oliver said as he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button.

When they hit the ground floor, they rushed toward the exit, but when Oliver spotted you approaching through the glass door, he froze again. “She’s coming! Turn around now!”

“There’s no other way out,” Maria snapped.

“The other elevator!” Harry pointed.

“That makes sense,” Oliver agreed.

They hurried to that elevator and hit the button. Luckily, it was on that floor, and when the door opened, they slipped inside. Oliver grumbled as he pressed the buttons in a frenzy.

Unaware of everything, you stepped inside the apartment. Just as you turned to look in that direction, you heard the elevator doors closing. Oliver, Harry, and Maria breathed a sigh of relief as you walked straight to the staff's quarters to change.

Oliver kept his finger on the door-close button, waiting.

“I think we’re safe,” Oliver grinned.

“What a morning,” Maria muttered.

Then someone called the elevator to the tenth floor, and it started moving.

“What are you doing, man? We need to get out of here now!” Harry grunted.

“What can I do? I can't keep pressing the button every second!”

When the elevator arrived on the tenth floor, the doors opened to reveal a little boy frowning at them, school bag slung over his shoulder. "Were you the ones keeping the elevator busy? That’s so wrong."

Harry and Oliver shared an awkward glance, embarrassed.

“Sorry, little buddy,” Harry forced a smile.

“Going to school, huh?” Oliver asked nervously.

“Well, I was, but now I’m going to be late thanks to you!” The boy sniffled, shaking his head. “Drunks, seriously.”

Maria covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. The little boy stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor.

After an awkward ride down, they finally stepped outside. Maria turned toward her car and said, “All we needed was to get scolded by a little kid. Thank you, Harry, for this wonderful morning."

“I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous,” Oliver laughed.

“Come on, get in, you big babies,” Maria said, pressing the key fob to unlock her car.

“Where to?” Harry asked, opening the door.

“To get scolded by another kid.”

“Your place?”

“Well, if you can’t stay in your own house, what choice do you have? Get in, sneaky ass.”

Before hopping into the car, Harry glanced up at the top floor of the building—his apartment. A sense of sadness washed over him, knowing you would have to clean up the mess he left behind.

“Oh, my God…”

As you stepped into the apartment, the sight—and the smell—caught you off guard. What on earth had happened here? Did they throw a party last night or something? Clearly, the owner had his share of trouble, maybe he was not so innocent after all.

First things first, you rushed to the windows, flipped the hidden lever, and let some fresh air flow through. Taking a deep breath, you grabbed a big garbage bag and started clearing the floor of empty bottles and cigarette butts from the overflowing ashtray. As you cleaned, your curiosity kicked in. It couldn’t have been a wild party; only one couch was askew while the others remained untouched and tidy. The kitchen showed no signs of food; just a multitude of empty glasses scattered around.

You scanned the room—no lipstick on any glasses, no hair on the floor, so it was obvious no woman had crashed here. Maybe the two guys just shared a few drinks and chatted? Or maybe the owner just got dumped or something.

You smiled yourself and shook your head.

"Just do your job, girl. It's none of your business," you muttered.

Meanwhile, Harry sat in Maria's living room, staring blankly at the screen. "What are you, Sherlock Holmes?" He smirked.

"Is she suspicious?” Oliver asked.

“She was at first, but I think we're good,” Harry said, flopping onto the couch.

“For now,” Maria chimed in, pouring herself a glass of water. “But she’ll figure it out sooner or later and give you a good kick on the-- Oh, is someone awake?"

Maria’s daughter, Mia, came into the room, spotted Harry, and smiled. “Uncle Harry!”

Harry sat up and patted her head. “What’s up, darling? How’s it going?”

“Fine, but are you sick or something?” she asked with concern.

“Just a bit tired,” he replied, stretching out on the couch.

"Or hangover?" she grinned.

Harry chuckled. "Smart girl."

“What’s up, sweetheart?” Oliver said, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Same old, school stuff,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“Mia, eat your breakfast; I’ll take you to school,” Maria said, pointing to the plate on the counter.

“You skipped work, so I should get to skip school too, right?” Mia muttered.

Maria frowned, “Who said we skipped work, smartypants? Now hurry up, or you’ll be late!”

Mia huffed but sat down. “If you didn’t skip work, why are you both here while everyone else is working? And why’s Uncle Harry in Dad’s shirt?”

Maria chuckled, “Because he got kicked out of his own apartment.”

Mia took a big bite of her toast and looked at Harry inquisitively. “Oh! Did you leave your key inside? Mom did it once.”

“Thanks for bringing that up, kiddo,” Maria said, rolling her eyes. “Come on, we’re late! Just eat that on the way,” she added, grabbing her school bag and urging Mia to finish her juice.

“Good luck at school,” Harry waved as Mia headed toward the door.

“Catch you later, princess,” Oliver called back.

Mia waved goodbye, and as Maria followed her out, she turned back to Harry. “You’d better be in better shape by the time I get back, Romeo,” she warned before closing the door behind her.

Oliver turned to Harry, “She’s right, man. You need to pull yourself together; you look worn out. Even a shower didn’t lift your spirits. Want me to whip you up something to eat?”

Harry let out a deep sigh. “No, thanks. I don’t have an appetite.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes. “Okay, that has me worried. There’s definitely something you’re not saying.”

“Well, I couldn’t say it in front of Maria, but I’ve got an issue,” Harry finally admitted.

“Yeah, I can see that. But it looks like you’ve got more than one thing going on,” Oliver said, grinning. But then he noticed the seriousness in Harry’s face and softened. “What can I do? Just tell me what you need.”

Harry huffed, swallowing hard. “I need her.”

“Dude. Tell me something I don't know."

He huffed again.

"Okay, she’ll come around if you just give it some time—”

“You don’t get it,” Harry snapped, sitting up to face Oliver. “I...really...need...her,” he emphasized, his breathing steadying as he spoke.

Oliver frowned, sensing the weight of his words. “Go on,” he urged gently.

“Every thought I have revolves around her. That night in Paris haunts me…her skin, her scent, her...”

Oliver raised a hand to stop him. “Whoa. I get it, man. No need to go into detail.”

“The memories consume me, and they’ve left me in a real bind,” he said frankly. "It's like a unique kind of erotic film that continuously plays in my mind, and she is the only actress. But I can't do anything; I'm just watching in awe."

“Can't do anything? But, I mean, come on. You—surely you’ve tried—”

“Everything. From the erotic to the pharmaceutical.”

Oliver chuckled, unable to help himself. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny, but this is just bizarre, man. It’s oddly romantic too,” he said, laughing again.

“I guess it's because I’ve never faced rejection before. All I can think about is her. Maybe that’s how my body reacts, and maybe I’m—”

“In love.”

A short silence hung in the air. “Yes, I am,” Harry admitted.

“Well, If you ask me, you haven’t really tried everything yet,” Oliver suggested.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, curious.

“Listen, it doesn’t have to be about hooking up with her to solve your mechanical issues, you know? There are plenty of women out there who would be interested—like through escort services or sex workers.”

“No, never!” Harry barked. “I can’t cheat on her. Do you even hear what you’re saying?”

“Cheating? Is she your wife? You’re not even dating! That’s not cheating, man.”

“It wouldn’t even matter. It wouldn't work. I can’t think about anyone else. I just want her, only her.”

“Alright, but I’m out. You’re asking me to help with something I can’t fix. Plus, that girl you "want" is super stubborn. It’s definitely not going to be easy.”

“Yeah, thanks for the heads up,” he grumbled.

Oliver stood up, shrugging. “Try to get some sleep. Maybe that’ll help clear your head.”

Harry nodded and flopped back on the couch, opening his tablet to check what you were doing. Oliver shook his head when he caught sight of the goofy smile spreading across Harry’s face.

Once he stepped into the garden, he pulled out his phone and called Maria. “Hey it's me. Listen, Harry's got a bigger problem than we realized. I think you need to step in now.”

After finally wrapping up the cleaning of the apartment, thoughts of Harry filled your mind as you stepped outside. He had been on your mind all day, especially since he hadn’t reached out with a text or call since last night. You couldn’t shake the feeling of how much you missed his playful messages.

The nagging worry that you might have upset him echoed in your mind, driving you a bit crazy.

But how could you express your feelings when you weren't fully ready?

When the moment to speak your truth arrived, you wanted to pour your heart out.

You shouldn’t have brushed it off as if it didn't matter, right?

As you walked down the street, the happy couples around you caught your attention, casually dropping “I love you” into their conversations. In the past, you would have thought little of it, but now it felt like a constant reminder of what you were missing. Another couple strolled by, murmuring those same words. Then, on the subway, a woman sat next to you, holding hands with her boyfriend or husband. And there it was again—“I love you.”

Feeling unworthy, you got up and told the guy that you would get off at the next stop anyway, nudging him to sit next to his partner. You felt like you didn't deserve to be there next to them, especially when you couldn’t even tell the man you loved that you loved him back.

They seemed to express their feelings so effortlessly, while you struggled, so you decided it was better to step aside as a form of penance.

Yeah, you were really losing it.

When another cheerful couple boarded the train, and more declarations of love surrounded you, you reached your breaking point. You hopped off at the next station, even if it meant getting off three stops early. The heaviness of guilt was the last thing you needed, yet it hung heavily on your shoulders.

It felt as if your mind was caught in a tug-of-war, much like a dull quiz show.

Congratulations!

You've won yourself a lengthy walk home as a consolation prize!

Once you got home and recounted last night’s events to Zoe, her reaction was immediate. “He told you he loved you, and you did what? Just walked away?” she exclaimed. "Girl, are you crazy? You’re in love with him, for fuck sake! Call him right now and say you want to talk."

From the corner of the couch, you frowned at her. “I told you I’m not ready yet.”

Zoe rolled her eyes as if you had just said the most absurd thing. "If John told me he loved me, you'd be surprised how quickly my panties would fall down."

You grimaced. "Ugh, slutty much?"

"Stubborn much?" she shot back. “Don’t come crying to me if you lose him to someone else because you overthink everything.”

You let out a huff and stood up. “I’m heading to my room,” you muttered. “Good night.”

"Think about what I said! Tell him you love him before it's too late, you silly!"

Ughhhhh.

It was as if she was inside your head. You knew that if you didn’t speak up, other women would be swarming around him like a pack of hyenas.

You flopped onto your bed, feeling as though you were collapsing under the weight of it all, and sighed deeply. Checking your phone, you noticed there were no messages. You opened Instagram, scrolled through his comments on your photos filled with heart emojis, and couldn’t help but smile, even giggling like a little girl. Then you clicked on his profile and browsed through his pictures one by one. That’s when your heart began to race.

Thump, thump, thump.

Perhaps it was simply your body’s instinctive response.

Screaming.

It certainly seemed to convey your feelings more effectively than your words ever could.

You turned off your phone, placing it face down on the nightstand.

It was time to come clean.

You missed his messages, longed for the sound of his voice, craved his smile and his touch, and you knew that if this dragged on for another day, you’d toss your pride out the window without a second thought.

The next day?

The next day was even worse. You had hoped for a cheerful morning message from him, but when you picked up your phone and flipped it over to check the screen, all you found were a few advertisements—nothing from him.

Frustrated, you sat up in bed, seething with anger.

Why were you so upset?

Why did this feeling of abandonment weigh on you?

Your emotions took a turn, and frustration morphed into remorse.

Great!

In a fit of anger, you snatched your pillow and flung it against the wall. Just then, Zoe opened your door and stumbled in.

“What on earth is going on here?” The pillow landed at her feet. “Hey, do you want me to injure my other ankle too?”

You jumped out of bed and grabbed her arm, checking her ankle. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

“I think so, but you definitely don’t seem okay.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled.

“Yeah, right. You’re just great,” she teased. “And this pillow must be flying in from all the happiness.”

“Alright, that's enough. I need to head to the hotel,” you muttered as you opened your wardrobe to get ready.

“Oh, by the way! While you’re out, can you grab some ointment from the pharmacy?”

You rolled your eyes as you put on your pants. “Let me guess, you’ve used it all up, haven’t you?”

“What else am I supposed to do? I want to heal fast; I’m so over staying at home.”

"You gotta take it easy, sweetie. Just be patient."

“Well, I’m not as patient as you are, sorry.” She shot back with a grin.

"Just like that, and nobody got a clue, and the wedding went off without a hitch."

You were chatting with Bruno about how you managed to save the wedding cake at the last minute.

"Ah, cara mia, you’re great. Taking risks is crucial if you want to grab those chances. Being brave and going for it, no matter how it turns out, is what really counts, even if you mess up at the end," Bruno said proudly. He leaned over the counter and winked at you. "Just kidding, but seriously, try not to mess it up,” he added with a chuckle.

You laughed, but his words lingered in your mind, making your smile fade.

Being brave and going for it, no matter how it turns out.

Wasn’t love worth that risk?

Absolutely, it was worth it.

He was worth it.

Lost in your thoughts, you finally heard the waitress calling your name. “Huh? Sorry, what was that?” you asked, pulling yourself back to the moment.

“I was just saying that Mr. Finnegan's girlfriend and her friends are here, and she wants to see who made the dessert — which is you,” the waitress replied.

“Oh look, my assistant is on her way to becoming a chef,” Bruno said, grinning as he continued slicing the cheese.

“Or on the path to getting fired,” you muttered under your breath.

You were quite sure that Lucy didn’t like you at all.

As you walked into the dining room, you couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh when you saw Lucy and the two women sitting across from her. Lucy flashed a tight smile that didn’t do much to ease your discomfort. The other women were giving you the once-over, evaluating you from head to toe.

“Here’s the person who made this delicious dessert, ladies,” Lucy announced, with a fake smile.

“But isn’t that the waitress who danced with Harry Castillo at the wedding?” one of the women said, looking totally shocked.

“Aren’t you that maid?” the other woman added with growing astonishment. “The one who hacked our system, impersonated someone else, and embarrassed us in front of all our customers? How many faces do you really have?”

“Seems like she’s trying to snag both Castillo and Finnegan,” one of them remarked, glancing at Lucy with a knowing look.

"A gold digger for sure."

All three women were looking right at you, as if you owed them some kind of explanation. Even the people at the next table were tuning in, throwing you judgmental looks that only made your embarrassment and anger worse. You gripped your apron tightly, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

Just then, Maria entered the dining room, her eyes narrowing at the scene unfolding before her. She shared in your anger.

One of the women pushed her plate away with a grimace and said, “I can’t eat this. It’s making me feel sick.” With a little shove, the plate slid off the table and hit the floor. “Oops! Well, lucky we’ve got a cleaner around. What are you waiting for? Clean this mess up!"

You shot her an incredulous glare; this was too much.

“Looks like someone’s itching for a fight,” Maria muttered as she strode confidently towards their table. “That’s not a cleaner, that’s a maid, you illiterate bitch,” she snapped.

Everyone shifted their attention to her, including you.

“Maria—” Lucy froze, taken aback.

The woman looked annoyed and shot back, “Who the hell are you talking to?”

Ignoring her, Maria turned to the other woman, the matchmaker. “It wasn’t her who hacked your system; it was Melanie and her minions. Why are you taking your anger out on this girl? And what kind of system collapses at the slightest breach? Everyone should steer clear of this matchmaking company,” she declared, her voice rising for all to hear. “If their tech team is so incompetent they can’t protect customer credentials, consider what they’d do with your credit card info! Scammers would be the best-case scenario.”

Trembling with fury, she hissed, “And who even are you—”

“Me?" She adjusted her hair in a swift move. "María Elisa Rivera Armada,” she replied coolly, crossing her arms defiantly.

A hush fell over the room; they clearly recognized her name, her connections, and her influence. The two women exchanged nervous glances before rising to leave.

“I’d better go,” one of them muttered under her breath.

Other one joined her.

Maria stepped in front of them, her expression serious. “Are you really going to leave without apologizing to her?”

Both women turned to you, quickly avoiding eye contact. “We’re sorry,” they mumbled.

“Look at them,” Maria shot back, clearly disappointed. “You were loud enough to throw insults but now I can barely hear you.”

Lucy opened her mouth to say something but held back, choosing to steer clear of a fight with her. The women repeated their apologies and hurried out.

Maria took Lucy by the arm as she stood up. You couldn't hear over their conversation while you helped the waitress clean the floor.

“I didn’t confront you earlier for what you did to Harry, because I was caught up in my own divorce and dealing with depression." Maria said to Lucy. "But let me make this clear: if you ever mess with her again, I’ll step in before Harry ever does. Got it? Just a heads up, the crazy bitch is in town and ready to kick some ass."

Lucy narrowed her eyes defiantly. “I didn’t say anything she hasn’t done. Besides, I really don’t care if Harry likes her; I just want her to stay away from Alan.”

Maria laughed cruelly and leaned in closer. "Maybe it’s Alan who needs to keep his distance from her, don’t you think? Why don’t you go and tell your boyfriend about it and see how he reacts?"

Lucy’s face flushed with anger as she stormed out of the room.

A soft murmur spread among those eating; some must have known Maria. Unbothered, Maria took a seat in the chair left vacant by Lucy and looked at you. “Don’t just stand there like a scarecrow; come sit,” she said.

“I could have handled them too, you know,” you muttered as you settled at the table.

Maria pulled Lucy's untouched dessert plate towards her. “Oh, darling, you shouldn’t have to stoop to their level. You’re too good for that.” She glanced at you and winked. “You’re like an angel; keep that up.” Then she took a big forkful of dessert. “Oh, this is fucking delicious.” She took another hefty bite.

You chuckled. "Bon appétit, Mrs. Rivera. By the way, thanks for that; I wasn’t sure how to respond. I mean, I’m used to getting scolded, but those accusations were a bit much."

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. It’s been a while since I’ve acted like that, and it felt so good,” she said with a laugh.

“You were really cool,” you replied with a smile.

"I should be a bit tough on you too, you know. You deserve it," she said, eyeing the dessert.

You were taken aback. "Me? Wh-why?"

Maria shot you a serious look. “Oh, you know very well.”

Silence hung between you for a moment as you averted your gaze and sighed.

“Look, I’m not great at lying, and I’m pretty upfront, even when trouble’s on the horizon. So here’s the deal,” she said earnestly.

You nodded, sensing what was coming next.

“Listen,” Maria sighed. “I’m not going to beg you like 'He loves you—just tell him you love him back, please'. No. Let’s just cut to the chase. Are Harry’s feelings mutual or not? I need to know. Is there any hope? Because he’s like my brother, and I can’t bear to see him suffer like this. Do you understand?” she added, her tone sincere.

“Maria, I don’t want him to hurt either, but is he okay? He hasn’t called me for days,” you replied, worry creeping into your voice.

Maria smiled softly.

“I don’t really know what to do anymore. I never meant to hurt him; I would never intentionally do that,” you admitted, lowering your head.

Maria’s smile turned into one of satisfaction. She had found the answer she sought. “He’s fine,” she said coldly, wiping a bit of cream from the corner of her mouth. “Well, he will be; I’ll make sure of it as his friend.” She stood up suddenly. “But I wish you had been there; by his side, it would’ve made everything much better. But again, it’s all right.”

You stood up too, trying to grasp what she meant.

“Remember. No one is irreplaceable, not even you.”

You frowned slightly. “That’s a bit—”

“Bitchy? It’s just my protective side coming out. Harry is family to me, and I tend to be overprotective of my family.” She leaned in and spoke in a lower voice. “Here’s a warning for you: you’re on the verge of letting him slip away, so you’d better act quickly.” She winked at you before turning on her heel, leaving you in awe as you watched her walk away.

Maria hopped into the car waiting for her, Oliver was in the driver’s seat, giving her a curious look.

“Well?”

“Good news, she’s totally in love with Harry,” she said with a grin.

“Then she’ll tell him, right? That’s awesome!” he replied, looking relieved.

“Hmm, I don’t think so. Not anytime soon, anyway.”

“What? Why not?”

“She just needs a little push.”

"Alright, we need to bring them together. Should I arrange a date?"

Maria rolled her eyes. “What’s it like in that little head of yours, Ollie? You men are really simple creatures."

Oliver frowned. “What does that even mean?”

“Never mind. I’ll handle it,” she said, pulling out her phone to text.

“How? What’s your plan?”

“I’m going to give her a little nudge, get her emotions going, and light that fire.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Jealousy, Ollie. Jealousy.”

Oliver leaned in to take a look at her phone. “Stella? Oh boy, Harry’s not going to like this.”

“As long as he doesn’t find out, we’ll be fine. So you’d better keep your mouth shut.”

“But what if she ends up hating Harry instead of feeling jealous? How can you be sure?”

Maria shot him a glare. “My seventy-year-old grandmother divorced my grandfather out of jealousy after fifty years of marriage. It’s one of the most primitive and powerful emotions a human can experience; it activates everything within you. Trust me—our little cat will turn into a tiger.”

It was yet another dreary morning, and you had to admit—another day without his good morning text was not going well at all.

Then there was Maria's comment. She must really have a knack for manipulation.

What did she say again?

“No one is irreplaceable.”

Did Harry actually say that, or was it her idea? No, Harry wouldn’t say something like that.

Would he?

Who knows?

He hadn’t been around for three days; maybe that’s what he thought now. You rolled over in bed, burying your face in the pillow and letting out a frustrated growl.

Why did it hurt so much?

It just made you mad. You felt like there was nothing you could do, like it was too late. You hated that feeling.

The door swung open, and Zoe peeked in. "If you're going to smother yourself, you should probably put your head under the pillow instead."

You shot her a glare. “Oh really? Why don’t you come show me how it’s done?”

She let out a wicked laugh. “So, you still haven’t called him, huh? Babe, you’re way past the ‘he should call first’ phase, don’t you think?”

You sprang up, fired up. “Don’t start on me too, Zoe! I’ve got enough people coming at me!”

She narrowed her eyes at you as you stormed out of the room. “Who else is coming at you? Although I shouldn’t be surprised! Your stubbornness must be famous!” she shouted after you.

When you got to the hotel, things just went downhill from there. You were so distracted that you messed up a bunch of things, and Bruno had to tell you to head home early. You were actually relieved because you really weren’t feeling up to working. On your way back, all you could think about was Harry. You typed out a ton of messages but ended up deleting them all before hitting send. You were itching to get the scoop about his house from Oliver so you could figure things out. You were desperate to see him. You couldn’t tell if he was just playing games or if he actually wanted you to chase after him.

But you knew you had to do something.

Just then, waiting at a red light to turn green, your phone buzzed.

Mr. Ol’man sent you a photo.

You opened the message quickly, and your heart raced as you did so without thinking.

Once upon a time, you used to have pride.

You saw the photo he sent you and froze in the middle of the crosswalk.

There was Harry, enjoying drinks in a bar with a super-hot, blonde woman, clinking glasses and laughing at the camera.

Laughing.

Happy.

With a woman.

In a bar, drinking.

Harry.

The man you loved.

The man who told you he loved you a few nights back.

Suddenly, the blaring horn of a car jolted you back to reality, realizing you were still standing in the street. You hurried across and leaned against a nearby wall to catch your breath. Your heart was pounding now, but it was all anger. It felt like fire was coursing through your veins. Then you got another message, and it only stoked the flames.

“Sorry, I sent it to you by mistake. I meant to send it to Stella.”

Stella.

Oh, come on! Seriously?

You felt a wave of anger and hurt, your body shaking as if jolted by a live wire. It took you a minute to think straight. This had to be some sort of game. There was no way it was real. It was just his way of messing with you. But what if it wasn’t?

No, you couldn’t think clearly; your mind was clouded. One emotion dominated your thoughts, taking control of your entire being.

Jealousy.

You were furious and incredibly jealous.

Tears of anger streamed down your face as you walked aimlessly down the street. While wrestling with what to do next, another message pinged on your phone.

It was from Maria.

“The King Cole Bar. Better hurry, sis; this skank’s all over Harry.”

That was the last straw.

You had to go there.

But how? You knew that place was fancy; there was no way you could walk in looking like you were right then, or in any of your clothes, honestly. In that moment, you did something rash, something that felt immature, and you’d probably regret later, but anger and jealousy took charge.

You didn’t care about the fallout.

You called her on your phone, the one saved under “trouble.”

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” you muttered under your breath. Sharing a limo with Melanie and Nate, and unintentionally overhearing their steamy chatter was too much to bear.

“God, just end my misery,” you thought grimly.

“Hey, we skipped our program for you tonight,” Melanie hissed. “How about a little gratitude?”

“So you two are together now? That's more disgusting than the most disgusting thing I can think of.”

“You really,” Melanie grunted.

Nate's hands were all over her. “Never mind her, baby, she's jealous of us.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh yeah! I'm dying of jealousy!”

“Maybe not us, but you're insanely jealous of your boyfriend,” Melanie giggled. ‘’I see what you are doing, that's a lame excuse.”

“Mind your own business,” you barked.

“Exactly, honey, let's mind our own business,” Nate licked her neck.

Ugh, you looked away and ignored them, feeling nauseous.

At least Melanie, annoying as she could be, had brought you a dress and shoes.

Of course, it wasn't for nothing.

You promised to talk to Jack about her in return.

The limo pulled up near the bar and you got out. No, you jumped out, because the two of them were getting into it. You hurriedly told the limo driver to get lost, the two of them didn't even look back, they were too busy.

You sighed as you read the name of the bar from the elegant logo above the black entrance door. “This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever done,” you muttered. People were looking at you with interest when they passed by the bar. Oh that's right, Melanie and her dress sense, she liked to look like a little slut.

So the red halter dress you were wearing was not so short but a bit revealing, with a deep slit on your right side that shows off your thigh with every step. You felt like a neon sign flashing, “Look at me!”

Thanks a lot, Melanie.

Did it really have to be red?

You tugged at the tight black jacket, trying to cover yourself up, but it wasn’t working. The doorman checked you out, grinning as he happily welcomed you inside.

As you stepped in, all eyes were on you, and you felt your cheeks heat up.

Just perfect.

You chose the corner table and sat down immediately, trying to ignore the stares. You covered your face with the menu and looked around.

Where the hell were they?

The stares were becoming increasingly uncomfortable. After all, you were stunning, dressed to impress, and scanning the room as if you were searching for someone special. Who could say what thoughts were running through their minds?

Finally, you spotted them—Maria, Oliver, and Harry sitting at the bar. But where was the woman from the photo he sent? You looked again. There were no blondes in sight—just a couple with other people, none that looked like her. What’s going on? Just then, your phone buzzed. It was a text from Maria.

“Looking for Stella? That photo was from last year, honey.”

You shot her a quick glance, and she winked at you with a sly grin.

Seriously?

Had she played you?

Maria nudged Harry to look your way, and the moment he turned, you quickly looked away.

The instant Harry noticed you, he nearly choked on the whiskey he was sipping, looking utterly stunned.

But honestly, you couldn’t care less; they had all been playing games with you, and you felt like a total fool.

You got up in a huff and tried to leave, but as luck would have it, you bumped into a guy. Of course, he was holding a glass of scotch, and the impact sent it splashing all over you—on your jacket, your chest, everywhere. The cold liquid, still icy, made you shiver when it hit your skin. Some even dribbled down into your expensive bra—the one you had saved up for.

Just fantastic.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” he said, looking younger than you, his eyes glued to one spot—your breasts. You were the one who bumped into him, but he was the one needing to apologize, yes he should. He grabbed a napkin from the table, still staring at your chest like he was talking directly to it. “Can I wipe that up, p-please?” he asked, way too eager.

Seriously, was he a fucking teenager or what?

You instinctively pulled back, trying to cover yourself with your arm. “No thanks,” you replied tersely.

In that moment, three things happened at once. Maria dropped her bag right on the guy's head, Harry yanked your wrist and pulled you behind him, and Oliver stepped up next to you, giving that guy a fierce look.

“Are you a creep or what?” Maria shouted.

“How dare you touch her?” Harry barked.

“Who the hell are you people?” the guy shot back.

“I’m her boyfriend, so what?” Harry replied.

“And I’m her sister,” Maria jumped in.

“And I'm her brother,” Oliver added.

Wow, here's your saviors.

That’s when you figured it was your moment to mess with them. “Excuse me, but I don’t even know you guys, so you can sort this out on your own,” you said, not bothering to look at them. You couldn’t help but enjoy the shocked looks on their faces as you turned and headed for the exit.

“Where do you think you're going?” Harry yelled after you. He bumped into the guy, causing him to stumble, and ran after you.

Once you stepped outside, you purposely took off your jacket, making sure your wet top was on full display. “My jacket is ruined,” you said, glancing up at Harry.

People walking by stared, even whistling. Harry growled, took off his own jacket, and wrapped it around you. “You think that's funny? Are you playing games now?”

“Look who’s talking,” you shot back, frowning. “You messed with me, so we’re even now.”

He raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused. “Messed with you?”

You gave him a swift kick with your high heel, aiming right for his leg, and he groaned. "Ahh, what the-"

“You made a fool out of me; I won’t forget that.”

He bent down, rubbing his leg where you kicked him. “What are you talking about?” he asked, gritting his teeth.

With a sigh, you took your phone from your bag and showed him the photo and text that Maria had sent.

Harry’s face went from surprised to narrowed. “Maria… Now that makes sense. She took my phone and kept telling me not to call or text you.”

Just then, Maria and Oliver came out of the bar and walked up to you. Harry turned to her, clearly angry. “How could you do that?”

“Hey, I was just looking out for you! I had to step in a little, but guess what---it worked!”

Then he looked at Oliver. “You’re in this too?”

“I told her not to,” Oliver replied, sounding nervous.

Maria glared at him. “You sold me out, you cabrón.”

“Come on, I told you this wouldn’t end well,” he said.

You turned to Maria, upset. “You tricked me. Seriously, how could you?”

“Come on, you two are totally into each other. And you girl, you are dying to be with him! Just admit it!”

“Don’t you dare show your face around me again,” you said, eyeing Harry. “You too.” Then, you turned on your heel.

“Stop right there, sweetheart; you are not going anywhere,” he said, blocking your path. “We need to talk, and this time you’re not running away.”

You looked at him, surprised. “I’m not running away,” you mumbled. “If you want to talk, fine, but not out here; I’m freezing.”

He nodded, “Come here,” he said softly, putting his arm around you. “Oliver, give me the car keys.”

“Are we heading to your place?” you asked.

“No!” Harry snapped, making you jump a little.

“Not there,” Oliver added, looking uneasy.

“Oops,” Maria giggled.

What the hell was that?

You shot them a skeptical glance. “Seriously? Are you living in some kind of secret Batcave or what?"

Harry chuckled. “Very funny. The thing is, we can't go to my place because…”

“Because?”

“There’s a bit of an insect invasion,” Oliver chimed in. “The house is being fumigated, so…”

It seemed like a weak excuse, but perhaps it was the truth; you decided to stop probing. “So, where are you staying now?” you asked.

“Just at the hotel, of course,” Maria replied casually.

“Right, the hotel,” Harry mumbled.

“I’ll drive you there; you’ve had too much to drink, you can't drive,” Oliver said, heading for the car.

You turned to Harry, catching a glimpse of something strange in his expression but didn’t dwell on it. The thought of being alone with him was actually appealing.

Fuck all your pride and stubbornness.

Yeah, it was definitely time to follow your heart.

“Memories, huh?” you mutter as the elevator smoothly ascends to the top-floor suite.

Harry's gaze was locked onto you, his breath coming in steady but heavy bursts. “Yeah, I guess so,” he replied, tilting his head slightly to the side.

Was he checking out your ass?

It didn’t really matter; he could look all he wanted, and honestly, you wanted him to do more—like touch you, everywhere.

Right, why wasn’t he?

What was he waiting for?

Oh right, those damn cameras.

As you walked into the room, he clasped your hand tightly. When you reached the door, he pulled the card from his pocket, swiped it, and the door swung open. “Ladies first,” he said with a gesture, inviting you inside.

His voice was a bit shaky, making you bite your lip to keep from giggling. He followed you inside and closed the door with a firm click, almost as if he was making sure you were alone. You took off his jacket and handed it back to him, trying to keep a straight face. “Thanks for the jacket—”

And he lunged at you. He threw the jacket angrily and wrapped his arms around you, pulled you to him and captured your lips with his mouth. He kissed you passionately, longingly, hungrily, like you were his oxygen and he was underwater in a sea of lust.

“Harry," You breathed trying to break the kiss, but his lips closed in on yours again before you could utter another word. You sighed softly against him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. As your hands slid down to his biceps, you clung to him, feeling the undeniable strength beneath the fabric, lost in the intensity of the moment.

"I thought we were just going to talk," you said mockingly, tilting your head to the side. His gaze remained fixed on your chest.

"Later, baby. With you dressed like that, I might not be able to concentrate. You look exquisite," he breathed, his voice laced with a seductive tone that made you weak in the knees.

A smile broke across your face, “You’re looking quite handsome yourself.”

And he truly was, his black long-sleeved shirt clinging perfectly to his well-defined frame.

The atmosphere crackled with an electric tension the moment his gaze settled on you. You craved to keep him focused solely on you, yearning for his eyes to linger endlessly. Those captivating brown eyes, glimmering like precious jewels, seemed to caress every inch of you, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

"Your dress is soaking wet," he said breathlessly, his hands gliding over the damp fabric, brushing against your breasts. They instantly hardened at his touch, which they had been longing for. You bit your lower lip.

"It's not just my dress," you whispered slowly in his ear.

He darkly chuckled, fire licking at your veins from the heat of his gaze, “Is that so? So you’re saying that If I touch you, I will find you ready for my cock?” he asked, grinning.

“Why not find out for yourself?” you teased.

His hand suddenly found itself trailing a path towards your bare legs to between your thighs, making you gasp. Holding on to his strong arms, the feel of his fingers trailing over your skin was a wonderful, delicious shock that left you breathless.

“Playing with fire would be dangerous, you know,” he growled low, so low, it reverberated through your chest. And through the partition of the dress, that slit that split mid-thigh, he caressed up your leg, towards your hip.

You almost mewled.

Almost.

“I'm not playing,” you murmured, half panting.

He chuckled again, that dark, seductive glee escaping from him in agonizing, tantalizing waves. “You decided to be a good girl then?” he stared at you, eyes molten pools of lust. “It surprises me you acquiesced, given how stubborn you are. Hmm, maybe I should reward you,” he whispered while his hand still deliciously trailed a lazy path over and around.

Who was playing now?

It sure wasn't you.

You were already past the playing part, you were dripping.

He knew, of course, he fucking knew, without even having to touch...

But he did touch, sliding his hands under your dress down to your wet panties, his fingers pushing them aside, there it was; he could feel your lips, drenched and ready.

You bucked against his palm, aching for more but he deliberately pulled away.

You frowned in response.

Damn.

He chuckled delightfully, looking at his fingers coated with your wetness, “My darling kitty, you’re completely soaked. So you were being honest, after all. Such a good girl. Are you hoping for a reward?”

“Just give it to me already,” you urged, gripping him tightly and pressing yourself against him, ignoring the feeling of a deep blush spread across your cheeks.

“Oh, I will, sweetheart,” he said with a sly smile. He spun you around, pulling you firmly against him. Before you could even process what was happening, his strong arms enveloped you, and you felt his chin just above your ear and his clothed cock pressing against your thighs; you could feel beneath the fabric; it was hard, painfully hard, and you gasped. "You drive me so fucking crazy. I want so bad to slide into that sweet wet pussy and feel it all tight and hot around me while I pound into you.” He purred, “But first, there’s something I want you to do.” He touched your lips, then chin, tracing his fingertip down the line of your throat, over the hollow of your collarbone, down to the swelled curve of your breasts. His other hand had already slipped under the slit in your dress and found your dripping pussy once more, you bit your lower lip hard. The hand at your sex continued to tease you, lazily circling your entrance.

Fuck.

You shuddered under his touch and words, your back arched, eyes rolling, moaning softly.

"Will you do what I want, baby?” he asked as if you might protest.

“Whatever you want,” you whispered, eyes closed and completely surrendered to him, it was all too much and you were helpless in the face of this torture, you were melting.

He had to do what he had to do already, he had to do it before you lost your fucking mind.

His other hand grabbed your head from behind and he tilted your head to the other side this time, you tilted your head back towards his other shoulder. You couldn't do anything, you had no choice but to let him play with you like a toy. “Tell me you love me,” he whispered in a demanding tone.

It took you a second to figure out what had just happened, then you opened your eyes and frowned. “What the hell? Are you really trying to seduce me into saying that?”

"You left me no choice. Now say it, come on, I'm waiting."

In that moment, your stubbornness flared up because he had pushed you, forcing you to say that. But those wonderful fingers stroking your pussy so incredibly slowly, damn it, it made you stop thinking.

“Say it,” he said, sounding a bit impatient this time. He grabbed the strap of your dress and pulled it down to your waist. "I know you love me, so spill it. I’m not letting you leave this room until you do."

You turned your head to him, "Wait, what did you say? You can't do that."

“Watch me,” he said, yanking the dress down off your waist until it fell to the floor. “Now, darling, you’ve got two options,” he said, pulling you closer. You tried to struggle, but there was no breaking free from his grip. “The easy way or the hard way.”

“I get the easy way, but what’s the hard way, Mr. Castillo?” you scoffed.

He smirked, turned you around, this time you faced him. You deliberately took a step backwards, he was unbuttoning his shirt as he stepped towards you. “So you're taking the hard way?” he said huskily and kept walking towards you, and you kept going backwards.

Until your back hit the wall.

He leaned in, one hand against the wall next to you while the other gripped the strap of your bra. His gaze was intense as his fingers played with the lace. Then, feeling impatient, he quickly reached behind you, found the clasp of your wet bra, and undid it in no time. He kept his eyes locked on yours as he lifted your bra and tossed it on the floor. You could feel your face getting hot, and you bit your lip.

After that, he bent down to your level and lifted you by your hips. Your bare breasts rubbed against his bare chest, you both moaned. “Say it,” he said again, his breath hot on your skin.

But instead of answering, you held on to him, letting your hardened breasts torture him some more.

He growled in frustration and picked you up, carried you into the bedroom and threw you on the bed roughly making you gasp. You crawled backwards as he hurriedly took off his pants, your heart pounding in your throat, excited to see him completely naked.

Your gaze remained locked on his, biting your lip in anticipation.

But he was still lingering while taking his underpants off.

Finally.

You let out a happy sigh, taking in how breathtaking he looked. Impatiently, you shifted to the edge of the bed, grabbed his hand, and pulled him closer to you. He leaned over and let you pull him down on the bed on top of you.

“Getting a little impatient, are we?” He smirked at you. “You can speed up the process, you know,” he said pinning you to the bed with his weight, putting one knee between your not yet fully spread legs and grasping your wrists.

“Oh come on, this is getting ridiculous,” you muttered.

“But it’s so much fun,” he breathed out before lunging for your mouth, pulling deep, hungry kisses that leave you both panting harshly.

Proving in a way that he was an amazing kisser and hot as hell.

Needing to taste every inch of your flushed skin, he continued up the sharp line of your jaw, your wrists slipping from his grasp.

He let out a hot breath over your ear before running the tip of his tongue down the shell of it. A shiver ran up your spine, and you bit down on his shoulder, pulling a groan from his throat. You soothed the spot with your lips as your hands roamed his body, his muscles rippling under your fingers.

He made his way down your throat, kissing and nipping and swirling his tongue in all the right places, leaving goose bumps in his wake.

Next, the tip of his tongue traced the underside of your breast in a teasing, feather-light sweep, breathing out as he hovered above the peak of your nipple, almost touching it. He waited until your eyes locked and paused just for a moment before he dived down and captured you in his mouth roughly, sucking hard as he expertly used his lips, teeth, and tongue.

“Oh god,” you let slip out on a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, chest now heaving from the sudden onslaught. He let you slip slowly from his lips but added a quick kiss to the sensitive flesh, making you jump. Your fingers run through his curls as he lowers his head further.

“You’re so beautiful baby,” he hummed.

Without warning he ran the flat of his tongue over you again, causing your hips to buck.

You were on fire.

You were whimpering.

You needed him needed him so fucking bad.

“Harry…” you moaned when he finally spread your legs and made a slight contact with your clit.

Working you with his tongue, he placed lazy open-mouth kisses over your breasts. He teased your entrance with the head of his cock while sucking your nipples hungrily, relentlessly, making your eyes roll back with pleasure, your whole body tingling.

“Shit! Harry, I’m gonna--” Already worked up from all the teasing, the exquisite combination of sensations sent a jolt straight to your core, causing a small orgasm that surprised you both.

Whoa, that never happened to you before; you were still in shock.

But that wasn’t enough.

It didn't do anything to satiate you, though; it only made you want more.

What the hell got into you?

Damn it.

He snickered. “Yes, baby, say my name and say that word, and I will give you more," he hummed into your flesh.

“Are you going to fuck me or what?” you growled, almost sobbing.

“As soon as you say the damn word,” He growled back and rubbed the tip of his cock against your walls and you pressed your hips against him but he pulled back, still waiting. “Oh c’mon, tell me you love me already,” he hissed.

It was too much and frustrating

“I… Harry, I-” you panted, trying to use your words but you were failing.

“Go on,” he grunted, commanding.

It was too much and frustrating for him too.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore as his cock throbbed in agony, and with a quick and rough thrust, he buried himself inside you, but halfway through it yet was enough to make you jump and scream.

He pulled back again and sighed.

You leaned back into the pillows, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your legs around the backs of his. Your eyes met his, with a soft caress of his cheek, you whispered, "Harry Castillo... I love you... I love you so much that I do silly things because of you. I love you so much that I don’t want a single day to go by without you."

His lips curved up in a wide, victorious smile. "That's my girl. I love you too baby.”

He began to kiss you everywhere--- your cheeks, your nose your chin, your collarbone. And you moaned a little when he finally smashed his lips on yours, kissing you hungrily, his tongue sliding across your lower lip before nipping it. “That wasn't so hard, was it?” he grinned and kissed you again.

You managed to shake your head a little, blinking up at Harry as you panted broadly against his mouth. Your cunt throbbed around his cock as he fully sheathed himself in you. His fingers intertwined with yours, raising your joined hands to rest on the pillow beside you. He rolled his hips gently, then again as you whimpered, swirling his tongue with yours. He fucked you with slow, even strokes, trading slow kisses as you moaned and panted into one another's mouths.

He then broke the kiss, pressing his face into your neck as his thrusts became harder. You gasped, sinking your nails into his shoulders as you let your eyes slide closed. The bed was beginning to shake with his movements, and the slapping of your hips slightly echoed through the grand bedroom. You felt the familiar curling sensation beneath your waist, and you slid a hand down, grasping his behind and using the grip to urge him on. He drew back just enough to get a good look at you, his eyes bright in the dim room. You sucked in a stunned breath as he reached between your legs, fingers teasing your clit as his hips pounded yours more roughly.

You were moving so wildly that he couldn't keep his mouth on you any longer.

Your head fell back and you gasped when he thrust harder, deep into your wet, heated walls, a desperate sound escaping your thoroughly kissed lips. He stroked your clit while keeping up the rhythm he knew -he remembered from the first time you had sex that night-, one that pulled insanely erotic noises straight from your throat.

A devilish grin spread across his face as he took in the sight of you, his kitty writhing uncontrollably at his touch. Unable to take his eyes off of you, he worked his hand faster, moving it in a new sinfully exquisite way.

“Oh, God! Fuck!” You cried out, slick sounds of your bodies became louder and louder with every pump of his cock as his mouth latched onto your neck. You wrapped your arms around him, gripping him tightly to your chest, needing something to hang on to desperately. He could feel your body tense and knew you were close from the sounds you were making.

Fuck, those sounds alone could be his undoing.

“Come for me, baby,” he breathed in your ear, pushing you over the edge.

And you did.

Arched off the bed, his hand never left you, gone with you, working you through it as a steady stream of curses and what could be his name tumbled from your lips. Coming back down, you pulled his face to yours as you plundered his mouth, all sense of restraint shattered. His hand started moving again in time to your kiss, trying to - oh hell no.

You needed more.

You needed him.

Surprising him, you reached and flipped his hand over, then him, still breathing hard from before. Your eyes were filled with lust as you straddled him and, without preparation, sank down onto him as much as you could take at this angle, throwing your head back while letting out a loud moan of satisfaction.

Your whole body shuddered as your hips jerked involuntarily, the feeling of him filling you so completely, almost too much but so good.

“Fuck, baby!” he choked out, his head slamming back into the pillow.

“That’s the idea,” you said, voice dripping with sex, only giving him a second or two before you start to ride him.

He couldn’t decide which was better.

Having the power to make you lose all self-control, completely at his mercy, or lying back and letting you take what you want from him.

Luckily, he didn’t have to choose.

It was like celebrating your confession; there were no more secrets, no more games, and no holding back between you two, finally.

Groaning, he ran his hands up your thighs and caressed the curve of your waist, coming around to knead your backside. Mesmerized by how fluidly you were moving, he watched in awe as your body prepared for yet another release. Rapidly reaching your peak again, he rubbed your with his thumb while his other hand tweaked and pulled your nipple. Your fingers curl, nails scraping his chest as you clenched hard around him, almost bringing him with you but he somehow managed to hold back.

Barely.

For now.

Dazed from multiple orgasms, you were not exactly sure how but he suddenly had you on your stomach, body pressed into the bed by his, the fingers of one hand interlaced with your own. He started off slowly, making sure you could handle it. He picked up the pace when you arched your back for an even better angle, giving his free hand room to sneak underneath your hips and play with you. Crushing your entwined hands together, you frantically reached out for anything else to hold on to, gripping the side of the bed with your other hand as he pounds into you from above.

Your mouth locked open, sobbed into the bed with every thrust, bringing you higher and higher until you were exploding, your whole body trembling with shockwaves originating from the epicenter where you were connected. His face was covered in sweat, cursing as he spilled into you with a deep, feral growl, finally letting go.

As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the tall window, you gradually roused from sleep, reluctant to open your eyes. It felt as if you were resting on a soft, fluffy cloud, completely weightless. A wave of happiness washed over you, and you silently chided yourself for not embracing this morning magic sooner. After mustering enough courage, you finally confessed your feelings for him, and Harry’s efforts truly deserved a reward.

Just then, your phone alarm buzzed loudly from inside your bag on the floor, breaking the tranquil moment.

Ugh, of course, it was Thursday.

Damn it!

Realizing you were still face down on the bed, you wished you could just stay there forever. As you swung your legs over the side and reached out, you felt the empty space next to you. Had Harry already gotten up? You yawned and looked around. “Harry?” you called out sleepily.

The bathroom door swung open, and there he was, toothbrush in hand, foamy mouth and all. He shot you a smile that made you giggle. “Good morning, beautiful,” he managed to say through the toothpaste.

“Morning, ol' man,” you teased.

He frowned dramatically and went back to rinse his mouth before returning to you. “Ol' man, huh?” he asked, sitting on the bed. You wrapped your arms around him. “My ol' man,” you replied, kissing him, and he kissed you back.

“Are you getting me back for calling you 'kitty'?” he mocked, leaning in for another quick kiss. “Maybe,” you said with a playful grin and kissed him again.

You wanted to lose all sense of time in this room with him, wrapped up in nothing but kisses, but you had to get moving. “I’ve got to go to work,” you mumbled, breaking the kiss, reluctantly.

He grimaced. “Can’t you just skip today?”

“It's Thursday, Harry. Besides, don’t you have work to get to?” you reminded him as you slid out of bed.

“Actually, there’s something I wanted to tell you, and—” he murmured.

“Hmm?” You looked at him.

Just then, Harry's phone rang.

“I’ll be in the shower,” you said as you walked over.

He sighed and answered the call.

After using the toilet, you stepped into the shower, only for Harry to sneak in behind you. He quickly shed his pants and joined you under the warm water, wrapping his arms around you for another kiss, making you giggle.

“Looks like you were right; I guess I have to get to work too,” he said while turning on the water.

You kept kissing as the water poured over you, both of you unable to stop touching each other. Harry was super gentle as he massaged shampoo into your hair, clearly enjoying it. You returned the favor, and it felt so much nicer than just a simple swap.

As you both walked out of the hotel, Oliver showed up, carrying a bag that smelled amazing. “Here’s a quick breakfast for you,” he said, handing it over.

You glanced at Harry, who was smiling cockily. “I didn’t want you heading off to work all hungry.”

You smiled widely, leaning in to kiss him. “Thank you. And... I love you.”

He smiled back. “I love you too,” he said, giving you another kiss.

Oliver laughed, clapping his hands. “Now that’s the sight I needed to see. Congratulations. I can die happy now.”

You both shared a joyful laugh and leaned in for another kiss, celebrating your love.

Harry and Oliver offered to drop you off near the building, but you declined, knowing you still had plenty of time and weren’t running late. After saying goodbye to them, a smile crept onto your face as you made your way to the entrance.

You were now Harry Castillo’s girlfriend—something that turned out to be less daunting than you’d imagined.

Lost in thought as you approached the building, a sudden screech of brakes pulled you back to reality. Startled, you turned to find a little girl who had just fallen to the ground. You hurried to her side. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

Meanwhile, the driver of the car was shouting, “Watch it, kid! Do you want to get hurt?”

Fuming, you yelled back, “You should be the one watching out! Don’t yell at her; can’t you see she’s terrified? Come on, sweetheart.”

Once you reached the sidewalk, you crouched down to check the scrape on her knee. “Does it hurt?”

“I wasn’t scared,” she replied defiantly. “I could have handled myself against him.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "Oh, absolutely, I’m sure you could. I was just looking out for you, you know. Girls have to look out for each other, right?" You winked at her.

She laughed. "I think so too, thanks. It’s just a scrape, really."

“Let’s swing by the pharmacy for a bandage,” you insisted.

“No need; I can take care of it. I'm already where I want to be, and I’m sure there are some first aid supplies at the house,” she said as she headed toward the building where you work.

You quickened your pace to catch up. "Do you live here? I actually work here."

She glanced at you, curious. “Not really. I’m just trying to get away from my parents’ drama for a bit. I thought I’d use my Uncle Harry’s place while he’s away.”

You suddenly froze.

No way, it couldn’t be.

Must just be a coincidence with the name or something.

“Did you say Harry? Does he live in this building?”

As you headed for the elevator, the girl nodded. “Yeah, he’s on the top floor, in the penthouse.”

Another wave of shock hit you.

Taking a deep breath, you asked, “Is your Uncle Harry's last name Castillo, by any chance?”

“So you know him?” she said, sounding casual.

But you were anything but casual, your mind racing.

Nodding, “Yeah, I know him,” you said in barely more than a whisper.

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randombush3 · 15 hours ago

Text

solo necesitaba estar aquí

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: some much-needed family time is had

Words: 2134

Notes: I got bored and this came to mind

You’re busy. As in, drowning in calls, constantly approached by your juniors, never-seeing-the-light-of-day busy. You don’t even remember the last time you sat down and had dinner with your wife and child. You pay a woman to replace both his mothers.

The sun has already set, the view of orange slowly dimming into darkness especially visible from your newly-obtained corner office. There must be about two more hours left on your schedule today, explaining the fresh coffee on your desk. And you’re tired, but you love this job. It’s worth it.

Your assistant — new, bumbling as he tries to grow accustomed to your discipline and efficiency — appears, phone in-hand.

“Is that New York?” is your immediate question, noting the terror on his face with slight amusement. It always takes a while for the young ones to break.

He shakes his head. The words he mouths are far scarier: it’s your wife.

You stand up.

“Give it to me.” The phone is searing hot, and you know that this is not a call of affection. “Alexia, baby, hi!”

“La profe ha dicho que somos madres terribles.”

You check the date on the screen of your laptop. “Oh, there was that meeting, wasn’t there?”

“You said you’d come.”

“I thought we’d both agreed to send Luisa?” In truth, you had. Alexia is in the most crucial part of the season, playing matches that decide her glory (and her mood during summer). “Did you go?”

“No. But at least I was home to ask him how it went.”

You rub your temples. Your assistant has taken his cue to leave, hovering on the other side of the glass door as if it will save him from the bomb that’s about to go off. “Okay. Well, what did he say? Are you with him right now?”

“Luisa’s is getting him ready for bed,” Alexia replies with a deep sigh. You gather there is no good news to give. “He told her that he never sees us. No malice intended — a simple: mis mamás son tan importantes. And the teacher took it as, mis mamás son demasiado importantes.”

“He didn’t lie.”

“And you don’t feel guilty?”

You think back to the last time you spent uninterrupted time with your son. It must have been Alexia’s last match — no, you had to leave because of a crisis in Tokyo. Maybe before that?

“We’ve spent the last seven years being parents he can be proud of. But he… doesn’t even see us.”

“You’re home right now!”

“Just in time to kiss him goodnight!”

Your breath hitches.

That’s supposed to be enough. That’s supposed to be the line that closes the argument, the past where she tells you it’s okay, that you’re trying. That your intentions are good and true and she isn’t a saint either.

But she doesn’t say anything.

A sudden wave of exhaustion hits you, and you find your desk chair, constantly warmed and broken in, and sink back into it, the city glowing behind you like a silent reprimand. You lean forwards, elbow on the desk, fingers still pressed against your temple.

She’s on speaker now. It almost feels like she’s in the room with you.

“I thought we were doing the right thing,” you say finally, quieter now. “Working this hard. Building something for him.”

There’s a pause. A cavity opens up between the two of you. Alexia no longer agrees. “He just wants parents.”

It stings more than it should. Because deep down, you knew it. You’ve known it for a while — in the drawings where Luisa is front and centre, where you and Alexia are smiling stock figures tucked away in the corner. You knew it when he started calling her mamá Luisa, without hesitation or confusion.

“He told her,” Alexia continues, voice breaking just slightly, “that sometimes he pretends we’re home. That he hears the door open and he thinks it’s one of us — and he gets all… excited, just for it to be a delivery or a friend, or the neighbours checking in on him.”

You let out a long breath, eyes falling shut. “He’s seven. He shouldn’t know disappointment like that.”

Silence. But she’s still on the line. You can hear her breathing — steady, controlled. Like she’s bracing herself to say something worse.

“I have a few matches left this season,” she says. “Then I’m home until the Euros.”

“And I have Tokyo, then Berlin. After that, a quarterly review. Shareholder summit in—”

“No,” she interrupts. “You have a son. Who misses you. That comes first.”

You want to argue. You want to say it’s not that easy, that you don’t just get to drop everything. But maybe it is that easy. Maybe the hard part is admitting you’ve made the wrong choice more times than you can count.

“I’ll clear the week after Tokyo,” you say finally. “We’ll take him to that dinosaur park he keeps asking about. No phones. Just us.”

“Both of us,” Alexia says firmly. “No pulling out last minute.”

“I promise.”

Another silence — but a warmer one, less weighted. For a moment, it’s just the two of you breathing, the world quietly changing as you make your decision.

“I miss you,” she says softly.

And suddenly, more than the job, more than the office, more than the city stretched out in front of you — you just want to go home.

…

He squeals with delight as you march through arrivals, Alexia unable to control his surge into the crowd to attach himself to you. Hands meet your leg and you scoop him up, surprised by how much heavier he is, pulling him into you as you make your way to your wife.

That conversation a few months ago has been a much-needed catalyst for change.

Tokyo was good, perfect for networking, but it wasn’t home.

It's not this.

“I missed you, campeón,” you whisper in his ear as you reach Alexia, smiling at the slight sheen in her eyes. “I’m so glad I could come home early.”

Alexia doesn’t need to respond for her answer to be known.

The next morning, you wake to the sound of tiny feet sprinting down the hallway and slamming into the door of your bedroom.

“¡Hoy es el día de los dinosaurios!” he yells, muffled through the wood like some kind of pint-sized town crier. “Y tú lo prometiste, MAMÁ. ¡LO PROMETISTE!”

Alexia groans from beside you, face buried deep in the pillow, muscles aching from the dregs of the season and the thought of the build-up to the Euros. “What have we done?”

“We’ve entered legally binding verbal contract,” you mutter, already reaching for your phone to cancel the one remaining telecon you hadn’t yet axed. You text your assistant a quick: Push everything back, I’m being held hostage by a T-Rex.

The reply comes instantly: Understood. Good luck, boss.

…

At the dinosaur park, all bets are off.

He spots a rickety, questionably-safe ‘Dino Dig Zone’ and points with an index rivalling Augustus’ ad locutio in the Prima Porta. “There. I’m going to dig for bones. I need gloves. And goggles. And snacks.”

Unsurprisingly, there’s a board listing the prices of those exact items. Alexia gives you one glance before nudging you towards the till.

You buy him the whole kit — gloves three sizes too big, a neon-green hard hat, safety goggles with actual working headlamps. He looks like a very tiny paleontologist sponsored by a very eccentric energy drink company. You and Alexia exchange a look, but say nothing.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s not digging. He’s sitting on top of the dig site, dramatically narrating the excavation like David Attenborough. You have no idea where he learnt the technical terms, but maybe your background checks on Luisa didn’t include her supposed paleontology degree.

“Here,” he says, pointing at what is very obviously a plastic ribcage, “we find the remains of the mamasaurio, a terrifying beast who never misses football training and always scores the best goals.”

Alexia snorts. “Okay, I like this version of me.”

You’re not so lucky.

“And next to it — the dinochefejecutiva. She’s very rare to see. She lives mostly in airports.”

You choke on your iced coffee.

The gift shop is a disaster. You tell him he can pick one souvenir. He picks seven (one for every year you’ve missed, apparently — he’s a master manipulator). Alexia leans down to bargain with him while you tap out and retreat to the picnic benches outside. She emerges twenty minutes later, dazed, holding two dinosaur hoodies, a talking plush stegosaurus, a fossil-shaped backpack, glow-in-the-dark dino socks, and a hat with T-REX CEO embroidered in sparkly thread.

“He hustled me,” she whispers to you.

You smirk. “It’s not hard.”

He wears everything at once for the rest of the day, waddling around like an overburdened prehistoric fashion icon, munching on overpriced churros and announcing to anyone who will listen that today is his yes day. You and Alexia trail behind him, laughing, holding hands, slowly starting to believe you might actually remember how to do this — this parenting thing, this family thing, this loving-each-other-and-showing-up thing.

When he falls asleep in the car, surrounded by stuffed animals and crumbs and the remains of a dino tail-shaped lollipop, Alexia turns to you.

“You know,” she says, voice soft with something like peace, “I think this was the best investment we’ve ever made.”

You glance at the back seat — at your snoring, sugar-comatose son — and then at your wife, radiant even after she was forced to hold a melting ice-lolly that stained her white t-shirt.

You smile. “Returns have been excellent so far.”

Dinner that night is chaotic, but surprisingly demanded even after a day of junk food that nearly sent your two-time Ballon d’Or into a mental breakdown.

He’s still riding the sugar high from the park, sprawled across the kitchen floor in his dino hoodie, tiny plastic stegosaurus tucked into the crook of his arm like he gave birth to it. You’re rummaging through cabinets blindly — unsure when Luisa last reorganised them and finding her system incredibly confusing.

Alexia’s leaning against the counter, eyeing the situation with a suspicious mix of amusement and concern. “Are you sure about this?” she asks as you pull out spaghetti, three different cheeses, and something you think is tomato sauce but might be expired salsa.

“Yep,” you lie.

Halfway through the prep, he finally looks up from his playtime and asks, “Where’s Luisa?”

Alexia freezes mid-chop. You glance over your shoulder and smile, holding up your sauce-stained wooden spoon like it’s proof of competence. “You do know that we can cook, right?”

He blinks. Then, slowly: “Que va.”

“Excuse you,” Alexia says, squinting at him like he’s just insulted her entire bloodline. “Mamá once made lasagna so good it made grown men cry.”

“Did they cry because of the cheese?” he asks seriously.

“Emotionally? Yes,” you cut in. “Digestively? Also yes.”

Dinner ends up being… edible. Barely. The spaghetti is overcooked, the sauce has a suspicious kick that might be from Alexia mistaking god-knows-what for paprika, and the garlic bread ends up more like garlic crackers. But he eats it anyway — every bite — grinning like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“You’re both kinda good at this,” he says between chews.

“Kinda good?” you echo, with faux offence.

“Like… Luisa would do it faster.” He shrugs at Alexia’s raised eyebrows. “But this is nice.”

You and Alexia exchange a glance over his head, soft and knowing. She reaches under the table to squeeze your knee.

“Did you have fun today?” you ask, hoping your tentativeness is well-hidden.

He nods with enthusiasm.

“Let’s do it again tomorrow!”

He’s raised in his seat and almost rearing to go.

“How about bedtime first before we plan more yes-days?” Alexia negotiates, this time successfully.

Later, after bedtime stories and lights out and one too many requests for water, you crawl into bed next to her. The silence is warm and easy, the soft glow of her bedside lamp all you need to help you relax. Her back presses into your chest, and you bury your face into her shoulder, finally relaxed in a way you haven’t been in months.

And then, her voice, low and a little smug: “Now that you’re home…”

You smile against her skin. “Yeah?”

She turns just slightly, her hand brushing across your hip, teasing. “I’ve got a few… yes-days of my own in mind.”

You let out a laugh, quiet and breathless. “You drive a hard bargain, capitana.”

She smirks, settling deeper into your arms. “Better keep up, dinochefejecutiva. Or I’m benching you.”

“Not the bench,” you whisper dramatically, already pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Anything but the bench.”

She hums, wicked and sweet. “Then show me you’ve still got game.”

#randombush3 #woso #woso x reader #barca femeni #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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bandgie · 2 days ago

Text

Let Me In

warnings! MDNI18+, fem!reader, vampire!chris, voyeurism, blood drinking, drugging (oopsies), hypnosis mentions, bit of manipulation from Chris, PIV, no protection, cumming inside, fingering, chris has weird pillow talk ngl

notes: I have redone this concept so many times and at this point, i just need to say 'fuck it' and hit post. also! this is supposed to take place from the late 80s to early 90s. not super important to the plot but just an fyi

5.3k words

CONGRATULATIONS! You’ve been picked to attend the Alpha Phi Omega ball this weekend in honor of the blood moon! Wear your best dress, your highest heels, and most importantly of all, keep this invitation a secret. We hope to see you soon! Call to RSVP at xxx-xxx-xxxx

The paper is thick between your fingers. It’s not the cheap invitation material you used to send as a child for birthday parties. There’s not even a single crease on it despite being wedged between the front door and the frame of your apartment. It’s handwritten as well. Blank ink stains the paper with the message, a phone number at the end.

No location, though everyone knows where the Alpha Phi Omega frat house is. Everyone also knows about the infamous party that only a select few are chosen to go to. Sure, it’s supposed to be a secret, but you think that’s just a tactic to get people to talk about it on campus.

You never did, however. You focus on your studies, your classes, and you wake up extra early on Sunday mornings to watch the new episode of Dragon Ball. Getting invited to the ball has never even crossed your mind, and in all honesty, you had completely forgotten about it.

Yet, you can't deny the excitement coursing through your veins. You got invited. You. Someone who hardly has any friends and opts to spend time with your dog rather than party on the weekends.

Maybe you should figure out how the frat brothers even knew about you, but you’re too giddy to even think about that. You slam your door shut and run to your shelves where your landline is. Your eagerness is easily sensed by your dog who jumps on the couch and hops from one paw to the other, barking and yipping.

“Berry!” You look at her curly fur and floppy ears. “Shut up!”

But she doesn’t. Berry continues to bark even as you pick up the phone and click on the keys corresponding to the number on the invitation. She’s a good dog, sometimes, but it’s like she’s trying to prevent you from reservering. Her little body jumps from the couch to run to your ankles, biting your slippers.

You hit the green button and soon hear ringing. “Berry! What is wrong with you?! Stop it-

“Hello?”

“Hi!” You try to push Berry away, ignoring her growling. “Hey sorry, um, I got an invitation to the ball and - ouch! - uh, shit, sorry my dog is crazy right now.”

The voice on the other end laughs. It’s contagious, and you can’t help but chuckle with him.

“Ah, that’s cute~,” you notice an accent. There are only two brothers in the fraternities with that Australian tongue. One with a voice so deep it makes your bones shake, and the other with a lighter timbre that makes people trust everything he says. “What was your name?” You tell him and he makes a sound like recognition. “Ahhh, I see your name right here, gorgeous.” A surprised laugh barks out from you. For a brief moment, you’ve forgotten about Berry using your slippers as a chew toy. Now you know which Australian brother this is. His swooning words make your anxious walls slowly break and crumble.

Like he can see your blushing face, Christopher laughs. “You know, I’m not supposed to say anything, but it was me who invited you.”

That adrenaline fills you again, but this time, you feel your stomach swoop. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. You’re so quiet, so kind, and so so pretty. I didn��t think you’d want to come.” Another laugh. “Our ball has quite the…reputation.”

You know what reputation he’s talking about. Even if you don’t involve yourself with many people, you can hear the girls on campus rave about their time at the party. How they went home so fucked out and marked up they couldn’t move for days. It was even rumored that they could hardly remember how much fun they had.

“Oh, yeah, yes. I…I know.” You sound like a damn virgin. Truthfully, you feel like one. Remembering what you’ve heard sends butterflies in your stomach that shoot straight to your cunt. You can feel stickiness beginning to form on your underwear and you can’t help but press your thighs together.

He wants you. Christopher Bahng Chan wants you. It shouldn’t boost your ego or make you feel validated, but god dammit, it does. The oldest from the frat with wide shoulders and plush lips picked you.

“So, that’s okay with you, gorgeous?” His sultry voice brings you back to the phone call. “You wanna keep me company for the night?”

The way he makes it sound almost shameful, but you’ll be damned if you missed this chance in your dull college life. “Yes. I- I want to go.”

You might as well have signed your life away in blood, or at least, that’s how it feels.

Christopher laughs like he’s enjoying your shy, yet forward self. “That’s a good girl. I can’t wait to see you.”

The line goes dead and you’re frozen in place trying to collect yourself. He called you a good girl. A good girl. You’re going to see Chris, going to…do stuff with him at the ball. It’s been so long since you’ve had a human interaction, especially a naked one. Slick has made its way to your panties that your clit throbs against the material to try and get any ounce of friction. Who cares if you come off as desperate? Who cares if people think you’re whoring yourself out for one night. If everything goes well, you can end up not only with actual friends but maybe even a lover.

Standing at the front door of the party feels surreal. You’ve never been inside of a frat house or stood so close to one. Alpha Phi Omega felt like it was appropriate to have the invitees be picked up by a limousine, adding to the effect of an elegant ball. Though, you know that’s the last thing it is.

The chauffeur is already driving off, leaving you and the other girls alone.

“Oh my God,” one of them can’t stop cheesing. You think her lips must hurt from how much she’s been smiling. “I can’t believe we got invited here. With them. I’m so surprised they even knew who I was!”

You’re in the same boat, but you choose to keep that to yourself. More women began chirping about how they were so surprised to get an invitation and just to be known. The brothers typically go for more popular ones. Girls who have the newest phones and prettiest lip gloss. You can’t help but snort to yourself as you think they must be doing charity work.

Not that it bothers you - maybe a little - but you should have some college experience even at the expense of wearing the finest dress you managed to pull from your closet. The material tightens at the back, making your breasts spill over the cups. The cinch at the waist accentuates your figure, widening your hips as the dress flows down. There’s a slit that runs from your ankle to your thigh. Elegant, but not prude. Sexy, but not scandalous. The deep red color matches perfectly with you. Its ruby darkness makes you feel like you’re in a different era.

It only made sense to wear red - it is the blood moon ball. You just hope Christopher doesn’t find it cheesy.

The eight of you only chit-chat for what feels like seconds before the door opens, a soft yellow light emulating from the opening. You soon see the silhouette of a man, his hair that’s normally curly is straightened. Chris greets everyone with his signature dimple and you can practically hear the girls swooning along with you.

He’s saying something - how you all look so beautiful tonight and how lucky the brothers are to have such a gorgeous date. But you’re so distracted by him. You’ve seen Chris on campus, seen the cheerleaders that follow him like a lost puppy, but you’ve never been this close. You’ve never gotten the opportunity to see his thick lips and that broad nose sitting on his face perfectly. And his dimples, the ones he’s smiling at you with, are even cuter this close.

Chris looks flawless under the moonlight. The shine bounces off his pale skin like a doll, almost like something not human. He’s still speaking, still being the perfect host, and you’re drooling over him.

“...and remember the most important rule, everyone.” His accent hangs heavy on each syllable. “What happens here tonight, stays here tonight.”

Then he’s letting the girls in. Everyone’s squealing with excitement and you’re…frozen. No matter how much you will your legs to move, you can’t help but stand still outside, staring at Chris like he’s the only thing you know.

He cocks his head to the side, an amused smile finding those pretty lips. “Do you need to be invited in?”

Distantly, you shake your head. You step inside, hearing your heels click on the marble floor before Chris puts his hand on your waist and pulls you further in.

His grip is firm, but not tight. Fingers dig into your waist like he’s feeling you up but in the most gentlemanly way.

“That dress…” he looks at you up and down, swiping his tongue over his mouth like he’s seen something delicious. “That color suits you well.”

You look at him, this time, focusing on his outfit. Chris wears all-black slacks and a white shirt undone at the top. On the pocket of his dress shirt is a red flower, the color nearly matching your dress. Without thinking, you reach out to touch it, taking the soft petals between your fingers.

“Thank you. I don’t know if it’s… too much.”

“Too much?” Chris sounds baffled. He grabs your hand and presses it against his mouth, planting a gentle kiss to the back of it like he’s done this with you a thousand times. “This is a ball and you’re my date. I need you pretty by my side. And don’t worry about anything other than having a good time, yeah?” When he pulls back his teeth to smile, you can’t help but notice how sharp his canines are. “I’ll make sure you do.”

With his hand around your waist and on your hip, you two walk into the main room to be with everyone. It seems like all the girls have already found their dates, sitting next to them on the couches or standing. You recognize most of the brothers of the frat, but it’s hard to think such attractive men can be in the same room.

One of them, who you think is Jisung, walks around with a tray of shots. Red liquid sloshes in the plastic cups that are distributed to all the ladies. Once he’s before you, you hesitate to take it.

Chris grabs it for you. “A little pre-game. Helps with getting things started.” He’s holding it up for you, but there’s a prickling sensation crawling on your skin that you can’t shake off. You don’t take it from his hands, not before you ask, “What’s in it?”

“Wine.” His answer is immediate. “With a little kick from yours truly.”

The red wine looks at you intimidatingly. As if daring you to sip from it. You take the shot from Chris and look at it again. Should you really trust a drink from a stranger? Even if Chris is well-known among the ladies, and even if everyone always comes home safe after the ball, you can’t drown out your gut feeling.

But when you look amongst the other women, they’ve already drunk it. Their lips are stained with red, their tongues swiping over the flavor before clinging onto their dates.

You sigh and look at Chris. “Bottoms up.”

When you tilt your head back to gulp, you swear Chris smiles so wide it almost looks malicious. His dark eyes watch your throat bob, watch as you scrunch your nose at the unique taste.

He pulls you closer, kissing you on the cheek and laughing like he’s won a game you didn’t know you were playing. “Now let’s fucking party!”

Whatever ‘kick’ Chris put in the drink works like a charm. You’re not thinking about how out of place you feel when you’re dancing with him. You’re not thinking about how nervous you’re supposed to be. With his hands on your hips, his crotch on your arse, all you can focus on is him him him.

Chris pulls you by the wrist to the other part of the room, red solo cups laid out in a triangle on each side of the table. Beer pong. You’ve only played at birthday parties, and even then, you would let other people shoot for you. There’s already a couple waiting at the end, watching as Chris drags you along.

“You can go another round, right Hyunjin?” Chris teases.

“Depends.” Hyunjin has the same smirk. “What’s in it for me?”

You don’t know how they’re carrying a conversation right now. Not when Hyunjin’s date is kissing on his neck. She’s leaving lipstick stains on his throat, hands rubbing over his pelvis before swooping down and gripping him through the pants. Maybe this type of thing is normal for them, but for you, it feels as though you’ve accidentally browsed the adult section of the book shop.

“You get a taste of my date,” Chris says. “And if I win, you have to watch.”

They’re talking about you as if you’re not there. Like they couldn’t care less about your opinion. You should feel some way about it, any type of way, but all you feel is your tummy turning warm and the sudden need to mimic what Hyunjin’s date is doing.

The slender man grins. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Then you’re playing. The white ball feels unsteady in your grip, and when you shoot, your aim is completely off. The other girl isn’t much better, but she manages to score a few cups whereas you’ve made none.

“Come on, pretty.” Chris’s sultry voice makes you shiver. “At least try.”

You grab the ball again, this time, closing one eye. Chris wants to win and you want to give Chris everything he asks for. But still, your vision is hazy and your feet are unsteady. How can you get so drunk off of one shot?

When you miss again, you pout. You turn to Chris, meaning to apologize, but your eyes lock with the couple on the couch. Jisung’s digging his mouth into his companion's neck, her head thrown back with a blissful look on her face. What looks like blood drips down the side of her throat. Jisung pulls away, and then you see it, sharp teeth coated with red.

Hyunjin shoots, you hear the ball hit the plastic cup and splash in the water. He and his date celebrate, but you’re too busy staring at the way Jisung licks the blood from her neck and sucks on the wound.

“What…” you shake your head. “What is he…doing?”

Chris doesn’t ask to specify what you’re talking about. His hand encircles around your waist again, and his other hand swipes the hair from your neck. You let him, unconsciously tilting your head to feel him lean down. The softness of his lips trail over the shell of your ear before descending. Each peck feel makes you feel on fire, the coolness of his body soothing your blazing one.

Was he always this cold?

“He’s feeding,” Chris says casually. So matter-of-factly that you nod. Of course, Jisung is feasting on his date’s neck. Why wouldn’t he? Judging by her closed eyes and parted lips, maybe it’s not that bad.

Although you like Chris’s mouth on you, his attention on you, your common sense is screaming at you to come back to reality. There’s a haze over you, a spell almost, that keeps you pliant in Chris’s hold. You don’t want to fight against this feeling. It’s all too easy to succumb to this fantasy of a regular frat ball with strange fetishes. You can tell yourself that you’re drunk, that it’s not blood dripping from her neck, but simply spilled wine.

You blink once. Twice. A third time before you realize no, you’re not drunk at all. Not after one shot at least.

“My drink…” It's so hard to form words. “What did you do to my drink?” Chris is still kissing your neck, licking just above your erratic pulse. “Nothing you’re thinking.” He’s speaking quietly, just below your ear. “I told you - a kick from yours truly. Just a little something to get the party going. To loosen your nerves.”

You swallow thickly. “A drug?”

“My blood.” He corrects. “All it does is…make you more cooperative.” Another kiss, another soft bite. Chris never bites hard enough to draw any blood, but enough to feel the abnormal sharpness of his teeth.

His blood? Why would his blood work like this? As much as you try to fit the puzzle together, you can’t help but feel like you’re missing a crucial piece. Chris pulls you closer until your side is pressed against him. He feels firm against you. Despite the growing bulge on your hip, he doesn’t rock at all. Chris keeps licking your neck as if prepping the skin.

Nothing makes sense, yet, you still try with your limited speech. “Mind control?”

That makes him laugh. “You won’t let it go, huh? Okay. It’s more like…hypnosis. You won’t do anything you won’t really want to do, but it makes you more open to suggestions. I’m sure you felt nervous coming here. A quiet little thing, hardly talks to anyone, yet, invited to the party everyone wants to go to. If you didn’t have that little kick - my blood - I doubt you’d be having as much fun as you are right now.”

That is…true. You wouldn’t have danced on him like you did. You wouldn’t have played beer pong despite knowing how terrible you are if you were, well, you. His words start to make their way into your head. Whether it’s the blood, the openness to suggestions, or just confusion, it feels easier to believe him.

“Look at everyone here,” Chris grabs a hold of your chin and guides your head to scan the room. Everyone is in their little pairs, hands on their hips, blood seeping from different parts of their body, and they’re not worried in the slightest. You didn’t notice how many girls have replaced their talking with moaning.

“They’re having such a good time. Kissing, biting, drinking,” his voice is like a purr. “Don’t you want that too?”

The answer is on the tip of your tongue. It doesn’t help that you’re starting to grow slick between your legs watching the scene unfold right before your eyes. Tongues clashing, hands roaming, and mouths gasping. You know what you’re going to say, and yet, you can’t help but try to ask one more question.

“Hurts?”

And like a lion that’s caught its lamb, Chris smiles with all his teeth. He shakes his head, “No, baby, not at all. I’ll make sure you feel nothing but pleasure. Sit on the table for me, yeah?”

The cups fall to the ground, water splashing but no one pays it any mind. You’re too distracted wrapping your legs around Chris’s torso and pulling him in to care about the mess. The kiss isn't soft. It isn't tender. It's hungry. You pay no mind to the coolness of his skin. His lips are consuming, tongue running over yours in a matter of seconds. Chris puts his hands on your hips and pulls you close. The action deepens the kiss. You're humming into his mouth every time you lock lips. Moaning at every caress of his tongue.

His lips work past your mouth. He kisses your cheek, your jaw, then down to your neck. You tilt to one side to let him nip at your skin, trembling and breathing hard. He slows when he finds your pulse. His tongue lavashes over it before sucking.

You can feel slick seeping through your folds. Chris's mouth is so good, so practiced, that you could think you could let him mark your throat for as long as he wants. You tangle your fingers through his hair and pull. Not hard at all, but it drags a groan from his swollen lips.

With your legs spread, Chris easily finds your core. His fingers run up your inner thigh before rubbing soft circles over your clit. The sensation makes you gasp and he takes the opportunity to shove his tongue deep in your mouth. There’s people around, perhaps watching, but you can’t find yourself to care. Even as you grind your hips against his palm, it’s only exhilaration that you feel.

Chris finds the side of your underwear and pulls it to the side. Your pussy almost weeps with joy finally being touched, but you jump when his cool fingers come down to rub on it. Thick fingers drag your juices through your slit slowly, making sure to press hard on the bud at the very top.

You keen, back arching until your chest touches his. Chris makes a sound that seems mixed with a laugh and a groan as you rub your breasts on him.

He pulls away from your lips to grunt in your ear. “Let me taste you, yeah? It’ll feel so good. I promise.” Chris is already nipping at your skin, eager to drink from you.

If you’re already feeling this good from his fingers, you can’t imagine how his mouth does. You pull back just enough to look into his eyes and nod, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you bat your eyelashes at him.

Chris bites you at the same time he sinks two fingers in. The sting of his bite is overshadowed by his knuckles spreading you open. The pace he sets is brutal. Quick pumps of his hand that force your cunt to open for him. You lean to one side to let him bite harder, to feel his teeth blemish your smooth skin. It doesn’t feel like you thought, not like a real bite, but more like two needles quickly replaced harsh sucking. The pressure of his mouth makes you clench on his fingers, pussy gushing so loud you know everyone can hear it.

Footsteps make their way towards you and Chris, and you soon see the familiar buzzcut of a man you had lost to moments ago.

Hyunjin grins, blood lining his lips like a gloss. “Thought I was supposed to have a taste.”

You feel Chris tense next to you. His mouth pulls away with your blood on it, a snarl on his lips as he looks at the man almost threateningly. Your legs are shaking, still being fucked open by Chris’s fingers as Hyunjin watches amused at Chris’s pissed-off reaction. His eyes are ten shades darker and so possessive that you feel another gush of arousal spread onto Chris’s fingers.

“Not now.” There’s absolute authority in his voice. Even you quiet your moaning at his command. “Later.”

Chris doesn't wait for Hyunjin to leave when he slips his fingers out of you. A whine leaves your lips, but you see him fiddle with the confines of his slacks. Excitement fills your core, stomach flipping as you watch Chris under the zipper and pry his cock from his slit.

He’s heavy. Pink tip flushed from arousal with precum dripping along a thick vein. You let out a moan, widening your legs until your dress is touching the ground.

“Yes.” You don’t mean to say it out loud, but you can’t stop. “Gonna fuck me?”

“Yeah.” Chris fists himself at the base, giving shallow strokes to work up his cock. “You want that?”

The words get caught in your throat watching him play with himself, so you nod instead. Chris inches closer until his tip catches your clit, slapping the fat head on you until your stomach caves.

“Mmm, fuck! Put it in. Pleasepleaseplease.” You’re whining, hips lifting to try and have him slip inside you. It seems like Chris enjoys seeing you desperate. The usual quiet girl begging for his cock pathetically. He runs it up and down your folds, reaching below your belly button before going down to prod your entrance with his tip. The way you squirm, how your heels are digging into his hips to try and push him in, it only makes Chris want to see you cry for it.

So much wetness has accumulated on your clit that every drag of his cock sounds with a loud squelch. You’re clenching on nothing, pussy begging to be filled after so long, but pleasure begins to build in your core anyway. The sudden warmness in your stomach makes your hips twitch uncontrollably, chasing the orgasm that seems to climb higher and higher.

Chris doesn’t change his pace. He simply uses his hand to press his tip down on you every time he goes over your clit. Your pussy lips surrounding him is enough to be satisfied for now. It’s only when your first orgasm wrecks through you, mouth singing with moans and eyes pinched together, that Chris finally slides in.

You’re still cumming when he pushes inside. Gummy walls flutter around his size happily, at last having something to ride its orgasm out. A drawled-out moan barely makes it past your mouth before Chris kisses you again, this time, biting hard enough to draw blood from your pretty lips.

His hips are less forgiving than his fingers. You can feel every vein, the curve of his head, and the thickness burying itself deep inside you. It’s hard to catch your breath with Chris’s tongue lavishing on the blood he drew. Moans and whines are eaten up by his greedy, blood-stained mouth. It’s like he can’t get enough - can’t ever be satiated again now knowing your taste. The way your walls open for him, how you scream his name and grip at his hair, Chris thinks he can never get enough.

Now, you’re barely registering the fact that you’re coming down from your high, though with Chris’s bucking hips, it doesn’t feel like that at all. Hot pleasure doesn’t just build, but it stays, forcing you to never feel like you’ve stopped cumming or even begun. Chan’s cock feels past your cervix, fucking your throat so deep that you can’t even moan anymore. His lips finally stop their assault on your mouth before going to the unbitten part of your neck. You feel the pinch again and the taste of fresh blood makes Chris kick up his speed.

“Ngh~!” You can feel yourself starting to slip into unconsciousness. You don’t know how much he’s taken, but even without his thirst for blood, Chris would have made you pass out from his cock alone anyway. Your walls clench around him again, gushing with so much slick you think you’ve cum again.

Chris stops for a moment, moaning against your wounds at the feeling of you pulsing around him. He sucks again on his bite, body trembling as though he’s trying to contain himself.

“So good. Mmm, that’s good pussy. You wanna cum again, huh? I can feel her squeezing me like she loves me.” Then he laughs. “Yeah. Yeah. You love me? Tell me you love me.”

Maybe if you weren’t losing so much blood or being fucking into oblivion, you would think Chris’s idea of pillow talk is strange. Yet, with how you’re clinging onto him with your hands and cunt, you think he’s right. You do love him.

“Love you,” the words come out almost meaningfully. “Love the way you fuck me. Your dick feels so good. More. I wan’ more. I love you. I love you. I love you…” You can’t speak anymore. Not as Chris picks up his pace hearing you. Not when his teeth sink into a new spot and draw red streams from you. It’s a bruising pace, an unforgiving bucking of his hips as he slams into you. You can hear how he slams into you, hitting that sensitive spot just right for another orgasm to build. His slacks manage to rub on your clit with how deep he’s fucking you, and the friction only brings you closer.

“Hnng~! Fuuuck…” Your head lolls back. Chris pulls away from your neck to kiss your jaw, seeming full from his feast. Or, maybe he can feel how much sweeter your pussy has gotten and how your moans have turned into uh-uh-uh’s.

“Yeah. Yeeaahh. Right here, huh? Love it when I fuck you right there? Come on. Cum. You can give me another one, can’t you?” Chris guides your orgasm home with the help of his fingers rubbing at your clit. He pinches it between his fingers and sinks himself as far as you can take it, making you squeal and nearly collapse on the table.

But it’s what you needed to cum, to tip over that edge. Your walls lock Chris into place, violent shudders coursing throughout your orgasm. Warm fluid shoots into your cunt that push past his tip and into the deepest parts of you. Chris cums with a shake, moans going through his swollen lips and bloody teeth.

Then he’s cooing, barely able to rock his hips to come down from his own high as you’re stuffed with his cum. “Mm, good girl. That was a big one, wasn’t it? You did so well~.”

Chris doesn’t pull out, can’t when your pussy so clearly doesn't want to let him go. You’re trying to catch your breath and keep your eyes open when you hear conversing. Chris must be talking to someone. Something about we had a deal and go play with someone else’s meal. The bickering ends in the other person huffing and stomping away, presumably finding someone to find someone else to sink their teeth into.

It's then that Chris slides out of you slowly. He slips out with a wet pop! that makes both of you moan. He fixes your dress, tucks himself back inside his slacks, and loops his arms under your shoulders and thighs so he can pick you up.

Upside down, you can see everyone else in a similar state to you. Some are fully unconscious while others are close to it.

Then your skin pricks. Could it be that they’re “...dead?”

You hadn’t meant to speak out loud. The cloudiness from Chris’s blood effect and the imprint of his cock inside you leaves everything feeling like a dream. Still, he hears you, and like always, he answers.

“No baby, of course not. They’re just tired, but I promise everything will go back to normal in the morning.” Chris walks down the hall with you in his arms. You don’t know where you’re going, but when you hear a door kick open and feel the softness of a bed on your back, you know you’re in his room.

“It’ll be like nothing ever happened. You girls will remember you had a fun night, even if you don’t remember why.”

You won't remember? It has to be his blood and cum that makes you so emotional. Or, perhaps, it's the pure desperate need for companionship that makes your eyes water. Even if he is a monster, it's better than forgetting tonight and returning to your solitary life. Sleep has almost claimed you, but you manage to speak with pouting lips, “But, I don’t want to…to…”

A tear slips past your eye. Chris is the one to wipe it with his thumb, cooing even more than before. “Aww. I like you a lot. You know that? I like good girls like you.” He continues to wipe the stray tears that cascade down your beautiful face. “Don’t worry, baby. You’re mine now, even if I have to remind you in the morning.”

tags: @desirehorizon @skzophreniic

#skz smut #stray kids smut #chan smut #chris skz smut #chan skz smut #bang chan #bang chan smut #skz #stray kids

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highdramas · 1 day ago

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okay hear me out… a jack abbott inspired by imgonnagetyouback… the angst? the lust? i fear you would eat this up

never not mine | dr. jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x f!resident!reader warnings: language, angst with a happy ending, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late 20s/early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), reader slaps a man hehe (not jack), power imbalance (reader is a resident and jack is her attending), drug use (weed), sexual content (brief but there), jack absolutely grovels and it's a vibe word count: 3.2k summary: jack attempts to walk away. you attempt to reel him back in. it leaves you both raw and vulnerable. notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. imgonnagetyouback, back to me by the marias, and honeymoon by lana all helped inspire this fic! i'm a little worried i wrote jack ooc, but then i remembered that man is a canonized yapper. this exists within the ring of fire universe, but that does not have to be read first. it is linked here if you would like to, though! i took some liberties with this so i apologize if it's not exactly how you imagined it! but i had a great time writing this! i hope you enjoy it <3 not proofread, apologies for errors!

you know exactly what it is that you’re doing. and if jack feels tortured– fine. let him. this is all his fault, anyway.

the whole time you’d been with him, whatever that even meant, you’ve felt this sense of… waiting for the other shoe to drop. you tried to tell yourself that you were crazy, that jack was good and honest and that he wasn’t going to get cold feet. that the fact that you were his resident and he was your attending didn’t bother him. that he wasn’t irrevocably haunted by demons from his past, a dead wife and an endless war that runs on a replay in his head, pain in a limb that he doesn’t even have anymore.

it’s not that you expect him to forget all of that. you just want him to be real with you.

and when he falls right into the trope, the trap that was laid by fate, you decide that you’re not going to be resentful. you’re just going to prove to him– and maybe yourself– that you’re not so easily forgotten. that you can’t be left.

it sounds both arrogant and pathetic when you think about it like that. but you don’t care. you’re going to get him back.

maybe it is cruel that you started flirting with donnie in front of him. maybe it’s evil, the way that when you all gather for your post-shift beer, it’s donnie’s bench that you settle at. when you meet abbot’s gaze from across the walkway, his eyes are always at a level of stony that make you a little bit nervous. but then you remember that he iced you out and you lift your chin up and turn your face back to donnie.

he’ll pick his poison, you decide.

when you enter lefty’s at 11pm after getting wind that the day shift– which was jack, conveniently, since he uttered the words this is a bad idea, kid. god, you want to shake his shoulders, you want to call him a coward and scream from the top of your lungs: do you need see how good it could be if you let it?

a delicate lilac top clings to your skin. you push your hair over your shoulder as santos crosses the bar to greet you with a big hug, laughter on her lips. “jesus christ, who are you trying to give a heart attack?”

your hand splays on her back and you find abbot looking at you from across the bar. you shrug your shoulders and pull back, pushing back pieces of santos’s hair. “i don’t know. maybe someone new?”

trinity’s eyebrows shoot up. “wow. spicy. i like it.”

you don’t know how much time passes. you feel a bit silly: overdressed, a beer in your hand, nothing on your mind except the man that you want to lure back in to you. your outfit is a siren song and all you can wonder is if abbot is a sailor who is as desperate as you’ve pinned him as.

if he’s as desperate as you are.

every time you look at him, he’s either already looking, or feels your gaze on him. there will be a beat of eye contact before you look away and laugh at something garcia said or engage, rapt, in a conversation with samira about the first date that she went on last week. suddenly, it’s been hours, and you’re closing out your tab when you feel a presence beside you.

it’s not the presence that you want. it’s one that’s unknown and makes you feel uncertain. it’s not abbot’s easy, calm, present demeanor beside you. the one that tells you don’t worry, i’m here, i got this. the one that washes over you like a delicious wave. the one that smells woody and warm and delicious. the man next to you is a little too clean cut, a little too polished– he smells like laundry and looks like he’s never been through a bad thing in his life.

he takes a drink of the last of his beer. “i’ve been watching you all night.”

you didn’t notice. faintly, you think that if you were twenty three, this man next to you would have been the apple of your eye, instantly. you wouldn’t be able to take your eyes off of him. but when you look at him and you see deep dimples and dark hair, all you see are dimples that are a little too deep, and hair that isn’t streaked with silver.

that pick up line strikes you as unimpressive. your finger tip circles your glass. “oh, am i supposed to say thank you?” you ask, but you manage what you try to play off as a coy smirk. absentmindedly, you look around, instinctively looking for jack. and not even because you want to see if he’s jealous. not because you want to see the look on his face, to feel that sick sense of satisfaction at the fact that you’re getting to him.

no. you want your friend. you want to give a bleak eye roll and make him smirk. you want to go back to him and say what a prick and carry on with your life. you want to go back to the normal that you’ve gotten used to– the one that, maybe, you took for granted.

if you can’t have jack as your whatever he was, you’d take him as your friend. any day.

but when your eyes scan the bar… he’s not there. the spot that he occupied next to robby is vacant. and all you’re left with is this sick sense of shame, embarrassment, and something else that you can’t quite articulate. longing, if someone put a gun to your head and forced you to put a name to it.

the man next to you says something. you don’t hear it. static rattles in your ears and suddenly all you want to do is go home, tear those lilac clothes off, wash your face, and cry. in bed.

and maybe smoke a joint on your patio, too.

he says something again. you, once again, don’t respond. you look at the bartender and answer their questions with one word answers. yes, you want to close. no, you don’t want a copy of your receipt.

“are you ignoring me, or are you just a stupid fucking bitch who can’t hear?”

at the level of shut down you’re at already, you don’t even care what he’s said. but he’s gotten the attention of the others. robby is already on his feet.

and abbot is walking down the hall from the restroom.

“i’m ignoring you,” you turn to him, spitting the words out, loud and clear. “but if calling me a stupid fucking bitch makes the rejection hurt less, knock yourself out.”

he screws his entire face up, and abbot is approaching quicker now, with that lethal anger on his face. robby isn’t far behind… or santos, either, for that matter.

“you are a stupid fucking bitch,” he says, taking a step closer to you, shrinking himself in size to be on your level. “and you’re not pretty enough to get away with an attitude like–”

abbot makes a move to lunge, and robby has to physically pull him back. the man lets out an ugly laugh and all you see is red, bright red. “oh, what’s your fuckin’ grandpa going to do?”

the crack that rings out when your palm hits his cheek could be heard around the world. it opens up a cacophony of mayhem– between you and him, the bartenders, abbot, robby, santos getting ready to throw in a punch of her own… but it all culminates with the lot of you being told to get the fuck out, this isn’t philly.

with your jaw set and your head held high, you are the first one to storm out of the bar. and maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the fact that a stranger just called you a bitch, but all you feel is an unsettled sort of anger.

you hear abbot say your name behind you.

you stop. the pittsburgh early spring still has a bite to it, especially when it’s nearing midnight. the wind makes your eyes sting, tears trailing down your cheeks. it’s the wind. it’s just the wind. “no,” you say lowly, pointing a finger in his direction. “fuck you.”

“fuck me?”

“yeah. fuck you.” you tug your jacket closer to yourself and wipe the tears away with the back of your hand. “you ignore me, you tell me this isn’t going to work, and then want to play protective… yeah. fuck you.” you go quiet, go to turn, but you can’t. you’re frozen in place. “no, it’s not even that. not really. i shouldn’t be mad at you. i should be mad at myself. i’ve been doing things, this whole time, trying to earn your affection back. trying to get you to see what you were missing, see why it was so silly to pretend that we’re not good. but… i’ve felt like shit every day, doing that. i’ve felt small.”

jack doesn’t say anything. robby has ushered all of your coworkers down the street and far away, bless him. when you assess jack’s face, there’s a myriad of things you see. you think you see regret. you know you see hurt. you want to believe you see love.

“and i don’t want to feel small,” you sniffle and wipe a fat, real tear away. “i don’t want to wear a cute outfit because you might see it. i don’t want to flirt with donnie to watch your knuckles go white. i want– i want to sit on your fucking couch. i want to watch some stupid show with you. i want to lay in bed and listen to the police scanner after sex. i want you to want me. and if you don’t, if this is all too much for you, then…” you look him up and down. the body you know intimately, the person you’d be with forever if he let you.

“then no hard feelings.”

you don’t give jack the opportunity to respond. maybe that’s its own special brand of self preservation. you turn, and you walk away from him, towards an empty apartment.

–

when you get home, you do exactly as you cited. you rid yourself of your clothes. you furiously wash your face and then go through the rest of your skin care. you roll yourself a joint, and you bring it out to your patio, and the small table, chair, and ashtray that sit out there.

your apartment isn’t as high up as jack’s. you live in an old building on the third floor, one of the world war two types, with the radiators and beautiful hardwood floors and all of the character in the world. in exchange, you get no dishwasher and a patio that probably isn’t up to city code.

lighting the joint with one hand, you take in a long, nice, inhale. you lean your head back against the wall. you grab your phone and put the marias on and let those big tears roll down your cheeks freely.

the low rumble of a truck pulling up gets your attention. you lift your head up and watch as the vehicle that you’d sat in countless times goes into park. you hear the door open. you watch jack round it, and his eyes are instantly drawn to your patio. he holds his hand up in a wave.

you flip him off.

the chuckle that gets out of him should infuriate you. but it doesn’t.

“yeah, i deserve that.”

“you’re a dick,” you reply, marijuana leaving you honest. you stand up and lean on the railing, looking down at him.

“i am.”

his hands are in his pockets and you can see a war going on in his mind, but then he starts talking. “i’m not good at this part. the… communication, part. i’m not good at this part at all.”

you raise your eyebrows. he continues. “when annie died, i was content to not be with anyone. ever again. a random fuck there and again, just to get it out of my system, sure. but i was content with not opening myself up to that. i always just thought… i thought i was already so fucked up, and since annie knew me before i was so fucked up. i told myself that she was the only one that was going to get it. get me.” he stares up at you. “now, i know that i was wrong in that. obviously.”

you give a slow nod of your head. “but i lived in that reality for so long. that i wasn’t going to be open to that again. and then we started hanging out, and at first, i was able to convince myself it was innocent. i’m your mentor. no lines would get blurred. and then, obviously, they did. but i told myself it was all casual. and when i told myself that, i felt like… yeah, i could do that. i could be good to someone in that capacity. but then,i felt greedy with you. i felt like i wasn’t going to be able to let myself walk away if i stayed any longer. so i forced myself. thought i was doing you a favor.” he rubs the back of his neck. “thought i was doing right by myself. like, the safest option. and then i talked to my therapist.”

you smirk. “the age old solution.”

“yeah, right?” he smirks back at you. “and i told him all of this, yesterday. and you know what he said?” he waits a beat. “he told me i’m a fucking idiot. and i responded, and said that i know i was. because deep down… deep down, i knew it was all bullshit. a defense mechanism.”

he walks closer and puts his hands on the railing of the first floor patio, staring right up at you, you staring down at him. “i should never have made you feel small. and all i want is to show you that i mean it.”

nodding your head slowly, you mull over his every word. you open and close your mouth a couple of times. “i want to tell you to fuck off,” you say honestly. “i want to think you’re just bullshitting me. but…” you meet his eyes. “that’s probably my defense mechanism.”

the quiet overtakes the two of you. all there is is the lull of traffic and the faint whistle of the wind. “it wasn’t about you,” you say. “i knew why you were pushing me away. i understood. i just wanted you to see why those things weren’t real. and i thought that i could control that. and then i just left myself feeling disappointed, and desperate, and messy.”

the two of you watch each other like feral cats, unblinking and unwavering. maybe that’s what you are.

“i’m sorry,” he says, voice softened. “i was a dick. and you were right.”

you nod your head. “come inside before you catch a cold.”

most of the time, you went over to his place. when he steps over the threshold into your apartment, you think that it feels good to have him in your space. to watch him set his shoes by the door, hang his coat up on the little rack. there’s this awkward sort of tension that simmers between the two of you. he must sense it, because he gives you a sideways look. “that wasn’t all i had to say.”

“yeah?” you ask with a playful smile, filling up a glass of water and taking a big gulp from it.

his hands pin you in at your kitchen counter. all of the air is sucked right out of the room. “you told me that you wanted me to want you. right?” you give a nod of your head. “i wanted to be face to face with you when i said this part.” he ghosts his fingertips over your cheeks. “i want every fucking part of you. your wild, messy parts included. especially, even.” his eyes darken a shade. “do you know how crazy you’ve made me? flirting with donnie, that purple you wore tonight?”

you roll your eyes, mostly at yourself. “that was sort of the plan.”

“it worked.” his thumbs brush your hipbones. “every day, i went home to an apartment that had you all over it. a coffee mug on the counter with a lipgloss mark. the blanket that you love and curl into almost every single night. your book on my coffee table. i felt stupid. i felt small, too. i felt like a coward. i was a coward. and i just–”

you raise up your hand, pressing it against his chest. not pressing him away, just… there. his brows furrow. you say, “you ramble when you’re nervous and when you want someone to feel better.” your hand slides up his chest. “i forgive you.”

the relief that washes over him is a visible, tangible thing. you feel it in the way he grips your hips as a result, the way his face falls into the crook of your neck. you close your eyes and run your hand through the silver streak you love so much. he pulls back and there’s a little tear shining in his eye. and he says three words that are simple but profound, that strike you where you stand. “i love you.” he nods. that steady, stable, self-assured version of himself is there again. “i know that now. i knew it then, too.”

you nod your head slowly. “i know you do,” you say, because you do, you really do. “and i love you too.”

those dimples shine at you. not too deep. just right. he pulls your body in flush with his and it’s like you melt away into nothing but a glowing ball of light. fuzzy and warm.

a switch is flipped. your hands go hungry and your lips find his. jack leads you to your bedroom. he lays you down and he spreads you out. he takes off each article of clothing, slowly. he lowers himself until his head is between your thighs and apologizes with his tongue, until you arch off your bed. he climbs up and he sinks inside of you in one satisfying motion. you’re all nails down his back and relentless eye contact, and you’re the kind of desperate and messy that you want to be. he’s just the same– his pace is consistent, deep, and each thrust tells you just how sorry he really is.

you finish with an explosion behind your eyes, and he tumbles over off that cliff after you. he rolls off of you and you lay on your backs, staring up at the ceiling. your hand goes to rest on his chest. he takes it and presses a kiss to it before he raises, comes back with a damp cloth and cleans you up with care. love. he leans down and presses a kiss to your lips, tender and right.

he starts messing with the covers, brows all screwed up. “what could you possibly be looking for right now?” you ask, chest still heaving.

“this,” he says, locating his phone. he stares down at it until he puts it between you. a faint static emits from it.

“what the hell is–”

“3B60, the subject is fleeing on foot.”

you between him and his phone, police scanner coming from the speaker, incredulously. he just grunts as he settles back into bed, pulling you into him. “i’m just listening to what you want, kid.”

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #jack abbot imagine #jack abbott imagine #jack abbot #jack abbott #the pitt fanfic #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #the pitt #dr abbot x reader #my writing #jack abbot smut #jack abbott smut

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russo-woso · 2 days ago

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Pigtails || Alessia Russo x reader

Request Reader and less are parents to a little girl, reader is masc presenting and isnt very clued up on all the girly stuff and reader tries to surprise less with a little family date, so sends less out to get all dolled up with Ella, whilst at home, reader is watching YouTube tutorials on how to do braids in their little girls hair as well as FaceTiming one of the girls to help reader pick out the prettiest little dress for their daughter, basically a bunch of fluff around reader getting their daughter all ready for the family date

Summary In a fashion and hair crisis, you FaceTime Lia and Leah to help pick out your daughters outfit and hairstyle because you have no experience whatsoever

A/N First blurb/fic in celebration of 1.5k 🎉

“Okay sweetheart, you sit right here and I’ll do your hair. What do you want?”

Hair had never been your thing. As a more masculine woman, you’d never cared about your hair - often throwing it up in a bun or ponytail or when Alessia offered wanted to do your hair, a plait.

So sitting here, prepping to attempt your daughter’s hair was going to be an adventure.

You prayed the words pigtails came out off her mouth but your prayers clearly didn’t work and your world came tumbling down.

Okay… maybe that was a tad dramatic but it felt like your world was ending in the moment.

“French plaits please, mama.”

“Oh, Evie… I don’t know how to do Plaits, princess. How about pigtails instead?”

“I want French plaits. Can mummy not come home and do them?” Your five year old asked, turning round on the chair to look at you.

You’d banished your wife from the house for the afternoon, calling her best friend - Tooney of course - to take her shopping, giving Alessia enough money for a new outfit and money to get her nails done.

She’d asked why, but there was no way you were telling her the surprise you’d set up - it was simple really, just a nice meal at a new restaurant - but Alessia loved mini family dates.

“This is a surprise for mummy, remember? So she can’t come back home before we’re ready. Look, I’ll try and do your hair.”

You grabbed your phone, searching for a French plaits tutorial on YouTube.

Your tongue poked out as you concentrated, your fingers crossing the tiny strands of hair on Evie’s head.

You continued watching the video, trying your hardest to plait her hair.

“Too tight, mama.” Evie winced

“Sorry, sweetheart. Honestly, I don’t know how mummy does this. She super mummy isn’t she?” You said with a smile, still fiddling with her hair.

“Uh huh! Super mummy!”

“Hey… didn’t auntie Wally do plaits in your hair once?” You asked, a sudden memory appearing in your mind.

“Yes mama.”

You sighed in relief, knowing Lia would be able to give you a proper tutorial that you could actually understand - unlike the YouTube video.

“Hi Lia, I’m in a bit of a situation. I’m surprising less with a mini date and I’m trying to do Evie’s hair and she wants french plaits and I tried to watch a YouTube tutorial but it’s not working and now I don’t know what to do. Alessia’s going to be home soon and I don’t even—” You rambled as soon as she Lia picked up.

“—Y/N. Breathe.” Lia laughed, shaking her head.

“Okay.” You agreed, taking a deep breath. “I remembered you doing a French plait in Evie’s hair one time at training. I was wondering if you tell me how to do one.”

“Of course. Have you brushed her hair?” Lia asked and you hummed, showing the brush to the camera. “Okay, first off you’re going to…”

“…your going to wrap the hair tie at the bottom and you’re done!” Lia finished as you did the final instruction.

“Oh my god! I did it!” You exclaimed, throwing your hands up in the air as you looked at the plaits in Evie’s hair. “Thank you so much, wally. Honestly I owe you big time.”

“You can make it up to me on Monday by being my bodyguard.” Lia suggested whilst you sent her an odd look.

“Why?”

“I bought Leah a ham sandwich but it had mayonnaise in and she bit into it and she got so angry… I ran off but she’ll probably want revenge on Monday. And you’ve got muscles and they’ll come in handy by being my bodyguard.” Lia explained and you laughed, nodding your head.

“Deal. Now speaking of Leah, I’m going to FaceTime her now to get her fashion advice. Thanks again, wally.”

“Right. Show me what we’re dealing with.” Leah said, as you opened Evie’s wardrobe, showing Leah the dresses that were possible options.

“Now, Alessia likes Evie in this dress but this is more of a summer dress and with the weather today… I wouldn’t class it as summer weather.” You told her, looking out the window to see the clouds.

“The denim dress, let me look at that one.”

You pulled it out, showing it to Leah as she inspected it.

“Does it have a bow?”

“Yes it does. At the front.”

“I like it. That one. Can evie try it on?”

“Evie!” You shouted her, as a bundle of footsteps echoed the house.

“Hi auntie le!”

“Hi my girl. Look at your hair? Did your mummy do them?” Leah asked, Evie’s face lighting up as she did a 360 for Leah to see her plaits.

“No, mama did them. She called auntie wally to help her.” Evie explained

“Can’t do anything by herself can she?” Leah teased you as Evie laughed and agreed. “Now, I’ve chosen a dress for you to wear. Can you quickly change into it so I can see if it looks good?”

“Okay.” Evie smiled, grabbing the dress from you.

“You look so pretty, sweetheart.” You told Evie as she finished putting the dress on.

“That’s the one!” Leah exclaimed. “You look gorgeous, Evie.”

“Thanks, auntie le. Oh, mummy’s home!” Evie said, looking out the window as she heard a car door shut.

“Okay, thanks le. I owe you.”

“Actually, I have something you can do for me. Lia bought me a ham sandwich and said it was plain but I had mayo in and I need to get revenge. Can you help come up with an idea?” Leah asked and you rolled your eyes.

“Sure. Look, I need to go. Thanks again.”

“I’m home!” Alessia shouted as she shut the door behind her.

“Hi gorgeous.” You said, you and Evie walking down the stairs.

“Well, you two look dressed up. What’s going on?”

“We are going out for dinner. Tooney should have encouraged you to buy yourself an outfit? That outfits for tonight.” You smiled, Alessia pecking your lips as you finished talking.

“You are the best.” She whispered, squeezing your bicep where your shirt ended.

“Eww!” Evie shouted, covering her eyes as you chased Alessia’s lips one final time.

“Go get ready, love. We’ll be right here waiting.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Alessia pressed a kiss to your cheek, bending down to kiss Evie’s head as well before running up the stairs - stopping half way though.

“Hey, who did Evie’s hair? And who chose her outfit?”

“Me.” You said confidently

“Who did she call?” Alessia asked Evie

“Auntie Lia and auntie le.”

“Surprise surprise. You can’t do anything can you?” Alessia winded you up

“Hey!”

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso imagine #womens football #woso fanfics #alessia russo #alessia russo fluff #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo x reader

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itzpookiepooh · 1 day ago

Text

Dump Him!

You ask them for relationship advice

“I need advice.” You huff falling onto the couch where Caleb sat. Your head was in his lap as you pout, he looks down at you in confusion. He adjusts his position taking his ankle off his knee.

“Shoot pipsqueak I’m all ears.” He assures you making you take a deep breath. This was like a mini therapy session you guys had every once in a while. Too often for you not often enough for him.

“So he’s always running to help his best friend and I mean running. She called him to stay at her house because she’s going through a break up.” You explained as Caleb nodded slowly. He didn’t see the big deal because he always comes running when you call.

“I mean that is his best friend and think of us—“ You cut him off before he could say anything stupid. “The best friend is a girl and he spends the night. No matter what we’re going through he runs to her.”

“You should kill him.” He states bluntly before unpausing his show as if he solved your problem entirely.

“Caleb!”

You just got done arguing with your boyfriend again. Rafayel just watched with a bored expression, he was use to the bickering. He just wished you would dump him already. He watched you pace as you screamed at him which was out of character for you, in his mind at least. You hung up slamming your phone on the counter.

“Ugh! He’s insufferable. What should I do?” You ask more out loud but Rafayel was going to answer anyway.

“What did he do this time?” He asked taking about bite out of a grape from the bowl. You pout putting your chin on your fist. You know Rafayel and you also know he loathes your boyfriend.

“Ditched our date tonight for his friends.” You sigh, Rafayel on the other hand glares at you. He then got an idea.

“You should invite him out here to make up. It’s beautiful and quiet.” Rafayel counts on his fingers before your face fell flat.

“I’m not bringing him out here for you to kill him.” You deadpan making him drop his act and shrug.

“Worth a shot.” He throws a grape into his mouth.

Your leg bounced as you stared at your phone waiting for a text back. Sylus looks over his glasses to watch your leg bounce. You were shaking the couch with these nerves of yours. He couldn’t focus on a single word with all this bouncing. He knew you were arguing with that no good boyfriend of yours. He grabbed your leg without looking away from his book. Your gaze snaps over to him.

“Sorry.” You mumble, Sylus closes the book with a sigh, “What is it now?”

“He’s jealous because I spend a lot of time with you. Which is bullshit by the way! He spends a lot of time with his friends too!” You ramble as you wave your arms around. Sylus just watches you as you express yourself.

“What should I do?” You groan leaning into him. Sylus hums before rubbing your arm.

“We could give him something to be jealous about.” Sylus suggests, his smirk widening as he looks at you.

“You’re never serious.” You deadpan making him chuckle.

“Worth a shot.”

You get in Zayne’s car in a hurry accidentally slamming the door. You were so irritated that the night felt ruined because your boyfriend wanted to argue. He hated whenever Zayne was around but you make sure to remind him this is your childhood friend. His jealousy was ugly and Zayne would tell you constantly. The boy thought you were sleeping together for goodness sake! Not that you would mind. You explained all this to Zayne knowing he’d probably say what he usually does. You were just waiting for it.

“Maybe I can fix him…fix us y’know?” You fall back into the seat as Zayne stops at a red light. He looks over at you with the most serious face ever.

“Did he defecate on himself?” He asks seriously, you blink at him as if he was confused.

“No?” You question more than answer. Zayne hums as he nods his head slowly, “then why would you change him?”

You narrow your eyes at him. He’s as sassy as ever but he was right.

Your boyfriend and you had a huge fight. It was so big that you left and went to Xavier’s who could hear it from his apartment. You apologized for the noise which he didn’t care about. Your wellbeing was what mattered most to him after all. He made you tea and waited to hear what the arguing was about. You explained he accused you of cheating on him which wasn’t true. Xavier knew this since you guys spent so much time together.

“What should I do?” You sigh sadly. Xavier blinked slowly as he gave you a once over.

“Leave him.” He bluntly said. No hesitation, no pauses, nothing.

“Xavier I can’t.” You groan falling into the couch as he takes the cup from you. He places it on the coffee table and then turns his attention back to you.

“Why not? He’s not a good person and has zero redeeming qualities. He chews with his mouth open, he burps obnoxiously loud—” He lists and if you hadn’t stopped him he would go on and on all night. You put your hand over his mouth and nod as you look at the ceiling.

“You’re absolutely right.” Leaving the conversation at that.

“Want me to kill him?” He mumbles looking at you. You swiftly turn your head to look at him with genuine concern. Maybe you heard him wrong.

“What?”

“What?” He repeats now looking at you confused.

I couldn’t wait to get to Zayne’s but imo his Caleb’s and Rafayel’s are the funniest 😭 I also forgot what I was gonna write mid Caleb’s because I left my mind palace (the shower).

Have this while I concoct Sylus’ bday special 💋

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shy9-29 · 1 day ago

Text

From Dare To You ★ 심재윤

“a part two to love, lies, and sim jake” - enhypen campus series

🌿 After YN found out about the bet, Jake apologized, revealing he ended it before asking her out for real. Though hurt, she played along, but his constant effort and genuine care slowly broke through her walls, and trust began to rebuild between them.

🏷️ - @kristynaaah @firstclassjaylee @sheseung @c9b7luv @bswrldd @kiikiisblog @memyselfandkoo @k1ttyjwon @bloomiize @titttuaf @sunghoon-cam @xnatqq @azzy02 @rairaiblog @chvconn3 @wonzzziezzzz @blvengene @gvtdoll @a3r4-for3ver @luvksnn @sunarin96 @aerispark @monoidol @starnaris @pinknjm @marimariiisblog @blckorchidd @pinknjm @melodiessvy @gyulune @marimariiisblog @bgyusgf @doririsstuff @enhastolemyheart @prkhoonlvr @miamoari @dearestdreamies

wc. 9.7k · masterlist · enha campus series · part one

You didn’t plan to see him again so soon.

But there he was sitting alone on the bleachers behind the field after school, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes cast downward like the weight of the past few days was finally too heavy to carry. He looked smaller somehow. Not physically, but… quieter. Like the version of him who used to light up every room had dimmed.

You hesitated. Part of you wanted to turn back, to leave things unfinished and avoid another scene. But your feet moved anyway, slowly, carefully, until you were standing in front of him.

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours. For a second, nothing was said—just the breeze brushing past and the silence between two people who didn’t know how to start again.

“I didn’t know,” you said finally, voice soft. “About the bet. That you ended it.”

Jake stared at you for a moment, jaw tense, eyes tired. “Would it have changed anything if you did?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Yeah. It would’ve.”

He gave a small, humorless laugh, then looked away. “Too late now, huh?”

“No,” you said quickly, sitting beside him before you could change your mind. “Maybe not.”

Jake didn’t say anything at first. Then: “I was an idiot, YN. For agreeing to that bet in the first place. For not telling you sooner. I thought I could control it—my feelings. Thought if I kept it casual, it wouldn’t mess everything up. But then it stopped being casual, and I didn’t know how to fix it without losing you.”

Your heart twisted. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I thought you’d never believe me,” he admitted. “And I didn’t think I deserved a second chance. I’ve seen it happen to heeseung and it still keeps him up , I didn’t wanna take the chance with you.”

Jake stared ahead at the empty field, jaw tight, like he’d run out of words to say—or maybe like he was too afraid to say the wrong one.

You sat next to him, your voice low but sharp. “Then why did you come running back to me?”

His head turned toward you slowly. “Because I couldn’t stay away.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as a bitter laugh slipped past your lips. “Right. After everything. After the bet, after humiliating me in front of everyone, after pretending to care…”

“I wasn’t pretending,” Jake cut in, voice firmer now. “Not when I kissed you. Not when I asked you to be mine. Not when I stayed up all night hoping you’d text back.”

You looked away, jaw clenched. “You made me feel like I was something to win.”

Jake exhaled hard, like the guilt had been burning in his lungs. “I know. And if I could take it back, I would. All of it. The joke, the dare—everything that hurt you. But the way I feel about you now?” He looked at you then, eyes soft but intense. “That’s never been a lie.”

You didn’t respond right away. Your throat was tight, like the words wanted to come out but didn’t know how.

Finally, you muttered, “I don’t know if I can believe you.”

Jake nodded slowly, not pushing. “Then don’t. Not yet. Just… let me show you.”

And for once, he didn’t try to close the distance between you. He didn’t reach out. He didn’t beg.

He just sat there, quiet and waiting.

Like he finally understood that trust wasn’t something he could ask for—he had to earn it.

And so that’s what he did.

The next couple of days, Jake didn’t text you paragraphs or blow up your phone with apologies. He didn’t show up unannounced or try to corner you in the hallways. He didn’t force you to talk when you weren’t ready.

Instead… he showed up differently.

He waited outside your classroom after the bell, never too close, never pushing—just there. Quiet, patient, like a steady presence.

He started walking slower when he saw you down the hall, letting you pass instead of calling out your name.

He laughed a little softer when your friends made jokes, stealing glances your way but never trying to pull you in unless you wanted to be.

He wasn’t perfect. He still fumbled sometimes, caught himself staring too long, said your name like it was still his favorite word—but he didn’t try to take anything more than what you were willing to give.

And even if you didn’t say much, even if your heart still felt bruised and hesitant, you noticed. You noticed it all.

Because Jake Sim wasn’t trying to win a bet anymore.

He was trying to win you.

And this time, it wasn’t about pride.

It wasn’t about proving something to his friends.

It was about proving something to you.

That he was serious.

That he meant it.

That he’d stay—without the game.

It was subtle at first.

You didn’t even realize the way your walls had started to shift until you caught yourself smiling at something he said in passing. Something stupid—probably about his dog or how he nearly tripped over a soccer ball in gym. But your lips had curved before you could stop them, and when you realized he saw it, you quickly looked away.

Jake didn’t call attention to it. He just smiled too. A quiet, knowing one. And kept walking.

Later, you found a note in your locker. No big dramatic gesture—just a piece of notebook paper folded in half.

Hope today’s better than yesterday. That’s all.

— J

You stared at it longer than you’d admit. Kept it tucked into your sleeve. Didn’t text him, didn’t mention it, but the knot in your chest loosened—just a little.

At lunch, Yuna nudged you. “He’s trying,” she said gently, not with that sharp tone she’d used before. “Really trying.”

You didn’t answer. You just watched him from across the courtyard, laughing with Sunghoon and Jay—but every now and then, glancing your way.

Like he was making sure you were still there.

By Thursday, you found yourself slowing your steps so he could catch up.

By Friday, you sat next to him during study period and pretended not to notice when his hand brushed against yours on the desk.

He didn’t push. He didn’t ask. He just looked at you with those soft, unguarded eyes and smiled like that moment was enough.

And somehow…

For now, it was.

Saturday came, and with it, a text from Jake.

simjyn:

Hey. I was gonna go for a walk later. Clear my head. You don’t have to come but… if you do, I’ll bring snacks.

You stared at the message for a good ten minutes. No pressure, no “we need to talk,” no expectations—just Jake, being soft and careful. The kind of boy you weren’t sure existed weeks ago.

You didn’t reply right away. But a few hours later, there you were—hoodie on, hands in your pockets, meeting him just down the block.

He grinned when he saw you. “You came.”

You shrugged. “You said snacks.”

He held up a bag of your favorite chips with a lopsided smile. “I don’t lie about the important things.”

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a while. The streets were quieter than usual, the air warm with the smell of spring. Every now and then your shoulders would brush, and each time, Jake would glance over, like he was still surprised you hadn’t pulled away.

“I meant what I said,” he said eventually, voice softer than usual. “About showing you. I don’t want to screw this up.”

You didn’t answer at first. The sidewalk was cracked and uneven beneath your feet, like your thoughts.

Finally, you spoke. “You already did screw it up, Jake.”

He flinched, just a little. But he nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

You turned to him then. “So don’t just tell me. Show me. Keep showing me. Not just this week. Not just while you feel bad.”

Jake stopped walking. “I will.”

You searched his face for any sign of hesitation, but there wasn’t any. Just him. Raw and real.

He took a careful step closer. “Can I—?” he started to ask, but stopped himself.

And for once, you closed the space between you.

Just a little. Just enough to let him know that maybe—maybe—this was the beginning of trust again.

Jake didn’t touch you. He didn’t try to hold your hand or pull you into some movie-perfect kiss. He just smiled, slow and genuine, like that one small step meant everything.

And honestly?

It kind of did.

The next week passed like the world had slowed down—but in a good way.

There were no dramatic declarations, no big speeches. Just… Jake.

Sitting next to you during free period, not too close, but close enough.

Sliding you a note in class with the dumbest doodle imaginable—your name in bubble letters with a little crown on top.

Sending you a playlist that started off upbeat and chaotic, but slowly drifted into soft, late-night kind of songs you didn’t expect from him.

Smiling like he had a secret every time your eyes met in the hallway.

And you?

You found yourself waiting for it. For him.

You told yourself you were being cautious. That you hadn’t forgiven him yet. That your heart was still bruised from what he’d done.

But when he laughed? It didn’t hurt.

When he said your name? You didn’t flinch.

And when you caught yourself smiling—again—you didn’t look away this time.

It was Friday afternoon when he found you sitting alone near the back of the school garden. The spot you always went to when you needed to think.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat down beside you and handed you an iced drink—your favorite.

“I like this,” he said after a minute, eyes on the sky. “Just… being here. With you. No pretending. No games.”

You didn’t respond right away. The breeze was light, the sun warming your face.

“I still don’t know if I trust you,” you said quietly.

Jake didn’t flinch. “I’ll wait until you do.”

You looked over at him. Really looked. And maybe for the first time, you believed it.

Not because of his words.

But because of how he’d changed when he stopped trying to win you—

And started trying to deserve you.

So you leaned back, sipped your drink, and said nothing else.

But Jake’s smile widened.

Because silence from you now?

Wasn’t rejection.

It was peace.

And maybe, just maybe… it was the start of forgiveness.

By Monday, the whispers had started.

It wasn’t just glances anymore—it was full-on stares, hushed giggles, and not-so-subtle side-eyes when you walked into a room.

You were halfway to your seat in homeroom when you heard it.

“Do you think she did something to him?”

“She had to. There’s no way Jake Sim just—changes.”

“Dude hasn’t flirted with anyone in weeks. Not even once. He’s not even posting thirst traps anymore.”

“That’s, like, unheard of. What did she do? Put a spell on him?”

You rolled your eyes as you sat down, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something.

Apparently, the student body couldn’t comprehend that Jake Sim—the golden boy, the walking distraction, the school’s certified heartbreaker—might’ve just… grown up. Or fallen for someone. Or both.

You heard someone mutter behind you, “Honestly? Kind of iconic if she did. Like… imagine taming Jake.”

The seat beside you stayed empty. You glanced at it without meaning to.

Jake’s chair. Still untouched. Still waiting for him to come back.

And even though you weren’t sure what this was between you and him yet—or where it was going—hearing the way people talked made you feel something you hadn’t expected:

Protective.

Because sure, maybe Jake had been a reckless flirt once. Maybe he hadn’t been the safest person to care about. But he was trying. He was changing.

And he deserved the chance to do that without being a punchline.

Even if you weren’t ready to say it out loud, you knew it deep in your gut—

Whatever you and Jake were building… it was already real enough for people to notice.

Back home, everything felt quieter without him.

You didn’t realize how much space Jake had taken up in your day until he wasn’t there to fill it. His empty seat in class, the silence where his random texts would pop up, the way your phone didn’t light up with his name the second you unlocked it—it was strange.

You hated to admit it, but… you missed him.

More than you wanted to.

You found yourself hovering over his contact a dozen times, thumb lingering on the call button. What would you even say? You still didn’t know how you felt. Still didn’t know if you were ready to let yourself fully trust him again.

But that didn’t stop your heart from aching.

So, one night—when the silence in your room felt too loud and the thoughts in your head wouldn’t shut up—you caved. You tapped call.

It rang once. Twice.

Then—“Hello?”

His voice was raspy, low. He sounded half-asleep. You glanced at the time. 4:02 AM in Australia.

“Oh my god—Jake, I’m sorry,” you blurted. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I’ll call you back later, just go back to sleep—”

“No,” he said quickly, voice still heavy with sleep but suddenly more alert. “No, stay. Please. I wanna stay on the call. For you? Always.”

You went quiet, swallowing down the guilt that rose in your chest.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, a smile tugging into his voice. “Hearing your voice is already better than sleep.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaky and a little embarrassed. Then, without really meaning to—you started talking.

Not about anything huge. Just the little stuff. The rumors at school. How Kazuha almost knocked over a vending machine trying to get a free soda. How the cafeteria ran out of your favorite chips and it weirdly ruined your day more than it should’ve.

Jake didn’t interrupt. Didn’t talk over you. He just listened—soft, warm, awake only because you needed him.

And eventually, your words grew quieter. Slower.

“I didn’t think I’d miss you this much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s stupid. After everything, I should still be mad. And I am. But… I miss you anyway.”

There was a pause. Then his voice, low and soft through the speaker:

“I miss you too. Every second. Even the ones I’m supposed to be sleeping through.”

You smiled, curling deeper into your blanket, heart beating too fast for how calm your voice sounded.

Maybe this wasn’t forgiveness.

Maybe it was just… a step toward it.

But for now, lying in bed and hearing his sleepy breath through the phone—

It was enough.

The next day, the evening settled in quietly—soft rain pattering against your window, the smell of shampoo still lingering in the air as you curled up in bed in your oversized hoodie. Hair damp, phone warm in your hand, you finally gave in and called him again.

Jake picked up almost instantly, like he’d been waiting.

The screen lit up with his face, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. His hair was a little messy, eyes a little puffy—he looked tired, but the kind of tired that made him look softer.

Then he paused.

You tilted your head. “What?”

Jake blinked, then bit his lip, trying not to grin. “Nothing,” he said, voice all low and lazy. “You’re just… cute like that.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hoodie closer. “Like what?”

He laughed quietly. “Like that. All soft and cozy. I dunno. It’s just…” He shrugged. “I’d like to see you in my hoodie one day.”

Your stomach did this stupid little flip, but you masked it with a scoff. “You’d probably never get it back.”

“That’s the point,” he said, eyes shining with something gentle.

You looked away for a second, trying not to let the smile win—but it crept in anyway. You hated how easy it was to slip into this, how warm his voice made you feel even when you were still trying to protect your heart.

Still… you didn’t change the subject.

Instead, Jake shifted the camera and suddenly, a golden blur popped into view.

“Oh my god,” you said, sitting up. “Is that Layla?”

Jake beamed, gently scratching behind the ears of his border collie. “Yup. She’s been sulking without me. But she likes calls with you.”

Layla barked softly, tail wagging, and it made something in you melt.

You smiled quietly. “She’s so pretty.”

Jake looked back at the screen. “She’d love you.”

You hesitated for a beat, watching him, the way his hand rested gently on Layla’s fur, the way his face relaxed when he looked at you like that—like you were something precious.

“I’m still figuring things out,” you said softly.

Jake nodded without hesitation. “I know. And I’ll wait, remember?”

Your walls were still there. But they were softer now, worn down in places.

And maybe… just maybe… you were starting to believe he really meant it.

The next night, you weren’t sure why your fingers moved so quickly to hit call.

Maybe it was the silence of your room again.

Maybe it was the way his name lingered in your head all day.

Or maybe… you just wanted to hear his voice.

Jake answered with that same smile—bright and sleepy and just for you.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he said, voice a little hoarse, a little teasing. “You always call me right before bed. Not that I’m complaining.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I just like seeing Layla.”

Jake laughed, turning the camera to show Layla curled up at his feet. “She missed you too.”

You hesitated for a second. Your heart picked up.

And before you could overthink it, before your brain could yell no—you said it.

“I missed you,” you said quietly, voice softer than usual.

Jake blinked. His smile didn’t falter, but you could see something shift behind his eyes—like the words landed a little deeper than either of you expected.

“You… what?”

You swallowed. “I said I missed you. Don’t make me say it again.”

His lips curled into something warm and slow, something real. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

You looked away, cheeks heating. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I won’t,” he said, still grinning. “But just so you know… I missed you more.”

And just like that, something shifted.

Not huge, not loud—but it was there.

A new softness in the way you looked at each other.

A new kind of trust threading its way through the call.

You still weren’t all the way in.

But you were no longer holding all the way back either.

“Three more days,” Jake said through the screen, stretching his arms above his head with a groggy little yawn.

It was morning there, the sunlight barely creeping in through the curtains behind him, and his voice was still heavy with sleep. His hair was messy, sticking up in every direction, and you could hear Layla snoring faintly in the background.

You smiled at the sight, tucked under your blanket, phone propped up on your pillow.

“Not that I’m counting,” he added, eyes flicking up to meet yours through the screen with a crooked grin.

You raised a brow. “You literally said that exact thing yesterday. And the day before.”

“Okay, so maybe I am counting.” He shrugged, grin widening. “What can I say? I miss you.”

You rolled your eyes, but this time, you didn’t try to hide your smile.

Jake leaned closer to the camera, as if trying to get a better look at you through the screen. “What about you?”

“What about me?” you said, playing dumb even though your heart was already speeding up.

He tilted his head, voice soft. “You still miss me yet?”

You let a pause hang in the air for just a second longer than necessary before you whispered, “Maybe.”

Jake let out a low laugh, running a hand through his messy hair. “That’s all I get? A maybe?”

You bit your lip, trying to look annoyed, but the truth was written all over your face. You missed him more than you wanted to admit, and saying it out loud felt like giving up the last bit of control you had left.

But still, you added, “Three more days.”

Jake’s gaze softened. “Yeah… three more days, and I’m yours again.”

You looked at him, really looked at him—sleepy, sincere, and a little too perfect for his own good.

And in that moment, it hit you:

Maybe this was real after all.

And maybe… you were finally letting yourself believe it.

There was a soft knock on your door—three gentle taps, familiar and unhurried.

You peeled yourself off your bed, phone still warm in your hand from just hanging up with Jake. Padding over in your hoodie and socks, you opened the door.

Yuna stood there, arms crossed, an all-too-knowing smirk already forming on her face. “You’ve been on the phone every night,” she said, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. “I swear, I can hear you giggling through the wall.”

You flushed immediately. “I do not giggle.”

“Sure,” she said, plopping down dramatically onto your bed. “Just like how you’re totally not falling for him again.”

You shut the door behind her with a sigh, leaning your back against it. “He’s… different now. I don’t know, Yuna. I can’t explain it.”

Yuna looked at you for a long second, all the teasing melting into something more sincere.

“I believe he’s actually trying,” she said softly. “I do. I’ve been watching. He’s not flirting with every girl in sight. He hasn’t pulled one of his stupid ‘fuck boy’ games since the party. He’s… quieter. Focused. On you.”

You bit your lip, walking over to sit next to her on the edge of the bed.

“But I’m still pissed,” she added, voice firmer now. “What he did to you? The bet? The way he played it at first—that wasn’t okay. And I hate that you got caught up in it.”

“I know,” you said, eyes on your lap. “I hate it too. But it’s not like I didn’t see it coming. I just… didn’t expect him to change.”

Yuna was quiet for a second, then nudged your arm with hers. “You don’t have to forgive him all the way. Not yet. But you’re allowed to feel what you feel, okay? Even if it’s messy.”

You looked at her—your best friend, the one who always had your back even when you were being stubborn—and nodded.

“Thanks for not saying I told you so.”

“Oh, I totally told you so,” Yuna said with a smirk. “But I’m saying it with love.”

You laughed, and for the first time in a while, it felt real.

Later that night, after Yuna had left with a dramatic “Don’t stay up all night whispering sweet nothings,” you were back in bed, your thoughts buzzing.

You stared at your phone, thumb hovering over Jake’s name. It felt different now—not like you had to call him, but like… maybe you wanted to.

So you did.

The screen lit up, and after just one ring, his face appeared—eyes half-lidded, hoodie hood pulled halfway over his messy hair.

“Hey,” he said, voice all gravel and sleep. “Missed me already?”

You snorted, shifting under your blanket. “It’s only been a few hours.”

Jake smiled lazily. “Still counts.”

You studied him quietly for a moment—how tired he looked, how soft he sounded when he was with you. And for a second, it almost felt easy. Natural. As if things had always been like this between you.

“Yuna and I talked,” you said.

Jake blinked more awake. “Yeah? What’d she say?”

You shrugged. “She still doesn’t like what you did. But… she believes you’re trying.”

Jake leaned back against his pillows, hand dragging down his face. “I deserve that. I don’t expect anyone to forgive me right away.”

There was a pause. His eyes flicked back to the screen. “But you talked to her about me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Don’t get cocky.”

“I’m not,” he said, grinning. “Just… glad.”

You rested your cheek on your pillow, watching him through the screen. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when you come back.”

“I do,” he said. “I’m gonna see you. And I’m gonna keep proving it—every day. No games. Just me.”

Your heart did that thing again—that annoying, traitorous flutter—but you didn’t stop it this time.

“Three days,” you whispered.

Jake smiled so softly it nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. “Yeah. Three days.”

And even with all the scars and hesitation…

You couldn’t help but feel a little bit like you were finally getting your heart back.

Two more days.

That’s what you’d told yourself all morning.

Just two more days and he’d be back. Two more days and you’d see him—really see him—not just on a screen.

But that night, something felt off.

Jake hadn’t called.

Not even a text.

Not a “good morning” or a sleepy voice note. Nothing.

You tried to brush it off at first.

He’s probably tired. Maybe busy with his family.

But the longer you stared at your phone, the more uneasy you felt.

You sent a message. Then another.

And when the little “Delivered” didn’t change to “Read”… you panicked.

You tried calling. Once. Twice. Then five more times.

Your fingers moved on their own—FaceTime.

The screen rang for what felt like forever before finally—

Click.

His face appeared, flushed and damp, water still running faintly in the background. Steam curled around the edges of the screen, and his wet hair was slicked back. He was clearly still in the shower, the camera only catching his bare shoulders and face, but—

“Y/N?” Jake asked, breathless. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Your words came out rushed. “What’s wrong with you? Why weren’t you answering? I thought— I don’t know. I thought something happened—”

Jake blinked fast, clearly still trying to process. “Shit, I’m sorry. I was in the shower. I left my phone on the counter but it wouldn’t stop buzzing—I thought someone died.”

You breathed out a shaky laugh, rubbing your eyes. “You scared me.”

He frowned, guilt all over his face. “I didn’t mean to. I swear, I just— I was in the middle of shampooing and suddenly it’s like twelve missed calls—”

“I thought something happened to you,” you admitted quietly, voice softer now.

Jake’s brows knit together. He adjusted the phone slightly—still just his face and shoulders on screen—and his voice dipped low. “Hey… I’m okay. I promise. You’re not overthinking, alright? I should’ve texted you first. That’s on me.”

You nodded, but your heart was still racing.

He gave a crooked smile. “For what it’s worth… I’m kinda glad you spammed me.”

“Why?”

“Means you care,” he said simply. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

You looked at him, steam rising around his face, eyes tired but warm.

“Next time,” you muttered, “at least answer before I have a meltdown.”

Jake chuckled. “Deal.”

And even though the call wasn’t long…

And even though he was still in Australia, two days away—

You went to bed that night with your heart just a little more at ease.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through your blinds as you sat cross-legged on your bed, phone propped up in front of you. Jake’s sleepy face filled the screen—his hair a little messy, eyes soft and hooded from just waking up. It was night over there, but he still looked wide awake for one reason only.

You.

“Okay,” you said, holding up two options. “Sweater or hoodie?”

Jake squinted, rubbing at his eye. “Wait, wait, go back to the blue one. The knit one.”

You held it up again, amused. “This?”

“Yeah,” he said, already smiling. “That. With the jean shorts. You’ll look so good, I swear.”

You gave him a look. “You didn’t even see it on.”

“Babe,” he said, voice low and teasing, “I already know. Trust me.”

You rolled your eyes but tugged the sweater on anyway. It was cozy, a little oversized, sleeves dropping slightly past your wrists. Paired with your denim shorts and a quick glance in the mirror—you had to admit, he was right.

You turned back toward the screen to find Jake watching you with this quiet, lopsided grin on his face.

“What?” you asked, reaching for your mascara.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just… you’re really pretty.”

Your hand paused mid-air. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice softer now. “Like, stupid pretty.”

You bit back a smile and kept doing your makeup, feeling his gaze linger. He didn’t say anything for a bit, just watched you brush and blend and put on lip balm.

“I don’t care how jet-lagged I am tomorrow,” he said suddenly. “I’m staying up all night with you.”

You glanced at the screen.

He looked dead serious, head resting on his pillow but eyes locked on you.

“I’m gonna hug you so tight,” he said. “Like, refuse to let go tight. And kiss you until you tell me to stop.”

You pretended to be unbothered, but your smile gave you away.

He laughed gently. “That a yes?”

You shook your head, cheeks warm. “We’ll see.”

Jake yawned and nestled deeper into his sheets. “One more day…”

“One more,” you echoed, slipping on your shoes.

And as you grabbed your bag and headed out the door, you couldn’t help but feel the smallest flicker of excitement under your skin.

Just one more.

That whole day felt… weird. Good weird. Butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of weird.

Everything you did—walking through the halls, sitting through class, zoning out during lunch—had one repeating thought in the back of your mind: Jake’s coming back today.

You weren’t texting him much. Just a few updates here and there.

He sent you a photo of the plane window, captioned: Next stop: you.

And that alone had you stuffing your phone into your locker before you completely melted in front of everyone.

By the time school ended, your legs were bouncing nonstop on the bus ride home. You told yourself you were being chill. Normal. Totally not overthinking the fact that Jake Sim, the boy who once treated girls like trophies, who once made you a bet, was now someone you were waiting for.

And maybe even falling for.

You got home, changed into something a little more comfortable, and threw yourself on your bed—phone clutched in your hand like it was your lifeline.

Then, a text buzzed through:

@simjyn: Landed. Be at yours in 20. Don’t freak out.

Your heart immediately started freaking out.

You sat up fast, checked your reflection in the mirror, and tried to tell yourself it wasn’t that deep.

But it was.

Because this wasn’t just any visit.

This was the first time you were going to see him since everything—

Since the bet, the heartbreak, the slow rebuild.

Since the quiet confessions and late night calls and the I miss yous.

This was real.

And you were about to find out just how real it truly felt… when he was standing right in front of you.

The next twenty minutes felt like an eternity. You paced around your room, picking up and putting down random things—your phone, your makeup bag, your shoes—anything to distract yourself from the nervous energy building in your chest.

You had to keep reminding yourself to breathe. It’s just Jake. It’s just Jake.

But it wasn’t just Jake, was it?

It was the Jake. The one you’d spent weeks on edge about. The one who’d broken your heart and then somehow, miraculously, started piecing it back together. The one who told you things that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t want to admit.

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, making your heart jump into your throat.

You took a steadying breath and headed for the door, barely holding it together. When you opened it, Jake was standing there, grinning like he owned the world. His hair was a little messy, his eyes bright, and there was a certain softness to him that you hadn’t expected.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, a little hoarse from the travel. “Miss me?”

You just stared at him for a beat before a small laugh escaped your lips. “Are you really gonna ask that after everything?”

Jake stepped inside, closing the door behind him as he swept you into a hug. The warmth of his body was instant—familiar, comforting—and for the first time in days, you felt like maybe this was right. Like maybe it wasn’t a mistake to want him around.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quiet now, like he was finally ready to admit it. “I know I messed up, but I really meant it when I said I wanted to try. I’m here for you. I want this… with you.”

You pulled back slightly to look him in the eye, your heart still racing from the flood of emotions crashing over you.

“You’re not just saying that because you’re back now?” you asked, unsure if you were ready to hear the answer.

Jake’s hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin as if he was trying to memorize the feeling of you. “No. It’s not just because I’m here. I was never going to get off the plane without making things right. I wanted to be here. For you. For us.”

You couldn’t say anything, couldn’t form the words you needed to say. Instead, you stood there, eyes locked on his, and let the silence speak for you.

Finally, Jake leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “So, how about we just… try again? No games, no past stuff. Just us.”

You took in a shaky breath, then nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Jake smiled, that familiar cocky grin back on his face, but there was something new in his eyes—something deeper. “Good,” he murmured before gently leaning in to kiss you.

It was soft, tentative at first, like he was waiting for permission. You let him, sinking into the kiss, and for that brief moment, it felt like all the tension and uncertainty of the past few weeks just melted away.

When he pulled back, he grinned again. “Tomorrow, I’m not jet-lagged. We’re going out. I’m taking you on a real date.”

You laughed softly, still in a daze from his kiss. “What’s a ‘real date’ to you?”

“Dinner, movie, some late-night snacks, maybe another kiss or two…” Jake shrugged. “The usual, but with less games.”

You smiled, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering in response. “I think I could get used to this.”

Jake just chuckled and pulled you close again, arms wrapping around you like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to relax into him, knowing that whatever came next, you were finally ready to let things unfold.

Jake stood by the door, his hands casually in his pockets, looking around your room like he was trying to make himself comfortable. His eyes settled on you, and there was that same soft look he always had when he wasn’t being cocky or teasing.

“So, uh…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly a little unsure for the first time tonight. “Is Yuna here?”

You blinked, glancing toward the empty bed across the room. Yuna was out with her boyfriend, which left you alone in the apartment for the night. You’d assumed it would just be the two of you hanging out, but the way Jake asked made your heart skip a beat.

“Uh, no, she’s out with her boyfriend for the night,” you replied, biting your lip. “Why?”

Jake looked almost shy for a second, before shrugging. “Well, I was thinking… maybe I could stay here tonight?” His voice was hesitant, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if he was asking because he really wanted to, or if it was just the most natural thing for him to do. But when his eyes met yours, there was a sincerity there that made your stomach flutter.

You froze, a nervous little laugh escaping your lips. Stay the night?

You’d never had a guy stay over, especially not someone like Jake—someone who had once seemed like the kind of guy who’d never do anything that serious with someone. The idea of him being so close to you all night, even after everything, made your heart race. You couldn’t lie—it made you feel… nervous.

“Uh… yeah. Sure,” you said quietly, looking down at your feet, suddenly feeling shy.

Jake smiled, a bit relieved. “You sure? I don’t wanna make it awkward or anything, I just… I’ve missed being with you.”

Your heart melted at his words, but the nerves were still there, fluttering in your chest. “It’s not awkward,” you replied, glancing up at him. “I just… haven’t really had anyone stay over before. It’s… different.”

Jake stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the best way. He reached for your hand and gently tugged you towards him, his smile soft and comforting. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, okay? I just wanna spend time with you. Just you and me.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. “Okay…” you whispered, not sure what to expect, but feeling strangely calm in his arms.

Jake’s lips pressed softly to your forehead, his hand still holding yours as he led you to the bed. “Then, how about we just watch a movie? You pick.”

You nodded, still feeling that little wave of nervousness, but somehow comforted by the way Jake treated you. This wasn’t a game anymore, and maybe it wasn’t the big leap you’d both once imagined. But it was a step, and that was enough.

As Jake settled next to you on the bed, you grabbed your remote and flipped through the options. He leaned against the headboard, pulling you closer, as you snuggled into his side, your heart beating just a little faster than normal.

You weren’t sure what the future held, but right now, in this quiet moment with Jake, you were willing to let the night unfold however it came.

And, even if you were nervous, you didn’t mind that he was here. With you.

The bed felt a little too big for just the two of you at first. You were trying to settle in, but your nerves kept making it awkward. You told yourself it would be fine, but the reality of him being here—so close, sharing this space with you—was a little more overwhelming than you expected.

Jake, on the other hand, was perfectly at ease. He’d clearly been in similar situations before, and the way he moved around the bed, adjusting the pillows, grabbing the blanket to throw over both of you, was effortless. He wasn’t even trying to be cautious. To him, it was just another night, another moment to relax.

You, on the other hand, lay stiff beside him, your back to him as you tried to make yourself comfortable without being too aware of his presence.

Then, you heard him yawn. “So… not bad, huh?” he said casually, turning on his side to face you, his gaze sharp and mischievous. “I mean, I know you’re probably not used to me being here, but don’t worry. I’m a great bedmate.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes even though you couldn’t hide a small smile. “Yeah, sure. No more moving around, okay? I’m trying to sleep.”

Jake grinned, clearly not even the slightest bit tired. “It’s only like 6 AM for me, babe. It’s morning in Australia, so I’m wide awake.” He paused for a second before adding, “And don’t worry. I’m not that bad. I’ll let you sleep.”

But he didn’t.

The next few minutes were a blur of shifting blankets and restless movements. Every time you thought you might finally fall asleep, Jake would adjust, making sure you felt every inch of his presence next to you. It was like he was a human radiator.

He kept moving, lightly bumping into you, his arm brushing against yours as he stretched and shifted again. You groaned, turning onto your back, trying to get some space. But Jake had other plans.

“C’mon, you can’t be mad at me forever,” he murmured, his fingers trailing over your cheek as he pinched it, all while giving you that infuriatingly sweet smile.

“Jake, I’m trying to sleep,” you snapped, your voice more irritated than you meant it to be.

“I know. You’re cute when you’re grumpy.” He grinned and leaned in to pinch your other cheek. “You’re like a little puppy when you’re all sleepy and mad.”

You huffed, swatting his hand away, but Jake only laughed softly, ignoring your protests. He pulled you in closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly, so there was no escape.

“What are you doing?” you muttered, fighting the urge to squirm out of his grip.

“I’m cuddling you. Isn’t that what you do when you’re sleeping next to someone? Come on, you can’t be mad at me. It’s cute when you’re mad.” Jake’s tone was teasing, almost too playful for how much he was invading your personal space.

You gritted your teeth, pushing at his chest weakly, but the more you tried to get away, the more he pulled you in. Eventually, you just gave up, sighing in frustration, the warmth of his embrace making you feel a little too comfortable despite your annoyance.

“Seriously, Jake, I’m not in the mood for this,” you muttered, trying to wiggle free.

But instead of letting go, Jake’s hand rested on the top of your head, gently stroking your hair, as if trying to soothe you. “Shhh. Just relax, okay? You’ve had a rough couple of days. Let me take care of you.”

His words were soft and gentle, but the way he was treating you, so carefree and natural, made everything feel more intense.

You felt your face flush. God, why was he so affectionate?

Your body was tense, but Jake didn’t seem to care. He continued his little “babying” routine, pinching your cheeks again, running his hand down your arm. “You really are cute when you’re trying to act tough.”

You shoved his hand away again. “Stop!” you groaned, your face burning now, both from being flustered and from how absolutely done you were with his teasing. But even as you spoke, you couldn’t help but feel your frustration shift into something else. The warmth of his closeness, the way he kept trying to make you laugh—despite how embarrassed you were—it was impossible to ignore the fact that a part of you was starting to soften.

Jake seemed to sense that too, because his smile softened, and for a brief second, he pulled back just enough to look at you seriously. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop… for now,” he said, but there was a playful glint in his eyes that told you he was far from done.

“Good,” you muttered, turning to face the other side of the bed.

Jake’s voice suddenly broke through the quiet, whining as he flopped onto his back. “I’m bored!” he groaned dramatically, his arms thrown wide as he stared up at the ceiling. “This is so lame. Can we do something fun?”

The frustration that had been simmering inside you all night bubbled over. You were already feeling irritable from his constant moving around and messing with you, and now this? You turned on your side, facing him, opening your mouth to let him have it.

“What do you mean, bored? You’re the one who—”

Before you could even finish your sentence, Jake was already leaning in, his lips pressing urgently against yours, silencing whatever you were about to say. His kiss was sudden and intense, catching you completely off guard. The feeling of his lips on yours made everything in you freeze. You were mad, frustrated, confused—and yet your body couldn’t help but respond to him.

You pulled away, heart pounding, cheeks flushed. “What the hell, Jake?” you gasped, feeling a little more than just flustered.

Jake smirked, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Shh,” he murmured, his voice low and playful. “You were about to yell at me, weren’t you? I just had to shut you up for a second.”

Before you could even process what was happening, he kissed you again. This time, it was slower, deeper, and when he pulled away, your lips felt tingling, your mind a little hazy.

But Jake wasn’t done. His hands slid to your waist, and in one fluid movement, he was over you, his body hovering above yours. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race, and his breath was coming out in soft pants.

“Jake, wait, we can’t—” you tried to protest, but your voice faltered as his lips moved down to your neck, his body pressing closer to yours.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. He kissed you again, more passionately this time, as his hands moved to pull you even closer. Every touch, every kiss, only seemed to stir something deeper in you.

And even though you were still mad, flustered, and unsure, you couldn’t deny how badly your body responded to his closeness. The kiss deepened, the air between you thick with tension and the weight of everything unsaid.

It was like you couldn’t breathe without him, even as your mind screamed at you to pull away, to think clearly. But all you could focus on were his lips, his hands, and the way his body made yours burn with the kind of heat you hadn’t expected.

And in that moment, everything else just seemed to fade away.

You pulled away from Jake just enough to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. The heat between you was still lingering, and your heart was hammering in your chest.

“Jake,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “Don’t… don’t leave any marks.”

Jake paused, looking down at you with a mischievous grin. “What, are you worried someone’s gonna see? You know, it’ll just be our little secret.”

You felt the tension rise in your chest. “Jake, seriously. No marks.”

But he only smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Too late,” he said softly, pressing his lips to your neck again. His kiss was soft at first, but there was a quiet intensity behind it, his lips leaving a trail of heat.

You gasped, a shiver running down your spine. “Jake…” you protested weakly, but his lips were already moving with more confidence, his hands gently pulling your body even closer to his.

“Shh,” he murmured between kisses, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re just too irresistible, you know that?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus, but the way his mouth was slowly marking the sensitive skin of your neck made it hard to think. He didn’t seem to care about your protests, and in a way, you didn’t want him to. The moment was too intense for you to pull back now.

“Jake, I said no marks,” you breathed, but your voice wavered as his lips pressed harder against the skin of your neck.

But Jake’s grin never wavered as he kissed you once more. “I’ll be gentle,” he whispered teasingly. “But you know you like it.”

And before you could say anything else, he placed another kiss on your skin, and this time, it was more than just a light touch—it was deeper, more possessive.

You couldn’t help but groan, your body reacting in ways you hadn’t expected, and all of your careful reservations melted away beneath him.

Jake pulled away for a moment, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite place. He gave you a slow, almost predatory grin before sitting up slightly. Without saying a word, he pulled his shirt off over his head, tossing it carelessly to the side.

Your breat caught in your throat as your eyes involuntarily roamed over his toned chest. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him shirtless before, but now… this felt different. The way his body moved, the way he stared down at you with that same confident smirk—something about it was making your pulse quicken.

He watched you carefully, gauging your reaction. “You okay?” he asked, voice low, teasing.

You swallowed hard, trying to collect your thoughts, but they were all scrambled. “I—yeah,” you muttered, not entirely sure if you believed it yourself. You wanted to look away, to regain some control over the situation, but your eyes kept drifting back to his chest, his body in a way you couldn’t quite pull yourself away from.

“Good,” Jake murmured, leaning back down toward you, his body pressing against yours once more. “Because I’m not done yet.”

You barely had time to process his words before his lips were on yours again, pulling you into another kiss that made it harder to think about anything else. The way his bare skin felt against yours, the warmth of his body, everything seemed to blur into a haze of desire and confusion.

Despite all the hesitation still lingering inside you, your body reacted instinctively, leaning into the kiss and feeling that undeniable pull toward him. And for a moment, everything else—your worries, your reservations, your doubts—faded into the background.

Jake’s kiss deepened, the intensity of it making your pulse race, and you could feel every inch of him pressed against you. Your heart pounded in your chest, and despite your earlier protests, you couldn’t stop yourself from responding. He was so close now, his body hovering above yours, the heat from his skin making you feel both excited and nervous.

His hands gently moved to your sides, his fingertips grazing the skin just beneath your shirt, sending a wave of electricity through your body. You wanted to pull back, to stop it before it went any further, but every part of you—every instinct—wanted to stay.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” Jake murmured against your lips, as if sensing your hesitation. His voice was quieter now, softer, and you could feel the tenderness beneath the teasing tone.

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breath. “I know,” you whispered back, your voice trembling slightly. But the tension was still there, between you both, thick and palpable.

Jake shifted slightly, lifting himself up just enough to look down at you. His hands gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. “I don’t want to rush you,” he said seriously, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reassurance. “But if you’re still unsure about anything… just say the word, and we’ll stop.”

For a brief moment, you felt the weight of your emotions, the confusion swirling inside you. You wanted to trust him. Part of you did. But then the doubt crept in—how much of this was him really caring about you? And how much was just him playing his usual game?

You tried to push those thoughts away, your hand reaching up to gently rest on his chest. “I’m just… trying to figure things out,” you confessed, your voice quiet but honest.

Jake gave you a small smile, his thumb now gently rubbing over your skin. “I get it. And I’m here, okay? Whatever you need.”

And for the first time in a long while, you felt like maybe, just maybe, there was a chance things could be different between you two. The trust you had been struggling to build was fragile, but it was there. And despite everything—despite how complicated things had gotten—you couldn’t ignore the warmth that spread through you when you were with him.

“Thanks,” you said softly, looking up at him. “I’m still figuring it out, but… I don’t want to let you go.”

Jake’s smile widened, his eyes softening as he leaned down to kiss you again, slower this time, as if trying to communicate everything he hadn’t said with his actions. It wasn’t perfect, and you weren’t sure where things were headed, but for once, you let yourself believe that maybe this could be something worth fighting for.

The air was heavy with the quiet aftermath, both of you lying side by side in the tangled sheets, the room still filled with the lingering warmth of the moment. You didn’t speak at first, unsure of how to break the silence. Your heart was still racing, the intensity of everything that had happened swirling in your mind, and a part of you felt vulnerable, exposed.

Jake lay on his back, one arm draped across his chest as he stared up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. He seemed calm, but you could see the subtle shift in the way he was holding himself, like there was more going on behind his relaxed exterior than he was letting on.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart still pounding in your chest. “Jake…” your voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like you weren’t sure what you needed to say. You wanted to ask so many things, to know where you both stood now, but the words seemed stuck.

Jake turned his head to face you, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that you hadn’t seen before. He smiled, though it was more subdued than his usual cocky grin. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, as if he was giving you space to process everything.

You nodded slowly, unsure of how to explain what you were feeling. “I think so,” you whispered, but the words still felt hollow, as if you didn’t fully believe them yourself.

Jake reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch surprisingly tender. “You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready,” he murmured, his thumb lightly grazing your cheek. “But I’m here. And I meant what I said. I don’t want to rush you into anything.”

You looked up at him, feeling the warmth of his words sink in, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a little more grounded. Maybe you didn’t have all the answers, and maybe this wasn’t perfect, but you weren’t as afraid anymore.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper.

Jake’s smile grew, and he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to be happy,” he murmured.

For a moment, everything was still, the only sound the faint hum of the night outside. It was messy, and maybe you weren’t ready to give everything over just yet, but you knew one thing—things with Jake were no longer the same. Whether that was a good or bad thing, you weren’t entirely sure, but for now, it felt real.

And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe that maybe that was enough.

The peaceful silence that had settled between you and Jake was abruptly shattered by the sound of a door creaking open, followed by the unmistakable click of a lock being turned. You both froze, panic and confusion flashing across your faces.

The door swung open, and to your horror, Yuna and her boyfriend, Mark, stood in the doorway, eyes wide with shock. Yuna’s face was a mix of disbelief and surprise, while Mark’s expression was one of utter confusion.

“What the hell?” Yuna’s voice was sharp, but still laced with the shock of what she was seeing. “It’s three in the morning, why the hell are you two—?”

You scrambled to sit up, suddenly feeling exposed in a way you never thought possible. Jake, always cool and collected, sat up quickly too, his face just as surprised. He looked at you, then back at Yuna and Mark, clearly trying to gauge the situation.

“Yuna,” you stammered, your voice betraying the chaos that was suddenly consuming you. “I… um, it’s not what you think.”

Mark looked between the two of you, eyebrows raised. “Y/n and Jake…such a weird combo. What’s going on?”

Yuna stood frozen for a moment, then slowly closed the door behind her, her eyes never leaving you. “This is… Wow,” she muttered under her breath. “We should’ve knocked.”

“Yuna, it’s… it’s not like that,” you said, your words coming out rushed, a little too desperate for comfort.

Jake was the first to break the tension, his usual cocky grin slipping back onto his face. “No, actually, it’s exactly like that,” he said with a shrug, leaning back against the headboard, his tone casual as though it didn’t faze him in the slightest. “But, uh, a little privacy wouldn’t hurt next time, right?”

Yuna’s gaze flickered between the two of you, her face still unreadable, but Mark’s expression turned more thoughtful. “Alright, well, we can talk about this later,” he said, stepping back toward the door. “But seriously, next time, maybe lock it, yeah?”

Before either of you could respond, they turned and walked out, leaving you alone in the room again. The door clicked shut behind them, but the silence felt deafening now, far more overwhelming than before.

You let out a breath, your heart still racing. This wasn’t how you imagined the night going, but then again, nothing about this situation had been how you expected.

Jake leaned over, a playful smirk on his lips. “Well, that was a nice surprise, huh?”

You shot him a look, still feeling a little dazed. “I think I just want to sleep now,” you muttered, pulling the covers up around you, your face flushed with embarrassment.

Jake just chuckled, his hand resting on your arm. “I don’t blame you,” he said softly. “We’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

But even as you tried to settle back into the quiet, the strange events of the evening felt like a reminder of how everything between you had shifted. Whether it was for better or worse, you didn’t know yet. But one thing was for sure: it wasn’t over.

enha campus series

443 notes · View notes

charmed-asylum · 2 days ago

Text

I love how JJ literally running from responsibility but he will lose his shit if or when he finds out her stripping or Rafe . But she trying to talk to you can u n urs friends are more important. U miss a job interview for fishing oh yeah im gonna hate this man w a hand full of gold ready to swing it at someone

“JJ frowned but didn’t answer right away. He knew he was being a little unreasonable- but in his defense he was just a teen. His silence however told her everything. She looked at him and momentarily took in his appearance, his messy blond hair, his summer kissed skin; she envied him a little, the way he was always out and about, not worried, never stressed. She muttered, turning on her heel.”

I think I agree w reader and many people that not only we dealt with this but somehow things change on age like when we was JJ AGE did we not want to do the same but somehow things telling me we didn’t

Then I think back to again sad truth a lot of people deal with this not because they wanted to but even with it being hell they had no choice. JJ should know and he not making it easy for them acting way he does what if she died or walk off he be alone. “ . Sometimes she wished she could turn back time, move back to when she didn't even know about all of this, before she showed her dad she could look after herself - and JJ… maybe then she wouldn't have this constant weight on her shoulders.” Then if not all this bills and what not her dad damn wtf wrong w this family in my mind she and JJ have different moms so shit mom had to leave her w this shit. “She’s gripping the wheel tightly, her thoughts tangled in the mess of overdue payments, an empty fridge, and a father and brother who barely acknowledge her existence unless they want something” this speaks volumes like all of this hub yes . Like this whole thing while these two MEN don’t care much for her just use her I feel that this will make it easy for Rafe at end of the day she use to having to take care of men not once be pamper sad but true even when Tommy ask her you trouble she thinks of her dad and brother which haha u care so much but don’t do shit w ur hand out wow but I feel this is going to blow up in his face or rage get jealous n become that boyfriend I know too ahead of my self haha.

Why Tommy way more cool then I imagine one would be like I’m thinking player club type not Mafia w a heart, “I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

Neither is ungrateful dickd

And then he does shady shit tommy Tommy . Damn way they had a long as convo w no words when Rafe first came in I even scream and drop my phone like I didn’t see it coming . Way that dance happened im sorry while he playing w her idk what relationship she had w him before or in school how she was but he in deep nah bc if he want to get back at JJ TAKE PICS N POST no no no he wanted this and only him maybe berry but bc he there to be witness but im sure even that not gonna last it’s not his style damn that dance im sure next time it won’t be the same nope not at all. I’m hook 🪝

Bunny

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.

a/n: I actually said I'd never do another series again but here we are 😼. Looollll anywho, Y/N literally is literally a walking definition of older child syndrome and her and Rafe hate eachother so much stop. This is gonna be such a good enemies to lovers get me outta here

warnings: mentions of drugs, smoking, drinking, a strip club (duh), naked women, drug dealing, aggressive behaviour.

(P2)

The faucet dripped steadily, each drop hitting the rust-stained sink with an echo that filled the quiet of the house. Y/N stood in the cramped bathroom, arms crossed, lips pressed together in frustration as she watched the slow but relentless leak.

Another thing broken.

Another thing they couldn’t afford to fix.

She let out a slow breath, running a hand down her face before turning sharply at the sound of footsteps thudding through the hallway. She knew them well—JJ, heading for the door, heading out. Again.

“JJ.”

Her voice was firm, but it barely slowed him down as he moved through the house, searching for his keys. He muttered, pushing past the worn couch and shoving a hand into the pocket of his frayed shorts.

“Not now, Y/N, alright?”

“JJ, seriously.”

She stepped into his path, arms out now, forcing him to stop.

“Can you just- can you talk to me for five seconds?”

“What?”

His blue eyes flicked up to hers, but there was impatience in them, already halfway gone even as he stood in front of her. Y/N clenched her jaw, gesturing back toward the bathroom.

“Shit’s breaking faster than I can fix it. We need money and I can’t do this alone.”

“I’ll figure something out, okay?”

JJ sighed, rubbing a hand down his face as he stepped around her, heading toward the door again. She let out a humorless scoff watching her brother avoid the conversation- once again.

“What about that job interview at the gas station I told you about last week?”

She’d told him about it last monday, she could still remember begging the manager to give him a chance, given his reputation- well it wasn't the best. JJ’s shoulders tensed slightly, and for the first time, he hesitated.

“Uh… yeah, about that…”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. She already knew the answer before he finished his sentence. She spoke slowly, warning in her tone.

“JJ”

“Look, me and the Pogues were fishing, and we kinda… lost track of time.”

He winced, rubbing the back of his neck. Y/N shut her eyes, exhaling sharply as she lifted her hands to cover her face.

“Are you serious?”

“I mean, technically, I did show up. Just… a little late.”

JJ let out a half-hearted chuckle, like maybe that’d soften the blow. She dropped her hands, shaking her head as exhaustion settled deep in her bones.

“Jesus, Jay. Do you even care?”

JJ frowned but didn’t answer right away. He knew he was being a little unreasonable- but in his defense he was just a teen. His silence however told her everything. She looked at him and momentarily took in his appearance, his messy blond hair, his summer kissed skin; she envied him a little, the way he was always out and about, not worried, never stressed. She muttered, turning on her heel.

“Forget it”

“Y/N—”

But she was already walking away, back toward the bathroom, back toward the leaking faucet, back toward everything she had to deal with alone. JJ hesitated for a second, watching her go, then sighed and yanked open the door. And then it shut behind him, leaving Y/N standing there in the silence. She swallowed hard, blinking back the stinging frustration behind her eyes.

"Yeah," she muttered to herself, voice barely above a whisper.

"Guess I'll figure it out myself."

After a while she had given up on the leaky faucet, cleaning up the house- to the best of her ability- before settling down in the kitchen.The stack of bills sat on the dining table, a messy pile of final notices and overdue warnings. Y/N stared at them, her fingers running over the edges of the envelopes, as if touching them could somehow make the numbers smaller, make the debt disappear. The utilities, the rent- hell, even the grocery bill? It was all piling up faster than she could keep up with. Sometimes she wished she could turn back time, move back to when she didn't even know about all of this, before she showed her dad she could look after herself - and JJ… maybe then she wouldn't have this constant weight on her shoulders.

With a sigh, she dropped her head down onto the table, resting her forehead against the cool surface. Think, think, think. There had to be a way to come up with money, something quick, something that didn’t involve relying on JJ, because clearly that wasn’t an option either now. Her mind raced through possibilities, but every idea led to a dead end. The front door swung open and then slammed shut. Y/N didn’t even lift her head as heavy, stumbling footsteps made their way inside.

She knew that gait all too well.

Her jaw clenched as her father mumbled something incoherent under his breath, his words slurred, laced with whatever shit he had put in his system tonight. She stayed still, hoping, praying, that he’d just pass out somewhere and leave her be. Without a word to her, he shuffled through the house, disappearing into her bedroom. Y/N pursed her lips, lifting her head slightly as she listened to him rustling around in there. She knew better than to go after him. Whatever he was looking for- money, booze, something to pawn- she wasn’t about to get in his way.

Instead, she pushed back from the table, standing up slowly, her hands pressing against the wood as she steadied herself. The house was too quiet now, except for the occasional sound of drawers opening and closing in her room. Her stomach twisted. She needed to get out of here, needed to fix this mess before it swallowed her whole.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She’d been driving with no real destination, letting the silence of the night and the hum of the engine settle her thoughts. She’s gripping the wheel tightly, her thoughts tangled in the mess of overdue payments, an empty fridge, and a father and brother who barely acknowledge her existence unless they want something.Then, as she’s driving through the dimly lit streets, she passes by it. The neon sign flickers, casting a dull pink glow onto the pavement, and without even thinking, she slams the brakes. Her car comes to a sudden stop in the middle of the empty street and can feel her seat belt digging into her chest momentarily, her heart pounding as she stares at the building.

It’s not like she’s never thought about it before.

She’s heard things, seen the type of girls who walk in and out of there, all done up with money to spend. And right now, she has nothing- nothing but overdue bills and a house falling apart. Her hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. A part of her wants to just drive away, pretend she never even considered it. But another part of her- the part that’s desperate, the part that’s sick of drowning- knows this might be her only shot. She swallows hard, taking a deep breath before finally pulling her car to the curb. She sits there for a second, hands still on the wheel, staring at the entrance, she brings her hand up to rub it down her face, hand resting over her mouth as she thinks.

Really thinks.

Then, before she can change her mind, she kills the engine and steps out.

The night air is cool against her skin, but it does nothing to settle the heat rising in her chest. Her heart is hammering, her stomach twisting as she closes the car door behind her. The pavement feels unsteady beneath her feet as she walks toward the entrance. The music from inside is faint but pulsing, the bass reverberating through the ground. She hesitates, staring at the worn-down exterior and the neon sign buzzing overhead. As she approached the door, something caught her eye- a flyer taped to the window, the bold letters glaring at her in the dimming light.

NOW HIRING

This is insane.

She shouldn’t be here.

And yet, she doesn’t turn around, instead her fingers flex at her sides before she pushes the door open, stepping inside. The shift in atmosphere is immediate. The air is thick with perfume and alcohol, the dim lighting casting deep shadows across the room. The club isn’t packed- it’s late on a weekday- but there are still men scattered around, cash in hand, eyes glued to the stage. A girl moves fluidly under the colored lights, her body illuminated by pinks and blues as she wraps herself around the pole. Y/N swallows, forcing herself to keep walking, past the wandering eyes of men who glance at her but don’t linger. She doesn’t know exactly where she’s going, only that if she stops now, she’ll most likely lose her nerve.

She spots a bar toward the back and makes a beeline for it, hands slightly clammy. A woman stands behind the counter, pouring a drink for some guy in a suit. Y/N waits until she’s done before leaning in slightly.

“Hey, um- do you know who I talk to if I’m looking for a job?”

The woman lifts a brow, gaze flicking over Y/N, taking her in. Then, without a word, she jerks her chin toward a door near the back as she picks up a glass on the counter and starts drying it.

“Through there. Ask for Tommy.”

Y/N nods, her pulse jumping as she turns toward the door. This is it. She can still leave, still pretend she never came here. But instead, she takes a breath and pushes the door open. The door swings shut behind her with a dull thud, muffling the thumping bass from the main room. The air back here feels different- less suffocating, it’s dimly lit, the walls lined with old vintage posters of strippers and liquor crates, the faint scent of cigarettes lingers in the air.

Y/N’s eyes adjust quickly, landing on a man seated behind a cluttered desk, lazily counting a stack of cash. He looks to be in his late forties, broad-shouldered with thinning hair and a face that’s seen its fair share of rough nights. A half-smoked cigarette dangles between his fingers. He doesn’t look up immediately, just exhales a cloud of smoke before finally lifting his gaze to hers. His eyes sweep over her, slow and calculating.

“You lost, sweetheart?”

“I saw you were hiring.”

Y/N shakes her head, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket.That piques his interest. He leans back in his chair, eyeing her with something between amusement and scrutiny.

“That so?”

“Yeah. I—I need a job.”

She nods, trying to keep her voice steady. Tommy taps his fingers against the desk, sizing her up.

“You ever danced before?”

Y/N hesitates for half a second, “No.”

He smirks like he expected that answer, responding with a slow nod as he places the money he was counting into an envelope labeled ‘Bambi’.

“You got any experience bartending? Serving?”

“...I'm a waitress at the country club.”

His brow lifts, and for a moment, she thinks he’s going to laugh in her face. Instead, he sighs, rubbing a hand down his jaw, momentarily pausing as he closes up the envelope, puts it onto a pile and looks up to her.

“So, what? You just walked in here hoping I’d throw you on stage?”

“I’m a fast learner.”

Y/N presses her lips together, shifting on her feet. Tommy watches her for a beat, then gestures toward the empty chair across from him.

“Sit.”

She does, moving forward and lowering herself onto the chair in front of him, the leather squeaking a little as it makes contact with her bare thighs. He studies her in the dim light, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N,” he says, dragging the word out like he’s tasting it. “You don’t look like a girl who just woke up one day and decided this is what she wanted to do. So tell me- what are you really doing here?”

“I need the money.”

Y/N clenches her jaw. Tommy hums, nodding like that doesn’t surprise him as he taps the ash of his cigarette on the edge of an empty whiskey glass.

“That part’s obvious.”

He leans forward slightly as he continues, resting his elbows on the table.

“But I need to know what I’m dealing with. You got people who’ll come looking for you? A jealous boyfriend? Strict parents? Any reason this might come back to bite me in the ass?”

Y/N hesitates, because the truth is- complicated. JJ wouldn’t approve, not in a million years, his sister working in a strip club? There was no way he would be happy about it, but the more she thought about it, he’s barely around- and besides she is the older sibling. And Luke? She doubts he’d even notice with the way he’s always high out of his mind. Yet deep down she knew, if he did find out it certainly wouldn’t end well.

“No,” she says finally.

“No one’s coming after me.”

Tommy watches her carefully, like he’s weighing her answer. Then, with a slow nod, he exhales another stream of smoke and flicks his butt of his cigarette into the glass.

“Alright, Y/N… I’ll give you a shot.”

Relief floods her chest, but it’s short-lived as he continues.

“First things first- you start off small. No stage, not yet. You’ll work the floor. Waitress, maybe some private rooms if you’re up for it. Tips are yours, but the house gets a cut. If you prove you can handle yourself, we’ll talk about dancing.”

Y/N nods, ignoring the way her stomach tightens at the mention of private rooms. She can handle this. She has to. Tommy gestures toward the door.

“Come in tomorrow night. Nine o’clock. One of the girls will show you the ropes.”

“Okay, thank you.”

He hums out as Y/N stands up, gripping the back of the chair briefly before letting go. As she turns to leave her hand reaching out for the door handle, Tommy’s voice stops her.

“One last thing, sweetheart.”

She glances back.

“I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

His gaze is sharp, knowing. Y/N doesn’t reply. What could she possibly say to him? She just nods once and steps back through the door, back into the neon-lit haze of the club.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dressing room hummed with chatter, the air thick with the scent of perfume, body shimmer, and a mix of fruity smoke drifting around. Mirrors lined the walls, reflecting girls in various states of getting ready- adjusting lingerie straps, applying a final coat of lip gloss, securing thigh-high stockings into garter belts. Y/N sat at one of the vanities, leaning in close as she fixed the last flick of her eyeliner. Her figure was wrapped in black lace, tiny straps and sheer panels leaving just enough to the imagination- but she still had a few finishing touches to go. Naomi- better known as Bambi- was beside her, placing her straightener down and popping her gum loudly as she smirked at Y/N through the mirror.

“You’re getting faster at this,” She mused, eyes flicking down to Y/N’s hands as she fastened a delicate silver choker with a small heart pendant around her neck.

“First week, you were takin’ forever in here. Now look at you. A real pro, Bunny.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled, smoothing out a stray strand of hair before reaching for her gloss. She teased, voice light but with that tired edge that never quite went away these days.

“Yeah, yeah. You gonna pat me on the head next?”

“Mmm, maybe after your first private dance of the night. If you’re good girl.”

Bambi grinned and Y/N huffed a laugh, pressing her lips together to even out the gloss. A month and some into this life, and she wasn’t sure if she was settling in or just getting better at pretending she had. It was easier now- knowing the regulars, knowing what songs meant what, knowing how to smile just enough but not too much. The money helped.

God, did the money help.

She glanced down at her phone, screen lighting up with a notification.

JJ : Staying at John B’s

JJ : See you tmr

JJ : Good luck at work!!!

Y/N stares at the screen for a moment, her stomach twisting like it always does when she thinks about how much she’s keeping from him. He thinks she picked up an extra night cleaning shift at the country club since that’s what she told him. He has no idea that while he’s crashing at the chateau, she’s slipping into heels and stepping onto a stage under flashing neon lights. She locks her phone, pushing the thought away.

Guilt won’t pay the bills.

“Busy night, you think?”

She spoke as she ignored the message, flipping the phone over and looking back at the girl next to her. Bambi gave a lazy stretch, rolling out her shoulders.

“Always is on a Friday. High rollers’ll be in. You might get lucky.”

“Yeah, real lucky.”

Y/N scoffed, grabbing her perfume and spritzing it lightly over her collarbones. Bambi side-eyed her, then leaned in with a smirk.

“Come on, Bunny. You might actually have fun tonight. If not, at least make it worth your while.”

Y/N just hummed, adjusting the strap on her heel as the familiar pulse of bass-heavy music leaked in from the club floor. The music thrums through the floor as Y/N steps out of the dressing room, the familiar pulse of bass settling into her bones. The club is alive tonight- packed booths, the bar swarmed with men flashing cash, neon strobes flickering over clinking glasses and loose laughter. Bambi walks beside her, adjusting the strap of her bra as she surveys the crowd.

“It’s a good night,” she muses, eyes gleaming as a man waves down a waitress with a fat roll of bills in his hand.

“Everyone’s in a generous mood hmm.”

“Looks like it.”

Y/N hums, already spotting a few regulars scattered through the crowd. The air is thick with perfume and cologne, the scent of whiskey and something heavier and smokier lingering beneath. Girls weave through the crowd, balancing trays of drinks, draping themselves over men who let them. The DJ’s set switches, the bass rattling the room, A voice calls from near the DJ booth, and Bambi nudges Y/N with her hip, a smirk tugging at her lips as she sends her a little kiss.

“Knock ’em dead, baby.”

Y/N exhales, rolling her shoulders back as she steps into the chaos of the club. The energy is thick tonight- bodies packed around the stage, eager hands already tossing bills, the bass thrumming deep in her ribs. She grips the pole, the cool metal grounding her for a brief moment before she moves.The nerves are familiar but distant now, part of the routine; she’s used to it- the way the outside world fades the second she steps onto the platform.

Her body flows with the music, slow and teasing at first, rolling her hips as she wraps a leg around the pole and lifts herself with ease. She spins, the world blurring for a second, heels gliding effortlessly over the platform. A whistle cuts through the noise. A few more bills flutter at her feet.

She twists, sliding down with a deliberate drag before pushing herself back up, hooking her knee and arching her back; thighs squeezing the pole as she extends her body in a perfect line. The music pulses, dictating her movements- fluid and sultry. For a moment, there’s nothing but the heat of the lights and the electric charge of the crowd.

But then as she lifts her gaze mid-spin, her eyes catch on something in the far corner.

Two men in a booth, half-hidden in the dim lighting. They sit relaxed, a quiet presence amidst the chaos, yet people keep coming up to them- leaning in, hands subtly exchanging cash, small bags slipping from one palm to another. She doesn’t need to look too closely to know what’s going down. She presses her palm to the pole, as her feet hit the platform again, hips swaying slowly, her focus slipping back to the crowd in front of her, but something gnaws at her, pulling her attention back. Then, the lights shift, a quick flash of neon, just bright enough to cut through the shadows, and she sees him.

Rafe Cameron.

And he’s looking right at her.

Leaning back in the booth, one arm draped lazily over the seat, a glass of whiskey in his other hand. Her breath catches in her throat, her grip faltering just slightly as she steadies herself. But it’s too late. Her moment is stiffer now, the tension stretched between them, across the crowded room, and he’s locked in the way he watches her. Unblinking. She can’t tell what he’s thinking but she knows one thing for certain-

He knows exactly who she is.

Y/N forces herself to keep moving, to stay in rhythm with the music despite the ice-cold feeling creeping up her spine. But it’s impossible to ignore the weight of Rafe’s stare. It lingers burning through the dim haze of the club. She glides down the pole, making sure to keep her expression smooth- indifferent. Her heart is hammering against her ribs, but no one in the audience would know it. They see only the show, the slow hypnotising sway of her hips as she lands back on the stage, the way her fingers tease at the hem of her lace bra before she moves toward the edge of the stage dropping to her knees. The song is winding down. One last arch of her back, one last deliberate sweep of her hands up her thighs before letting the final beat pulse through her body.

Applause, whistles, the sound of crisp bills hitting the stage.

She scoops up what she can as she stands, but her mind is barely there. Not when she can still feel the weight of him watching. As she steps offstage, she risks a glance toward the booth again.This time Barry is grinning, chatting with some guy in a backwards cap who’s slipping a wad of cash into his pocket. And Rafe- he’s still looking at her, Y/N’s breath catches as their eyes meet again and this time, he smirks. It’s small, almost lazy, but there’s something in it that makes her stomach flip.

Shit.

She rips her gaze away, hurrying toward the bar, barely registering the sound of heels clicking against the floor or the music thumping through the speakers. She drops her earnings into her basket at the end of the bar- before grabbing a glass of water. Her hands are steady as she lifts it, but her heart is pounding wildly. The bartender gives her a once-over as she wipes down the counter.

“Damn, Bunny- y'look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“You have no idea.”

Y/N exhales, pressing the cold glass to her lips. Her eyes drift back to Rafe before she can stop herself. He’s talking to someone else now, some guy in a backward cap, shaking his hand as something small and discreet trades between them-

Fucking hell.

She jumps at the sudden touch on her arm, nearly spilling her drink. Whipping around, she exhales sharply when she sees who it is.

“Jesus, Tommy.”

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing- It’s nothing.”

She responds as she shakes her head slightly, Tommy doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it slide.

“Someone put in a request for you.”

“Who?”

Y/N wipes her palm against her thigh, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up her spine. Tommy leans in slightly, his voice calling out over the music as his head nods in the direction she was just looking.

“Rafe Cameron.”

Y/N freezes and Tommy notices her stiff shoulders instantly.

“Something I should know about?”

“Um… I think he and his friend are selling coke-”

“—I know”

Tommy says easily as he picks up one of the clean empty glasses on the bar, putting it away. Y/N frowns at his words. Since the first day she’d started working here, he had stated to her he had ‘zero-tolerance’ for any of the girls doing coke… so how come now, Rafe Cameron was allowed to walk in here and make this his personal dealing spot.

“But I thought you—”

“I made a deal with them,” he shrugs, “keeps people coming in, keeps them buying drinks. Business is business Y/N.”

“Right.”

Y/N purses her lips as he speaks and Tommy studies her for a moment, then gestures towards where Rafe was sitting, once again passing over something she couldn't quite make out to a man in a white shirt.

“I can send someone else, but you’ll lose out on the cash for the night.”

His voice has that slight edge to it, the one that tells her he won’t be making a habit of exceptions. She hesitates. She could probably say no. She should say no. But then she thinks about the pile of bills waiting for her at home, the ones she still doesn’t know how she’s going to all pay.

“I—” She clears her throat.

“It’s fine.”

“Good. He’s waiting.”

Y/N exhales, setting her glass down with a quiet clink and then she turns, smoothing out her hair, checking her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall. Rafe still leaned back in one of the lounge chairs, legs spread, arm slung over the back of the seat. Barry is beside him, but he isn’t paying attention to whatever he’s saying. His eyes are already on her.

Watching.

Waiting.

She swallows hard, ignoring the way her pulse kicks up as she straightens her shoulders and starts moving toward him. Her heels click against the floor, her movements slow and she can feel the weight of his gaze. When she finally stops in front of him, Rafe tips his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Hey there, Bunny.”

Y/N clenches her jaw at the sound of his voice- low and smooth, edged with amusement. She doesn’t let it show, though. Instead, she gives him the same sultry smile she’s perfected for every other man who’s sat in front of her.

“Cameron”

She says, tilting her head slightly, letting her fingers trail lightly over her bare thigh. Rafe grins like this is all some kind of joke. Like she isn’t standing in front of him in six-inch heels and a barely-there outfit, about to dance for him like she doesn’t know exactly who he is.

"Didn’t think I’d ever see you here"

His voice is smug like he’s savouring every second of this. Y/N bites back a retort. She wants to tell him to fuck off. Wants to ask him what the fuck he’s doing here, why he put in a request for her.

But she doesn’t.

Because she can’t.

Her fingers twitch by her side as she takes a step closer instead, smoothly moving into his space. Rafe doesn’t move back. If anything, his smirk deepens as he spreads his legs a little wider and Barry chuckles beside him, knocking back the rest of his drink before running his hand over his head. He mutters, already moving to stand.

“ 'ight I’ll leave you to it,”

But before he can leave, Rafe shakes his head, a smirk pulling at his lips,

"No, no—stay man."

Y/N’s stomach twists. She doesn’t want an audience, especially not Barry, she doesn't even want to be doing this in the first place. The club is still packed, neon lights flickering across the space. There are men scattered around, girls in their laps, some whispering things in their ears that’ll have them reaching for their wallets without hesitation. Y/N has done this a hundred times now. She knows the drill.

But this- this is different.

She inhales slowly as she notices Barry sitting back in his seat, eyes racking over her body and she has to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. She hesitant, her inner conflict gnawing at her mind but eventually she lets out a small breath a moves forward, swinging a leg over Rafe’s lap, lowering herself onto his thighs, moving her hips in a way that’s meant to tease. She lets her hands trail up his chest in a way that’s meant to be practiced and seductive. But then- his hand comes to rest on her hip.

Her whole body tenses.

Rafe notices. Of course he does. His thumb presses against the curve of her hip, just enough to make her teeth clench. Y/N forces a tight-lipped smile, shifting on his lap just enough to make it look like part of the dance- but really, it’s an attempt to put space between them. Her voice stays low, sharp beneath the sultry act.

"There’s a no-touching policy."

Rafe’s smirk doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens. His fingers stay right where they are, his grip on her hip solid, unmoving. He tilts his head slightly, blue eyes gleaming with something threatening.

"None of the policies here apply to me, Maybank."

He speaks out as his finger slips under the strap of her black thong, tugging on it and letting it snap back into position, the feeling causing a sharp sting on her skin. The way he says her last name- it’s teasing, taunting. Like he enjoys the way it sounds in his mouth and Y/N can’t help but clench her jaw at the thought, heat creeping up her neck.bShe doesn’t let her movements falter though, even as his words sink into her skin like a slow-burning ember. Her ass grinds down onto his lap intone with the song blaring out through teh clubs speakers, her fingers trailing over his shoulders, a practiced motion, a distraction- for herself more than for him.

“That so?”

She murmurs, voice light, teasing, playing into the role she’s supposed to be in. Rafe lets out a quiet hum, his thumb stroking over the thin fabric of her outfit.

“Mhm. I don’t think Tommy would wanna lose his best customers, do you?”

She bites down on the inside of her cheek at his words but th rhythmic roll of her hips never stops. She knows he' s pushing her.

It’s in his nature.

Barry lets out a low whistle from his seat which is followed by a chuckle. Her eye's drift over to him sitting his legs spread wide as he takes lazy sips from his drink.

“Damn didn’t peg you for this line of work Maybank. Not that I’m complainin’.”

Her spine stiffens, at she meets his eye's- yet she refuses to give them the satisfaction of leaving before the song is finished. Her focus shifts to Rafe, on the smug expression he wears as he watches her, like he’s got all the time in the world.

Like he’s enjoying this far too much.

Y/N exhales sharply through her nose. He’s trying to get under her skin. And it’s working. Rafe grins, his grip on her hips unwavering he taunts, his other hand sliding down to her thigh, drifting awfully close to her inner thigh as he tilts his head slightly.

“What’s the matter huh? You dance for all these guys, but you’re nervous around me?”

The song drags on, seconds feeling like minutes. Her body moves on instinct, performing for him, back arching as she struggles not to unravel under his gaze. And then, just as she starts to think she can get through this without losing it- he leans in. His breath fans against her ear as he speaks, voice just low enough for only her to hear.

“Wonder what your brother would think if he saw you like this.”

His voice is casual, but there’s something sharp behind it, something that makes her stomach twist. Her jaw tightens.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Just seems like something he’d wanna know,”

Rafe doesn’t even acknowledge her as she speaks, his full attention locked onto the way her hips are still grinding against him. He muses, tilting his head.

“Bet he thinks you’re a little cleaner or somethin' huh?”

Her pulse thrums in her ears, but she doesn’t let it show. Rafe’s smirk deepens, catching the movement. His fingers drum now against her knee.

“Relax, Y/N. I’m just making conversation.”

“Yeah? Funny, doesn’t feel like that.”

She scoffs under her breath. He hums, tilting his head as he takes her in, eyes darting down from her face. Her stomach knots, but she refuses to cower under his gaze. Instead, she leans in just enough that only he can hear her. “You know,” she murmurs, voice dripping with saccharine sweetness,

“most guys just pay and keep their mouths shut.”

Rafe tutted, a slow, mocking sound, then, before she can react, Rafe casually plucks a few crisp fifty-dollar bills from the stack in front of him. His fingers ghost along the curve of her waist before he shoves them right between her pushed up tits, tucking the money into her bra. Heat rushes to her face- not from embarrassment, but from the pure, seething hatred bubbling up inside her. Her jaw tightens, and she shoots him a glare so sharp it could cut glass. Barry, watching the whole thing unfold, bursts into laughter, slapping his knee like it’s the funniest thing he’s seen all night.

“Country Club” he wheezes, “she gon' kill you man”

“Nah,” he drawls, eyes flicking up to hers.

“She likes it.”

Rafe just smirks, leaning back lazily in his seat and she scoffs, the sound sharp and dripping with disgust, before snatching the money from between her tits and throwing it straight at him. The crisp bills flutter uselessly against his chest before falling into his lap, but she doesn’t care.

She doesn’t want his money- doesn’t want anything from him.

She shifts to push off his lap, to put distance between them, but Rafe moves faster. His hand snaps around her wrist in an iron grip, yanking her back down before she can escape. A sharp gasp slips from her lips as she stumbles into him, her free hand landing against his chest to steady herself.

He’s close now.

Too close.

Rafe’s smirk fades slightly, replaced by something more irritated as he stares up at her. His fingers tighten around her wrist, his grip just bordering on painful, a silent warning.

“I’d be real careful, Bunny”

Rafe murmurs, his voice low and laced with something that makes her stomach uneasy. Her breath catches, but she refuses to look away, her glare burning into him. He tilts his head slightly, his smirk creeping back as he studies her reaction.

“You wouldn’t want your brother to hear about this little conversation, would you?”

The words hang heavy between them, and she swallows hard, her pulse hammering. Y/N sits there, her body tense, her expression carved from pure, unfiltered hatred. Every fiber of her being screams at her to move, to slap that smug look off his face, but she doesn’t. Because if Rafe tells JJ… she doesn’t know what she’d do.

He watches her, sharp and calculating, before plucking the discarded money from his lap. He folds the crisp bills between his fingers in half, before bringing them up to her face. His eyes stay locked on hers, and his lips curl into that insufferable smirk.

“Open up”

He murmurs, voice taunting but firm. Her jaw clenches and she doesn’t move. Amusement flickers in his gaze, but there’s something else there too- something that tells her that she'd not got much choice now. He lifts a brow, daring her to defy him and she hates herself for it, but after a long, thick moment of silence, she slowly parts her lips. Rafe hums in satisfaction, slipping the folded-up bills between her teeth.

“Atta girl”

He muses as she bites down, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary before he pulls away. He leans back lazily in his seat, studying her with open amusement, eyes flicking between the money in her mouth and the fire still burning in her gaze. She can tell he’s so fucking satisfied. The song finally comes to an end, the heavy bass fading into the low murmur of conversation and clinking glasses. The second the last note plays and a new one begins, she jerks her wrist free from his grasp, ripping her hand away like his touch burns her.

Her mind is racing- anger, humiliation, and something else she doesn’t want to name all tangling together in a storm inside her chest. She stands abruptly, plucking the money from between her lips with two fingers like it’s tainted. Without even sparing him a glance, she turns on her heel, ready to put as much distance between herself and Rafe Cameron as possible.

But then- she feels it.

The sharp smack lands right on her ass, firm and unapologetic. A small gasp passes her lips and the audacity of it sends white-hot anger surging through her veins, and she whips around so fast her hair nearly follows the motion. Barry is already laughing, a deep, wheezing sound, blowing out a thick puff of smoke as he watches the scene unfold like it’s the best entertainment of the night.

And Rafe?

Rafe just grins up at her, infuriatingly relaxed, his expression unreadable save for the smug amusement dancing in his eyes. Then, as if he hadn't already done enough, he puckers his lips, blowing her a lazy, taunting little kiss to her. She stares at him, disgust and fury twisting in her chest, her fists clenching at her sides- heart thumping heavily in her chest as she becomes certain of one thing.

She’s never hated anyone more in her life.

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